Right Next Door (22 page)

“Now, about you and me,” Alex went on, “we're both adults.”

But Carol felt less mature than an adolescent when it came to Alex. She trembled every time she thought of him, and that was far more often than she would've liked. When he touched and kissed her, her hormones went berserk, and her heart seemed to go into spasms. No wonder she was frightened by the things Alex made her experience.

“I like you, and I'm fairly confident you like me.”

She agreed with a sharp nod, knowing it wouldn't do any good to deny it.

“The fact is, I like everything about you, and that feeling increases whenever we're together. Now, if it happens that this attraction between us continues, then so be it. Wonderful. Great. It would be a big mistake for us to allow two teenage boys to dictate our relationship. Agreed?”

Once more, Carol nodded.

“Good.” He stood, bringing her with him. “Now we both have to get back to work.” Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he strode back toward the parking lot, pausing when he came to his van. He opened the door, then turned to face her.

“It seems to me we should seal our agreement.”

“Seal it? I don't understand.” But she did…. His wonderful, mist-gray eyes were spelling out exactly what he meant.

He caressed her cheek, then traced the outline of her lips. Whatever it was about his touch that sent her heart into such chaos, Carol couldn't understand. She reacted by instinct, drawing his finger between her lips, touching it with the tip of her tongue. The impact of her action showed in his eyes with devastating clarity.

He leaned forward and slipped his finger aside, replacing it with his mouth. His kiss was exquisitely slow and wildly erotic.

When he broke away they were both shaking. Carol stared up at him, her breath ragged, her lips parted and eager.

“I've got to get back to work….” she whispered.

“I know,” Alex said, “me, too.” But he didn't make any effort to leave.

Instead he angled his head and dropped tiny kisses on her neck, then her ear, taking the lobe in his mouth before trailing his lips in heart-stopping increments back to hers. She was ready for him this time, more than ready.

The sound of a car door slamming somewhere in the distance abruptly returned them to the real world. Carol leaped back, her eyes startled, her breathing harsh and uneven. She smoothed her hands down the front of her uniform, as though whisking away wrinkles. She'd been
kissing him like a lover and in broad daylight! To her chagrin, Alex didn't look at all dismayed by what had happened between them, just pleased.

“I wish you hadn't done that,” she said, knowing he wasn't the only one to blame—but at the moment, the most convenient.

“Oh, baby, I don't regret a thing.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I've got to get back inside.” But she had to wait until the flush of desire had left her face and her body had stopped trembling.

“It seems to me,” Alex said with a smile of supreme confidence, “that if kissing you is this good, then when we finally make love it'll be downright dangerous.” With that, he climbed into the driver's seat, closed the door and started the engine.

 

“You didn't call me,” Carol's mother complained Friday evening. “All week I waited for you to phone and tell me about your date with the non-Italian.”

“I'm sorry, Mama,” Carol said, glancing at the kitchen clock. Alex was due to pick her up for the Home Show in ten minutes. Peter was staying overnight at a friend's, and she was running behind schedule as it was. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with her mother.

“You
should
be sorry. I could have died this week and you wouldn't have known. Your uncle in Jersey City would've had to call you and tell you your mother was dead.”

“Mama, Peter started track this week, and we've gotten home late every single night.”

“So don't keep me in suspense. Tell me.”

Carol paused. “About what?”

“Your date with that Englishman. Did he take you to bed?”

“Mama!” Sometimes the things her mother said actually shocked Carol. “Of course not.”

“It's a shame. Are you seeing him again? But don't wear those shoes with the pointed toes or he'll think you're a loose woman. And to be on the safe side, don't mention your cousin Celeste.”

“Mama, I can't talk now. Alex will be here any minute—we're going to the Home Show. His company has a booth there, and it'd be impolite to keep him waiting.”

“Do you think he'll convert?”

“Mama, I'm not marrying Alex.”

“Maybe not,” her mother said with a breathless sigh, “but then again, who knows?”

The doorbell chimed, and Carol, who'd been dreading this evening from the moment she'd agreed to it, was flooded with a sense of relief.

“Bye, Mama.”

Angelina said her farewells and added something about bringing Alex over to try her pasta. Carol was putting down the receiver by the time her mother had finished issuing her advice.

The doorbell rang again as Carol hurried into the living room. She rushed to open the door. “I'm sorry it took me so long to answer. My mother was on the phone.”

“Did she give you any advice?” Alex teased.

“Just a little. She said it might not be a good idea if I mentioned my cousin Celeste.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” Carol laughed a little nervously. Alex
looked too good to be true, and the warm, open appreciation in his eyes did wonders for her self-esteem.

“You were worth the wait.”

Carol could feel the blush in her cheeks. She wasn't used to having men compliment her, although her family was free with praise and always had been. This was different, however. Alex wasn't family.

His eyes compelled her forward, and she stepped toward him without question, then halted abruptly, realizing she'd very nearly walked into his arms.

“I'll…get my purse.” She turned away, but his hand at her shoulder turned her back.

“Not yet.”

“Alex…I don't think we should—”

But that was all the protest she was allowed. She closed her eyes as he ran his hand through her hair, then directed her mouth to his with tender restraint. He kissed her lightly at first, until she was pliant and willing in his arms….

When he pulled away from her, she slowly, languorously, opened her eyes to meet his.

“Don't look at me like that,” he groaned. “Come on, let's get out of here before we end up doing something we're not ready to deal with yet.”

“What?” Carol asked, blinking, still too dazed to think coherently.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

They were in Alex's car before either of them spoke again. “If it's okay with you, I've got to stop at the office and pick up some more brochures,” Alex said. “We're running low already.”

“Of course it's okay,” Carol told him. It was a good thing she was sitting down because her legs seemed too
weak to support her. She was sure her face was flushed, and she'd rarely felt this shaky.

Her mind became her enemy as Alex headed toward the freeway. Try as she might, she couldn't stop thinking about how he'd felt against her. So strong and warm. A thin sheen of perspiration moistened her upper lip, and she swiped at it, eager to dispel the image that refused to leave her mind.

“How far is your office?” Carol asked after several strained minutes had passed. Alex seemed unusually quiet himself.

“Another quarter of an hour.”

Not knowing how else to resume the conversation, she dropped it after that.

“Peter's staying with Dale tonight?” he finally asked.

“Yes. James, too?”

“Yes.”

That was followed by ten more minutes of silence. Then Alex exited the freeway.

Carol curled her fingers around the armrest when he stopped at the first red light. The district was an industrial area and well lit.

As soon as he pulled into a side street, she saw his company sign. She'd never asked about his business and was impressed when she saw a small fleet of trucks and vans neatly parked in rows outside. He was apparently far more successful than she'd assumed.

Unlocking the door, Alex let her precede him inside. He flicked a switch, and light immediately flooded the office. One entire wall was lined with filing cabinets. Three desks, holding computers, divided the room. Carol didn't have time to give the room more than a fleeting glance as Alex
directed her past the first desk and into another large office. She saw his name on the door.

The room was cluttered. The top of his desk looked as if a cyclone had hit it.

“The brochures are around here someplace,” he muttered, picking up a file on a corner of the credenza. “Help yourself to a butterscotch candy.”

“Thanks.” As Carol reached for one, her gaze fell on the two framed photographs hidden behind a stack of computer printouts. The top of a woman's head showed on one of the photos, but that was all she could see. The second one was of James.

“I've got to get organized one of these days,” Alex was saying.

Curious, Carol moved toward the credenza and the two photographs. “Who's this?” She asked, lifting the picture of the woman. She was beautiful. Blond. Blue-eyed. Wholesome. Judging by the hairstyle and clothes, the picture had been taken several years earlier.

Alex paused. “That's Gloria.”

“She was your wife?”

Alex nodded, pulled out the high-backed cushioned chair and sank into it. “She died two years ago. Cancer.”

It was all Carol could do to hold on to the picture. The pain in his voice stabbed through her.

“I…I thought you were divorced.”

“No,” Alex said quietly.

Carol continued to study the beautiful woman in the photo. “You loved her, didn't you?”

“So much that when the time came, I wanted to die with her. Yes, I loved her.”

With shaking hands, Carol replaced the photograph. Her
back was to Alex, and she briefly closed her eyes. She made a rigorous effort to smile when she turned to face him again.

He frowned. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said breezily.

“You look pale all of a sudden. I thought you knew…. I assumed James or Peter had told you.”

“No—neither of them mentioned it.”

“I'm sorry if this comes as a shock.”

“There's no reason to apologize.”

Alex nodded, sighed and reached for her hand, pulling her down into his lap. “I figured you'd understand better than most what it is to lose someone you desperately love.”

“G
loria had problems when James was born,” Alex began. His hold on Carol's waist tightened almost painfully, but she was sure he wasn't aware of it. “The doctors said there wouldn't be any more children.”

“Alex, please, there's no need to tell me this.”

“There is,” he said. “I want you to know. It's important to me….”

Carol closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the side of his head. She knew intuitively that he didn't often speak of his late wife, and that he found it difficult to do so now.

Alex wove his fingers into her hair. “In the years after Jim's birth, Gloria's health was never good, but the doctors couldn't put their finger on what was wrong. She was weak and tired a lot of the time. It wasn't until Jim was in junior high that we learned she had leukemia—myelocytic leukemia, one of the most difficult forms to treat.” He paused and drew in an unsteady breath.

“Alex,” she pleaded, her hands framing his face. “Don't,
please—this is obviously so painful for you.” But the moment her eyes met his, she knew nothing she said or did would stop him. She sensed that only sharing it now, with her, would lessen the trauma of his memories.

“We did all the usual things—the chemotherapy, the other drugs—but none of it helped, and she grew steadily worse. Later, when it was clear that nothing else could be done, we opted for a bone-marrow transplant. Her sister and mother flew in from New York, and her sister was the better match. But…that didn't work, either.”

Carol stroked his cheek, yearning to do anything she could to lessen the pain.

He hesitated and drew in a quavering breath. “She suffered so much. That was the worst for me to deal with. I was her husband, and I'd sworn to love and protect her, and there wasn't a thing I could do…not a single, solitary thing.”

Tears moistened Carol's eyes, and she struggled to keep them at bay.

Alex's voice remained firm and controlled, but Carol recognized the pain he was experiencing. “I didn't know what courage was until I watched Gloria die,” he whispered. He closed his eyes. “The last three weeks of her life, it was obvious she wasn't going to make it. Finally she fell into a coma and was put on a respirator. The doctors knew she'd never come out of it and so did the nurses. I could see them emotionally removing themselves, and I couldn't bear it. I became a crazy man, refusing to leave her side, letting no one care for her but me. I held on to her hand and silently willed her to live with every breath I took. I honestly believe I kept her alive by the sheer force of my will. I was afraid to leave
her, afraid that when I did, she'd slip silently into death. Eventually that was exactly what happened. I left her because Jim needed me and because I knew that at some point I'd have to leave. I sat in the hospital waiting room with my son, telling him about his mother, and suddenly a pain, an intense stabbing pain, shot through me—” he hesitated and gave a ragged sigh “—and in that instant, I knew she was gone. I've never felt anything like it. A few minutes later, a nurse came for me. I can remember that scene so vividly—my mind's played it back so many times.

“I stood up and Jim stood with me, and I brought my son as close to my side as I could, looked the nurse in the eye and said, ‘She's gone, isn't she?' The nurse nodded and Jim started to cry and I just stood there, dazed and numb. I don't remember walking back to Gloria's room, but somehow I found myself there. I lifted her into my arms and held her and told her how sorry I was that I'd been so stubborn and selfish, keeping her with me those three weeks, refusing to let her die. I told her how I would much rather have been with her, how I'd wanted to hold her hand as she stepped from one life into the next.”

By now Carol was weeping softly, unabashedly.

Alex's fingers stroked her hair. “I didn't mean for you to cry,” he whispered, and his regret seemed genuine. “You would have liked her.”

Carol had felt the same way from the first moment she'd seen Gloria's photograph. Nodding, she hid her face in the strong curve of his neck.

“Carol,” he whispered, caressing her back, “look at me.”

She sniffled and shook her head, unwilling to let him
witness the strength of her emotion. It was one thing to sit on his lap, and entirely another to look him in the eye after he'd shared such a deep and personal part of himself.

His lips grazed the line of her jaw.

“No,” she cried softly, her protest faint and nearly inaudible, “don't touch me…not now.” He'd come through hell, suffered the torment of losing his wife, and he needed Carol. He was asking for her. But her comfort could only be second-best.

“Yes,” he countered, lifting her head so he could look at her. Against her will, against her better judgment, her gaze met his. His eyes were filled with such hunger that she all but gasped. Again and again, they roamed her face, no doubt taking in the moisture that glistened on her cheeks, the way her lips trembled and the staggering need she felt to comfort him. Even if that comfort was brief, temporary, a momentary solace.

“I'm sorry I upset you.” He wove his fingers into her hair and directed her lips to his. His mouth was warm and moist and gentle. No one had ever touched her with such tenderness and care. No kiss had ever affected her so deeply. No kiss had ever shown her such matchless beauty.

Tears rained down Carol's face. Sliding her fingers through his hair, she held him close. He was solid and muscular and full of strength. His touch had filled the hollowness of her life and, she prayed, had helped to ease his own terrible loneliness.

“Carol,” he breathed, sounding both stunned and dismayed, “what is it? What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. “Everything.”

“I'm sorry…so sorry,” he said in a low voice.

Confused and uncertain, Carol turned to face him. “You are? Why?”

“For rushing you. For thinking of my own needs instead of yours.”

“No…” She shook her head, incapable of expressing what she felt.

“Are you going to be all right?”

She nodded, still too shaken to speak.

He placed his hands on the curve of her shoulder and kissed the crown of her head. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Reluctantly her eyes slid to his.

“For listening, for being here when I needed you.”

All she could manage in response was a tremulous smile.

 

For the rest of the evening, Alex was a perfect gentleman. He escorted her to the Home Show, where they spent several hours wandering from one display to another, discussing the ideas and products represented. They strolled hand in hand, laughing, talking, debating ideas. Carol was more talkative than usual; it helped disguise her uneasiness. She told him about her plan to dig up a portion of her back lawn and turn it into an herb garden. At least when she was talking, her nerve endings weren't left uncovered and she didn't have to deal with what had happened a few hours before…

After they'd toured the Home Show, Alex took her out to eat at a local Greek restaurant. By that time of the evening, Carol should have been famished, since they were having dinner so late. But whatever appetite she'd had was long gone.

When Alex dropped her off at the house, he kissed her good-night, but if he was expecting an invitation to come inside, he didn't receive one.

Hours later, she lay staring at the ceiling, while shadows of the trees outside her window frolicked around the light fixture like dancing harem girls. Glaring at the clock radio, Carol punched her pillow several times and twisted around so she lay on her stomach, her arms cradling her head. She
should
be sleepy. Exhausted. Drained after a long, trying week. Her job took its toll in energy, and normally by Friday night, Carol collapsed the moment she got into bed, waking refreshed Saturday morning.

She would've liked to convince herself that Alex had nothing to do with this restless, trapped feeling. She tried to analyze what was bothering her so much. It wasn't as though Alex had never kissed her before this evening. The impact he had on her senses shouldn't come as any surprise. She'd known from the first night they'd met that Alex had the power to expose a kaleidoscope of emotions within her. With him, she felt exhilarated, excited, frightened, reborn.

Perhaps it was the shock of passion he'd brought to life when he'd kissed her. No, she mused, frowning, she'd yearned for him to do exactly that even before they'd arrived at his office.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to force her body to relax. She longed to snap her fingers and drift magically into the warm escape of slumber. It was what she wanted, what she needed. Maybe in the morning, she'd be able to put everything into perspective.

Closing her eyes, however, proved to be a mistake. Instead of being engulfed by peace, she was confronted with the image of Alex's tormented features as he told her about Gloria.
I figured you'd understand better than most what it is to lose someone you desperately love.

Carol's eyes flew open. Fresh tears pooled at the edges as her sobs took control. She'd loved Bruce. She'd hated Bruce.

Her life ended with his death and her life had begun again.

It was the end; it was the beginning.

There hadn't been tears when he'd died—not at first but later. Plenty of tears, some of profound sadness, and others that spoke of regrets. But there was something more. A release. Bruce had died, and at the same moment, she and Peter had been set free from the prison of his sickness and his abuse.

The tears burned her face as she sobbed quietly, caught in the horror of those few short years of marriage.

Bruce shouldn't have died. He was too young to have wasted his life. Knowing he'd been drunk and with another woman hadn't helped her deal with the emotions surrounding his untimely death.

I figured you'd understand better than most what it is to lose someone you desperately love.
Only Carol didn't know. Bruce had destroyed the love she'd felt for him long before his death. He'd ravaged all trust and violated any vestiges of respect. She'd never known love the way Alex had, never shared such a deep and personal commitment with anyone—not the kind Alex had shared with Gloria, not the kind her mother had with her father.

And Carol felt guilty. Guilty. Perhaps if she'd been a better wife, a better mother, Bruce would have stopped drinking. If she'd been more desirable, more inventive in the kitchen, a perfect housekeeper. Instead she felt guilty. It might not be rational or reasonable but it was how she felt.

 

“Well?” Peter asked as he let himself in the front door the next morning. He dumped his sleeping bag on the kitchen floor, walked over to Carol and dutifully kissed her cheek.

“Well, what?” Carol said, helping herself to a second cup of coffee. She didn't dare look in the mirror, suspecting there were dark smudges under her eyes. At most, she'd slept two hours all night.

“How did things go with Mr. Preston?”

Carol let the steam rising from her coffee mug revive her. “You never told me James's mother had died.”

“I didn't? She had leukemia.”

“So I heard,” Carol muttered. She wasn't angry with her son, and Alex's being a widower shouldn't make a whole lot of difference, but for reasons she was only beginning to understand, it did.

“James said it took his dad a long time to get over his mother's death.”

Carol felt her throat muscles tighten. He wasn't over her, not really.

“James keeps a picture of her in his room. She was real pretty.”

Carol nodded, remembering the bright blue eyes smiling back at her from the framed photograph in Alex's office. Gloria's warmth and beauty were obvious.

“I thought we'd work in the backyard this morning,” Carol said, as a means of changing the subject.

“Aw, Mom,” Peter groaned. “You know I hate yard work.”

“But if we tackle everything now, it won't overwhelm us next month.”

“Are you going to plant a bunch of silly flowers again? I don't get it. Every year you spend a fortune on that stuff.
If you added it all up, I bet you could buy a sports car with the money.”

“Buy who a sports car?” she challenged, arms akimbo.

“All right, all right.” Peter clearly didn't want to argue. “Just tell me what I have to do.”

Peter's attitude could use an overhaul, but Carol wasn't in the best of moods herself. Working with the earth, thrusting her fingers deep into the rich soil, was basic to her nature and never more than now.

The sun was out when Carol, dressed in her oldest pair of jeans and a University of Oregon sweatshirt, knelt in front of her precious flower beds. She'd tied a red bandanna around her head, knotting it at the back.

Peter brought his portable CD player outside and plugged it into the electrical outlet on the patio. Next, he arranged an assortment of CDs in neat piles.