True Believer (24 page)

“No, that’s okay. Just take off the skins. The knife is in the drawer there.”

Jeremy pulled out a steak knife, and reached for the onions on the counter. For a moment, they worked without speaking, listening to the music. As she finished with the lettuce and set it off to the side, Lexie tried to ignore how close they were standing together. But from the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help admiring Jeremy’s casual grace, along with the plane of his hips and legs, the broad shoulders, the high cheekbones.

Jeremy held up a bald onion, oblivious to what she’d been thinking. “Like this?”

“Just like that,” she said.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to dice it?”

“No. If you do, you’ll ruin the sauce, and I’ll never forgive you.”

“Everyone dices the onions. My Italian mother dices the onions.”

“Not me.”

“So you’re just going to put these big round onions in the sauce?”

“No. I’ll cut them in half first.”

“Can I at least do that?”

“No, thanks. I’d hate to put you out.” She smiled. “And besides, I’m the cook, remember? You just watch and learn. Right now think of yourself as . . . the prep boy.”

He glanced at her. Since they’d come in from the cold, the rosiness in her cheeks had faded, leaving her skin with a fresh, natural glow.

“The prep boy?”

She shrugged. “What can I say? Your mom might have been Italian, but I grew up with a grandmother who tried just about every recipe out there.”

“And that makes you an expert?”

“No, but it made Doris one, and for a long time, I was the prep girl. I learned through osmosis and now it’s your turn.”

He reached for the second onion. “Tell me, then, what’s so special about your recipe? Aside from having onions the size of baseballs, I mean.”

She took the skinned onion and sliced it in half. “Well, since your mother was Italian, I’m sure you’ve heard of San Marzano tomatoes.”

“Of course,” he said. “They’re tomatoes. From San Marzano.”

“Ha, ha,” she said. “Actually, they’re the sweetest and most flavorful of all tomatoes, especially in sauces. Now, watch and learn.”

She pulled out a pot from beneath the stove and set it off to the side, then turned on the gas and lit the fumes under the burner. The blue flame whooshed to life, and she set the empty pot on top of it.

“I’m impressed so far,” he said, finishing the second onion and setting it aside. He picked up his beer and leaned against the counter again. “You should get your own cooking show.”

Ignoring him, she poured both cans of tomatoes into the pot, then added a whole stick of butter to the sauce. Jeremy peeked over her shoulder, watching as the butter began to melt.

“Looks healthy,” he said. “My doctor always told me I needed extra cholesterol in my diet.”

“Did you know you have a tendency toward sarcasm?”

“I’ve heard that,” he said, raising his bottle. “But thanks for noticing.”

“Are you done with the other onion yet?”

“I am the prep boy, aren’t I?” he said, handing it over.

She split that one as well before adding all four halves to the sauce. Stirring for a moment with a long wooden spoon, she let it come to a boil, then set the heat on low.

“Okay, then,” she said, satisfied, returning to the sink, “we’re done for now. It’ll be ready in an hour and a half.”

As she washed her hands, Jeremy peeked into the saucepan, frowning. “That’s it? No garlic? No salt and pepper? No sausage? No meatballs?”

She shook her head. “Three ingredients only. Of course, we’ll pour it over linguine and top it with some fresh-grated Parmesan cheese.”

“This isn’t very Italian.”

“Actually, it is. It’s the way they’ve made it in San Marzano for hundreds of years. That’s in Italy, by the way.” She turned the faucet off, shook her hands over the sink, and dried them on a dish towel. “But since we’ve got some time, I’m going to clean up before dinner,” she said. “Which means you’ll be on your own for a bit.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure out something.”

“If you’d like, you can take a shower,” she said. “I’ll set some towels out for you.”

Still feeling the salt on his neck and arms, it took only an instant for him to agree. “Thanks. That would be great.”

“Give me just a minute to set things up for you, okay?”

She smiled and grabbed her beer as she squeezed past him, feeling his eyes on her hips. She wondered whether he was feeling as self-conscious as she was.

At the end of the hall, she opened the closet door, grabbed a couple of towels, and put them on his bed. Beneath the sink in his bathroom were asssorted shampoos and a new bar of soap, and she set those out as well. As she did, she caught a reflection of herself in the mirror and had the sudden image of Jeremy wrapped in a towel after showering. The image made something jump inside. She drew a long breath, feeling like a teenager again.

“Hello?” she heard him call. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the bathroom,” she answered, amazed by how calm her voice sounded. “Just making sure you have everything you need.”

He came up behind her. “You wouldn’t happen to have a disposable razor in any of those drawers, would you?”

“No, sorry,” she said. “I’ll look in my bathroom, too, but . . .”

“No big deal,” he said, running his hand over his whiskers. “I’ll just go with the scruffy look tonight.”

Scruffy would be just fine, she decided, feeling herself blush. Turning away so he wouldn’t notice, she motioned to the shampoos. “Use whichever one you want,” she said. “And keep in mind that it takes a while for the hot water to come out, so just be patient.”

“Will do,” he said. “But I did want to ask if it’s okay to use your phone. I have to make a couple of calls.”

She nodded. “The phone’s in the kitchen.”

Edging past him, she sensed him watching her again, though she didn’t turn around to check. Instead, she went to her room, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it, embarrassed at the foolish way she’d been feeling. Nothing had happened, nothing would happen, she told herself again. She locked the door, hoping it would be enough to block out her thoughts. And it worked, at least for a moment, until she noticed that he’d placed her suitcase in her room.

Knowing that he’d been in here moments before gave her such a rush of forbidden anticipation that, even though she willed her mind blank, she had to admit that she’d been lying to herself all along.

By the time Jeremy returned to the kitchen after his shower, he could smell the sauce as it simmered on the stove. He finished his beer, found the garbage can below the sink, and threw the bottle away, then got another from the fridge. On the shelf below, he saw a fresh block of Parmesan cheese and an unopened jar of Amfiso olives; he debated sneaking one before deciding against it.

Locating the phone, he dialed Nate’s office number and was put through immediately. For the first twenty seconds, he held the receiver away from his ear while Nate went off the deep end, but when he finally calmed down, he reacted positively to Jeremy’s suggestion about the meeting next week. Jeremy ended the call with a promise to talk to him again tomorrow morning.

Alvin, on the other hand, was impossible to reach. After dialing the number and getting his voice mail, Jeremy waited for a minute and tried again with the same result. The clock in the kitchen showed that it was almost six, and Jeremy figured that Alvin was somewhere on the highway. Hopefully, they’d have a chance to talk before he went out tonight.

With nothing else to do and Lexie still nowhere in sight, Jeremy slipped out the back door and stood on the porch. The chill had deepened. The ever-increasing wind was cold and sharp, and though he couldn’t see the ocean, the waves rolled continuously, the sound rhythmic, lulling him into an almost trancelike state.

In time, he headed back into the darkened living room. Peeking down the hall, he noted a sliver of light beneath Lexie’s closed door. Unsure of what to do next, he turned on a small reading lamp near the fireplace. With just enough light to spill shadows through the room, he perused the books that had been stacked on top of the mantel before remembering the satchel. In his haste to get here, he hadn’t looked at Doris’s notebook yet, and after pulling it out of the satchel, he carried it with him back to the easy chair. As he took his seat, he felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease for the first time in hours.

Now, this, he thought, was nice. No, change that. This felt like the way things always should be.

Earlier, as she heard Jeremy close the door to his room, Lexie stood near the window and took a pull of her beer, glad she had something to calm her nerves.

Both of them had kept their kitchen conversation superficial, keeping their distance until things were sorted out. She knew she should stay the course when she headed back out there, but as she set her beer aside, she realized that she didn’t want to keep her distance. Not anymore.

Despite the knowledge of the risks, everything about him had drawn her closer—the surprise at seeing him walking toward her on the beach, his easy smile and tousled hair, the nervous, boylike gaze—and in that instant, he’d been both the man she knew and the man she didn’t. Though she hadn’t admitted it to herself then, she realized now that she wanted to know the part of him he’d kept hidden from her, whatever that might be and wherever it might lead.

Two days ago, she would never have imagined something like this was possible, especially with a man she barely knew. She’d been hurt before, and she realized now that she’d reacted to the hurt by retreating into the safety of solitude. But a risk-free life wasn’t much of a life, really, and if she was going to change, she might as well start now.

After showering, she sat on the edge of the bed as she unzipped the top pocket of her suitcase and retrieved a bottle of lotion. She applied some to her legs and arms, smoothing it over her breasts and belly, relishing the vibrant way it made her skin feel.

She hadn’t brought anything fancy to wear; in her rush to get out in the morning, she’d grabbed the first things she could find, and she sorted through the suitcase until she found her favorite pair of jeans. Deeply faded, they were ripped at the knees and the cuffs were frayed. But the endless washing had softened and thinned the denim, and she was aware of how they accentuated her figure. She felt a secret thrill at her certainty that Jeremy would notice.

She slipped into a long-sleeved white shirt, which she didn’t bother to tuck in, and rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. Standing in front of the mirror, she buttoned the front, stopping one button lower than she normally would, revealing the briefest glimpse of her cleavage.

She dried her hair with a blow-dryer and ran a brush through it. For makeup, she did the best with what she had, applying a touch of blush to her cheeks, eyeliner, and lipstick. She wished she had some perfume, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that now.

When she was ready, she tugged at her shirt in the mirror in an attempt to make it look just right, pleased with how she looked. Smiling, she tried to remember the last time looking good had really mattered to her.

Jeremy was sitting in the chair with his feet propped up when she came into the room. He looked up at her, and for a moment, it seemed as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he just stared.

Unable to look away from Lexie, he suddenly knew why it had been so important to find her again. He’d had no choice, for he knew then that he was in love with her.

“You look . . . incredible,” he finally whispered.

“Thank you,” she said, hearing the raw emotion in his voice and reveling in the way it made her feel. Their eyes met and held, and in that instant, she understood that the message in his gaze was mirroring her own.

True Believer

Fifteen

For a moment, neither of them seemed able to move, until Lexie drew a long breath and glanced away. Still shaken, she raised her bottle slightly.

“I think I need another one of these,” she said with a tentative smile. “Would you like one?”

Jeremy cleared his throat. “I already got one. Thanks.”

“I’ll be back in a minute. I should check on the sauce, too.”

Lexie headed for the kitchen on unsteady legs, and she stopped before the stove. The wooden spoon had left a smudge of tomato sauce on the counter after she had picked it up to stir, and she put it in the same spot when she was finished. Then, opening the refrigerator, she took out another beer and set it on the counter, along with the olives. She tried to open the jar, but because her hands were trembling, she couldn’t get the grip she needed.

“Need a hand with that?” Jeremy asked.

She looked up, surprised. She hadn’t heard him come in, and wondered if her feelings were as obvious as they felt.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said.

Jeremy took the olives from her. She watched the sinewy muscles of his forearms as he twisted the cap off. Then, eyeing her beer, he opened that as well and handed it to her.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes, nor did he seem to want to say anything more. In the stillness of the room, she watched him lean against the counter. The overhead light was on, but without the fading light of dusk streaming through the windows, it seemed softer than it had when they started cooking.

Lexie took a mouthful of beer, savoring the taste, savoring everything about the evening: the way she looked and felt and the way he’d stared at her. She was close enough to reach out and touch Jeremy and for a fleeting moment almost did, but instead, she turned away and went to the cupboard.

She took out some olive oil and balsamic vinegar and put some of each in a small bowl, along with salt and pepper.

“Everything smells delicious,” he said.

Finished with the dressing, she reached for the olives and put them into another small bowl. “We still have an hour before dinner,” she said. Talking seemed to keep her steadier. “Since I didn’t plan on having company, these will have to do for an appetizer. If it was summer, I’d say we could wait on the porch outside, but I tried that earlier and it’s freezing. And I should warn you that the chairs in the kitchen aren’t too comfortable.”

“Which means?”

“Would you like to go sit in the living room again?”

He led the way, paused at the easy chair to pick up Doris’s book, then watched as Lexie took a seat on the couch. She put the olives on the coffee table, then shifted slightly trying to get comfortable. When he took a seat beside her, he could smell the sweet, floral scent of the shampoo she’d used. From the kitchen, he heard the faintest strains of the radio.

“I see you have Doris’s notebook,” she said.

He nodded. “She let me borrow it.”

“And?”

“I just had a chance to look over the first few pages. But it has a lot more detail than I thought it would.”

“Now do you believe that she predicted the sex of all those babies?”

“No,” he said. “Like I said, she might have recorded only the ones she was right about.”

Lexie smiled. “And the different way the entries look? Sometimes pens, sometimes pencils, sometimes it looks like she was in a rush, sometimes she took her time.”

“I’m not saying the book doesn’t look convincing,” he said. “I’m just saying that she can’t predict the sex of babies by holding someone’s hand.”

“Because you say so.”

“No. Because it’s impossible.”

“Don’t you mean statistically improbable?”

“No,” he said, “impossible.”

“Fair enough, Mr. Skeptic. But how’s your story going?”

Jeremy began picking at the label of his beer with his thumb. “Good,” he said. “If I can, I’d still like to finish looking through some of the diaries at the library, though. Maybe find something to spice up the story.”

“Have you figured it out?”

“Yes,” he said. “Now all I have to do is prove it. Hopefully, the weather will cooperate.”

“It will,” she said. “It’s supposed to be foggy all weekend. I heard it on the radio earlier.”

“Good,” he said. “But the bad part is that the solution isn’t nearly as much fun as the legend.”

“Was it worth coming down, then?”

He nodded. “Without a doubt,” he said, his voice quiet. “I wouldn’t have missed this trip for the world.”

Hearing his tone, she knew exactly what he meant, and she turned toward him. Propping her chin on her hand, she put a leg on the couch, liking how intimate it felt, how desirable he made her feel.

“So what is it?” she asked, leaning forward slightly. “Can you tell me the answer?”

The lamplight behind her gave her the faintest halo, and her eyes glowed violet beneath dark lashes.

“I’d rather show you,” he said.

She smiled. “Since I’m bringing you back, anyway, you mean. Right?”

“Right.”

“And you want to go back . . . ?”

“Tomorrow, if we can.” He shook his head, trying to regain control of his feelings, not wanting to ruin this, not wanting to push too hard, but wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms. “I’ve got to meet Alvin. He’s a friend of mine—a cameraman from New York. He’s coming to get some professional footage.”

“He’s coming to Boone Creek?”

“Actually, he’s probably arriving in town as we speak.”

“Right now? Shouldn’t you be there?”

“Probably,” he admitted.

She thought about what he’d said, touched by the effort he had made to come today.

“Okay,” she said. “There’s an early ferry we can catch. We can be back in town around ten.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“And you’re going to film tomorrow night?”

He nodded. “I left a note telling Alvin to go to the cemetery tonight, but we have to film elsewhere, too. And tomorrow’s going to be a full day, anyway. There are some loose ends I have to tie up.”

“What about the barn dance? I thought we had a deal that if you solved the mystery, I’d dance with you.”

Jeremy lowered his head. “If I can make it, I will. Believe me. There’s nothing I want more.”

Silence filled the room.

“When are you going back to New York?” she finally asked.

“Saturday,” he said. “I have to be in New York for a meeting next week.”

Her heart sank at his words. Though she already knew it was coming, it still ached to hear him say it. “Back to the exciting life, huh?”

He shook his head. “My life in New York isn’t all that glamorous. For the most part, it’s about work. I spend most of my time either researching or writing, and those are solitary endeavors. Actually, it can get pretty lonely at times.”

She raised a brow. “Don’t try to make me feel sorry for you, because I’m not buying it.”

He glanced at her. “What if I mentioned my creepy neighbors? Would you feel sorry for me then?”

“No.”

He laughed. “I don’t live in New York for the excitement, no matter what you might think. I live there because my family’s there, because I’m comfortable there. Because it’s home to me. Just like Boone Creek is home to you.”

“I take it your family is close.”

“Yeah,” he said, “we are. We get together almost every weekend at my mom and dad’s in Queens for these great big dinners. My dad had a heart attack a few years back and it’s tough on him, but he loves those weekends. It’s always a real zoo: a bunch of kids running around, Mom cooking in the kitchen, my brothers and their wives standing around in the backyard. Of course, they all live nearby, so they’re over there even more often than I am.”

She took another drink, trying to picture the scene. “Sounds nice.”

“It is. But it’s hard sometimes.”

She looked at him. “I don’t understand.”

He was quiet as he rotated the bottle in his hands. “Sometimes I don’t, either,” he said.

Perhaps it was the way he said it that kept her from saying anything; in the silence, she watched him closely, waiting for him to continue.

“Did you ever have a dream?” he asked. “Something you wanted so badly and just when you think you’re about to reach out and grab it, something else takes it away?”

“Everyone has dreams that don’t come true,” she answered, her voice guarded.

His shoulders slumped. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me,” she said.

“There’s something you don’t know about me,” he said, turning to face her again. “Actually, it’s something I’ve never told anyone.”

At his words, she felt her shoulders tense. “You’re married,” she said, leaning back.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then you’re seeing someone in New York and it’s serious.”

“No, that’s not it, either.”

When he said no more, she thought she saw a shadow of doubt cross his face.

“It’s okay,” she offered. “It’s none of my business, anyway.”

He shook his head and forced a smile. “You were close the first time,” he said. “I was married. And divorced.”

Expecting far worse, she almost laughed aloud in relief, but his somber expression restrained her.

“Her name was Maria. We were fire and ice at first, and no one could understand what we saw in each other. But once you got past the surface, we shared the same values and beliefs about all the big things in life. Including our desire for children. She wanted four, I wanted five.” He hesitated when he saw her expression. “I know that’s a lot of kids these days, but it was something we were both used to. Like me, she’d come from a large family.” He paused. “We didn’t know there was a problem right away, but after six months, she still wasn’t pregnant, and we went in for some routine tests. She turned out to be fine, but for whatever reason, it turned out that I wasn’t. No reason given, no answer possible. Just one of those things that sometimes happen to people. When she found out, she decided she didn’t want to stay in the marriage anymore. And now . . . I mean, I love my family, I love spending time with them, but when I’m there, I’m always reminded of the family that I’ll never be able to have. I know that sounds strange, but I guess you’d have to be me to understand how much I wanted kids.”

When he finished, Lexie simply stared at him, trying to make sense of what he’d just told her. “Your wife left you because you found out that you couldn’t have kids?” she asked.

“Not right away. But in the end, yes.”

“And there was nothing the doctors could do?”

“No.” He seemed almost embarrassed. “I mean, they didn’t say it was utterly impossible for me to have a child, but they made it clear that it would most likely never happen. And that was enough for her.”

“What about adoption? Or finding a donor? Or . . .”

Jeremy shook his head. “I know it’s easy to think she was heartless, but it wasn’t like that,” he said. “You had to know her to fully understand. She grew up thinking that she’d be a mother. After all, her sisters were all becoming mothers, and she would have been a mother, too, if it wasn’t for me.” He glanced up toward the ceiling. “For a long time, I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to think I was defective, but I was. And I know it sounds ridiculous, but after that, I just felt like less of a man. Like I wasn’t worthy enough for anyone.”

He shrugged, his voice growing more matter-of-fact as he went on. “Yeah, we could have adopted; yeah, we could have found a donor. I suggested all of that. But her heart wasn’t in it. She wanted to be pregnant, she wanted to experience childbirth, and it went without saying that she wanted it to be her husband’s. After that, things started going downhill. But it wasn’t just her. I changed, too. I was moody . . . I started traveling even more for my work . . . I don’t know . . . maybe I drove her away.”

Lexie studied him for a long moment. “Why are you telling me all this?”

He took a sip of his beer and scratched at the label on the bottle again. “Maybe it’s because I want you to know what you’re getting into with someone like me.”

At his words, Lexie felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She shook her head and turned away.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“What makes you think I don’t mean them?”

Outside, the wind began to pick up, and she heard the faint tones of the wind chime near the door.

“Because you don’t. Because you can’t. Because it’s not who you are, and it has nothing to do with what you just told me,” she said. “You and I . . . we’re not the same, as much as you want to think we are. You’re there, I’m here. You have a big family that you see frequently, I only have Doris, and she needs me here, especially now, considering her health. You like cities, I like small towns. You have a career you love, and I . . . well, I have the library and I love that, too. If one of us is forced to change what we have, what we’ve chosen to make of our lives . . .” She closed her eyes briefly. “I know that’s possible for some people to do, but it’s a hard row to hoe when it comes to building a relationship. You said yourself that the reason you fell in love with Maria was because you shared the same values. But with us, one of us would have to sacrifice. And if I don’t want to have to sacrifice, I don’t think it’s fair to expect you to sacrifice, either.”