“Alex.” She tore her lips from his. “Alex,” she breathed again, almost panting. “Something’s wrong….”
She could feel his breath against her neck and his fingers in her hair, directing her mouth back to his, kissing her with such heat, Carol thought she’d disintegrate.
Her tears came in earnest then, a great profusion that had been building inside her for years. Long, lonely, barren years.
With the tears came pain, pain so intense she could hardly breathe. Agony spilled from her heart. The trauma that had been buried within her stormed out in a torrent of tears that she could no more stop than she could control.
Huge sobs shook her shoulders, giant hiccupping sobs that she felt all the way to her toes. Sobs that depleted her strength. Her breathing was ragged as she stumbled toward the edge of hysteria.
Alex was speaking to her in soft, reassuring whispers, but Carol couldn’t hear him. It didn’t matter what he said. Nothing mattered.
She clutched his shirt tighter and tighter. Soon there were no more tears to shed, no more emotion to be spent. Alex continued to hold her. He slid his arms all the way around her, and although she couldn’t understand what he was saying, his voice was gentle.
Once the desperate crying had started to subside, Carol drew in giant gulps of air in a futile effort to gain control of herself.
Slowly Alex guided her to the sofa and sat her down, then gathered her in his arms and held her tenderly.
Time lost meaning to Carol until she heard the clock chime midnight. Until then she was satisfied with being held in Alex’s arms. He asked no questions, demanded no explanations. He simply held her, offering comfort and consolation.
This newfound contentment in his arms was all too short-lived, however. Acute embarrassment stole through the stillness, and fresh tears stung Carol’s eyes. Her mind, her thoughts, her memories were steeped in emotions too strong to bear.
“I…I’ll make some coffee,” she whispered, unwinding her arms from him, feeling she had to escape.
“Forget the coffee.”
She broke away and got shakily to her feet. Before he could stop her, she hurried into the kitchen and supported herself against the counter, not sure if she could perform the uncomplicated task of making a pot of coffee.
Alex followed her into the darkened room. He placed one hand on her shoulder and gently turned her around, so she had no choice but to face him. “I want to talk about what happened.”
“No…please.” She leveled her eyes at the floor.
“We need to talk.”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “Not now. Please not now.”
A long, desperate moment passed before he gently kissed the crown of her head. “Fine,” he whispered. “Not now. But soon. Very soon.”
Carol doubted she could ever discuss what had happened between them, but she didn’t have the strength or the courage to say so. That would only have invited argument.
“I…I think you should go.”
His nod was reluctant. “Will you be all right?”
“Yes.” A bold-faced lie if ever there was one. She would never be the same again. She was mortified to the very marrow of her bones by her behavior. How could she ever see him again? And then the pain, the memories came rushing back…
No, she wouldn’t be all right, but she’d pretend she was, the same way she’d been pretending from the moment she married Bruce.
The message waiting for Alex when he returned to his office the following afternoon didn’t come as any surprise. His secretary handed him the yellow slip, and the instant he saw Carol’s name, he knew. She was working late that evening and asked if he could pick up Peter from track and drop him off at the house.
The little coward! He sat at his desk, leaned back in his chair and frowned. He hadn’t wanted to leave her the night before. Hadn’t wanted to walk out of her kitchen without being assured she was all right. Carol, however, had made it clear that she wanted him to leave. Equally apparent was the fact that his being there had only added to her distress. Whatever Carol was facing, whatever ghost she’d encountered, was ugly and traumatic.
So he’d left. But he hadn’t stopped thinking about her all day. The thought of her had filled every waking minute.
Even now, hours later, he could remember in vivid detail the way she’d started to unfold and blossom right before his eyes. Because of him. For him.
His frown deepened. She’d never talked about her marriage. Alex assumed it had to be the source of her anguish, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t even know her late husband’s name. Questions bombarded him, and he cursed the lack of answers.
And now, his sweet coward had gone into hiding.
“Will you talk to her, Mr. Preston?” Peter begged as he climbed inside the van in the school parking lot. “Mom’s never gone camping, and I think she’d probably like it if she gave it half a chance.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Alex promised.
Peter sighed with relief. “Good.”
Sounding both confident and proud, James said, “My dad can be persuasive when he wants to be.”
Alex intended to be very persuasive.
“I tried to reason with Mom this morning, and you know what she said?” Peter’s changing voice pitched between two octaves.
“What?”
“She said she didn’t want to talk about it. Doesn’t that sound just like a woman? And I thought Melody Wohlford was hard to understand.”
Alex stifled a chuckle. “I’ll tell you boys what I’m going to do. We’ll pick up hamburgers on the way home, and I’ll drop you both off at my house. Then I’ll drive over to your place, Peter, and wait for your mother there.”