Matecumbe (14 page)

For Melissa, there were moments during these two weeks without Joe that felt like two years.

Her day-to-day life seemed to be a continuum of rote motion: sleep, eat, work at the library, and spend an occasional evening with a friend. Sometimes she found herself staring at her plants, not even sure how she got in the room, or if she had watered them or not.

“I’ll be ready for sex as soon as I see him,” she told herself, “and I might not even care if it’s safe.”

In Melissa’s battle to keep cheerful, Christmas shopping proved to be a welcome diversion. She even bought a gift for Joe’s Uncle Steve, whom she knew she would finally get to meet come Christmas Eve.

“What better gift for a horse player than a wallet with plenty of space for winnings,” Melissa thought, as she smilingly purchased a large, brown leather model with a small stitched “S” on the front.

Despite the random distractions, however, the expectation of Joe’s holiday visit dominated her every waking moment.

Admittedly, Melissa was slightly apprehensive about having everything “just right for Joe.” These feelings were tempered to a great degree, though, by the joy she experienced every day during that two-week period as she came closer and closer to a reunion with the man she had come to love.

When the time finally arrived for Joe’s plane to land at Philadelphia International Airport, the extreme nervousness Melissa had exhibited during the past few days had, quite strangely, begun to subside. She was, in fact, proud of herself for being “almost calm.”

And, as soon as their eyes met at Gate B-12, they walked toward each other as if in a trance, or guided by some supernatural bond. Joe’s kiss, and his embrace, were warmly satisfying.

“I can never, ever, remember Brady kissing me for such a long time,” Melissa told herself. “Brady’s kisses were short and devoid of feeling. Joe’s kisses, in comparison, are like bursts of sunlight on a beautiful spring day.

“I have no doubts right now that Joe is the guy I should have married so many, many years ago. I guess I should feel no regret, though. After all, Joe and I were different people way back then—when we were younger. Most likely, if we’d met in the past, there would have been no spark, no magic.”

During the drive from the airport back to Melissa’s house, they discovered that their own personal magic, born in the warmth of the Florida Keys, was still alive in frozen Philadelphia.

At the passing of every intersection, and at every curve in the highway, they looked, ever so briefly, at each other. The desire that had been dormant during their separation seemed once again strong. It was outdistanced abundantly, however, by love.

As soon as they pulled into Melissa’s garage, with the automatic door closing behind them, they embraced. Almost without thinking, they slowly slipped into reclining positions on the front seat of the car.

After kissing and caressing each other in the most personal of places— their bodies warm with want, they suddenly stopped—at Melissa’s urging. Then, hurriedly, she led Joe up the stairway to the kitchen.

Melissa hesitated briefly to greet Coke, her white alley cat, pausing just long enough to give the puss two quick pats on the head.

Next, they went out through another door and onto the enclosed, heated porch. Joe’s luggage, left behind in the trunk of the car, would have to wait its turn.

Soon, they were standing alongside a soft and ample sofa in this warm, comfy enclosure. Lovingly, they began to undress each other.

Melissa began by unbuckling the belt on Joe’s faded jeans. While she slid her hands down both his hips, he was busy opening the zipper on the back of her greenish-blue blouse.

Within seconds, their clothing sat in one common pile, catching the winter sunlight that was shining through a crack in the drawn curtains.

Effortlessly, Joe lifted Melissa onto the sofa, which had been prudently situated between various houseplants that were hanging from the ceiling and others that were tastefully perched on tabletops throughout what Melissa called her “flower room.”

“Making love here, in the warmth of my favorite room, while the outside temperature is below freezing and snow flurries are landing on the sidewalk is the closest thing possible to sex in the summery outdoors,” Melissa smiled to herself. “The spider plants, sweet olives, and begonias make me feel like I’m in the wilds of a jungle—being protected by the resident Tarzan.”

“I need a few hibiscus and Norfolk pines,” Melissa remarked, this time speaking to Joe while gesturing toward a group of nearby plants, “to remind me of Islamorada.”

“Where’s Islamorada?” Joe answered, as his lovemaking proceeded to the serious stage.

Melissa tried to laugh in return but couldn’t, being hard pressed to keep her breath. She uttered nothing for the next few minutes, except for an occasional whimper of pleasure heard only by Joe and by Coke, who was sitting on one of the tables between a pachysandra and a philodendron—the miniature tiger in a miniature jungle—purring in concert with his mistress’s sounds of satisfaction.

The following morning, while they were still in bed, Joe was the first to bring up the subject of marriage.

“If you’ll agree to have me, Melissa, I’d love for you to become my wife. Ever since we said good-bye to each other in Florida, I’ve done little else except think about you. It was never my idea to fall in love so quickly with someone—but I have. I think, too, that it’s about time I said adieu to this beach boy image that’s been part of me for so long now. I know that I started into it to escape the memory of Becky. But you have totally driven her from my mind. You’ve made me realize that Joe Carlton must eventually grow up. The fact that I love you so much makes me want to show you that I’m mature now—that I can succeed in anything I try—as long as you’re right there with me.”

Melissa, too, was not at a loss for words.

“I accept,” she whispered, kissing him tenderly on his cheek.

“I almost asked you first,” she admitted. “Back in Florida, when we talked about the possibility of marriage, I had this deep down feeling that you were the one guy I should never, never let get away.”

“Now it’s my turn to interrupt you,” Joe insisted. “I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about relocating to Islamorada to find a job. I’ve decided that I’m going to be the one who relocates. With my experience in police work, I should be able to find plenty of leads right here in the Philadelphia area.

“And if I’m lucky,” he cracked, “I might even find something that pays half as much as you make!

“The worst thing that could happen is that we’d have to move a few miles from here so that we’d be equal commuting distances from work. All you’ll have to do in the meantime is put up with me until I find that job.

“Agreed?”

“I think,” Melissa stated, forcefully, “that we’ve got ourselves a deal.”

It was Joe’s idea that they shop together for her engagement ring.

“Since a woman has to wear it all of her life,” Joe believed, “she should get to pick it out.”

They traveled to the downtown area of Philadelphia and browsed through several stores in an area called “Jewelers’ Row.”

On the way home, Melissa was wearing her diamond.

“Now I’ve got to tell all of my sisters,” Melissa complained, though cheerfully. “Then I’ve got to call my mother and stepfather in California. And then I’ve got to show up at work and think of things to say when everyone congratulates me.

“And what about tonight?” Melissa continued, her voice hitting a higher note.

“When we’re at the Christmas party with all of my co-workers, what will I say?

“The worst thing about all of this is that my friends will never tell me what they really think of you if they find out we’re already engaged!

“If I could introduce you as a friend only and not as a fiancé, then I’d get some feedback a few days down the road.”

“Then don’t wear the ring, just for tonight,” Joe suggested. “Make it easier on yourself. I don’t mind.”

“You’re an angel,” Melissa responded, kissing him again while she kept both her hands on the steering wheel. “But I’ll feel funny if I don’t have it with me.

“I know, I’ll wear it on a necklace. It’ll be out of sight, of course, but it’ll still be close to my heart.”

“You’ve got to promise me, though,” Joe insisted, “that you’ll let me know what your lady friends think of me. The gossip might prove to be interesting.”

“Absolutely,” Melissa countered, her eyes full of sparkle, “deal number two.”

Almost all of Melissa’s co-workers showed up for the Christmas party. Some brought spouses or friends, while others came unattached.

From the forty-odd attendees, there were about thirty women, and since a majority of the library’s employees were female, most of the men on hand happened to be involved in other professional pursuits.

Joe found it easy to talk to the guys. Rob, husband of one of the library administrators, once worked on a construction site in south Florida. Rob talked with Joe quite a bit, as did Hubert, a former Army M.P. who was the fiancé of Marcy, one of the newer librarians on staff.

Throughout the course of the evening, Melissa introduced Joe to what seemed to be just about everyone in attendance.

She was proud of him, and the smile on her face affirmed the feeling. His light blue sport coat and gray slacks accentuated his tan, yet Melissa admitted to herself that she missed seeing him in uniform.

“This is Joe Carlton,” her standard description would start, “Islamorada’s top detective.”

Whenever he would exchange pleasantries with the women in the group, Joe recognized right away that these were all professional and well-educated types—with high IQs.

From foreign affairs, to modern art, to stock market options, the topics of conversation never touched on the trivial—nor did they lag.

At times, Joe felt like a prospective student who was being questioned by the faculty prior to his acceptance to some prestigious private school.

Luckily, he survived the grilling without falling flat on his high school diploma.

The only time he stumbled slightly was when Jane, also a reference librarian like Melissa, asked him if he preferred reading the English mystery writers as opposed to their American counterparts.