Like a Knife (18 page)

Nick woke with the sun on the beach and Rachel in his arms. He listened to the lap of water, knowing he should untangle himself and go; he still had unfinished business with Rennie. Instead he stroked Rachel's face, watching her eyes light up as she woke and saw him. He kissed her, slowly, deeply. As her mouth softened under his and her body melted against him, he knew nothing he had experienced in the past, and nothing he might experience in the future, would' ever be as sweet and as full as this moment. He promised himself a day of it. One sunny oasis in all the darkness that lay ahead.

So they ate English muffins and marmalade for breakfast, and though she might have been curious, Rachel didn't ask where the food had come from, and Nick didn't volunteer the information. Isaac was quiet, too, as if he sensed this new thing between them.

After breakfast, Nick drove the car onto the beach behind the house so it couldn't be seen from the road.

They stuck close to the cabin that first morning. Wariness lingered, and he was reluctant to let them.be seen. But Isaac grew restless and cranky in the afternoon, and Nick took them onto the shore. They had no bathing suits, but he didn't want them in the water where he couldn't protect them anyway. So they sat on towels, Isaac stiff and cautious, only occasionally dragging fingers through the sand. Nick brought the Uzi under a blanket and kept a firm grip on the gun.

He had a lot more trouble keeping a firm grip on his concentration. As the afternoon wore on, his eyes strayed inexorably to Rachel's, and what he saw there, the knowledge of what had happened between them, the heat and the light it created in the center of his being, made maintaining his vigilance increasingly more difficult. He should have been watching the horizon, but all he wanted to do was watch Rachel.

No, not all. He wanted to feel her skin beneath his hand again, feel her body beneath his own. He pushed the thoughts away. He was leaving. He'd stay until the sun went down, then he'd have to go.

But when evening finally arrived, he found himself on the beach with Rachel, telling himself he'd stay until morning. The moon rose, and the miracle happened all over again as she took his body into hers.

The next day, he could hardly look at himself in the bathroom mirror. His face was too real, too much a reminder of all the reasons why he didn't deserve to feel so ... so-what?

Happy.

The realization exploded over him like a Roman candle. He was happy.

A stupid grin spread over his face; he lifted his head for an instant and caught a glimpse of himself.

Shit. You look like a fool.
His grin widened.

At breakfast, he thought about leaving, then Rachel ran her hands over his back as she passed behind his chair, and he decided to stay one more day.

That afternoon he escorted Rachel and Isaac into town. The trip was crazy, but they needed supplies and a change of clothes. He could have gone by himself, but Isaac was stir-crazy, and though she didn't say so, he knew Rachel needed a break from the cramped cabin. So he ignored his misgivings and walked them down to the main road and the shops. Isaac held Rachel's hand, and though he wouldn't hold Nick's, he walked between them.

As they strolled around a corner toward the grocery store, they were stopped by a colorful sight. Bicycle after bicycle spilled out from a rental shop and littered the sidewalk. Tricycles and tandems, ten-speeds with racing stripes, no-speeds with woven wood baskets attached. They had to pick their way around them.

Isaac stared at the huge collection of spokes and wheels and handlebars, his eyes wide. He watched two children riding in circles on the side road next to the shop.

Nick looked from the bikes to the boy. "Which one do you like?"

Isaac didn't answer, and Rachel opened her mouth to speak to him. But Nick shook his head and knelt beside the boy.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," he said softly. "You don't have to say a single word. But if I don't know which bike you want, I might pick out a blue one when you want black, or red when you want silver."

"Who's the rider in this group?" An elderly man in a Dutch cap smiled down at them.

"Don't know if we've got one." Nick looked from the man back to the boy.

"Not got one? Why, this fella here looks like a rider to me." He winked at Nick. "Let's see..."

He moved among the vehicles as if they were familiar members of his family. One by one, he lifted out bikes and carried them to Isaac. When he finished, five bikes were spread in front of him.

"Which one you want?" Nick asked. Somber and thoughtful, the boy examined the selection as if it were the most important decision in his life. "Just point to the one you want, and it's yours for the duration." Slowly, Isaac walked over to a bright blue bike with streamers on the handlebars. The man in the cap smiled at Nick.

"Thanks." Nick smiled back. "Thanks a lot."

"Just part of the service. After all these years I* ve gotten pretty good at matching boy to bike. Now, do you need training wheels for him? I can-"

"No," Isaac piped up.

Everyone laughed. "I guess that answers that," said the man.

Nick nodded. God, how much he didn't know about the boy. Would he ever catch up?

"And what about you two? I can fix you up with something real nice. Flat as a pancake on the island, real easy ride."

Nick started to shake his head, but caught the look in Rachel's eyes. Soon two more bicycles stood next to Isaac's.

The next day, Nick reluctantly let himself be persuaded to a bike ride up and down the length of the island. Isaac insisted on bringing his bear, and Rachel rode with it sitting primly, inside her handlebar basket. She dressed Isaac in a newly purchased bathing suit, and later they stopped at the beach.

Nick scanned the sunny view of families scattered over the sand. Children ran and screamed with laughter, splashing in the surf, and Rachel smiled at him as if to say,
See, we're just like them.
He put an arm around her, wanting to believe, and the three of them melted into the crowd.

Rachel spread out a blanket, and Isaac sat on the edge, his feet in the sand. He wouldn't leave her side at first, but she propped up the bear so he could see it, and gradually he grew braver. By the end of the day he was playing at the shoreline while Nick and Rachel sat in the sand nearby.

"Look at this."' She smiled fondly as she poked a finger into the bear's side. A seam had come undone. "Loved to death, like the Velveteen Rabbit."

'The who?" Nick looked up at her. He was lying on his side, braced on one elbow.

"The Velveteen Rabbit." She looked down her nose at him. "Don't tell me you never heard of the Velveteen Rabbit? Well, you certainly had a deprived childhood."
If you only knew.
"We'll have to remedy that." A mischievous gleam lit her eyes, and laughing, Nick pulled her on top of him.

"Bedtime stories?" He grinned up at her, and she kissed him lightly.

"Mmm. If you're good."

She sat up again, and he turned back to the boy, watching Isaac scoop wet sand into a plastic pail. Did he know about the Velveteen Rabbit?

"When are you going to tell him?" Rachel asked. Nick felt her gaze on him, warm with sympathy.

Laughing lightly, he shrugged off the sudden wave of emotion that swamped him. "What-about the Velveteen Rabbit?"

"That you're his father."

His stomach jolted. God, he couldn't bear thinking about it. To want something so much, something that seemed so impossible.

"I don't know."

"He's young, Nick, and kids are so resilient. He just needs time and love. And a chance to get to know you. Look, he's better already. He hasn't checked on us for almost half an hour."

Nick looked toward the shore. As always, Isaac was sober and intent. In sharp contrast, a little yellow-haired girl played nearby. She dumped a pail Ml of sand over her father's arm, laughing delightedly at his expression of mock anger.

"Go ahead," Rachel urged.

Slowly, he got to his feet. When he knelt down beside Isaac, the boy stopped patting the sand pile he had just made. He sat back on his heels and looked at Nick cautiously, a field mouse judging the dangers of an open meadow.

What can I say to you, Isaac? My child. My son. How can I help you trust me? Love me?

Nick said nothing; he hadn't been too successful with words anyway. Instead, he hunkered down on the sand and began to dig a wide, circular moat around Isaac's sand tower.

Wordlessly, Isaac watched him work.

After a while, the boy filled his pail again and upended it inside the moat, next to the other pile.

Immediately, he pulled back to watch Nick's reaction.

Nick was careful not to look at him. "We need four towers to make a castle." He shaped the sand around the moat into the semblance of a wall. Isaac filled his pail again, dumping the packed sand inside the moat.

They played that way for the rest of the day, silent but together. By the time they left, a little fissure of hope had opened up inside Nick.

But that night, Isaac woke screaming for the first time. Nick raced into the bedroom as the boy's terrified shrieks split the world.

"It's all right, little man." He held him tight. "It's a dream, just a bad dream. You're safe."

But nothing Nick did soothed the boy, and in the end Rachel held Isaac until he fell asleep.

When she finally tiptoed out an hour later, Rachel found Nick on the couch, staring at his hands and looking desolate. She knelt in front of him and gently tilted his head up. "It's not your fault, Nick. It's to be expected. Nightmares and worse, maybe."

"I know." He took her hands, and the feel of her skin seemed to comfort him.

"I didn't sleep through the night for years after my mother was killed. I still have an occasional nightmare about it." She leaned toward him, and he met her in the middle, foreheads touching.

"We're quite a bunch." His mouth curved in a regretful smile. "Haunted as well as hunted."

She cupped his cheek with her hand. "He'll be all right, Nick. It just takes time."

He closed his eyes, and without his saying it, she knew what he was thinking. Time was the only thing he didn't have. He had to go. Now, soon, or he'd never do it at all. She moved into the circle of his arms, pleading with him silently.

Not yet. Please. One more day.

She pictured Spier's documents sitting on the supply-closet shelf.

Tell him.

But he held her so close. The feel of him drew heat and the sweet ache for him inside her.

Tomorrow is soon enough. I'll tell him tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came. Three days stretched into four and four into five, and still Nick never left, and Rachel never confessed.

During the day, they surrounded themselves with crowds of doting parents. At the water slide, the amusement park, the pizza place. It wasn't hard to slip into the role themselves. And if the ice of fear touched her, it melted at night, drowned in the heat of their bodies.

In the morning, when the air was fresh and cool, they took long walks along the beach behind the cabin. Nick's face plainly said it was stupid. An entire beach with no place to hide.

But it was also irresistible.

Arms entwined, she and Nick strolled while Isaac picked up shells and broken crab legs. By the fifth day, Nick even had to tell him not to get too far ahead. They saw a family up early, too, young children in tow. The couple laughed together easily, and the father swept his son high in the air as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Rachel glanced over at Nick and saw a keen stab of envy shoot across his face.

That night, Nick and Rachel lay naked in the sand behind the cabin, side by side on an old blanket. Exposed to the night, Rachel shamelessly luxuriated in the feel of the sea air on her skin. Nick's hand feathered down her chest, over the mound of her breast and the plane of her belly.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said, stroking her reverently.

She laughed and smiled mischievously. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

He gave her a mock jab on the chin and lay back, pulling her arm across his chest. His fingers encircled hers, the hard strength of his arm entwined with her own.

Looking up at the starry sky, she recalled the frozen man he'd been a few months ago. The man who swept the halls of the preschool, who emptied the trash and changed the lightbulbs with tense and secret silence.

So different now.

Joy bloomed inside her, and she closed her eyes against the emotion, taking a deep, steadying breath.

"You okay?" He turned his head toward her in concern.

"Mm You?"

"I feel like a firecracker ready to go off."

She laughed and rolled over. Bracing herself on one elbow, she looked down at him. The eyes that used to gaze dully past her now filled with light. As she bent to kiss him, the knowledge that she'd put the glow in his face filled her with fierce pride.

Maybe it was the dark velvet of night, or the liquid music of the tide. Maybe it was just relief and the glory of being alive one more day. But as her body joined with Nick's, the stars themselves exploded inside her. Her skin melted, her bones disappeared. All that remained was an arching splendor. Nick's mouth, her hands. Where did she stop and he begin?

They held each other and took each other, each glad of the taking. The flow of fingers, the wash of tongues, the stroke and pull of bodies moving in harmony. It happened over and over that night. Sleep a little, then wake, then the hot, tender dance began all over again.