Between Sisters Part 32

She didn't let herself think about it. If she did, she'd call herself a fool and stay put. So she hummed along with the music and walked down the gravel road. When she reached the black ribbon of asphalt, she turned right.

At his gate, she paused. The lights were on.

This was so unlike her.

She pushed the thought away and went to his door. There, she debated for another minute or two, then knocked.

Moments later, Joe opened the door. His hair was messed up, as if he'd been asleep; all he wore was a pair of black jeans. He waited for her to say something, but her voice had pulled a full retreat. She just stood there like an idiot, staring at his naked chest.

"You just going to stand there?"

She lifted her right hand, showing him the bottle of champagne she'd carried over.

He stared at her, saying nothing. When the silence became uncomfortable, he grabbed a black T-shirt from the sofa and put it on, then came back to the door. "I suppose you're h.o.r.n.y. That's why you came by, right?"

She flinched at that. She thought about pulling herself up, slapping him, even, but it would be for show. A woman who screwed strangers had lost that right long ago. He was being honest, but there was something else, too. It felt as if he were angry with her. She couldn't imagine why. Even more disconcerting was the realization that she cared. "No. I thought maybe we could go out."

"You want us to go on a date date? At one o'clock in the morning?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"A better question is why."

She looked up at him. When their gazes locked, she felt a flutter in her pulse. She couldn't possibly put the answer into words. She didn't dare look too closely at her own motivations. "Look, Joe. I was in a good mood. Maybe I had too much to drink." Her voice stumbled; need tripped her up. Humiliated, she closed her eyes. "I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry." When she opened her eyes, she saw that he'd moved closer. It would take nothing at all for him to kiss her now, barely a movement.

"I'm not much for going out."

"Oh."

"But I wouldn't mind if you wanted to come in."

She felt the start of a smile. "Great."

"What I mind mind," he said, "is waking up alone. It's okay if you don't want to spend the night, but don't sneak out like a hooker."

So that was it. "I'm sorry."

He smiled. It lit up his whole face, made him look ten years younger. "Okay. Come on in."

She touched his arm. "That's the first time I've seen you smile."

"Yeah," he said softly, maybe sadly. "It's been a while."

Meghann slept through the night. When dawn came to the small, dingy cabin windows and peered inside, she woke with a start. Instead of feeling nervous and cranky-her normal moods after a sleepless night-she felt rested and relaxed. She couldn't remember the last time morning had been so sweet.

She felt the heavy weight of Joe's bare leg against her own. His arm was around her, anchoring her in place. Even in sleep, his forefinger brushed possessively against her skin.

She should move away. It was a maneuver she'd perfected over the years-the intimacy-evading sideways roll, the silent plop to the floor, the soundless dressing and unseen exit.

What I mind, he'd said last night, is waking up alone is waking up alone.

She couldn't sneak out.

The surprising part was that she didn't want to, not really. She sensed that she should should, in that basic self-preservation kind of way, but really, it felt good to be in a man's arms again. As she lay here, listening to his slow, even breathing, feeling his arm around her, she couldn't help but realize how little intimacy she'd known in her life. She was always so in control, moving forward on the path she saw for herself, she never let herself slow down enough to feel anything. It wasn't real, of course, this intimacy she felt with Joe. They didn't know or care deeply about each other, but for Meghann, even this approximation of emotion was more than she'd felt in years.

The s.e.x had been different last night, too. Softer, gentler. Instead of their previous I'm-going-as-fast-as-I-can coupling, they'd acted as if they had all the time in the world. His long, slow kisses had made her crazy with wanting. It wasn't simple horniness, either; at least that's what she'd thought when he'd swept her away. She'd imagined that there was something more between them.

That worried her. Need was something she understood, accepted. In a gray world, it was jet-black.

Emotion was something else entirely. Even if it wasn't a lead-up to love, it was trouble. The last thing Meghann wanted was to care for someone.

Still . . .

She had never been one to deceive herself and, just now, lying naked in his arms, she had to admit that there was something between them. Not love, surely, but something something. When he kissed her, it felt as if she'd never been kissed before.

There it was, as clear to her as the colors of the rising dawn: the prelude to heartache.

The beginning.

It had sneaked up on her. She'd opened a door called anonymous s.e.x and found herself standing in a room filled with unexpected possibilities.

Possibilities that could break a woman's heart.

If she left him behind, he would fade into a pretty memory. It might hurt to remember him, but it would be a bittersweet pain, almost pleasurable. Certainly preferable to the kind of heartache that was sure to follow if she tried to believe in something more than s.e.x.

She had to end this thing right now, before it left a mark.

The realization saddened her, made her feel even lonelier.

She couldn't help herself; she leaned over and kissed him. She wanted to whisper, Make love to me, Make love to me, but she knew her voice would betray her. but she knew her voice would betray her.

So she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. It didn't help. All she could think about was later, when she would leave him.

She knew she wouldn't say good-bye.

Joe awoke with Meghann in his arms, their naked bodies tangled together. Memories of last night teased him, made him feel strangely light-headed. Most of all, he remembered the hoa.r.s.e, desperate sound of her voice when she'd cried out his name.

He shifted his weight gently, moved just enough so that he could look down at her. Her black hair was a tangled mess; he remembered driving his hands through it in pa.s.sion, then stroking it as he fell asleep. Her pale cheeks looked even whiter against the grayed cotton pillowcase. Even in sleep, he saw a kind of sadness around her eyes and mouth, as if she worried her troubles both day and night.

What a pair they were. They'd spent three nights together now and had exchanged almost no secrets about each other.

The amazing thing was, he wanted her again already. Not just her body, either. He wanted to get to know her, and just that-the wanting-seemed to change him. It was as if a light had gone on in a place that had been cold and dark.

And yet it frightened him.

The guilt was so much a part of him. In the last few years it had wrapped around him, bone and sinew. For more nights than he wanted to count, it had been his strength, the only thing holding him together; the first thing he remembered in the morning and the last thing on his mind when he fell asleep.

If he let go of the guilt-not all of it, of course, but just enough to reach for a different life, a different woman-would he lose the memories, too? Had Diana become so intertwined with his regret that he could have both or neither? And if so, could he really really make a life that was separate from the woman he'd loved for so much of his life? make a life that was separate from the woman he'd loved for so much of his life?

He didn't know.

But just now, looking down at Meghann, feeling the whisper softness of her breath against his skin, he wanted to try. He reached out, brushed a silky strand of hair from her face. It was the kind of touch he hadn't dared in years.

She blinked awake. "Morning," she said, her voice scratchy and raw.

He kissed her gently, whispered, "Good morning."

She pulled back too quickly, turned away. "I need to go. I'm supposed to pick up my niece at nine o'clock." She threw the covers back and got out of bed. Naked, she yanked a pillow up to cover herself and hurried into the bathroom. By the time she reemerged, dressed once again in her expensive lavender silk dress, he was dressed.

She picked up her strappy sandals in one hand and draped her panty hose over one shoulder. "I've really got to go." She glanced at the front door and started to turn toward it.

He wanted to stop her, but didn't know how. "I'm glad you came last night."

She laughed. "Me, too. Twice."

"Don't," he said, moving toward her. He had no idea what-if anything-was between them, but he knew it wasn't a joke.

She looked at the door again, then up at him. "I can't stay, Joe."

"See you later, then. Good-bye." He waited for her to answer, but she didn't. Instead, she kissed him. Hard. He was breathless by the time she pulled back, whispered, "You're a good man, Joe."

Then she was gone.

Joe went to the window and watched her leave. She practically ran to her car, but once she was there, she paused, looking back at the house. From this distance, she looked oddly sad. It made him realize how little he knew her.

He wanted to change that, wanted to believe there was a future for him after all. Maybe even one with her.

But he'd have to let go of the past.

He didn't know how to do all of it, how to start a life over and believe in a different future, but he knew what the first step was. He'd always known.

He had to talk to Diana's parents.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

MEGHANN PARKED THE CAR AND GOT OUT. A QUICK glance up at the house told her that no one was home. The lights were all out. She rammed her panty hose into her handbag and ran barefoot across the lawn, then slipped quietly into the darkened house. glance up at the house told her that no one was home. The lights were all out. She rammed her panty hose into her handbag and ran barefoot across the lawn, then slipped quietly into the darkened house.

Thirty minutes later, she was showered, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and packed. On her way out, she paused long enough to write Claire a quick note, which she left on the kitchen counter.

Claire and Bobby Claire and Bobby Welcome home. Welcome home. Love, Meg. Love, Meg.

She drew a funny picture of a pair of martini gla.s.ses alongside her name, then paused, took one last look at the house that was so much a home. It was unexpectedly difficult to leave. Her condo was so cold and empty by comparison.

Finally, she went to her car and drove slowly through the campground.

The place was quiet this early on a Sunday morning. There were no children in the pool, no campers walking around. A lonely pair of fishermen-father and son by the looks of them-stood at the riverbank, casting their lines toward the water.

At the property line she turned right onto a rutted gravel road. Here, the trees grew closer together, their towering limbs blocking out all but the hardiest rays of morning sunlight. Finally, she came to the clearing, a horseshoe-shaped yard full of oversize rhododendrons and humongous ferns. A gray mobile home squatted on cement blocks in the middle of the yard, its front end accentuated by a pretty cedar deck. Pots of red geraniums and purple petunias were everywhere.

Meghann parked the car and got out. As always, she felt a tightening in her stomach when she thought about meeting Sam. It took a concerted effort to look at him and not remember their past.

Go. Just leave.

You're just like your Mama.

She gripped her purse strap and walked up the gravel walkway and onto the porch, which smelled of honeysuckle and jasmine on this June morning.

She knocked, too softly at first. When no one answered, she tried again. Harder this time.

The door swung open, hinges creaking, and there he was, filling the doorway, dressed in shabby overalls and a pale blue T-shirt that read: River's Edge River's Edge. His brown hair was Albert Einstein wild.

"Meg," he said, clearly forcing a smile. He stepped back. "Come on in."

She sidled past him and found herself in a surprisingly cozy living room. "Good morning, Sam. I'm here to pick up Alison."

"Yeah." He frowned. "Are you sure you want to take her this week? I'd be happy to keep her."

"I'm sure you would," she answered, stung. It was too much like the other time.

"I didn't mean anything by that."

"Of course not."

"I know how busy you are, though."

She looked at him. "You still think I'm a bad influence, is that it?"

He took a step toward her, stopped. "I should never have thought that. Claire's told me how good you were to her. I didn't know about kids back then, and I sure as h.e.l.l didn't know about teenage girls who-"

"Please. Don't finish that sentence. Do you have a list for me? Allergies. Medications. Anything I should know?"

"She goes to bed at eight. She likes it if you read her a story. The Little Mermaid The Little Mermaid is her favorite." is her favorite."

"Great." Meg looked down the hallway. "Is she ready?"

"Yeah. She's just telling the cat good-bye."

Meg waited. Somewhere in the trailer a clock ticked past a minute, then another.