The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (12 page)

A pair of strong arms wrapped about her from behind. She snuggled into them, dropping her head onto Wes’s shoulder and pulling his arms more tightly about her.

“Still wish we were in Hawaii?” he asked.

“Mmm,” she murmured with her eyes half closed.

At this moment, she wanted only this: to be alone with Wes, the outside world at bay. If only she could preserve it somehow, like a flower pressed between the pages of a book.

The phone began to ring inside the house. She made an effort to tune out its faint bleating, but when the machine didn’t pick up after several rings it occurred to her that the message tape must be full. With a sigh, she reluctantly withdrew from her husband’s arms and stepped inside.

She picked up the phone on the small lacquered cabinet by the sofa. “Hello?”

“I don’t believe it—I actually got you. I’ve been calling for hours.” Laura, sounding slightly out of breath. “Did you just get in?”

“A few minutes ago. I haven’t checked my messages yet.”

There was a pause, then Laura asked, “How was Maui?”

It was obvious she was champing at the bit with important news of some kind. Wasn’t it just like Laura to make forced small talk before cutting to the chase?

“Perfect, except for having to leave.” Alice decided to put her sister out of her misery. “Is everything okay?”

Another pause, then, “Are you sitting down?”

Alice had the sinking feeling the news wasn’t going to be good. She lowered herself onto the sofa, its buttery calfskin cool against the backs of her sunburned thighs. “I am now.”

“It’s Mom.”

Alice felt her heart lurch. With her dad’s death, she’d lost more than a father; she’d lost her sense of complacency as well. She knew now what she hadn’t as a child: that parents are mortal. She dragged a throw cushion onto her lap, holding it pressed to her belly, which had gone hollow all of a sudden. “She’s all right, isn’t she?”

“She’s fine. Unless you count temporary insanity as an illness.”

Alice pictured her sister seated at her kitchen table, the sprung cord from the phone on the wall stretching halfway across the room. She felt suddenly impatient. “Laura, for God’s sake, what
is
it?”

“She’s seeing someone.”

“Tom?” Okay. She could live with that. Tom Kemp was safe, even a little boring. If worse came to worst and her mother ended up marrying him, it would only be out of companionship.

There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end. “Not Tom.
Ian.
”

Laura’s words trickled away, harmless as rain down a windowpane. Ian?
Wes’s
Ian? Impossible. “You must be imagining things,” she said. “You know Mom. Now that Wes and I are married she probably sees us all as one, big extended family—including Ian.”

“I saw them.” Laura pushed on grimly. “They were kissing…and believe me, it was more than friendly.”

Alice tried to picture it, but the image kept dissolving. At the same time she was distinctly aware of the blood draining from her face and hands. She swallowed thickly.

“Is it…I mean, have they…”

“Slept together?” Her sister gave a dry little laugh. “I’m afraid to ask. Let’s just say they’ve been seeing a lot of each other these past few weeks.”

Alice groaned. “I get the picture.”

“I’m partly to blame.” Laura sounded miserable. “I let it slip to Aunt Audrey. I think Mom was sort of on the fence, but once the cat was out of the bag she got her hackles up. She said she was sorry I had to find out the way I did, but that maybe it was for the best. I think her exact words were, ‘I’m sick and tired of pleasing others, and think it’s high time I did as I pleased.’?

“Oh God. This is worse than I imagined.”

In the brief silence that fell, she could hear her sister breathing. As a child, Laura had suffered from allergies, and Alice remembered being kept awake at night by her loud, snuffling snores. She wished suddenly that she were back in her old room now, in the house on Blossom Road, a little girl with her pillow mashed down around her ears.

“What do you think we should do?” Laura asked timidly.

This is for real,
Alice thought.
It’s really happening.

The room began to revolve, like the baggage carousel at which she’d stood just hours ago, hours that felt more like days. “Let me talk to Wes,” she heard herself say quite rationally, as if this were just a minor matter in need of sorting out. “I’ll call you back, okay?”

She was staring sightlessly at the phone in her hand when she heard the sliding door thump shut. She looked up to find Wes walking toward her. His relaxed look changed instantly to one of concern, and he sank down beside her, draping an arm about her shoulders. “What’s wrong? You look like someone just died.”

“That was my sister. She…” The words wouldn’t come. Alice chewed on a thumbnail, wishing it were a cigarette. She’d given up smoking when she met Wes, but suddenly she’d have given anything for a Parliament. At last she pivoted around to face Wes. “My mother’s having an affair. With your son.”

He looked stunned. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Can you believe it?”

He shook his head, whistling softly. “I’ll admit, I didn’t see it coming. How long has this been going on?”

“Since the wedding.”

“A real whirlwind courtship.”

“Don’t joke.”

“I’m not.”

She covered her face with her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“I wouldn’t call it that exactly.”

“What
would
you call it then?”

Wes’s face creased in a mirthless smile. “Let’s just say we’re not exactly in a position to be throwing stones.”

Alice glared at him. “It’s not the same.”

“Close enough.”

“She’s old enough to be his mother!”

“And I, my darling,” he squeezed her shoulders, “am old enough to be your father.”

“It’s different with us,” she insisted.

“Because I’m a man?” He wasn’t goading her; he seemed to genuinely want to know.

“I can’t believe this,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you’re not as outraged as I am.”

“For your sake, I wish I were.” He regarded her tenderly. “But it’d be more than a little hypocritical, don’t you think? Anyway, I’m sure your mother had her doubts about us.”

“She never said anything.”

“Maybe we should extend her the same courtesy.”

Alice pulled away and scooted to the other end of the sofa, from where she eyed him as she might have a stranger—a possibly untrustworthy one at that. “You sound as if you actually
approve.
”

“I didn’t say that. I was merely pointing out that there’s a flip side to every coin.” Wes, always so logical. It was one of the things she loved about him; it also drove her a little crazy at times. He held a hand out, as if beseeching her in some way. “Alice, what’s
really
going on here? Is it just that Ian’s so much younger?”

“What more do you need?”

She hugged herself, staring at the little teepee of kindling in the oversize slate fireplace. Up here it could get quite chilly after sundown, even in July. Tonight, she thought, was going to be one of those nights. The temperature seemed to have dropped at least ten degrees.

“I was thinking of your dad.”

His words hit home. In a low, trembling voice she spoke aloud the thought tunneling into her like a newly hatched insect. “You’d think all those years together would
mean
something. You’d think his memory alone…” A lump rose in her throat, choking off her words.

“It’s been two years,” he said.

“What difference does that make? If she’d really loved him…” She turned to Wes. “She wouldn’t be doing this. Making a mockery of everything they had with a man young enough to be her… it’s obscene.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?” Wes spoke gently. “She’s only human, after all. Just because she’s sleeping with Ian it doesn’t mean she didn’t love your father.”

Alice’s eyes felt raw and swollen though she hadn’t shed a tear. “You don’t understand. He was…” She searched for the proper word to describe him. Saint? No, anything but. More like a mischievous boy at times. When she and Laura were left in his care, it had been like
three
children misbehaving in their mother’s absence: dining on cake and ice cream while the nutritious suppers Sam had prepared, carefully wrapped in plastic in the refrigerator, remained untouched; pillow fights; and on one memorable occasion a game of indoor hockey that had ended with her mother’s favorite Lalique vase in shards. She’d been furious at him that time, but he’d charmed his way back into her good graces—like always.

Another memory surfaced—her father drawing her onto the dance floor at their silver anniversary party. “For old times’ sake?” he’d said with a wink, reminding her of when she was little and used to climb onto his shoes in her stocking feet. That night, swaying in her father’s arms, she’d felt as she once had gliding over the living room floor atop his oxfords to the “Tennessee Waltz.” As if nothing bad could happen to her as long as he never let go.

“He used to wake me up in the middle of the night sometimes when he couldn’t sleep,” she went on. “It was our special time, just him and me. He’d make hot cocoa and we’d watch an old movie on TV.” She turned a mournful face to Wes. “How could she do this to him? How
could
she?”

She didn’t need Wes to remind her that her dad was gone; she knew it from the hole in her heart, through which a cold wind seemed to rush.

“Is this about your mother, or you?” he asked.

She stood up, suddenly too weary to argue. “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” she said. Wes and his first wife had been on the verge of separating when she became ill. How could he understand the kind of marriage her parents had had?

She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Wes’s cheeks were scoured red from the wind and sun, his muscular arm the deep tan of the leather sofa back on which it rested. His expression was that of a sympathetic bystander. Why couldn’t he see how awful this was?

He rose and walked over to her, rubbing her arms as if to warm them. “What about that swim? It’ll take your mind off all this.”

She drew back, folding her arms over her chest. “I don’t feel like it anymore.”

Wes cocked his head, eyeing her as he might a petulant child. She found herself remembering the incident at the Ritz Carlton in Kapalua. She’d booked the reservation in her maiden name, and there’d been a misunderstanding when they were checking in. Before she could straighten it out, Wes had stepped in front of her, booming to the clerk, “Get the manager, please.”

She hadn’t really minded at the time, but winced now at the memory. Why couldn’t he have let her handle it?
Because it wasn’t the first time,
a small voice whispered back.

Alice marched stiffly to where her suitcase sat parked alongside Wes’s like a large, obedient dog. With as much dignity as she could muster, she grabbed its leash and began dragging it down the hall. She’d gotten no more than halfway when he stepped up alongside her and lifted it easily, carrying it into the bedroom before going back for the rest of the luggage.

A moment later he returned with his own suitcase, which he heaved onto the bed. “You want to unpack? We’ll unpack,” he said cheerfully.

She felt herself thaw a bit. “Don’t forget all those presents, too.”

“We’ll do those next.”

“Let’s just hope there isn’t another espresso maker in that pile.”

“That’d make three, right?” He unzipped his suitcase and turned to smile at her. In the once masculine bedroom she’d done over in muted yellow and cream, he stood out like an exclamation point.

She nodded. “It appears to be the wedding gift du jour.”

“Back in my day, it was chafing dishes.” He winced at the unfortunate reference to his first marriage. “Sorry, darling.”

But it only served to remind her of how considerate he was normally. She found herself softening further.

“What exactly
is
a chafing dish? I’m not sure I’d know what to do with one.”

Wes tossed a handful of dirty laundry onto the floor, and walked over to where she stood. Pulling her into his arms, he murmured, “It’s easy. Just light a match.”

She drew back with a mock scowl. “I hope this isn’t your idea of buttering me up. No pun intended.”

He laughed, a deep laugh that rumbled up through his chest like a drum roll. “It’s not too late for a swim,” he said. “On the other hand, we could always skip that part.”

He nuzzled her neck. Before Wes she’d always imagined beards to be coarse, but his was soft and springy. He smelled faintly of sunblock—hers—from when they’d made love this morning. Wes never bothered with the stuff. If two tours in Vietnam hadn’t done him in, he liked to joke, he’d survive a few holes in the ozone.

She held herself stiff. “This isn’t just some little thing that’ll blow over,” she said. “I’m really upset.”

“Let me make it better.” He pushed his hands under her top, stroking her back in slow circles until she began to relax.

Alice felt helpless to resist. How could you stay away from a man whose mere touch was like a spark to dry leaves? She lifted her arms obediently over her head as he peeled off her top. She wasn’t wearing a bra; Wes didn’t like them, and she was small breasted enough to get away with it. She moaned softly as he ran his thumbs over her nipples.

An image rose in her mind: the warm tide lapping their toes, and the starry sky turning slow cartwheels overhead as they made love on the beach in Wailua. She closed her eyes, letting the familiar sensations wash over her. Wes’s mouth tracing the hollow between her breasts. The soft brush of his beard against her skin. His hands, at once rough and tender.

Alice arched against him and heard him groan in response. Then he was thrusting his hand under her skirt. “You’re wet.” He stripped her panties to her knees, and pushed a finger up inside her. “Jesus. I’ve wanted you all day.” His voice was low and husky. “On the plane. On the drive home. It was all I could think about.”

Alice parted her thighs, rocking against the heel of his hand. Delicious shivers coursed through her. She felt the last little grain of resistance dissolve. Oh God. Another minute of this, and she’d come…