Dune Road (38 page)

And he is quite spectacular in the sack.

But it isn’t enough. She isn’t excited about seeing him. There is an initial thrill at having landed someone with his beauty, but it doesn’t last. A few minutes in and she finds herself bored.

He hands her flowers, gifts, perfume, and she is starting to think,
again
? Please, no!

The more bored she becomes, the more Steve is pursuing her.

And the more she is pursued, the more she misses Adam.

Particularly now. When her life feels more unsettled than ever before, she recognizes that Adam provides a safety and security she desperately needs. Even with his betrayal, now that Annabel has gone, now that her house is her own again—oh Lord, how much she missed the peace and quiet!—she finds herself thinking more and more about Adam.

And she is not thinking about the fact that Adam slept with Annabel. The pain of the betrayal has subsided for she understands how it happened, and why. She understands that Adam doesn’t owe her anything, and she understands how Annabel, when in charm mode, was almost irresistible. She fell for her herself.

What she thinks about, when she thinks of Adam, is the Adam that she loved. The one she loved being with, before he got so caught up in work he didn’t see her any more, didn’t hear her, didn’t appreciate her.

Loving, she realizes, is a
verb
. It is an act. It is not enough to say you love someone, and then forget about them, or trust a relationship will stay strong simply because you share a house or children or a life.

Loving requires
acts
of love. It requires thinking of your spouse, doing things for them to make them happy. It requires acting in loving ways, even when you are tired, or bogged down with work, or so stressed you are waking up every night with a jaw sore from grinding your teeth.

They forgot to do that, she now knows. They
forgot
to love each other. They expected love to continue, without putting any work into it, and today she knows this is why her marriage failed.

And she misses it. She misses her marriage, and she misses Adam.

She misses lying in the bath and having someone to talk to. He used to grumble about having to stay in the bathroom, perching on the one uncomfortable chair in the corner, but he would stay as she luxuriated in the bath and chatted to him about whatever was on her mind.

She misses taking the kids to the diner every Saturday, a tradition they had since Tory was a baby. Misses hugging the owner when they walk in, knowing all the waiters and waitresses, having them crowd round the table to coo over how big Tory and Buckley have become.

She misses having a family, because without Adam it doesn’t feel complete, doesn’t feel like a whole family. And it’s not just her. Buckley has commented on it too.

“One day,” he told her, “I’d like to be a whole family again.”

“What do you mean? ” Kit asked, horrified.

“I mean whole. With a mommy and a daddy.”

“But you do have a mommy and a daddy, who love you very much. We’ll always be your family.” She smiled.

“No. I mean a mommy and a daddy in the same house. That’s what makes a whole family,” he said.

She tried to tell him that wasn’t the case, except she knew it was. She felt the same way.

She has been trying to tell herself that she isn’t missing Adam, she is just missing
someone
. Someone to help, someone to be a sounding board, someone who will ensure she won’t have to do everything, absolutely everything in her life all by herself.

But that isn’t true. She has Steve, but she doesn’t want him. He won’t make the family whole. The only person who can do that is Adam. And as hard as it is to admit it, there is no question now that it is Adam she misses. She misses the way he makes her feel safe. He is the only person in the world to ever make her feel that way, the only person who has ever sheltered her from the storms of life.

Especially now. She walks around much of the time feeling horribly unsettled, a great cloud of anxiety resting on one shoulder. The only times she doesn’t feel it weighing on her are when she is with Adam.

But her marriage is over. She forces herself to remember why they divorced; although it’s hard to remember precisely why. He wasn’t around, she reminds herself. He worked all the time, wanted a different lifestyle.

He wanted the big house, the fancy cars, the fast friends. She hadn’t been interested in all of that.

He probably hasn’t changed, she tells herself. People rarely do, unless they experience an event that is so traumatic, so life-altering they find they are different, through to the very core.

Would their divorce have done that for him? And even if that were the case, the likelihood is that he wouldn’t want her back. There is too much water under the bridge. Too much Annabel.

There’s no point even thinking about it. Not any more. It’s just too damn late.

 

Robert McClore puts a coffee on Kit’s desk, smiles at her and leaves the room. He is in a great mood. Come to think of it, he is in a great mood most of the time these days.

He is just a couple of chapters away from finishing the book. In one way it has been the easiest book of his life, but at times it has drained him emotionally. He realizes that he should have written it years ago. It has been cathartic, healing, has finally given him closure on something he has been trying to put behind him for years.

And now he is on the home stretch. His editor will be thrilled, his agent delighted, and he will be able to move on to the next book, the storyline of which is already brewing, the notepad he carries everywhere already starting to fill with scribbled notes as more and more of the story, more pieces of the puzzle start to come together in the most obscure of places.

Standing in line waiting for a taxi in New York City, an image comes to his head. He grabs a pen and writes it down. The villain’s early life starts unfolding as he’s sitting in a tiny, claustrophobic stockroom, waiting to sign stock at a bookstore in Cherry Hill.

The motivation behind the hero coming back appears as he’s sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for Tracy to finish getting ready.

Tracy. Yet another reason for his happiness. Her relative youth, her beauty and her care of him are consistently delightful.

Robert never thought of himself as a lonely man, and he never thought he would allow himself to fall in love with anyone again, not after Penelope.

But love changes as you get older. In his twenties it was mad passion, lust, excitement. And now, in his sixties, as well as the unexpectedly satisfying physical relationship, love is about companionship. It’s about having someone by your side as you enter your golden years.

And Tracy is turning out to be a perfect companion. Her feistiness, the anger that so reminded him of Penelope, the passion in her he found so attractive, has given way to something far quieter, almost deferential.

She isn’t who he thought she was. And he finds he quite likes this new Tracy. This is an easier Tracy. This is someone who would look after him, whom he could mould.

It hasn’t been long, but he hasn’t been this happy in years. Everyone is commenting on it. His agent. His publisher. He is sure Kit will notice, except she, poor woman, seems to be distracted and pale these days.

Perhaps a celebration is in order. Something exciting for Kit to organize. Perhaps he should make an honest woman out of Tracy at the same time. Solidify their growing commitment.

It doesn’t need to be billed as an engagement party; this is the holiday season, after all.

It has been years since the house on Dune Road hosted a holiday party. A true holiday party, for friends, neighbors, colleagues. Almost like the Grand House of the village hosting fairs for the villagers. He could do something similar here: Robert and Tracy as the grand benefactors.

They could have, as they had when he and Penelope were married, a huge Christmas tree in the hall, swags and garlands festooning the staircase, presents for the children under the tree.

Perhaps Santa could even come—wouldn’t that be fun? Santa and reindeer outside.

Robert is astonished that he feels a buzz of excitement at planning a party.

It is this book.

It has freed him. Has allowed him to come out of his shell.

Chapter Twenty-nine

“I
t’s not you, it’s me.” Kit is embarrassed even as she says this, those immortal words she never thought would come from her lips.

“But I thought things were going so well.”

“I think you’re a great guy,” Kit says earnestly, wishing this would just be over. God. She hasn’t had to break up with anyone in over twenty years, and she was never that good at it back then. “It’s just that I’m not ready for a relationship. I thought I was over my divorce, but I’m not ready for anything serious.”

Steve stands for a while, looking at her, then smiles and shrugs, and Kit feels relief. He will take it well.

“I could do a million times better than you anyway,” he says, and Kit’s mouth falls open in shock.

“What?” she manages, as he turns to the front door.

“Oh please. You think I was in it because you’re so great? This was out of pity, honey. I felt sorry for you. Middle-aged, divorced, no hope of anyone else. I thought it might be fun.” And he walks out through the front door, leaving Kit gasping in pain.

 

“Fucker!” Charlie spits with rage. “What’s his address? I want to go over there and kill him.”

“Great. So I dump my boyfriend, who turns out to be a psycho bastard from hell, and then my best friend kills him and spends the rest of her life in prison.”

“But I can’t believe it. I hate him. What a fucker.”

“Edie was right.”

“She never liked him, did she?”

“Nope, and she was right. It was like talking to a different person. I swear to God, he actually sneered at me. I’ve never seen such disdain in my life. It was horrible.”

“Oh Kit. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, yes, I’ve been feeling totally shitty about myself for the last few hours, but I was ending our relationship. I guess I just never expected him to be so vicious.”

“At least you’ve got something to take your mind off things.”

“What?”

“The party! Oh Kit. This is the perfect thing to stop you thinking about . . .”

“What? How shitty and empty my life is?”

“Oh darling. At least you haven’t lost everything and have to move in with your in-laws.”

“You’re right. Thank you for proving it could be worse.”

“So tell me about the party. How’s it all going? Have you been able to breathe?”

 

“Of course you can do this,” Robert McClore said, seeing her face fall when he first told her of his plan. “You have enormous style and you’re my Girl Friday. You can do anything, Kit.”

“Girl Friday!” Edie smiled when Kit came home and told her. “That’s what he used to call me.”

But it is true, Kit can do anything she puts her mind to, and as overwhelmed as she was, surveying the list of things that needed to be done, she has needed the distraction now more than ever.

She has needed it so as not to think about Adam. She has needed it so as not to think about Steve. She has needed it so as not to think about Annabel. She has needed it not to think about the mess her life has become: unsettled, unsure, filled with anxiety, and then, with Annabel and Steve both out of the picture, empty, lonely and sad.

Thank God she has a party to organize.

And what a party. Lights have been strung in all the trees along Dune Road, culminating at the house, where large Christmas trees, covered in tiny white lights, stand on all the porches.

Wreaths in every window, and a single candle, burning bright.

And inside, garlands of bay leaves snake their way up the banisters of the sweeping staircase in the grand hall, the mantel-pieces are filled with small galvanized-steel pots of paperwhite narcissi, white ribbons and glittered silver balls.

Silver balls, crystal icicles and clear glass ornaments hang from every chandelier, every sconce in the living room, giving the effect, even inside, of having entered the Snow Queen’s Palace.

It is Kit’s idea, one she gleaned from a magazine she was flicking through while sitting in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. It has never occurred to her to do anything different for Christmas, just red, green and gold as she has always done, nutcracker dolls around the fireplace, popcorn strung in the tree.

But flicking through the magazine, she came upon page after page of color-themed Christmas decorations. Blue and white rooms, glistening icily, still managed to convey, with beauty and elegance, the Christmas spirit. There were silver rooms, gold, pink, purple rooms.

Some were, admittedly, extreme. She laughed when she turned the page to find the interior of a decorator’s home, beautifully done for Christmas in a style which included covering the many hundreds of books on her bookshelves in silver paper.

A little too
too
, perhaps.

But it gave her an idea.

In the entryway there would be a hint of traditional given a modern twist: garlands of gorgeous-smelling bay leaves twining round the doorways and stairs, large red ribbons, a huge tree in the corner with red and green balls, strings of popcorn, pretty wooden ornaments made by a local business in town—tiny hand-painted trees, steam engines, boats, jack-in-the-boxes, Raggedy Ann dolls—everything a child would love, all made of local wood, all delighting every child to see them.

And through to the formal living room, with the silver and crystal theme; then a different blue and white theme in the library.

She has done it herself, she really has done it on her own, and she turns up to work every day, walking through and gazing at the rooms with pleasure, unable to believe she did it all herself.