Captain Quad (20 page)

"Yeah," Sam said, his voice husky with emotion. "Some great way you've got of showing it."

Then Kelly understood. "Is he all right?"

"No, he's not all right," Sam shot back, turning with blazing eyes to face her. "He's crippled! Or had you forgotten?"

Not dead, Kelly's mind sighed. Thank God he's not dead.

"What did he tell you?" Kelly said, her fear giving way to pity for this hurt, angry young man.

"The truth!" Sam shouted in the closeness of the idling car. "His great true love. You walked out on him without so much as a fuck you or a fare-thee-well. 'Sorry, pal. If I need some vegetables, I'll get 'em at the supermarket.'"

"That's a lie, Sam. A dirty, malicious lie."

Sam groped again for the door latch. "I'm late for work."

"No," Kelly said, the quiet force of the word freezing Sam as effectively as a gun muzzle pressed to his skull.

Then she told him the truth, the real truth, each word a razor-slash in the meat of her heart.

"And I never went back," Kelly said, more of her seemingly endless reserve of tears tracking her cheeks. Beside her, Sam sat staring at the floor mat, his jaw rippling rhythmically. "I came close. Got as far as the door maybe a dozen different times. But there was no way I could face those empty eyes again." She dug in her pocket for a hankie.

"He told me you dropped him," Sam said, uttering his first words since Kelly had begun her story. "He said you came in that day and told him you'd found someone else. Someone. . . whole." Sam looked up at her, his own well of tears long since dried up. "I hated you for that, Kelly. Hated you and those three football fucking jerk-offs he called his friends. I hated you bad."

"I don't blame you, Sam. I hated myself for not trying harder. Maybe I should have gone back. . . but I could see it was killing him. I could feel him drying up inside."

She reached over and touched Sam's hand, wanting to comfort him, needing it herself.

Sam withdrew his hand. "Why did he lie to me?"

"Because he didn't want to lose you," was all Kelly could think of to say.

"I gotta go," Sam said, and opened the door again, more gently this time. He started to get out, then turned back to Kelly. "Why now?" he said. "Why after all this time did you come looking for me now?"

Kelly considered not telling him—he'd probably think she was nuts—but he deserved the truth. "I was alone last night at home," she said, "taking a shower, and I thought I could smell. . . Old Spice. It was the brand I used to buy for him." She tugged self-consciously at her hair. "It gave me a fright. I thought someone had broken in. . . but then I felt"—Kelly shuddered—"a kiss, right here, on the back of my neck. It's—"

Pretty nuts, she intended to say. Just my imagination.

But something flashed across Sam's face. Not doubt's shadow, not even surprise. Something else. Some internal circuit had snicked shut with her words, and as crazy as it seemed Kelly felt suddenly certain that Sam knew something about what she was saying.

"Sam?"

"I gotta go," Sam said again. And climbed out of the car.

It took a long time that busy day to sort it all through in his mind, but in the end Sam thought he understood. Kelly was right: Peter had lied to him because, once Kelly was gone, Sam was all he had left. Peter's fear of abandonment had blinded him to Sam's devotion, and the deceit was intended to kindle Sam's pity. It hurt him that Peter had believed such a deception necessary. But he thought he understood. He had not told Kelly about Peter's new. . . what? Power? Yes, that was what it was. What Peter had acquired was a kind of power, a triumph over impossible odds. To Sam it proved yet again what an extraordinary person his brother was. Fate had brought down its cleated fist and flattened him, and after six desolate years Peter had found a way out. What Kelly would undoubtedly attribute to an overactive imagination had in all probability been an actual visit from Peter, from his mind.

His soul.

In a moment of faceless dread, Sam considered confronting his brother on this, getting it out in the open before something really freaky happened. . . but Kelly was as taboo a topic as their mother.

And what had he felt when he turned to the sound of his name and saw Kelly Wheeler standing in the parking lot? How could he explain the rush of excitement that had coursed through his body with an almost sexual intensity? Wasn't he just a little afraid that if he talked to his brother about this, Peter would look into his eyes and know what Sam had felt?

"One order of chicken fingers," a waitress hollered, shattering his dark contemplations. "One burger, no onions, and two orders of fries."

"Got it," Sam mumbled, and slung the chicken strips into the fryer, wincing at the spit of old grease.

TWENTY-THREE

Partway through dialing Will's number, Kelly hung up the phone. It had been her intention to call him and cancel their date for tonight. That would make it two times in a row, but after today, holding hands and munching popcorn at the Cineplex seemed like the last thing she wanted to do. . .

Still, it beat moping around the house. Her conversation with Sam had breached a hive of restless ghosts, and with the north wind bulldozing its way across the lake and sleet machine-gunning the windows, she didn't think she could stand another night alone in this house.

Opting for a bath instead of a shower, Kelly settled into the bubble-heaped water with a tall glass of wine, Kenny Loggins crooning soothingly in the background. The heat, teamed with her intolerance for alcohol, soon had her feeling heady and loose, and by the time she climbed out of the tub she was giddy. After gliding into a mink-colored teddy, she tossed a match onto the kindling that was already stacked in the fireplace, and added a few birch logs. She had an hour and a half before Will's scheduled arrival, and planned to spend it unwinding. She settled into a mound of throw pillows on the rug in front of the fireplace, gazed into the sprite dance of flame. . . and dozed.

The Big Ben chime of the doorbell brought her back. She stood, glanced down the hallway, and saw Will peeking in through the sidelight. When he spotted her, still in her teddy, he looked quickly away.

"Oh, shit," Kelly mumbled. She grabbed her robe off the couch, threw it around her shoulders—and then made a decision.

She tossed the robe back on the couch. Then she went to the door and invited Will in.

"Dressed kind of light for the movies," Will said, his embarrassed attempt at nonchalance endearing.

"I could go get dressed," Kelly said, ignoring the clangor of alarms in her heart: This isn't your style, kiddo. "But there's a nice fire burning, and a freshly opened bottle of wine that'll just go to waste." She helped him off with his coat. "Besides, I've heard that Fatal Attraction is enough to put even the most stouthearted fellow off women."

Will shuffled his feet and grinned.

She led him down the hallway to the living room, aware that a generous chunk of her fanny was showing but no longer caring, and sat him on the floor by the fire. The lights were already low as she decanted the wine, and she prayed that Will couldn't read the uncertainty in her eyes. She felt desperate and alone, and wished for nothing more than a sweet outcome to the evening, a rescue for her ravaged heart. Maybe Will would be her ideal lover.

There was only one way to find out.

"He's nice, Kelly," she could hear Marti saying. "He'll be steady, you wait and see."

She sat beside him and snuggled. "Be good to me, Will," she murmured. "Please. . .”

Will set his wineglass aside. "I will," he promised, and embraced her.

His kisses were gentle, probing, unhurried. He smelled clean, a faint scent of soap on his skin. His touch aroused her, but she was tense, clutching him, her yearning more intricate than simple physical desire. She wanted his touch to erase her memory, to confront that part of her which insisted on pretending it was Peter's touch she was feeling and not someone else's. Not Will Chatam's. She wanted him to make himself real.

"Be good to me," she urged in breathy whispers.

And soon Will was fumbling for his belt, his own arousal cranked to a fever pitch by the unexpected depth of Kelly's need. Teeth clenched, she helped him skin off his jeans, her breath singing loudly in her nostrils. She felt hot, but it was not a good heat. It was the heat of a dog day afternoon, of sudden illness, of flesh held cruelly over fire. He dragged his V-neck over his head, and for a heartbeat Kelly wanted to cry out. Who was it behind that sweater, she wondered in that brief, faceless moment, his penis thrusting angrily against his briefs, sweat standing out on his belly?

Then her hand was inside his briefs, stroking him, kneading him. "Oh, Kelly," she heard him breathe. "Oh, babe." His hands were under her teddy now, finding her breasts. She could feel his heart, pounding the cage of his chest like a small, fierce animal trapped in a hollow wall.

With gentle strength, Will pressed her back into the pillows. He unfastened the crotch of her teddy and touched her, gently, knowingly, then lay down beside her, pressing warm kisses to her lips and neck. . . while his fingers described small, delicious circles down there, the pleasure of it gradually unhinging her mind, until she wanted this man inside her, Will, Will Chatam, oh, please. . .

It hurt when he entered her—it had been a long time—but the discomfort turned quickly to pleasure as Will moved smoothly and rhythmically above her.

"Will," she whispered in the crackling glow of the fire. "Look at me, Will. Open your eyes."

And they made love that way, face to face, their eyes open and almost unblinking, bathing in each other's gaze.

"Do you want me to go home tonight?"

They were still by the fireplace, still naked. The blaze had flamed down to a scatter of blushing coals.

"No," Kelly said, a trace of her earlier desperation creeping into her voice. She took his hand and met his eyes. "Will, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For what happened here tonight."

"Really?" He sounded offended.

"No, that's not what I mean. I mean for the way I was. I don't usually come on like that. I'm not that. . . aggressive."

"Who is he?" Will asked.

"Who is who?" Kelly said, knowing what he meant but unprepared for his perceptiveness.

"You know who," Will said with compassion. "The guy who's got you by the heart."

Tell him. Get it out. Marti's voice. The voice of her own heart.

She did.

"I know it's been six years," Kelly said. "And until I got back to Sudbury, to my old school, I thought I had it all in perspective."

She'd told him the whole sad story, right from the outset, omitting nothing. The more she talked, the more she realized the importance of leveling with Will. He needed to know the truth.

"Does that mean you still love him?"

"That's what's got me puzzled," Kelly said. "I mean, I guess I'll always love him, his memory. We were very close." She chuckled nostalgically. "We were virgins together. Do you understand?" Will nodded. "But I don't believe I love him in the sense that you mean. I understand that it's over between him and me, that my future doesn't include him. And yet. . . it's weird. Driving through town or walking through the halls at school, I get these flashbacks, these incredible emotional flashbacks, and suddenly time loses its meaning and I'm not twenty-four anymore, I'm not a member of the staff, I'm seventeen, and I expect to see Peter come waltzing around the corner to meet me."

Tears shone in her eyes, and Will wrapped an arm around her. Grateful, Kelly snuggled closer.

"I want it to be over, Will. I want him out of my heart. And most times he is. But, Jesus, sometimes the memories sneak up on me"—she shuddered, thinking of her experience in the shower the night before—"and I can't control them. That's why I'm so glad you've been patient with me." She caressed Will's face. "You're a wonderful friend, Will, and I care for you very much. I know you like me, and I know it must be hard to sit here and listen to me go on about another fella. . . but I'm glad you're letting me."

"Hey," Will said, returning her embrace. "I've got a pretty thick crust. I can tackle just about anything, as long as I know what it is. I appreciate your honesty, and I understand. When you care that deeply—and what's the point of caring if you don't go all the way?—it's a hundred times harder to go on when a disaster like this comes along and takes it all away." He kissed her. "I understand, babe, and if you let me, I'll help you. We can get through this together."

"Thanks, Will," Kelly said, feeling aroused again. "I care for you so much. And I'd really like you to stay with me tonight."

"I'll stay," Will said. "And if it's any consolation, I think I love you."

Smiling, Kelly stood. She had no response for that right now, and none seemed expected. "Give it time" was all she could say.

"That's one thing I've got plenty of," Will promised. He closed the fireplace doors and then stood.

Kelly led him upstairs to her bedroom. Where they made love again.

The lovemaking was fine, so fine that at two o'clock Kelly was still wide awake. There was a smile plastered to her face, and her whole body thrummed with forgotten excitement. Beside her, lying on his side, Will slept soundly, his well-muscled shoulders rising and falling in the beat of his dreams. She reached out to touch him, to waken him and tell him that she loved him, too, to thank him for reminding her of how easy loving should be. . . but she withdrew her hand. It was two in the morning and she had a gymnastics practice at seven. There'd be time enough tomorrow—and the next day and the day after that—to tell him how she felt about him, to show him. She had realized her feelings as they lay drowsing together after the second time. It had come to her all of a sudden, the way a forgotten name will sometimes leap to mind, as if an obstructing blanket had been whipped away. And there was nothing complex about it. It was a story as old as time. Will Chatam had stolen her heart. . . and she was glad. She was long overdue for a little happiness.

Lying beside him now, feeling his warmth and secure in his love, Kelly's past suddenly seemed more dreamlike than real. Will's gentle caring had obscured it, cast it in a welcome haze. For the first time in years she felt excited, alive. . .