They also knew when to speak and when to shut up. In bed, at least.
The moment they were naked, skin against hot skin, they came together like long-starved lovers. He was inside of her in seconds and she was ready for him in less time. He held himself above her and she pulled him into her. With her legs wrapped around him, they rocked together, erupting into a mutual orgasm that left them shuddering and panting. It was as though neither of them had been sexually satisfied in so long they were like overripe plums that fell from the same tree at the same time and exploded on impact with the ground.
Then they collapsed into grateful relief. Jake rolled over, next to her, and drew her close with one arm while he reached down to the foot of the bed with the other, and pulled the quilt over them.
“We didn’t even make it under the bedspread,” she whispered.
“That happens sometimes,” he said. And, beneath the quilt, he gently caressed her. Patiently and softly. Because he knew, when they recovered a little, they would do it again, but this time slowly. Carefully. Taking their leisure of each other.
But, most of all, not talking about it.
“It” was the difficult and complicated relationship they had shared for over twenty-five years. Though Charlie had passion for Jake, undeniable passion, she couldn’t stand being married to him. Couldn’t live with his mess, his childishness and high energy, his short fuse. He didn’t ever turn his short fuse on her, but it detonated all around her. Something on the job would work him up and he would slam around for hours, maybe days. It was impossible. He called himself “flexible,” but the truth was, he couldn’t stick to a plan. He was almost never on time, was easily distracted and forgot important things, like meeting her at the hospital when she was about to give birth. And he took too many risks, personally and professionally. He was just a big, dumb kid in a man’s body. He spit, went to boxing matches and never read books. Of any kind.
As for Jake, he was in love with Charlie and always had been. Desperately, passionately, hopelessly. But he couldn’t please her, except when he hunted down criminals or made love to her. In those two things she could find no fault. But she was rigid and had been set in her ways since she was twenty. She had this thing with being perfect—if she said dinner at six, she didn’t mean 6:03. From the day he met her she had had her life mapped out, exactly the way everything was going to happen for her, from college to law school to interning to her practice. She even had the date she was going to pass the bar written in her diary. Jake knew he wanted to be a cop, but beyond that he wasn’t sure of anything.
Stephanie. Now, there was something she hadn’t planned on. But then, neither had he. Despite the fact that Charlene and Jake couldn’t get along for five minutes, they’d done all right with Stephanie. It seemed there was one thing that gave them the impetus to compromise…and they both loved her more than life.
He touched her breast and kissed her neck. “I’m getting too old for this, Charlie.”
“Oh? You could’ve fooled me.”
He raised himself up on an elbow and looked down at her. “Y’know, this has happened to us from time to time, and we kind of go along with it because—”
“Shh,” she implored.
“No, this time I have to say something here. This is the first time either one of us let this happen when we were in a…you know…committed relationship.”
“Please, Jake, can we talk about this later?”
He kissed her below the ear. “If you promise. I have to talk about it this time.”
“I promise,” she said, and there was such a sound of sadness in her voice, such a dark liquid swell in her eyes, that he let it go and instead kissed her neck. Then her shoulder. Then her breast. He feasted gently on a nipple until he heard her sigh. Jake might not be a Rhodes scholar, but he knew how to take Charlie’s mind off her troubles. Obviously, something was wrong in Dennyland.
She couldn’t see him smile because it was dark and he was using his mouth to rouse incredible, breathtaking sensations in her.
By the time he came into her for the second time that night, they were once again starving for each other. It was spectacular. It always was. It never failed, even when there was anger between them. That was the hardest part about failing at everything else. Charlie had opted to go it alone. She rarely had a man in her life and Jake strongly suspected she hadn’t been in bed with one until Dennis, while Jake had kept trying to find a woman with whom he had this kind of incredible chemistry.
Charlie curled up next to him like a kitten, all soft and small and innocent. She sighed deeply, sleepily. She wasn’t going to be talking tonight. So, what else was new.
Jake knew better than anyone that there was no getting Charlie to do anything she didn’t want to do. So he decided to just enjoy the moment, holding her silky skin against him, her even breathing telling him that for once she wasn’t tense or sleepless, for once she was completely relaxed and he had done that for her. There was plenty of time for talk later. He’d get up early—it was unlikely he’d sleep much—and put on a pot of coffee and they would talk about it. “It.” The way they never did, in a quarter of a century, quite finish with each other. Their marriage, such as it was, was like a car wreck. They got behind the wheel of their union, neither of them experienced enough, patient enough, nor willing enough to keep it on the road. They ran it into a ditch and abandoned it.
At least they hadn’t abandoned Stephanie. He smiled at that thought. Pain-in-the-ass spoiled though she was, she was also bright, beautiful, compassionate and definitely good down to her last polished little toenail.
He pulled Charlene closer. Maybe now, mellowed, they could try this again. He’d do anything. Anything. Take Prozac and calm down; stay tidy and timely. He could do it. God, he loved her, had always loved her so much….
It was the phone that woke him, and his very first urgent thought was, Please don’t let anything have happened to Merrie, please. He swung his legs over the side of the bed; he thought better sitting up. The clock said midnight. He picked up.
“Hello? Yeah, honey, what’s the matter? Oh, really? Explain it to me. Slowly. Take a breath.” Charlene sat up behind him. He looked over his shoulder and gave her the shush sign. “Well, you’re in luck. We’ve been working together on a domestic thing. Your mom is doing the custody part for the woman and I’m trying to get evidence on the ex-husband, so, we put on the coffeepot and mapped out our joint investigation. Your mom was just getting ready to go…she’s in the bathroom. No, no, let me be the one to tell her…and explain. Okay? We’ll come right away. You got your phone? Good. She’ll call you from the car.”
“Jesus,” Charlene said. “What is it?”
“It’s Peaches, honey. She’s in the hospital.”
Eight
It was safe to say that Charlene wasn’t in control of her actions when she heard that Peaches was in the hospital, a respirator breathing for her. It was Jake who made sure she was tidied up enough to go to her mother’s—and daughter’s—side. When Charlene started frantically searching the floor for clothes to throw on, Jake slowed her down and said, “Whoa, now, just a little spit and polish. You don’t want to look like you just tumbled out of your ex-husband’s bed….”
Babbling incoherently, she let him help. A quick shower, a little talc and a touch of mousse, probably years old and left behind by some old wife or girlfriend. A dab of lipstick, then back into a lawerly suit after a whisk of the lint brush.
And then, of course, Jake had to drive while Charlene spent the fifteen-minute ride on the phone, getting the details, placing calls, leaving messages.
Messages for Dennis. Messages of desperate apology, completely unlike Charlie in the first place, and in the second place, she was sorry she had missed their appointment with the wedding consultant! Would he ever forgive her? As Jake overheard, it had been their third attempt to get together with this person who would help them plan their wedding. Their wedding? Jake almost took the car up a pole when
he heard that. What was up with Charlie?
He had never seen this before. Yeah, she’d been in and out of his bed over the years, reluctantly admitting she liked sleeping with him despite the fact she did not get much pleasure from having him as a husband. It was regular, it was cyclical, and he looked forward to it. She never interfered with his marriages, she never came around if she was dating someone. She called the shots, but she always knew what she wanted. This remorseful Charlie was someone he’d never met.
On her third call to Dennis’s voice mail, “Dennis, you must have your phone turned off for a reason. Maybe you have an early morning, whatever…. But I’m so sorry I missed our appointment for tonight…and as soon as I know the details about Mother, I’ll leave you a message and…and I hope you’re all right, darling….”
Jake hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. Charlene didn’t notice.
As it turned out, Peaches had been caught in a fire. She wasn’t burned, but she suffered some smoke inhalation. Apparently she’d left the stove on and either fallen asleep or suffered a small stroke. In either case, it was her neighbor, Mr. Conklin, who had noticed the smell of smoke through his open window and rushed to save her. She was not seriously hurt; the night nurse hastened to tell Charlene that Peaches’s condition was stable. But she had been so distraught and combative they’d had to give her a powerful tranquilizer. She was sleeping deeply and comfortably now and a full examination and diagnosis was to follow.
Just as bad as the sight of Peaches lying prone in a hospital bed, being helped to breathe by a respirator, was Stephanie’s face—ashen and afraid. The poor girl looked stricken.
“Oh Mom!” she cried when Charlene walked into the room. She flew out of the chair and into Charlene’s arms. Stephanie was taller than her mother by four inches, and with her chunky, thick-soled shoes giving her even more height, towered over her. But Charlene held her, stroked her back and murmured that it was all right. Of course Charlene wasn’t sure it was, but that was what she promised just the same.
“I was so scared,” Stephanie whispered, her voice jagged. “I couldn’t find you!”
“Goddamn phone,” Charlene cursed in a profound lie. But what was she supposed to do? Explain? She couldn’t even explain the events of this evening to herself. In fact, she couldn’t stand to even think about it.
“But imagine, finding you at Daddy’s at midnight!”
“Believe me, no one is more surprised than me. It was work.”
Jake, who stood behind Charlene, looked at the floor. He had gotten her to the hospital in record time, looking fresh as a daisy, and as a reward for his goodness he had been privy to her desperate messages left on Dennis’s voice mail. Nothing made a guy feel better than getting out of bed with a woman and having the first person she thinks to call be another guy.
“I can explain all that later, Stephanie. Tell us what happened to Peaches.”
“The fire was in her kitchen, probably a pan left on the stove. She was asleep or passed out or stroked out on the couch in the den. The TV was on, so she might’ve just forgotten about it, but they’re going to check her head…her brain…anyway. Fortunately, she forgot to close the kitchen window, and Mr. Conklin, you know, next door? He smelled smoke.” Stephanie slanted her eyes to the figure sitting on the other side of her mother’s hospital bed.
For the first time Charlene noticed that Jasper Conklin sat vigil. He looked devastatingly concerned, and this made her frown. What was this man’s sudden interest, after all these years? “Hello, Mr. Conklin,” she said warily. He gave a nod. She then gave Stephanie her attention again.
“So, it’s not as bad as it looks. She’s been sedated and the respirator is only helping her breathe. She might even get to go home tomorrow. Oh, but now that’s going to be a problem, because Mr. Conklin says her kitchen’s a wreck.”
“Smoke damage,” he said quietly. “And…water damage.”
“Mom, Peaches was really acting up when the paramedics brought her here. I’ve never seen her so upset and…and uncooperative. She was coughing and gasping for breath and she still wouldn’t let them put oxygen on her. They were talking about restraining her. She was like a bad two-year-old. They were asking if Peaches had been showing symptoms of confusion and disorientation and Mr. Conklin told them she had. Just lately.”
Again Charlene looked past her daughter at her mother’s neighbor. He shrugged his shoulders lamely.
“Mr. Conklin, will you come into the hall and tell me about it?” Charlene whispered.
“Sure,” he said, slowly getting to his feet. He was looking a little older tonight; being tired and frazzled had taken its toll. As he moved slowly around the hospital bed, he gave one of Peaches’s hands a pat.
“Honey, stay here with your dad while I talk with Mr. Conklin.”
“Okay,” Stephanie said. The moment they had stepped into the hall, Stephanie turned her distressed whisper on her father. “Oh, Daddy, I was a wreck. Do you have any idea how weird tonight was?”
He had some ideas, but held his tongue.
“First of all, I had unplugged my phone because…because I had all these papers to grade. I plugged it in to call Grant at work and it rang before I could dial. And then I couldn’t find Mom! Do you know how strange that is? I mean, that phone is her lifeline. And if she doesn’t answer her cell phone, Dennis answers his.”
“Well, modern technology isn’t always what it seems….”
“What was she doing at your house?”
“Like I said, we’re working on this case…. I talked her into a pro bono custody case for a friend, and we…She ran into some trouble. The friend. It’s pretty complicated, but it’s just police business.”
“Okay, okay…but, you’re not in a fight, are you?”
“Who?” he asked, perplexed.
“You and Mom?”
“Huh? Oh, no. No, not at all. We’re actually working together on this.” He rubbed his chin as if in thought. “Very amicably, as it happens.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I don’t need Peaches on the machine, Grant at the bar and you and Mom bickering.” And Freddy the Stalker, who she was not entirely sure was only a pest.
“We don’t bicker,” he said, a half smile on his lips.
“Only most of the time. Probably where I get it from.”
He threaded his hand through her pretty hair, grasping the back of her neck under the heavy honey-colored mane. “We all do pretty well for as goofy as we are.”
“Oh, Daddy.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “I can’t stand that this is happening to Peaches. What are we going to do?”
“Our best. That’s all we can do. We’ll get her the help she needs.”
“Did Mom call Dennis? Because he didn’t answer his phone either and this is his hospital…you know, where he works. He knows everyone here. I was stuck making decisions for Peaches, which I hated to do without talking to Dennis first.”
“She called him. Left him messages. I think I counted four.”
“I wish he was here….”
“Steph? I didn’t know they were getting married. Your mom and Dennis.”
“Gee, I’m sorry, Dad. It never occurred to me to tell you. You just found out tonight?”
“Yeah,” he said. “More or less.” She said she was dreadfully sorry so many times that he wondered if Dennis would catch on. It was odd for Charlie to gush and grovel that way. More typical of her was a quick explanation, followed by a brief and not terribly sincere expression of regret. Then it was over.
From what Jake heard, Charlie was writhing with deep internal guilt. Guilt that she probably wouldn’t feel so profoundly if she hadn’t been rousted out of her little love nest by her mother’s accident. Jake knew from experience there was nothing like an accident to make you feel as if everything you did was wrong.
“You’re not upset about it, are you, Daddy?” she asked.
“Upset? Why would I be upset?”
“I don?
??t know. You seem a little…you know…sad.”
“Stephie, it’s been a long day. I’ve been to two too many hospitals tonight. I’m shot.” And a little sad that Charlie would use him like that when she had a sure thing planned with Dennis. Even though he didn’t like Dennis all that much, he wasn’t going to cuckold him.
“Maybe you should go home, get some sleep.”
“Probably. First I’m going to see if your mom needs anything.”
She smiled at him. “I bet there are a lot of women who wish their ex-husbands were as nice as you.”
He thought about where he’d been an hour ago, about that brief fantasy that maybe they could try again. He smiled back at her. “You don’t know the half, punkin.”
Charlene spoke quietly to Jasper Conklin. “Naturally, I have a lot of questions—”
“And I probably know every one of them,” he said. “You want to ask me a few things, or should I just start shooting answers at you?”
“Have I missed something, Mr. Conklin? When did you and my mother become such good friends?”
“Will you at least call me Jasper? Or, if you prefer, you can call me Albert. That’s what your mother calls me, though I have no idea why.”
“Albert?”
“I suppose this looks strange to you, Charlene. We’ve been neighbors for so many years without—Well, you knew my wife was an invalid.”
“I knew that, yes.”
“She was very dependent. Most of the time I needed nursing help. She died four years ago.”
“Yes, I know. I’m so sorry.”
“A blessing.” He shrugged. “I regret that I didn’t get to know my neighbors better years ago, but the time for regrets is past, isn’t it? Regret seems to have been a constant companion of mine for a long time. I spent twenty-five years regretting that I had to care for a sick wife and then four years regretting that she was gone. I took retirement a year ago and I’ve been bored to tears. And lonely.”