Hot Shot (45 page)

Paige sat silently next to her. The fierce glare of the late afternoon sun turned her tumbled hair into tarnished silver. In her rumpled, soiled evening gown, she looked beautiful and dissolute, like a ruined playgirl left over from a Fitzgerald novel. She had handled passports and tickets, the delay at Heathrow, the complex arrangements to get to Naxos, all the business of traveling that Susannah normally managed so expertly. In all that time Susannah hadn't spoken a word to her.

It was evening when they reached the cottage on the eastern side of the island. Susannah stumbled numbly into the room Paige indicated. She was aware of the sound of the sea and clean lavender-scented sheets. Then she slept.

When she awoke late the next morning, sunlight was trickling through the closed shutters and throwing hyphens of light on the white stucco walls of the room. Her body felt heavy and sore as she made her way into the tiny bathroom. She showered, then slipped into a pair of seersucker shorts and a light blue halter top she found lying across the foot of the bed.

She winced as she stepped out into the rustic interior of the cottage's main room and a blaze of sunlight hit her full in the face. A sharp pain pierced her temple. She made her way over to the open screenless windows and saw that the white stucco cottage clung precariously to a barren hillside overlooking the sea. Even though she had vacationed on the Aegean several times before, she had forgotten the depth of the water's jewellike tones. It spread before her like a bottomless pool of azure tears.

She turned back to the room and tried to find some sense of peace in the simplicity of her surroundings. An earthenware bowl of peaches sat on the scrubbed wooden table, while a basket of geraniums caught the sunlight in one of the windows. The windowframes, shutters, and door were all painted the same bright cerulean blue as the Aegean, and the thick stucco walls of the cottage were so crisp and clean, they looked as if they had just been whitewashed. She felt as if she had been plunged into a world where only three colors existed—the dull gray-brown tones of the bare hillside, the blazing white of stucco and sky, and the rich, cerulean blue of sea, shutters, and doorway.

A fat tabby walked across the flagstone floor and rubbed against her ankles. "That's Rudy," Paige said, coming into the room from outside. "Misha's taking a nap on the patio."

Paige wore a faded bandanna top and a pair of cutoff's so threadbare that her skin beneath was visible in several places. Her feet were bare, her face free of makeup, and she had snared her hair into an untidy ponytail. Even so, she looked beautiful.

Susannah couldn't believe that she had put herself in the position of being dependent on Paige. She had to get out of here. As soon as possible, she had to leave.

"You look like shit," Paige said, picking up the blue and white striped dish towel that hung next to the stone sink in the kitchen and using it to pull a fragrant loaf of brown bread from the oven. "Go keep Misha company on the patio. The table's all set and breakfast is almost ready."

"You shouldn't have bothered," Susannah said coldly. "I've made a mistake. I have to get back."

Paige set a sweating pitcher of fruit juice on top of a tray that held two blue glass goblets.

"Carry this out. I'll be there in a few minutes."

For the moment it was easier to do as she was told than to argue. Susannah stepped through the door onto a patio paved with smooth brown pebbles. She squinted while her eyes adjusted to the light and the breathtaking view of sky and sea below. An old olive-wood gateleg table holding handwoven place mats, ceramic plates, and cutlery was sheltered from the sun by a lacy network of jasmine trees growing up from the other side of the stucco wall. Wooden chairs sat at each end, their rush seats covered with plump blue pillows. Flowers spilled over the tops of fat pottery crocks, and the old stone head of a lion provided a spot of shade for a sleeping cat.

The animal looked up as Susannah set the tray on the table. Then he stretched, yawned, and went back to sleep. Paige began bringing out food: mugs of coffee, a bowl of eggs soft-boiled in their speckled brown shells, a majolica plate arranged with a sunburst of melon slivers. She cut the bread she had just baked into thick slices and then spread one with butter. It melted into little amber puddles as she held it out to Susannah.

Susannah shook her head. "I'm sorry. I don't feel like eating."

"Give it a try."

Susannah couldn't remember the last time she had eaten—not on the plane, certainly. She hadn't eaten at the party. Her stomach rumbled as the warm, yeasty scent pricked her nostrils. She took the bread, and as she bit into it, she discovered that the simple act of chewing provided a momentary distraction from the pain that wouldn't go away. She sipped at a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and ate part of a melon slice. When her stomach began to rebel, she cuddled a mug of coffee and gazed out at the sea.

With the meal over, the awkwardness between them increased. In the past she would have broken it with inconsequential chatter, but she no longer cared enough about her relationship with Paige to make the effort. The fantasy of sisterly love had died along with everything else. Paige began to tell Susannah about the cottage and how she had restored it. Then she fetched a San Francisco Giants baseball cap for herself and a straw hat for Susannah and announced that they were going to walk down to the beach.

Susannah followed, simply because she couldn't summons the energy to do anything else.

Paige led the way around to the side of the house where there was a gentler drop to the beach than the sheer cliff face that fell from below the patio. Even so, the descent exhausted Susannah. Paige walked over the rocks and hot sand to the water's edge, then dipped her toes in the sea.

"You didn't say anything about breakfast. How did you like my homemade bread?"

"It was delicious," Susannah replied politely. What had she done wrong? her brain screamed. Why had Sam gone to other women?

Paige kicked at a wave. "I love to cook."

There was a long pause. Susannah realized that she needed to say something. "Really? I hate it."

Paige looked at her strangely. "You always took over the kitchen on the cook's days off."

"Who else was going to do it?"

Paige leaned over and picked up a small smooth stone. "I might have."

"Maybe," Susannah said bitterly. "Or maybe you would have just told me to go to hell."

It was the first time she could remember inflicting the initial blow, but Paige didn't respond. Instead, she pulled off her baseball cap and tossed it down on the beach.

Susannah gazed up the hillside. The cottage seemed miles away. "I think I'm going to climb back up and take a nap. Then I need to make arrangements to get back."

"Not yet." Paige unsnapped her cutoffs. "We're going to swim first."

"I'm too tired to swim."

"It'll do you good." Paige pulled off her cutoffs to reveal lacy white underpants. She slipped them down with her thumbs and then unfastened her top. "This is my very own nude beach. Nobody ever comes here."

As Paige discarded her clothes, Susannah looked at her sister's body. Paige's breasts were larger than her own. Her waist was trim and her stomach flat. She was golden all over.

Sam would have liked Paige's body. He liked big breasts.

"Come on," Paige taunted, dancing backward into the waves. "Or are you chicken?" She slapped the water, sending a splatter of drops in Susannah's direction.

Susannah was pierced with a desperate longing. She wanted to forget what had happened, to be young and carefree and splash in the waves like her sister. She wanted to touch the childhood that had been denied her, to go to a place where betrayal didn't exist. Instead, she shook her head and climbed the hill back to the cottage.

That afternoon, Paige went off to the village on a battered moped while Susannah lay in the shade of the jasmine trees and punished herself. She should have cooked more meals for Sam. She should have shared his passion for that awful house.

A chill settled over her that even the Greek sun couldn't dispel. Hadn't these last six years taught her anything? Why was she so quick to assume blame for the problems in their marriage? Sam had been betraying her for a long time—and not just with other women.

He had been passing judgment on everything she did and criticizing her when she didn't live up to his invisible spec sheet. He had scoffed at her need for a child, ignored her attempts to repair their marriage. And like a little boy, he had looked to her to fix all the problems he had within himself. She had endured Sam's bad temper, his arrogance, and his small cruelties. But if she endured his infidelity, he would have swallowed her whole.

They ate an early dinner and went to bed not long after dark. In the morning she told herself to make arrangements to return to San Francisco, but she dozed on the patio instead. One day slipped into the next. Paige fed her and made her walk down to the beach every morning, but otherwise she left her alone. Toward the end of the week, she produced a second moped and decreed that Susannah was riding into the village with her to help shop for dinner. Susannah protested, but Paige was insistent, so she did as she was told.

On the way, Paige pulled into a lovely old olive grove that had been part of the island for centuries. As they wandered silently through the trees, Susannah breathed in the fresh scent of earth and growing things. She rubbed her palm over her slim waist and pressed that barren flatness. The tears she had been repressing pricked her eyes. Now there would be no baby to grow inside her.

She stopped under a twisted old tree and stared off into the distance. Paige plopped down in the shade. The afternoon was so still, Susannah felt as if she had found the end of the world. If only she could locate exactly the right place, she might be able to drop off the edge.

After days of barely speaking at all, words began to tumble from her lips. "I didn't know he was sleeping with other women. I knew we had problems, but I thought our sex life was all right. I really did."

"It probably was."

Susannah turned on her. "It couldn't have been or he would have stayed faithful."

"Grow up, Susannah. Some people don't feel alive unless they're having sex with half the world." Paige's face took on a closed, hard expression.

"But he loves me," she said fiercely. "Despite everything he says and everything he's done, he loves me."

"What about you?"

"Of course I love him!" she cried, furious with Paige for asking the question. "I gave up everything for him. I have to love him!" She sucked in her breath as her words hit her.

What was she saying? Did she truly love Sam or was she still caught up in an old, worn-out obsession?

"I'm definitely not an expert on love," Paige said slowly. "But I think there are lots of different kinds. Some are good and some are bad."

"How do you tell the difference?"

"The good love makes you better, I guess. Bad love doesn't."

"Then what Sam and I had was definitely good love, because he made me better."

"Did he? Or did you do it yourself?"

"You don't understand. Daddy wanted me to be his perfect daughter. Sam told me I should be strong and free. I listened to Sam, Paige. I listened to him and I believed him."

"And what happened?"

"A miracle happened. I discovered that Sam's vision was right for me. It was a perfect fit."

"That should have made him happy." Cynicism edged Paige's words.

Susannah blinked against the sting of tears. "But it didn't. A big part of Sam liked the old Susannah Faulconer. Deep inside, I don't think he wanted me to change at all."

"I like the new Susannah."

The unusual softness in Paige's voice pierced through Susannah's misery, and she looked at her sister as if she were seeing her for the first time. Against the sunlight, Paige's profile was as soft and blurred as an angel's. "Did I treat you so terribly when we were growing up?"

Paige plucked at a blade of grass. "You treated me wonderfully. I hated you for it. I wanted you to be awful to me so I could justify how awful I was to you."

Something warm opened inside Susannah like a loaf of her sister's bread. The awful chill that wouldn't go away thawed a little.

"I thought if you were out of the way, Daddy would love me," Paige said. "But he never did. Not really. You were everything to him. Even after you left, he let me know I couldn't compete. The irony of it was that I did so many things better than you—the meals were more imaginative, the house prettier. But he never saw that. He only saw the things I didn't do well."

Paige's unhappiness touched a chord inside Susannah. "After the way you've taken care of me, I can't imagine you not doing anything well."

Paige shrugged off the compliment. "Look at my checking account some time. And I'm completely disorganized. I hate everything connected with FBT business. Daddy should never have left the company to me. I don't know what I would have done without Cal."

Susannah looked away.

"He's been a good friend to me, Susannah," Paige said earnestly. "You really humiliated him."

"I know that. And the selfish part of me doesn't care. Isn't that awful? I'm so glad to have escaped marrying him that I'm willing to feel guilty about what I did to him for the rest of my life."

"Even though escaping Cal meant that you married Sam?"

Susannah stared at the dappled shadows on the ground. Nothing had changed, but some of the turmoil inside her seemed to have eased. "I could never regret having had Sam in my life. In a funny way, he created me, just like he created the Blaze. In the end I guess his vision of me wasn't right for him. But it was right for me."

"Are you going back to him?"

The pain that was never far away spread through her again. She was a fighter, and she didn't take her marriage vows lightly. In the deep quiet of the olive grove, the vow she had made on her wedding day came back to her as clearly as if she had just spoken it.
I
promise to give you my best, Sam, whatever that may be
. As the words echoed in her mind, she knew that she had done exactly that, and she finally understood the time had come to begin fighting for herself.