The Passion Play (14 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Modern pop psychology books recommended one choose one's emotional reality, but she got the feeling it was an acquired skill. As a novice, she had bitten off more than she could chew, trying to come out to dance tonight. This was not fun. All she felt was savage.

Honestly, she just wanted a quiet place to hang out, and someone to cuddle her and tell her everything would be fine. Or the same someone to be here with her right now, taking her hand to haul her onto the dance floor and distract her completely from her own self-pity.

But that someone was not here of course, and she hated that she even thought of him and wanted him like this.

Dancing with him only made her want to rip off his clothes, and she was not going there anymore. Dancing without him made her wistful and frustrated. So
obviously dancing was a plain bad idea. No more clubbing. Not for now. Not until she was thinking straight again.

As she nibbled on the end of her straw, her drink virtually untouched on the bar, she thought of the other phase of her post-separation plan: a baby. It was a happier mental space than this one.
Something completely new. A huge commitment. An exciting change. Now more than ever she did not want to connect on a romantic level with a man, but the yearning for a child was exactly the same.

Of course she was no fool. This was hardly the time to get started, much as she wanted to. She needed to make her decision calmly in the light of day. But she could still think about it. Could imagine just going ahead and making the life she wanted, reckless as if her choice would impact only her. It made her feel happy on this dark day, a glistening soap bubble of potential joy rising in her chest.

In fact she could probably head home right now, go to bed and lie there fantasizing about babies and feel better than she did at this moment. It was hard, really, knowing what you felt or wanted when you had spent years ignoring your true feelings. She was out of practice, but slowly getting better. So no, not dancing tonight. That had been a mistake. Baby fantasies. That was the medicine she needed for her soul.

All Sunday she concentrated on those thoughts, trying not to upset herself thinking of Dan, trying not to see her own bed and imagine Luke back in it. Just concentrating on babies, googling baby names and checking out nursery décor and furniture. She jogged to the local bookstore and bought a book about pregnancy, one on single parenthood, another about IVF and a fourth of baby names. For hours she flicked between them with fluorescent markers in hand, highlighting sections and making notes.
So many decisions, major and minor. So much to learn and organize.

Of course she had several friends who had been through pregnancies, multiple times. She could access plenty of potential advice if she wanted it. But she was reluctant to talk it over just yet. Considering Caroline's dubious reaction, she did not want to worry anyone else with her thoughts. She clung to the fantasy. Reality could wait.

Once she gave herself permission to dwell on her own feelings, it was like a dam had burst. This was what she wanted more than anything. This was the dream she had denied, the path longed for but not taken. All she really needed was the conviction she was acting sensibly enough, not out of her head with grief and anger.

Some space, some time, and when she was ready, she would do this. The certainty was soothing.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

She was finishing off the last of the gardening in the late afternoon of Monday when Luke pulled up at the curb, and she felt her lips pinch together tight. For a moment she considered scuttling inside and locking the door but that was too outrageously rude, not to mention cowardly. Instead she stood up and propped one gloved hand on her hip, and made an effort to give him a cool smile instead of the scowl she felt.

It was a dynamic she was not used to managing: too much intimacy, too much anger, too much pain. This was outside her experience.

"Afternoon.
Great day for it," he said, nodding in approval at the huge pile of weeds she had assembled on a tarpaulin. It was a brilliant blue sky day, though now the warmth had gone completely with the lowering of the sun, and she shivered a little, cooling quickly as soon as she stopped moving. "Is there someplace you'd like me to haul that?" He pointed at the tarp.

"No thanks. I can manage," she said, not wanting to be beholden to him for even a small thing. She felt so awkward around him, so conscious of everything that had passed between them, of him wearing that big body of his and moving in it just so, making her remember him moving inside her just by the way he walked up her driveway all smooth and graceful with a rhythm on him like-

She was not used to dwelling on a man like that. Sex was good but it had its place and that was not cluttering up her thoughts and getting in the way of having a sensible conversation. She groped for something to say to him as he stood there, his hands shoved into his back pockets, and wearing a friendly smile like she had not run away from him the last time he was here. Like he had not dropped an enormous bomb of a revelation and devastated her.

He had a
skillful way about him: of pretending everything was fine so it was terribly difficult to come to grips with him. Did she bring up their last conversation about the adultery, refer to her undignified escape and his naked pursuit or go back to what she had been all ready to say to him on Friday night (or in fact early Saturday morning) before he so effectively distracted her with his body? Or did she follow his lead now and have the sort of friendly conversation he was cuing her into?

For a moment she had the sneaking suspicion it was all deliberate. That he was in fact outwitting her. Then she dismissed the idea.

"I'm not entirely sure why you're here," she began ambiguously, though it would be more accurate to say she wasn't sure how to treat him.

He shrugged and smiled. "It's a fine day. I've got a few hours spare. I thought I'd drop around and say hello."

"Hello," she told him, and waited, unmoving.

"Hello," he replied, and came towards her. She thought he was moving in for a kiss and was prepared to duck away but he did not
stoop, just stepped right up and wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug that totally invaded her space. She sucked in a breath of warm, freshly showered male and opened her mouth, looked up to tell him to back off and that was when he bent to kiss her, arms releasing so his hands could cup her face, hot on her cold skin. Though she was annoyed at him for the presumption there was no doubt the man could kiss and she got distracted enjoying it for a moment that stretched out into more. Firm and heated and languorous so her eyelids drooped and closed, the touch and textures beguiling. She forgot she had meant to stop him, instead leaned in and sucked on him, her gloved fingers wrapped in his shirt.

There came a moment when she recollected where she was – standing on her front lawn in full sight of the
neighborhood at the end of the workday, passionately kissing a man. She pulled back from him and said stupidly: "I can't see you anymore."

He kept right on smiling, his lush lips curved
even more and his eyes twinkling down at her. "Are we talking some sort of temporary blindness?"

"You know what I mean," she said, and took another step away so she was no longer in the circle of his arms. "It's a mistake for the two of us to get involved." It felt wrong to just say it out like that, seeming like it was coming out of nowhere, and inappropriate, particularly given a kiss she had not planned on.

"Why is that?"

For a moment she groped for the reason. "Because . . . ah . . . because I'm not really . . . ah . . . emotionally available. It's not fair to you."

"Oh, I don't mind that," he said easily, and stepped forward to follow her retreat.

She backed off hastily, one hand raised in front of her. "No. Wait. I don't think you understand. It would be wrong to care about me because I can't return your feelings."

"Sure. Just sex. I got it." He kept coming, herding her towards her own front door.

"Look, there's no point telling me that's all you want because I may not be the most knowledgeable woman in the world but I'm not stupid either. I know when a guy is . . . is vulnerable and . . . and likely to get hurt and I don't want that to happen to you. We may not see exactly eye-to-eye on things but I believe you mean well and I don't want to treat you like you're some sort of sex object."

"So let me get this entirely straight," he said, and kept on stalking her one patient step at a time. "You're telling me there's no way I'll ever be quite enough of what you need for you to fall for me, but you're certain you're so wonderful if I just hang around you long enough I'm going head over heels and I'll get my heart broken. Is that about the size of it?"

"Well when you say it like that you make it sound stupid and conceited," she said crossly, "Whereas all I'm trying to do is make sure I don't hurt you. I just don't think . . . you're seeing me clearly," she faltered.

"Oh, I see you clearly all right," he said softly, with a gentle smile. "Clear as day. But I also see you don't have the right to tell me what I am or am not allowed to feel. It's one thing to say
you
don't want
me
, but it's totally different to say I shouldn't want you for my own good. That's patronizing."

"Well then I don't want you," she said, lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Now that, sweetheart, is a lie," he said quietly, stopped so close she had to stare straight up to meet his gaze. "Shall I prove it?”

"I . . . no," she said,
and looked away across the street, his chest less than an inch from her cheek. "I just . . ." she cast around for another reason to send him away, "I just can't bear to be with you when you . . . know so much about . . . about my marriage and everything that-" she waved her hand in a helpless gesture. "It's humiliating."

"Felicity," he said, tucking her hair behind her ear, his fingertips sliding down the sensitive skin of her neck and making her shudder, "the humiliation isn't yours. It's his. He's the one who treated you badly. Not the other way around. And while frankly I'd like to hit him into next week for doing that to you, there's no way his actions get to dictate what we do or don't do together. Don't give him that power over you, sweetheart. That's just wrong."

"You saying that doesn't change how I feel. It's not something I can choose. It just is. I'm hurt and humiliated and you're just too close to it all."

He took her shoulders in a firm grip that warmed her, his thumbs drawing small circles on her chest. "Honestly I can hardly imagine respecting you more than I do, regardless of what he did. You trusted him. You were loyal to him. He didn't deserve you and he's proved that and now you're free. That should be the end of it and I hope it is because I really hate talking about him, you know?"

"Say what you like but I'm not sleeping with you again."

"Hell, Felicity," he growled at her, and she looked up, startled. "I didn't say any of that just to get into your pants. I'm not that kind of guy. I mean every word. Take me at face value."

"Like I did Dan?" she fired back.

"Do
not
compare me to that . . . Look, he was your husband and I'll try to be respectful that you chose him and you loved him once but frankly if you compare me to him and think we're alike I see red. I am
not
Dan King."

"Yes, well I believed him and look where it got me. I have no way of knowing if you're saying something you really mean or just what you think I want to hear so I'll sleep with you but really it hardly matters because I'm not going to sleep with you anyway."

"Fine," he said, and his jaw was set and he was breathing fast. "Don't do anything you don't want to. But one thing I
will
be doing is coming dancing when you do. I want to know you're safe."

"Oh great.
If I needed watching over, which I don't, you'd make a fantastic watch dog, there every second night," she taunted sarcastically, and saw his nostrils flare.

"Look, it's true I'm not available-"

"I don't
want
you to be available. I don't
need
you to be there.
I'm
not even going to be there."

He lifted his head and frowned, watching her intently. "What? You're not?
Why not?"

"I just . . . well I've moved on. I'm onto another project now."

"That was a project? To achieve what?"

Her gaze flicked up at him and she blushed despite herself.

"Oh.
Oh
," and he had the audacity to laugh. "
I'm
the project?"

"Not you specifically," she hissed at him. "I just wanted to enjoy myself a l
ittle and you were convenient."

"Well, wasn't that lucky," he drawled, still amused. She wanted to wipe that smug look off his face, and when he asked, "So what's your next project?" still grinning, she got her chance.

"To have a baby," she said.

The smile disappeared as if it had never been. He went white.

"A baby? With . . ." he cleared his throat, "with someone in particular?"

"Naturally I can't do it on my own," she said coolly. 

"Do you have a specific . . . father in mind, I mean," he said carefully.

"I'm in the process of choosing," she said, making it sound like a more concrete activity than it was just yet.

"So you're going to let some stranger have intimate role in your life? To get you pregnant? Help you raise a child?" He looked horrified, and now he was asking these questions she regretted bringing it up at all. She had hardly intended for him to be the second person with whom she talked about it, before she had it all straight in her own head.

"It doesn't have to be a stranger, but that's the way I'm leaning.
Less hassle."

"Less hassle?
You're talking about having a child and less hassle in the same sentence? The two concepts don't even belong in the same universe. I don't . . ." he drove his hands into his hair and turned away, clutching at the roots. Swung back. "Look, having a kid is a huge big deal. No one willingly goes into it without support."

"I'm not without support, but yes, I'm going there willingly."

"Why? Why do that to yourself?"

"I'm not doing it to myself. I'm doing it
for
myself.”

"But what's the hurry? Why not do things the right way?"

She gave a bitter little laugh. "Oh, great, yes, the
right
way. That's sure to solve every problem. Just like the last time I tried it. Believe me, I'm a champion of doing things the right way and I'm not going to wait a second longer. This is too important." She glared at him, daring him to challenge her again on how she should live her own life.

He stared back, consternation all over his face, his fists clenched and his breath coming fast. Then he opened his mouth and she steeled herself for more of an argument.

"Pick me," he said softly, intensely.

"Pardon?"

"Pick me. I'm from good stock. Healthy. Long-lived. I'm good with kids too. They always like me."

"I . . . No."

"Why not?"

"Because that's exactly the opposite of not getting involved."

"You're going to have to get involved with someone. Why not me?"

"Because it's just . . . I wasn't thinking of you when I . . ."

"So I'm good enough for a screw but not for procreation? I don't think you've thought this through, sweetheart," he said silkily, and he stepped forward and picked her up in an effortless motion that annoyed her, carried her to the door and opened it one-handed, his other forearm a bar under her bottom. He really was a caveman. He closed the door behind him and in the dimness of the hall he let her slide slowly down the front of his body so she felt the hard bumps and ridges of it. "Just think. A professional athlete. All that coordination, that talent, perfect for passing on to your child. I'm fast, I'm good with my hands, big and strong. That's a powerful lot of great features right there. You should snap me up."

"You're too young."

"All the better. Healthy sperm and plenty of it."

She felt heat rise under her skin. He
held her by the upper arms, a little too tight, as if trying to squeeze his conviction into her. He stared at her, his eyes reading every flickering expression on her face as she tried to think of some way out of this.