Afterlife (55 page)

He stopped, a breadstick halfway to

his mouth. He’d

been focusing on pul ing her out of

her
comfort zone. He’d

put her into an environment she

craved yet was an entirely

new world, outside her vivid yet

passive fantasy life. He

hadn’t thought about handling her
in

her comfort zone,

opening her mind and letting her see

what was possible

from that perspective.

The stool rocking stopped. “I got it,”

he said. “That’s it.”

Matt’s firm lips curved, and he

flicked opened Jon’s

steaming pasta primavera, gesturing

to his fork. “Good.

Eat, so I can tel Cass I fed you.”

“She’s such a mom.”

“Wel , raising five siblings wil do

that to you. Tel me how

you need us.”

“I think this wil be just the two of

us.” But as Jon took up

his fork, he gave Matt a look. “Stil ,

thanks for al of it.

Thanks for being here when I needed

it. As usual.”

“I wil not be hugged,” Matt said

sternly.

Jon considered the food. “You’re

awful y nurturing for

someone who doesn’t hug.”

“Eat it and shut up, or you’re fired.”

Chapter Eighteen

Rachel hung her sweater up on the

hook on the back of

the studio door and considered the

tranquil space, the stray

beams of sunlight coming through the

rice shades. The

adjacent fitness club was quiet this

early Sunday morning. It

was good that the first thing she was

doing in the “real

world” since the Club Surreal fiasco

was this private with

Mrs. Hannenburg. She was in her

eighties, and did

beginner yoga to keep her joints

flexible. Because of how

slowly she moved, she preferred a

private, and any

conversation she offered were easy,

automatic response

topics, like the current weather or

whether her

grandchildren would visit soon.

Calming, more aligned with

Rachel’s reality. So different from

last Sunday, her private

session with Jon.

Savannah had been calming, though

in a different way. In

the morning, she’d embarrassed and

yet comforted Rachel

by making her a simple breakfast of

organic scrambled

eggs and fruit. She’d asked her about

her schedule for the

next day or so, but said nothing about

what had happened

in the parking lot or anything about

Jon. Rachel couldn’t talk

about Jon yet. Just thinking about him

set her body to

yearning, remembering every single,

explosive second

they’d shared at the club, and the way

he’d taken her down

in the limo. She’d never anticipated

such sexual

ruthlessness from Jon, but she’d

welcomed it, embraced it,

even as it had drained and destroyed

her at once.

She needed him desperately, enough

that when she’d

taken a shower this morning she’d

felt the shakiness of it in

her lower bel y, in the empty clutch

of her hands. But she

was too afraid. That was her whole

problem, wasn’t it? Jon

thought she had courage, but he was

wrong.

She closed her eyes, her throat

aching. Savannah had

left her this morning with a warm

hug, a long look and the

press of her elegant hand. It was odd

how the woman had

probably said less than twenty words

to her, yet Rachel felt

as if Savannah had understood al of

it. But she stil didn’t

know how to interpret the woman’s

parting long look.

Simple compassion? Or like

Savannah was looking into a

mirror of her past, wishing she could

tel that image

something that it wasn’t ready to

hear?

Wel , she’d have plenty of time to

think about it alone,

wouldn’t she? She’d walked into this

eyes open, knowing

this would happen. She wouldn’t lean

on anyone to help,

particularly Jon, because it wouldn’t

be fair to drag

someone like him down into that. He

deserved so much

more than a woman who was already

past the best

moments of her life, who was mired

in a history she didn’t

have the strength to overcome.

She went to a ful lotus position on

her mat, stared at the

emptiness around her. When she

couldn’t bear that

anymore, she closed her eyes, began

her breathing, hoped

for Mrs. Hannenburg to get here

soon.

In one nostril, out the other, clearing

the sinuses. Back

straight…she remembered how Jon

required her to keep

her back straight as she sat by his

chair. The cool touch of

the studio air slid over her breasts

and she recal ed his

touch there, the way his hand slid

between her legs, parted

for his pleasure…

She squeezed her eyes shut more

tightly. See? Just sex.

The spurts of arousal were a virus, a

malady she’d

contracted. Jon had given it to her.

His absence was the

cure. In time, her libido would shut

back down, with al its

unattainable desires.

But it was more than her libido. She

remembered how

he’d curved his body protectively

behind hers here, sharing

the same mat. How he’d talked to her

at the coffee shop.

The way he’d draped his arm loosely

over her shoulders,

holding her close as they strol ed past

the shops. The

crease in his brow and his intent

absorption among al his

workshop dust and tools as he

created a new marvel that

drove a woman insane.

For the past year, he’d been a

constant presence in her

life, whether in her mind or physical

y in her class. A

presence

she

anticipated

like

buried

treasure,

rediscovered every week for an hour

or two. She

remembered everything. The way he

laughed when the

other women teased one another or

him. The intent way he

looked as he did the postures. The

way he focused on her.

She slowed that thought down,

replayed it. Every moment

he’d been in her class, he’d had his

attention on her in

some way, big or smal . It had made

her feel better about…

everything. Now that she’d seen the

way he looked at her

when his desire was completely

unleashed, she couldn’t

help but recognize traces of it earlier.

That desire, that total

attention, had been simmering in his

gaze from the first

class. It had been given wings the

moment she asked him if

she could touch him, and he’d given

her permission.

He hadn’t come back weekly because

of his desire to

join a yoga class. He’d come for her.

Only for her. And

she’d grown addicted to him long

before he’d found out she

wasn’t married.

“Oh Jon.” Her hands, pressed in

prayer
mudra
in front of

her sternum, turned and curled

against her aching heart. “I

can’t give you what you want.

Though I want to. I real y, real y

want to. It’s too late.”

“No, it’s not. Because you already

have given me what I

want.”

She opened her eyes, somehow not at

al surprised to

see him leaning in her doorway,

wearing the familiar tank

and cotton trousers for his practice.

The sight of the leanly

muscled body, the serious set of his

mouth, those silken

dark strands of hair that fel over his

high forehead, were al

capable of making her breath hitch,

but it was the look in

his blue eyes that took it away

entirely.

“Did you kidnap Mrs. Hannenburg?”

Though she wanted

to sound calm, her voice was barely

a whisper. His eyes

dwel ed on her face, the gemstone

color so deep and stil

she could feel it reach out to her,

draw her in, so that she

didn’t real y want to speak. Or move.

Or do anything but

gaze at him avidly.

“Ben is taking her out for coffee and

homemade pastries

even as we speak. She seemed wil

ing to be kidnapped,

particularly when we told her we

were surprising you for

your birthday.”

“My birthday isn’t for some time.”

She tried to remember

she couldn’t have him, and al the

reasons why. “And I try

not to notice it anyhow.”

“Wel , that’s going to change.

Because I intend to

celebrate every year you’re a part of

my life. It also depends

on how you define birthday. For

some people, it can be the

day they decide to embrace

something new, take their life

in a whole new direction.”

“Jon.” She looked down at her hands,

despairing. She

wanted him so badly the need ached

in her joints like a flu.

“You real y pissed me off the other

night. And you scared

me.” When she lifted her gaze, she

saw he was masking

nothing. His expression reflected

those volatile feelings,

their aftermath. And something

deeper, that came through

now in the roughness of his velvet

voice. “If you ever tried to

hurt yourself, sweet girl, I don’t

know what I’d do.”

A lump formed in her throat, and she

looked back down,

curling her fingers together. “I didn’t

mean to scare you. I

should have explained more…but I

was so tired, and

embarrassed and surprised that you

knew. That day I did

that…the day the gun went off…” She

sighed, closed her

eyes. “You know they say women do

poison or something

like that, something that won’t

destroy their face, because

we’re vain, even in death. But at the

time, al I thought was

that I wanted to destroy my face,

because even that wasn’t

pleasurable to him anymore. Or to

me. I saw a mother who

wasn’t a mother, a wife who wasn’t a

wife. I thought, ‘I’l just

destroy it al ’.”

She shook her head. She could feel

his increased

concentration, the fierce emotions her

words were stirring

in him, but he stayed silent, let her

say it. “It was soon after

my son’s death, and I was…in

despair. But whatever angel

guided that bul et, told me I stil I

wanted to live.”

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her

attention to his face.

What she saw there—anger,

compassion, love—nearly

stole her voice, but she had to say the

rest. “You know what

the best day of my life was? I was at

the beach with my son.

He was two. I played in the surf with

him, sat in wet sand

and dug in it with a little plastic

shovel. He painted my

calves with splotches of it while

sand got into our swimsuits.

I cherished every move, stored every

laugh in my heart.”

She paused, swal owing the ache. “I

brought our chair down

to the tide line and held him in my

arms while he fel asleep

against my neck, and I dozed with

him, amazed that Cole

and I had created this perfect thing, to

house this precious

little soul…”

She stopped. There was no way she

could go from there

to what had happened to that perfect

creation, that precious

soul, but fortunately Jon knew, and

she could leave it. But

her mind wouldn’t. She remembered

Kyle’s soft baby hair,

and the horrific moment at the funeral

home, when his body

had been delivered there in the

sealed casket. She’d

screamed at Cole, beaten on him

because she wanted that

casket opened and he didn’t. She had

to see his body, no

matter how mangled or decomposed,

so she could stroke

that soft hair from his forehead one

last time. They’d both

cried, even as Cole held her at arms’

length, not able to

bear holding her, even then.

“I know I’l never be that happy again,

I’m sure of it…” She

swal owed against the far too

familiar dul pain in her heart,

tasting her tears on her lips. “When I

final y realized that, I

could accept al the rest. It didn’t

matter. And I knew I’d

never try to take my life again.”

Jon cocked his head, his blue eyes

bright with pain for

her, but his mouth set in a determined

line she knew too

wel . “And yet, despite your

acceptance of that, I not only

feel your body yearning but your

heart and soul as wel .

There’s more, Rachel. There’s more