Authors: Janice Carter

The Man She Left Behind (11 page)

BOOK: The Man She Left Behind

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“Yes. I’m starving.”

He walked toward the kitchen. “If we’re lucky, there may even be a bottle of wine somewhere.” He disappeared, carrying back with him a tray of steaming chowder, two tumblers and a dusty bottle of wine. “I think I gave this to Sam last Christmas. He won’t drink alone—an admirable trait, I must say, and one I can’t claim myself.”

“Nor I,” Leigh said. “Here, let me help. That tray doesn’t look very reliable.” She picked up the bottle, glasses and corkscrew and followed Spencer out onto the porch.

The night sky was breathtaking. The air was so crisp the stars looked as though someone had flung gold dust onto a lustrous mica floor. The dim glow of a lamp inside the cottage provided enough illumination to locate chairs and table, but not enough to diminish the effect.

Still clutching bottle and glasses, Leigh sank into a wicker chair. “It’s so unbelievably beautiful.” She inhaled deeply. “I haven’t breathed such clean air since the last time I was on Ocracoke. Back home the pervading everyday smell is exhaust fumes.” She lowered the bottle to the floor and proceeded to uncork it.

“I’m impressed,” Spence said. “That corkscrew is as old as Sam, I think.”

Leigh laughed. “Well, I’ve had lots of practice. Talk about drinking alone.”

“Oh?”

She shook her head and laughed. “Oh, dear. I realize what that sounded like. I’m not enough of a drinker to make that a problem.”

“But you’re often alone?”

A long pause. “I guess you could say I’m sometimes alone—by choice,” she added. Then she changed the subject. “So, you seemed shocked by what the doctor had to say.”

The question prompted a quick return of the pall that had settled over him since arriving at the cottage. Sam had been awake but refused dinner. He drank some apple juice, and by the time Spencer had helped him into his pajamas, the doctor had arrived.

“Yes, I guess I was. I had no idea Sam’s heart condition was so serious. He’d always made light of it Looking back, I can see things now I should have seen at the time. If only I hadn’t been so damn occupied with my own affairs.”

“You can’t blame yourself. We all know how private Sam is about things that worry him. The only people I ever remember getting a rise out of him were Mrs. Waverly and the government.”

“Not to mention the National Park Service.”

“Yes, I’d forgotten about that. Are they still trying to get this bit of land?”

“I don’t know what round we’re in with the latest legal paperwork. Between the Park Service and Mrs. Waverly, Sam’s had more stress than an eighty-year-old guy should have.”

“It’ll be the end of an era if they win the battle.”

“Well, they control all the rest of the beaches on the Outer Banks. Think of what it might have been like if the National Park Service hadn’t taken them over.”

Visions of condos and luxury resorts piled against one another up the coast came to mind. “You’re right. It is a horrible thought. Ocracoke is already more developed than I think the island can handle.”

“Maybe if you stick around, you could go to an island meeting sometime. See what the new issues are.”

It was a subtle reminder, Leigh thought, that her long absence had left her out of the picture. “Well, I suppose someone who’ll be leaving soon shouldn’t have much input into what the future holds for Ocracoke.”

“Yeah,” was all he said after a moment’s silence. Then, “Anyway, dig into your chowder while it’s still hot.”

Leigh was grateful for the darkness that cloaked her face. The conversation had struck out on a course she hadn’t liked at all. But the soup was delicious, thick with vegetables, tomatoes and chunks of assorted fresh seafood.

“It’s wonderful,” she murmured. “What seasonings did you use?”

“Some parsley, fresh dill, a sprinkle of oregano and a dash of chili flakes. That’s about it.”

“Do you like to cook?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. I guess that surprises you.”

“It’s been a day of surprises.”

He sighed. “That’s for sure.”

“What will you do about Sam?”

Spence set his empty bowl down on the table between them and reached for his tumbler of wine. “Hopefully persuade him to move in with Jamie and me. Talk to his specialist about this surgery thing.”

“The doctor said surgery was a big risk.”

“I know, but what else is there? Can you picture Sam as an invalid? Dependent on others for everything?”

“He’d hate it,” she agreed. “What’s the prognosis if he doesn’t have surgery?”

“You heard most of it. ‘Not good’ is the impression I got out of all the medical mumbo jumbo.”

Leigh smiled. He sounded just like her father. “But as the doctor said, he’s eighty years old,” she reminded him.

“I hate that, you know? Doctors always spout that kind of sugarcoated message, as if age has anything to do with dying. Death comes in many forms to all of us at anytime. Period.”

His vehemence startled her. “I didn’t mean to sound like a doomsayer. It’s just that we have to be prepared. To accept the inevitable.”

Spencer reached for the wine and refilled his glass. The bottle hovered over Leigh’s glass, but she covered the top with her hand. “You know, Leigh, hearing you say that disappoints me. It really does. You quote those clichés about dying and death when you yourself...” He hesitated.

“What? Should be an expert at it? At dealing with it, like my parents, or causing it? Like—”

“No,” he interrupted quickly. “I don’t mean that. Let me finish. You heard all the platitudes when you and your mother had to deal with Pete—first the home care, then the nursing home in Raleigh. Then last year you had your mother to nurse and comfort. God knows how you had the strength to go through it all again. I respect and admire you for that, Leigh. I was just trying to say that age has nothing to do with it. In Sam’s eyes he loses as much now as if he’d been given this same message at forty or fifty. In his eyes he’s still a viable man. Slower perhaps, more forgetful, but still potent.” Spencer’s voice dropped on the last word. After a pause he whispered, “He’s got to go on believing that. He’s got to have a reason for getting up in the morning.”

Leigh was moved by his speech. Not only because it was the longest statement he’d ever made to her, but because he said it with such feeling.
A day of surprises, indeed. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s absolutely right
. She put down her bowl and placed a hand on his arm.

“I agree, Spencer.” She waited, unable to continue without giving in to the emotion that overwhelmed her. “If there’s anything I can do in the short time I’m here to help convince Sam to move in with you, let me know. Right now I guess I should be going home. My open house is tomorrow afternoon, and I still have a stack of boxes to take out to the porch and ferry to the nearest recycling bin.”

“Wait!” He stood up with her, holding on to the hand on his forearm. “Jamie should be here any second—he’d better be!—and I’ll drive you back to your car.”

“Maybe I should just go straight home, get the car late tomorrow or the next day. I’ve got a lot to do for tomorrow and I left right in the middle of it.” Literally, she thought, picturing the adoption-agency letter lying on the bed. The impact of everything that had happened that day settled over her. “I’m so tired. I think I just need to get some sleep.”

Something in her voice distracted Spence from wondering where the heck Jamie had gotten to. In the splash of light from inside he could see circles under her eyes and the droop of her mouth.

“It’s been an emotional evening for all of us,” he said. “Just give Jamie another five minutes and I’ll have you home in no time.”

She murmured something he couldn’t hear, then sagged back in the chair. Spence got up, restless, and paced back and forth. He noticed how the logo on Leigh’s T-shirt glowed in the dark, making him think of the fluorescent stars Jamie used to have on his bedroom ceiling when he was a toddler. The reminder conjured up an image of Jen, and he pushed it quickly aside.

He looked down at Leigh, curled up in the chair like a little girl. There was a time when she used to curl up on his lap like that. They’d watch the late show on television, snuggling in Pete Randall’s old vinyl recliner. On summer nights their skin would stick to the material, making sucking noises as they pulled away. Then they’d erupt into giggling, afraid the noise would attract a parent’s attention and, at the same time, unable to stop.

“Are you okay?” Spencer hunkered down in front of her. He was so close he could smell the lingering fragrance of Sam’s soap from Leigh’s wash before dinner. A strand of hair dangled in the center of her forehead, and he cautiously reached out to smooth it back. When she didn’t object, he stroked her forearm with his index finger, whorling the fine dark hairs around and around. She sat so still in the chair he thought she’d fallen asleep—until she emitted a low sound of satisfaction.

He dropped his other fingers onto her skin, tracking invisible lines from the inside of her elbow to her wrist. He paused, waiting for her to sit up and tell him to stop. But her head lolled against the back of her chair and she closed her eyes. Her skin was like alabaster in the moonlight. A tiny pulse flicked a shadowy indentation at the base of her neck.

Spencer placed her upturned hand in his. He leaned over and kissed the hollow scoop of her palm. God, it was all coming back. The cool smoothness of her skin, the taste and scents he remembered so well. He felt a throbbing ache deep inside. How many times had he fantasized about this? Dreamed about what it would be like to place his lips on Leigh Randall again....

He wanted to run his tongue up and down the inside of her arm to see if she still moaned with pleasure. To reach over and touch that pulse between her collarbone with his mouth, then continue his way up her neck to that spot behind her ear that used to make her shriek and beg for more at the same time.

His lips moved slowly out of the hollow up to the inside of her wrist. Bolder now, he traced a line from wrist to the crook of her elbow, flicking his tongue into the dimpled space until the throbbing in his groin was more than he could bear. He raised his lips from her elbow and reached out his arms to pull her to him.

“Dad? Is that you up there?”

Trembling, Spencer leaned onto the porch railing to get himself upright. Leigh swung her legs to the floor and stared up at him, her black eyes big and confused.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Jamie. We’re up on the porch.”

“What are you doing? It looked like you were crawling around.”

“I dropped my hair clip,” Leigh called out.

Jamie was climbing the stairs, his heavy basketball sneakers vibrating the entire porch. “Find it?” he asked when he reached the top.

Leigh couldn’t see his face, but she heard the skepticism in his voice. “Yes, he did,” she said, and reached back to tie her hair into a ponytail.

“How’s Grandpa?”

“Sleeping,” Spencer said. “Don’t worry about him for tonight. The doctor said he was stabilized and should just get as much rest as he can. I was going to drive Leigh home. Want me to come back and check on things afterward?”

There was a slight pause. Leigh felt rather than saw Jamie look from her to Spencer. “Sure, if it’s not too late. Any chowder left?”

“Plenty. Could you store the rest in the fridge for tomorrow? Sam didn’t eat at all.”

“No problem.”

Another pause, then Spencer murmured, “Okay, I’ll take you home, then, Leigh. All set?”

“Sure. Night, Jamie,” and she followed Spencer down the stairs.

In the car Leigh was struck by a giggling fit. “You know,” she said, turning to Spencer, “I couldn’t help thinking about the time my dad came out to the truck just when you’d, well, you know...”

He couldn’t remember, but he could imagine. Their first sexual explorations had taken place in his dad’s pickup in front of her parents’ house.

“I did kinda feel like I was eighteen again,” he said.

Wondering what might have happened had Jamie not appeared at that precise moment jolted Leigh back to earth. She could still feel the warm rush flowing through her, the tingling of her skin as Spencer’s lips had moved up her arm. So close, she realized. She averted her face, staring out the opened window toward the lights of Sam’s cottage.

“It’s late,” she whispered, knowing she was ending a moment that should never have begun.

He drove in silence, taking his cue from her. She felt disappointment, yet relief. When the sweep of his headlights struck her front veranda, he exclaimed, “Is all of that for the garbage?”

“Recycling, if I can. I guess it’ll be okay on the porch for now.”

“I can bring the truck by when my charter’s finished tomorrow. Then we can pick up your car, and both of us can take a load over to Hatteras.”

“I don’t want to interfere with your charter.”

“Nah, the guy said he gets seasick. My bet is he won’t make it to lunch.”

BOOK: The Man She Left Behind

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