It Had To Be You (21 page)

“
Honestly? Oh, Beck, I love
books.”

At least they had that in common. Not that it
mattered after today. After today, she wouldn’t be in his life.

Don’t think about that.

She said, “We could have a hot dog from a
vendor, go to the bookstore and still make the play.”

“
The box office isn’t open
yet.”

“
We’ll take a chance and come
back.

“
Sounds good to me.” He smiled, anxious
to show her Mum’s the Word, curious to what her reaction would be.
“Let’s go this way.”

He led her down a narrow street of shops and
stopped in front of a tiny store, tucked away as if it was one of
New York’s secrets.

When she read the sign, she began to laugh.
“You’re taking me to an erotic bookstore?”

“
It’s not porn.” He shrugged and leaned
into her. “Or maybe it’s high-class porn. Come on.”

The interior was classic Old World, with the
requisite grizzled man at an ancient desk, the musty scent of books
piled high on tables, shelves, chairs and the floor. “It’s a lot
more organized than it looks,” he whispered.

They wandered around. Beck watched her pick
up a heavy tome. “What’s that?”

“
A classic from the
Sleeping Beauty
Trilogy
by Anne Rice. I met her once at a signing I went to
because I love vampire books.” She read the back-cover copy. “Not
sure this is my taste, though.” She moved farther down the shelves.
“Ah, here’s one by an author I love. She writes in several genres
under pseudonyms, but she did a series of erotic books called the
Hidden Grotto
as Louisa Burton.”

He scanned the book blurb. Wow. “You want
these? Seriously?”

“
Uh-huh.” Her eyes twinkled and her
cheeks were pink. “We’ll read some scenes aloud together. Maybe
it’ll give us new ideas.”

“
I have plenty of ideas,
lady.”

“
Did you find anything?”

“
Yep.” He held up a slim
paperback.

She read the title,
The Fine Art of Erotic
Talk
, and burst out laughing. “You don’t need that, Beckett
Sloan.”

“
No?”

“
No.”

He slid his arm around her. “Let’s get it
anyway. Along with yours. We can have fun with them both tonight
when we get back to Hidden Cove.”

“
Sounds like a plan.” She nodded to the
older man who was watching them. “Go pay for it. I want to make a
call.”

“
Really? To the boys? I thought you
talked to Josh on the way into Manhattan.”

Something flitted across her face. “Just
go.”

When they left the store, he took her hand.
“We have an hour left. Let’s go down that way.”

“
Nope. We need to get the
car.”

Cocking his head at her, he stopped walking.
“Why?”

“
I want to have a hot dog for
lunch.”

“
Yeah, I know. We’re going to find a
kiosk closer to the play.”

“
I want to have mine at Yankee
Stadium.” Her face was filled with joy and he realized it seldom
looked like that. “I just called the box office. They have good
seats available that I reserved for us. We should get going because
there’ll be traffic.”

And right then, in the bright sunlight of a
Sunday afternoon, Beck had a revelation. He grabbed her. “I love
you, Lela.”

She stilled.

He stilled. But he didn’t take back the
vow.

Then she raised her eyes to him and bravely
said, “I love you, too.”

o0o

Beck enjoyed the game, mostly because he kept
Lela close to his side. Robinson Cano singled in the first inning,
Rodriguez hit a double in the fifth, and Derek Jeter had a grand
slam in the bottom of the ninth; everything was more fun because
she sat by his side. Neither mentioned what had happened on the
street in front of the bookstore.

Now they were back at his place. The kids
were returning tomorrow at noon, so Beck had about twelve hours
left with her. She stood staring out the window dressed in a
coral-colored slip of a thing; he came up behind her. “Want to talk
dirty, using our new book?” He was trying to keep the atmosphere
light.

She chuckled, but when she turned to him and
stared up into his face, she whispered, “Why bother? I’ve heard the
most romantic words in the world today.”

There, she’d said it aloud. Truthfully, he
wanted to shout it from the rooftop.

Her face reddened. “It just slipped out.”

“
For me, too. I’m not sorry. At least
for that.”

She put her hand to his mouth. “Shh. No
depressing talk. Let’s not ruin our last hours together.”

Swallowing hard, he nodded and they crossed
to the bed. He removed a condom from the dresser, and when he
turned, she’d slipped out of the pretty gown and stretched out on
the mattress. For a few moments he just stared at her, drinking in
a sight he knew he’d never see again after tonight: The feminine
contour of her hips. Firm, full breasts. The triangle of curls at
the juncture of her thighs.

Filled with an unutterable sadness, he
dropped his shorts, rolled on the condom and joined her on the bed.
He took his time, tracing the underside of her jaw, tickling with
his nose the tips of her breasts. He stopped to suckle. His
fingertips trailed over her rib cage, and he bent to kiss her
navel. Going lower, he licked her intimately.

“
Beck, no. Come up here. I want you
inside me.”

He obeyed. He lifted one of her knees and
moved to kneel between her legs. Instead of putting her leg back
down, he lifted the other and braced both ankles on his
shoulders.

“
Try not to move. It’ll be better.” He
rocked his pelvis and rhythmically thrust in and out of her. At the
same time, his hands stroked and caressed her in a sensuous massage
wherever he could reach.

Soon it became too much for him. And she was
breathing hard. He increased the pressure, the pace; when he felt
near to bursting, she said softly, “I love you, Beck.”

His world dimmed, darkened, then a miasma of
pleasure split him apart.

When he came back to reality, he eased down
her legs, rolled to his side and stared at her. Tears trickled down
her cheeks. She reached over. “Your face is wet.”

“
So is yours.” He captured a renegade
tear. “It’s all so goddamned hopeless.”

Suddenly, she turned, moved into him, buried
her nose in his chest. And cried harder. Big, heaving sobs that
rocked her body. He closed his eyes and just held her.

o0o

The doorbell was ringing. Lela got up from
the bed and rushed to the door. Maybe it was Beck, coming back,
saying he’d make it work. Instead, Len stood outside her house
covered in blood.

“
Lela…Lee, honey, your phone is
ringing.”

She startled awake. “What?”

He held out her cell. “You have a call. It’s
two in the morning.”

Clicking on, her heart in her mouth, she
said, “Hello.”

“
Lela, I’m sorry to wake you.” The
voice belonged to Joe, Len’s father. Oh, dear God, don’t let
anything have happened to them and the kids. Please.
Please.

“
We’re fine physically, but Josh had a
bad nightmare. He woke up screaming that somebody was yelling at
him in the car and he was scared. Tommy climbed into bed with him,
but the poor boy was scared, too, and upset.”

“
Joe, I’m so sorry.”

“
Josh wouldn’t stop crying until we
agreed to go back to Hidden Cove right away. We just got them in
the car and are about to leave the Adirondacks.”

“
Oh, okay.” She glanced at Beck. “I’ll
be home.”

Her ex-father-in-law paused. Uh-oh. What had
she given away? “Fine, we’ll see you in about four or five
hours.”

When she disconnected, she faced Beck. She
told him what had happened.

He said simply, “Reality bites, doesn’t
it?”

“
Yes,” was all she replied.

And just like that, their only time together
was over.

From under hooded eyes, Len scanned the room.
Twenty vets gathered in the common area of Warrior House, the new
VA Rehab Center on the outskirts of Hidden Cove. When he’d looked
up the place on the internet, he’d expected a dump, but his new
home for six months wasn’t half bad. A vet with money had died and
set up the center to help guys like Len. He’d spared no expense
with comfortable meeting rooms like this one, consisting of padded
chairs, some couches and slate-blue paint on the walls. There were
plenty of windows.

“
Welcome, all of you.” A clean-cut man
of about forty stood up in front of the assembled group of
deadbeats. He wore jeans and a shirt, casual like Len’s, and didn’t
seem overly eager to enlighten all of them. Len hated when people
closed in on him with their success stories and you-can-do-it
advice.

“
I’m Roger and I’m an
alcoholic.”

“
Hello, Roger,” Len mumbled along with
several others, repeating the required, if trite,
response.

“
As you know, I’m from an AA group over
in Camden Cove. I’ve volunteered to come here once a week to run a
regular Alcohol Anonymous meeting—the kind you’ll go to when you’re
released.”

He got that right—
released
was the
operative word, as in kept here. Imprisoned.

I told you not to let that cunt talk you
into this.

His demons were right. Lela had convinced him
to admit himself to the program. He’d already been worn down by his
parents, and Josh, who’d climbed on his lap and looped his arms
around Len’s neck. His boy had said, “Please, Daddy, do what Mom
wants you to so you can get better.”

Len hadn’t known the kid knew so much. And it
stirred something inside him that he thought dead—an empathy for
Josh and those who loved Len. Then, too, sober and in the cold
light of day, the suicide thing had blown him away, pun
intended!

You should have done it. Ended this.

Go away
, he told the inner voice that
had checked in right alongside him.

The group started out with readings, the kind
Len had heard a million times before and hadn’t helped him. The
topic that day was guilt. A woman who was a Colonel in Fallujah
read in clear, clean tones, obviously having led troops her whole
life.

When she finished, Roger asked, “So, I
imagine as veterans, you have a lot of guilt?”

A drumbeat began in his heart. What? Guilt
over an encampment of the enemy (who were really just kids like
him) he’d been partly responsible for massacring? Guilt for the
collateral damage of women and children blow apart by land minds?
Guilt for all the crap he’d put his family through while he was in
theater and when he got back home?

You’re right, asshole. Look at all the shit
you’ve pulled. Who can forgive that?

Despite the voices in his head, Len sat
through the meeting. When it ended, he got up and hurried outside
to the smoking area, where he didn’t have to talk to anybody. There
were a ton of people always around and sometimes he wanted to be
left alone.

“
Got a light?”

Damn! Len turned to find a big hulk of a guy
with tats all over his arms, a scruffy beard and a red bandana
around his neck, like a biker. He was holding a cigarette, probably
waiting for another vet. Len handed him a lighter, then shook out a
cig for himself. The guy lit his, too.

“
Manny Perkins.” He took a big drag and
blew out rings of smoke. “Afghanistan.”

“
Len Allen. Same. National Guard,
104th.”

“
How long you been out?”

Despite his resolve not to care, Len could
feel his face flush. He was embarrassed to still be screwed up this
long. “Two years. You?”

Manny glanced away. “Just about the same. Got
better for a while, then the little woman divorced me.”

“
Huh. Me, too.”

The guy’s fists clenched. “Fuck. I thought,
nice reward for goin’ over there.”

Len nodded. He didn’t want a friend, but they
had something in common.

“
Play cards?” Manny asked after a few
more drags.

“
Excuse me?”

“
You play cards? We got a euchre
tournament that meets twice a week. This afternoon. Wanna come?”
Something about his eyes seemed off somehow. “Can guarantee you’ll
get something out of it.”

Say no. You aren’t like these guys.

Len heard his demons loud and clear. They
were always right. But suddenly, he saw Josh, in his lap, begging
him to get better. Maybe, just maybe…

So ignoring the whacky vibe he got, Len
shrugged and said, “Yeah, sure, I’ll come. What time?”

o0o

Nick stared over at Amy, who’d invited him
for lunch today. Julie, the shelter’s director, had encouraged him
to go, Lela had pounced on the idea and even Beck had happened to
call today and advised him to
extend himself.
So one of the
other vets who worked part-time had given him a ride. To his house.
Which he’d come home to for a week but couldn’t stay at because the
neighbors stared at him with pity when he went out to get the mail,
and Amy’s grief slammed into him every single day.

They’d had a nice meal, and he’d relaxed
some. Then Amy had excused herself. He sat in the kitchen and
looked out the window to the small backyard. They’d planned to have
kids who’d climb that tree. His buddy Billy and his wife, who were
their best friends, had the same plans. He and Billy would have
built a sandbox and a wooden swing set. No kids were being made
these days. And Billy was dead. Nick also took in the deck, in need
of repair, the garden, which should be weeded, and cursed himself
for the jobs he couldn’t do.