Not Since You (5 page)

              He kissed her then, a tender, gentle kiss. No tongue, nothing but love. He touched her, gliding his fingertips over her skin, a caress
here, a touch there... He moaned softly as she squeezed him.

              "Easy,
Carrie-da
. Not so hard," he said.

              "Did I hurt you?" She stilled. Hard to believe something that felt that big and steely could be hurt.

              He shook his head; his hair brushed across her breasts, and she shivered. "No. But you'll make me shoot off, and that would totally blow."

              Carrie giggled. But she dropped her hand from around his shaft.

             
He grinned. "I didn't say let go."

              "Oh." She frowned up at him. "You're not helping, Zack. I don't know what I'm doing here. And I'm starting to think you don't either." There. That would teach him.

              "Oh? Really?" He tipped his chin up. "Guess again." Carrie gasped as he slipped his fingers into her body at the same time that he slid his mouth down to her breasts, where he stopped to suckle each one—then moved his mouth over her stomach and down to her sensitive flesh. He parted her with his fingers, rubbed at the nub that rose for his attention, then dropped his head to flick his tongue over it in expert sweeps that had her gasping in no time. Again, she forgot where and who she was as she journeyed upward and outward in a shower of bright white sparkles of pleasure. And then, pain. But only briefly as he joined his body with hers. Because it was Zack, and she loved him and they belonged together in all ways. Together they moved into the pulsing light, calling each other's names and holding on tightly as together they soared.

              When it was over, she lay in his arms with her head on his chest, the thrum of his heart against her cheek. "I wish you could come to college with me, Zack."

              "You know I can't."

              "I know." How was she going to stand it? "I won't see you again until Thanksgiving."             

             
He sighed. "Why did you have to choose Texas, Carrie? There are plenty of good schools in New England where you could take journalism."

              "We weren't together when I started looking at schools. And then they gave me that scholarship... Zack, I have to. Nana can't afford college otherwise."

              They were silent.

              "I love you, Carrie. I don't want you to go away."

              "I don't want to go away either. But I have to, Zack. I just...have to."

              "You're going to forget me. I'll never see you again."

              "That's stupid!" She sat up.

              "You're saying I'm stupid?" He frowned and sat up, too.

              "No! I'm just saying..." She watched him begin to get dressed. "Are we going in?"

              "I am. You do what you want. Since you're doing what you want, anyway."

              "Zack! Why are you doing this? Why are you fighting with me?" Tears gathered in her eyes; what was the most magical moment of her life until now was turning into one of the worst.

             
"Because you're leaving, Carrie. You don't even care about me. Or Sarah. Or even your Nana." He pulled his pants on and leaned to open the car door. "I'll see you inside." He slipped out of the car and closed the door, leaving her to get dressed alone.

              It had taken her ten minutes just to get her pantyhose untangled and back on. Another ten for her dress, and still, she couldn't zip it up all the way. Carrie climbed out of the car and hurried back to the prom, hoping no one saw her half-dressed, hair a mess, makeup smudged with passion and then tears.

              She slipped into the ladies' room, where she somehow managed to get her dressed re-zipped, her hair fixed and her makeup reapplied. She'd find Zack, and she'd hug him and tell him that she loved him, that there could never be anyone else—and she'd make him understand.

              Maybe all she needed to do was lure him back to the car. Not a bad choice, really. Now that she knew how wonderful it was, she'd much rather be there with him than here with everyone else. He was the other half of her. She knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt; there would never be another man but Zack Mahoney for her.

             
Carrie gave her hair a final spritz of hairspray to keep it pouffed and left the ladies' room. She wondered where he'd gone. Back into their function room? She peered through the glass door; but she didn't see him in the crush of classmates. Where was he? She turned and started walking down the hall to the chandeliered foyer, where some of the kids were smoking cigarettes—even though, technically, they weren't supposed to. As she passed a side corridor, one that went off to the kitchen, she spotted a couple there in the darkness.

              The boy was leaning against the wall, his arm over the girl's head in a protective, guarding way. She was leaning with her back against the wall; her face was buried in his chest. She appeared to be crying. "Why? Why?" the girl cried.

              "Shhh. Someone will hear you," the boy said.

              Carrie felt like she'd been punched in the gut. It was Zack. Her Zack. And...Sarah? She started forward, but their next words stopped her.

              "But why, Zack? Why the parking lot? Why now?" Sarah sobbed, big hiccupping cries that sounded as if her heart had been broken. "I can't go back in there, Zack. I can't. Not now. Not after...the parking lot. Not like this. Everyone will know."

             
"I know, Becks, I know. Shhh..." He bent his head to hers, pressed his forehead against hers.

"It'll be all right. Everything will be okay. I'll take care of you. I'll take care of everything. I love you, you know." He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.

              Carrie gasped. They lifted their heads to stare at her. Zack started.

              "Carrie-da—"

              "Shut up! Don't you call me that! Ever!" she shrieked and threw her small beaded handbag at him. "I hate you! And I never want to see you again!" She took a step back, looked past Zack to Sarah. Carrie put her fist against her mouth and moaned. She didn't even know what to say to Sarah. She'd been her best friend since her parents had died and she'd moved to Nana's.

              Carrie turned, then, and ran...

*****
             

              All the way to Texas. Three months later, Nana had told her that Zack and Sarah had gotten married. A part of her had died.

She'd thrown herself into her career and never returned. Instead, she wrote. And wrote some more. Anything to stop the memories and the ache in her heart.
             

              She drew a deep sigh and realized something as she sat on the floor with Ellie's head on her lap. "My ass is asleep."

              Ellie opened her eyes and thumped her tail on the floor; it made the hardwood shake.

              "You have the Tail of Death," Carrie told her. "Stop that."

              The dog made a
wraow
noise. But she also stopped wagging her tail.

              Carrie leaned her head against the door once more. "The thing is...why did he tell me he
loved
me? And then, Sarah? I think it was just because I was leaving for college. But why did he have to
use
me like that? I mean, I know we were kids, but—"

              Ellie lifted her head and yawned.

              Boring to Ellie, maybe, but not her. She knew she'd be running it over and over in her mind all night. Along with the thought of his kiss. His latest, mind-blowing kiss. The jerk.

              She wanted to kiss him again. He was like an addiction.
I should've stayed off The Zack,
she thought. Kissing him required a twelve-step program. The twenty-year one didn't appear to work.

             
"Wuff."

              "Okay. I get the picture." Carrie pushed herself to her feet; she was stiff. "You're right. Let's just go to bed. I've got a lot to do tomorrow if I want this house on the market in a week." She paused. "Where do you usually sleep?"

              The dog turned and trotted across the floor to the stairs, gallumphed up them without looking back, and a moment later, Carrie heard the creak of Nana's old bed.
Weird.
Not only had it seemed like the dog understood what she'd said, but—she slept in Nana's room, too.
Creepy.

She shivered and climbed the stairs to her own bedroom so she could torture herself with thoughts of Zack and his kisses. And how wonderful it had been when they could fall asleep there, in each other's arms, so many years ago.

*****

              The next morning, Carrie had gotten up early, gone for a run and then stopped at the pet store, all before the sun was high in the sky. She'd bought a giant bag of dog food that cost fifty of her precious house-repair dollars. It was supposed to be one of the best products on the market, without all the vegetable fillers and junk stuck in most commercial dry pellets. What made Carrie buy it, however, was the salesperson's promise it would cause Ellie to poop less. Less poop was a good thing. The dog produced more waste than a nuclear power plant, and it was just as toxic.

When she'd gotten home, she'd made a pot of coffee and started painting. She'd shower later, after she finished.

When the phone rang, she climbed down the ladder and put the paint roller in the tray. She hoped it was the lawyer; she'd left him two messages the day before.

              "Good morning," she said, reaching for a mug and pouring her first cup of the day.              "You need to come and get your dog."

              "My…oh. My dog." When she’d gone to the pet store Carrie had gotten a bone-shaped tag for Ellie with her name and cell phone number on it; she’d hooked it onto the dog's collar the minute she'd gotten home. She should have waited to put it on until at least having her first cup of coffee. She had a feeling she needed to be caffeinated for this.

"My dog?" Carrie repeated. Last time she'd checked,
El Beast
had been lying on Nana's favorite chintz chair by the front window. "Are you sure it's my dog? She was in the house a few minutes ago."

"Yeah? Well, she's on my lawn right now, trying to climb a tree."

"Climb a…okay." It had to be Ellie. Climbing a tree fit her M.O., somehow. The thing was…how had she escaped, this time?

Carrie had learned that Ellie could push open the latch of screen doors with her nose. She also had the uncanny ability to lift window screens and climb over the sill. As a result, the house was closed up tighter than Fort Knox, with all the air-conditioning units blasting.

Carrie had even locked the doors
and
chained them shut for good measure. She was determined there was no way the dog was going to escape again, because even if she
could
somehow turn knobs, no dog in the history of canine-kind could turn knobs, undo locks and unchain chains, too. So the dog the neighbor was calling about definitely wasn't Ellie.

Even so…Carrie went down the hall and peered into the foyer.

The front door was wide open.

Chapter Five

              The dog was like a ghost, opening doors with her will alone.

Or maybe she was more like Houdini, who would also be ghostlike, come to think of it. Carrie shivered, and her stomach plummeted to her toes.
What the hell…

              "I'll be there as soon as I rinse out this paint roller," she told her neighbor.

When she arrived, Ellie lay on a chaise by the in-ground pool, on her back, with her paws pointed skyward. All she lacked was a set of sunglasses and an umbrella drink. She lazily rolled her nose toward Carrie and wagged her tail.

              The neighbor, an older man who would have appeared distinguished if not for his loud floral-print shirt, sandals, and knee-high black socks, came out of the house and pointed to the surface of the pool. "There must be a ton of dog hair in there!" he groused. "I'm going to have to call my pool man to come clean it out before it clogs my filter. God only knows what kind of chemicals I'll have to dump in just to get it up to snuff again." He turned to Carrie. "You should keep that animal locked up."

              "You're right. I should." She reached into her back pocket and wearily pulled out her checkbook. She flipped it open. "How much will it cost to get the pool cleaned?"

              After that, she managed to drag Ellie home without incident. When they got in the door, she unhooked the dog's leash and locked everything up as she had before, making sure she triple checked each lock this time. Carrie pointed her index finger at the dog and fixed it with what she hoped was a stern glare. "No more adventures." Then she got back to work.

              Fifteen minutes and one roll of paint later, her phone rang again. A layer of sweat suddenly coated Carrie's palms as she looked around the bottom of the ladder and into the rooms she could see for Ellie.
Please be the lawyer, please be the lawyer, please—

              A woman's harsh voice wiped all hope of that away. "I've got your dog here. She crapped on my lawn. Bring a shovel. Why don't you keep this mutt inside, anyway? There are leash laws, you know."

              A different neighbor. Same problem.
Bad dog.

              Scary dog.

              Carrie tried not to think about it as she washed out the roller—again—and marched down the street armed with a spade, a wheelbarrow and a trash bag.
Less poop, her foot.

              This time, when she got
El Beast
home, she opened the cellar door. "Go," she told Ellie.

              "Noooaaw." The dog sat down and—Carrie could have sworn—shook its head.

              "Oh yes you will. I don't need to spend my day chasing you up and down the street."

              "Rroaow." Ellie slid across the floor and laid her chin on her outstretched paws.

              "You say that now," Carrie said. "But the minute I get on the ladder, the phone rings. Go down into the cellar." She leaned down to tug on Ellie's collar and heard a faint, rumbling growl.

              She stood up.
Oh, that's so not good.

              Be the pack leader. That was what Zack had said. She straightened up and glared down at the dog. "Hey.
I'm
the pack leader. Move."

              Ellie sighed and closed her eyes. She wasn't going anywhere.

              So much for pack leader. "Fine. Stay there, then. But. Don't. Leave."

              The dog grunted and rolled onto her back in a stretched-out, dead-dog pose.

              Good enough, Carrie supposed.

              As she passed the front door on the way back to the hallway, she locked it and slid the chain into place for good measure. And then she dragged a chair in front of it. There was no way
El Beast
was going to get out again. Satisfied, she went back to the kitchen, slid another chair in front of the back door and picked up the paint roller. Once she got the ceiling painted, she'd start tearing down the wallpaper. And then…she'd take a nice, long, hot bath. She was still sore from yesterday's drop 'n' drag, and today's dog chasing, poop scooping, painting and paper stripping hadn't helped. She was bruised and battered all over, and when she looked in the mirror, she looked like a banana past its prime. Sort of yellow, but mostly bruised. And mushy.

*****

              Carrie lay in the claw-foot tub, soaking in her favorite lavender-vanilla-scented bubble bath, planning her next home repairs. Spackle the holes in the plaster, sand, wash and paint. Replace all the olive-green and ancient appliances in the kitchen and have the electrical service upgraded to support a twenty-first-century home.

             
Why didn't you ever do these things when you were alive?
she asked Nana, wherever she was. Nana didn't answer, of course. But she didn't need to. Carrie already knew the answer. Nana hadn't done these things because she'd been more interested in life's experiences than fixing up her house.

              She'd found the elderly woman's journal during the week, while packing up her bedroom, and she'd discovered some things about her grandmother, things that made her feel better about not staying in Rhode Island. The woman had lived a full life, despite Carrie's desertion.
Or maybe because of it.

In addition to getting hooked on skydiving, Nana had biked across New England with a group of friends. She'd climbed Mount. Washington. She'd been active in a community theater group, a book club, and a volunteer network that visited hospice patients.

Nana had a better life than I do.

She'd gone on cruises. She'd even traveled to France on a wine country tour with another group of friends, and she'd ended up staying an extra month to carry on a torrid affair with a forty-five-year-old French winemaker who spoke almost no English, yet was fluent in body language.

             
Nana had a better sex life, too.

              And whose fault is that?
Carrie could practically hear Nana say.
You decided to shut off your life and hide away in Texas, when you could have been here with me, living and writing and having fun, despite Zack and Sarah.

             
Silly girl.
You're
not dead. You're still living. So—live.

              Carrie's cell phone rang. It had to be Phelps. She'd already figured out what she was going to tell him, starting with
You're
and ending with
fired
. How could he miss such a huge, furry and expensive portion of Nana's estate? Carrie dried off her hands and lifted her phone to her ear. "Hello?"

              A harsh male voice. "If you don't come get your dog off my property—"

             
Oh God.
Again? But…how
?
The windows were shut. The a/c's were running. The front and back doors were locked and chained. There were chairs in front of them, for God's sake!

              "Are you sure it's my dog? I can't imagine how she got out—"

              "Is this Carrie Kennedy?"

              "Well..." For a moment, she wished she could lie. Why had she gotten her name and number engraved on that dog tag?
Crap.
"Yes."

              "Then this is your dog. She's already destroyed an entire set of wicker patio furniture and--"

              "Wait. Did you see her do it? How do you know it wasn't some kids or…something else?" Carrie gripped the phone. This was
so
not good. "Maybe squirrels?"

              "Squirrels. Yeah. Right. One of the chairs got stuck on her collar, so when she crashed through the fence—"

             
Oh God.
Carrie leaned back against the tub's slope.

              "After she scratched the paint all the way down the side of my
new
Lexus—"

             
Oh…God.
Carrie sank lower.

              "And destroyed not only my entire topiary garden, but my neighbor's picture window—"

              "Picture window?" Carrie's voice came out in a weak rasp.

              "When she tossed the chair off, it flew through the window. Then she fell into the Koi pond. She was so busy catching fish, we managed to catch her. She's in my neighbor's garden shed right now, and from the sounds of it, she's tearing it up something awful."

              "Can I call you right back? I'm…" Carrie dropped her phone onto the floor and sank into the tub, letting the water cover her face.
Sunk.

*****

              "Not bad, honey. Not bad at all." Zack pushed his chair back from the table and patted his mouth with his napkin.

Samantha glowed under his compliments. She was a pretty girl, just like her mother had been. But where Sarah had been unsure of herself, Samantha was confident and assertive. Zack had made sure of it. No one would ever be able to hurt
his
daughter. She'd break his wrist first. Or the bridge of his nose.

"And now,
you
get to do the dishes
.
"
She grinned.

"What? I thought the cook cleaned up the mess."

"Not when
I'm
the cook." Samantha laughed as she stood up. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Besides, I'm meeting Max at seven."

"Max?" Zack ran through a mental list of Samantha's boyfriends, past and present. "Don't think I've met him."

Her blue eyes twinkled. "He's five, Dad. I'm babysitting tonight."

Zack laughed, to please her. It wasn't funny though. She thought he was overprotective, but she had no idea how men could be. Especially some men, who heard a "no" as a challenge instead of a rebuttal. Her mother was a perfect example of what could happen. Though, if it weren't for Mike, Samantha wouldn't be here.
Always his conundrum.
"Then I'd better get the dishes done," was all he told her.

So when the doorbell rang five minutes later, he was up to his elbows in bubbles and Samantha had to answer the door.

He heard a soft female voice and figured it was a friend of hers. When Carrie came into the kitchen, he nearly dropped a glass on the ceramic floor. "Carrie-da!"
Damn.
He needed to stop calling her that. She didn't consider herself his beloved anymore, and he couldn't blame her.

But he wished she was. He'd never stopped thinking of her that way. He still loved her, damn it. Even now, here in the kitchen he'd shared with the woman he'd married, his heart leaped at the sight of her and his pulse quickened. He'd never stopped loving her.

He'd also never expected to see her here, in his house, when he was wearing rubber gloves and had a dishtowel flung over his shoulder. "What are you doing here? Do you want coffee? Can I—is everything okay? Are you all right? Is…um. Hi."

Over Carrie's shoulder, he could see Samantha, his matchmaking daughter, studying him with a grin on her face. Shit. S
he
could see how he felt.

Could Carrie? It was hard to tell. She met his gaze with her silvery eyes and smiled. Grimly. Politely. Not with the easy, full grin of her youth, but with a guarded, distant one.

I shouldn't have kissed her,
he thought. He should've stuck to his plan of small steps and gaining her trust. But he hadn't been able to help himself. How could he? He'd spent eighteen years thinking about her. And though he'd never physically cheated on his wife, he'd done so in his heart, with this very woman. This very beautiful, very beloved, very…distraught-looking woman.

             
Oh, shit.
"What's wrong? Is it… Where's your dog?"

              "She's out in the car." Carrie sighed. "I'm sorry to do a pop-in like this. I would have called you, but—she ate my cell."

              "You mean she chewed it."

              Carrie blinked at him; Zack realized she had the bleak look of a person in shock. Her face was pale, her eyes blank.

              "
Carrie-da
…"

              "Don't call me that," she said almost automatically, in a toneless voice. "No. While I was trying to calm the guy whose sprinkler system she dug up while I was paying the lady with the Koi pond, she reached into my purse and…she
ate
my cell. It had all my contacts in it…photos…my
phone
, Zack. She ate it."

              "You mean, she swallowed it? Completely? Oh.
That's
not good." Zack reached out and pulled Carrie to him; she barely struggled. Instead, she collapsed onto him, her fingers gripping his arms tightly. The sweet scent of her hair curled up and stroked his nose. Vanilla and flowers. He brushed his cheek against the top of her head.
My Carrie,
he thought and pulled her even tighter to him. She was warm and soft and fit against him like they were two pieces of the same puzzle.