Chapter Four
Libby opened the door to her home and turned on the lights. She placed her wristlet and keys in the large bowl on the table in the foyer. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
She internally cursed with every step she took. She had really messed this night up and badly. The man she always fantasized about was in her house, she had been in his, and she had found more ways to screw it up than to make it successful. Of course, he wanted that thumb-drive back. Of course she should have sent it to him years ago. Not to mention the fact that she had totally violated his privacy by reading every document on it more than once over the years.
She wasn’t lying when she said his essay had changed her life. It was titled “The Girl Behind Me and The Woman Ahead of Her”. She knew he could have been talking about anyone, but it was about this amazing person that Libby wanted to become and she had spent her days since graduating doing just that. She had a job lined up at a newspaper after college, but the essay said that woman was meant for greatness, and knew her own worth, so Libby talked to her old professors and got hooked up with a job in the Big Easy and that eventually led her to the job she had now in The Big Apple. She was doing everything she ever dreamed of doing as a writer with only a couple of exceptions. They were major exceptions, but until now she hadn’t thought about them.
He stood in her living room looking at the bookshelf and the collection her father had left her. It was such a déjà vu moment for her. She had sobered, but she still couldn’t keep from looking him over head to toe and back again. He turned, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours caught her eyes focused on his crotch. By the time her eyes made it to his he was looking a bit more offended than not.
She thought about the woman in the essay, the bold one, the independent thinker. She clutched the device in her palm and said, “I know that is the second time you caught me staring at your ass and then your crotch. I’m not a pervert; those are just some really…really nice jeans.”
“Noted.” He nodded. She saw him trying to stifle a yawn before he asked, “You have my flash-drive?”
“I do. I think you should stay here tonight.” She held up her hand with the device in it and added, “You’re tired. It’s almost midnight and that thunder means it is about to start pouring. It’s an hour and a half back to the city. I have a spare room and I would feel much better if you stayed in it than if you tried to drive home, fell asleep, slid off the road, or any other number of things that could happen.”
“You have some pretty graphic ideas of what could happen to me.” His brows drew down and he looked at her with that serious expression of his.
“I’d be responsible for it, and I prefer you to be among the living even if you are mad at me for keeping the flash-drive, or disappointed in me for being a lousy drunk, or…”
He held up his hands. “I’ll stay if it means you will give me my writing and I can go to bed now.”
“Promise?” She held it secure.
“Yes.” He nodded. “I’m tired. I’m grateful for the hospitality. I’m not mad really, I’m just…confused. Maybe after a good night of sleep I’ll be able to process this entire day.”
She closed the distance between them and looked up at him as she placed the device into his large, warm hand. The spark, the heat, the rush of emotions surged through her and she was sure he felt something too.
Then they both felt the house tremble as the storm outside rumbled loud and angry a moment before the rain began pelting against the windows. She immediately worried about the cat that slept on her porch more often than not. It didn’t always stay there in the evening. Libby was convinced the animal had more than one house it frequented since she had seen her on the neighbor’s porch from time to time. Still, Libby wouldn’t sleep if she thought the cat could be out there.
“I need to see if cat is out there.” She moved to the kitchen and the back door.
“Cat? You don’t have a name for it?” He followed her.
“It’s not my cat.” Libby opened the door and they both jumped with surprise as a very wet, angry creature ran past them like the new roar of thunder was right behind it. Libby closed the door and they shared a light laugh before following the animal to none other than the guest room. The room had originally been the master bedroom of the woman who died there.
“Oh no.” He yawned. “You can sleep in the guest room with the cat. I can sleep in your room. It’s just a bed. Doesn’t matter which one I sleep in as long as a strange cat is not in it.”
“I can’t sleep in that room.” Libby didn’t believe in ghosts, but she wasn’t about to find out her skepticism was inaccurate. That room gave her the chills which is why it was bare bones decorated. The lady who rented the house said it was haunted, but Libby hadn’t noticed anything major that would indicate that to be true.
“Because of the cat?”
“Sure.” Libby nodded. “That and the previous resident died in that room.”
“What?” He asked but the crackle outside demanded more attention and the electricity surrendered to the storm.
The next time lightning provided illumination, Libby swore someone was in the bed with the cat. It wasn’t her, it wasn’t Constantine. She knew that because she had grabbed ahold of his arm and now squeezed it for dear life. She pulled at him to follow her as she made her way down the hall to the other bedroom. Once inside, she shut and locked the door and asked in a hushed whisper, “Did you see that?”
“I can’t see anything.” He replied in a normal tone. “Do you have a flashlight or candle…”
“In the nightstand.” Libby was freaking out. She knew what she saw and she pressed her back to the bedroom door and tried to collect her wits and her courage as he bumped around the room making his way to her nightstand.
Of course the moment she heard a chuckle and a low buzzing, she reconsidered sleeping in the room with the ghost and the cat. A moment later, he twisted the base on the flashlight and it illuminated the vibrator he had in his other hand. “Huh. I wonder if they could combine this and save you space in your drawer. I mean they are almost the same size.”
“This is a nightmare. I’m having a nightmare. This is not real.” She groaned as she pushed off from the door. “None of this is real. I get it. I’ve been working too much lately and I fell asleep thinking about you and now I am trapped in this nightmare.”
“This isn’t…” He stopped and moved the light away from her as she started to get undressed. “Whoa. Libby. This is not a nightmare. I’m really here. This is really happening.”
“Of course it is. Just like in the story.” She continued to get undressed. She knew this was real, but she was not able to process reality and in light of the horrific fear of sharing a home with a ghost, she decided to get over the fear of sharing her time, her space, her body with this man. He was going to get into character or else…“You remember don’t you? The night was dark and stormy, two people on the run, the bad guys at unknown distance behind them and they have the fortune to find an abandoned cabin in the woods.”
In her bra and panties, she climbed onto her bed, reached across enough to grab the vibrator, put it back in the drawer, then grabbed the flashlight and took it from him. She set the flat base on her nightstand and it illuminated enough of the room that they could see one another in the shadows. She was never happier to have had the eye surgery than right now when she didn’t need to remove contacts in the bathroom, down the creepy hall.
“Libby I…”
“What? You don’t want to get lost in a fantasy of your own creation?” She was barely hanging on to the courage to be bold, to demand what she wanted, to take a risk.
“My…” He must have had a moment of clarity with the next clash of thunder because he changed his mind. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Didn’t you want to do this when we were in college?” She asked and admitted, “I did. I thought about you all the time. I would practice saying things to you and then the moment I saw you I couldn’t get a word out before class would start.”
“And I left for practice right after. I set that schedule all four years because I felt confident I could get through the composition and literature classes easier than some of the others.” He asked as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, “Why did you take those particular classes? You could have taken them at any time you wanted to.”
“I…” She would strangle him if he told her this fantasy was about someone else.
“You knew I would be in them because you volunteered at registration. You took them because I did?” he asked and the storm outside punctuated it with a flash of lightning.
“I had to take them anyway. I majored in English with a minor in journalism. I just preferred to take English as my last class of the day, and you happened to be in it. I was barely stalking you.” She admitted and sighed. “Great. Now I’ve lost it.”
“Lost what?” he asked around a yawn.
“The courage to seduce you.” She admitted and tugged at the blankets. She was in her bra and panties and over it. He was not going to play along; she was not going to escape tonight, so she was simply going to sleep.
He chuckled. “Where are your clothes? You want a t-shirt or something?”
She thought about it and the underwire bra she was wearing and said, “Third drawer.”
She felt his weight lift from the bed and then a moment later she felt a t-shirt hit her in the face. She heard the distinct sound of fabric sliding over flesh and it wasn’t the sound of her pulling on the t-shirt.
“Libby.” He slid under the blankets next to her as she undid the bra and slipped it off.
“Hum?” She was admittedly tired. The storm showed no sign of letting up and the man next to her showed no sign of giving in, so surrender was the only option.
“I do want you, but I don’t know if you’re sober enough for this tonight. You will be in the morning, so let’s just ride out the storm and see what the sun brings?” He adjusted the pillow and then turned out the flashlight.
Libby settled on the unfamiliar side of the bed and tried not to listen for sounds in the rest of the house, like the way the trees scratched at the windows or the way the wind howled. She tossed and turned on her side of the bed until a large arm extended across her, pulled her against his naked chest, and grumbled against the top of her head, “Stop moving.”
In a move of comfort more than defiance, she rolled to face him and readjusted her body along his. He rolled to his back and settled her against his side, her head on his shoulder, her thigh on his thigh, her fingers slid along his chest. She wished she felt a sexual charge like nothing she had ever felt before. She didn’t. It was much worse than that. She inhaled his scent and it settled deeply into her memory where it had once already carved out and placed a flag of identification, of ownership on her heart.
She knew before her brain settled into sleep that it would be the most peaceful sleep she had ever had. It was the first time in her life she ever really felt at home somewhere. Large, firm male fingers pressed into her lower back as if to secure her in place and she understood just how dangerous this reunion was for her heart.
When Libby awoke to an empty bed, she was sure she dreamed all of it. Then she made it to her kitchen and realized the door to the mudroom was open. She heard the clang of the old washing machine lid and her body jerked in response. She slid quietly to the counter and slipped a butcher knife from the block. It was still drizzling outside. She took in a controlled breath and made her way to the open door to peek around it. Whoever, or whatever it was, didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave the mudroom and come kill her.
She dropped the knife and it barely missed her foot as it speared the wood floor. He startled, and she gazed, mouth agape, at the naked man standing before her. He grabbed a folded towel off the top of her dryer and wrapped it around his waist as he fussed at her. “You scared me half to death! Is that a knife? What were you going to do with that?”
“Naked.” Libby didn’t fully understand why he was now crossing his arms over his chest and frowning down at her. Then she realized what word slipped out. “Sorry. I just…”
“Is there something I should know about? Is there a…medication you need to take or someone I should call?” The worst part was that he looked genuinely concerned. “I’m not trying to be offensive and I know it is no matter what. I just…don’t know what I can do to help you and you seem to need some help, Elizabeth.”
She closed her eyes, took a breath, and swallowed that insult down. He thought she was nuts and all because she had been a bit star struck, a bit lovesick, a bit…okay, she had been acting a bit crazy since seeing him. That first time, he had been awkward at first and it gave her an edge, this time, he was confident and secure with who he was and she was still fumbling. The truth was a little startling and also a little relief. She smiled and opened her eyes. “I admit when I woke up alone this morning I thought I might have dreamed you being here last night. I’ve dreamed about you before so that was no shock.”
Except by the look on his face and the flush on his cheeks and chest it was quite a shock to him. She kept her eyes above the towel. She picked up the knife and started back to the kitchen, aware he was following her. “Then I heard the lid on the machine. I didn’t want to find something or someone in there and not be able to defend myself.”
“You dropped the knife Libby, almost taking out your toe in the process.” She nodded as she dropped the knife into the sink and turned to face him.
“True.” She held out her hand and then motioned as she said, “But all that really…disarmed me. I thought if it were an intruder I could at least hold my own, but since most intruders are not nearly as naked, you will have to forgive my reaction.”
He shook his head, but he chuckled too. She gulped, decided to just let him have it, her. The real Elizabeth, Libby as she was today: flawed, shy except when at work, and that was going to have to be okay because this man knew better than her act. He knew things about her no one else bothered to remember.
He looked at her and she knew she had to just be herself with him. He said, “I uh, woke up and thought I would start some coffee, but when I looked into the guest room and realized the cat was…yeah, I hope that blanket wasn’t of any sentimental value because I just wrapped it up and took it out by the shed and buried it there. I didn’t want you to wake up and find that.”
It took her a minute to process what he said. “Wait. What?”
“It looked peaceful. Curled up and the fur was oddly smoothed as if someone had been petting it.” He tilted his head and studied her.
Libby felt the cold chill of creepy awareness seep into her bones. She would never be able to spend another night in that house knowing that what she saw last night was real. She was happy for Cat to find peace, but she was totally freaking out now. Contrary to the decision to prove she was not crazy, she was about to pull that train right out of the station on him and full steam ahead at that. “I saw her. Last night, when I grabbed your arm, I saw her.”
He shrugged as if that made sense when all of the other stuff she did made him think she was nuts. “Seriously? A moment ago you thought I was bananas and now you think that statement is no big deal?”
He rolled his left shoulder. “I believe that was possible. What I find unsettling is the rollercoaster of your moods. One minute you’re drinking to talk to me, and then you tell me you have something I thought I lost ten years ago. You start out trying to seduce me, but without my immediate compliance you lost interest. This morning you forgot I am even here, and then you almost attack me with a knife.”
All right so he had been on the rollercoaster with her this whole time. “Enjoying the ride?”
“What?” He bit his lower lip to keep from smiling. “Libby…just…tell me what’s going on with you right now.”
“I admit…I have been acting a little…unpredictable since meeting you again. I’m not normally bat shit crazy, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit of a…creative thinker.” She smiled and he chuckled. “You were my first…everything, and I’ve been doing a really good job at pretending I am above all that romantic…but I guess maybe I’m…not above it so much.”
“You were actually pretty amazing at it when you wrote about it.” He looked at her and she felt that compliment deeper than any other in her life.
“So, coffee?”
“Please.” He pulled out the chair at the table and took a seat. She started the process of making a pot of coffee and thought about Cat. She hadn’t named it because she was determined not to get attached to the animal. It was a futile plan.
She tried not to lose it when she admitted, “I’m glad you were here. I would have been a mess if I found…”
He was out of the chair and pulling her into a hug before she could even process it. She sobbed and grieved an animal she had been feeding and playing with and caring for, even though she tried to convince herself otherwise, for three years. “Cat never came inside. I tried on other nights, I called for her, I left the shed door open so she could…”
He stroked her head and whispered, “It was a boy.”
She sobbed harder.
“Hey. Libby, it’s okay. You did all you could for that creature and as old as it was I’m sure it was just his time to go. You let him inside on a stormy night and he found peace in his momma’s room, probably where he slept when she was alive. You could have done at least ten terrible things to that animal including taking it to the pound or putting it down, but you fed him, you gave him time and attention, and a let him stay at his home until he passed. You loved him.”
“I did.” She niffed. “He wouldn’t let me pet him or get close to him. In three years he acted more like a stray than a housecat, but I tried.”
His hand stroked down her hair again and she realized that she wasn’t freaking out about being this close to him, this wrapped up in a man’s arms, and she immediately understood that she was already in the water and if she didn’t start swimming she would drown. She squeezed him for a moment and then stepped back. He let her go easily and then took his seat at the table again. It was all awkward and comfortable, familiar and foreign.
“Libby.” Her name on his lips had her trembling inside. “You said my essay changed your life.”
She sniffed one last time as she dried her face. She nodded. “It did. I was going to work at the paper, but then I realized I was supposed to be something more than an intern with a low wage. Up until then, I pretty much lived through the characters I wrote and the ones I read about. You know, from workshops, that my family life wasn’t…ideal.”
He nodded. Waited.
She gulped. “I thought it was a little like fate that when I plugged in the thumb-drive thinking it was the one Professor Finch gave me only to find out it was yours. I just opened the last essay you wrote hoping to find a name and then I did, it was you, but the title…was it about me?”
He shifted a bit uncomfortably in the chair and she suddenly felt like her entire life had been built on a lie. “Well…”
“Oh my God! It wasn’t about me!” She laughed because it was either that or cry and she had already done that today. “Who was it about?”
“You…but not you. It started because of that story you read out loud for workshop and it was so…heartbreaking and I wanted to give you, her, a different life so I…wrote one.” He looked away and at the floor.
“You wrote an essay, like five pages.” She sighed.
“No. I wrote a book, like three hundred and twenty-five pages.” He wouldn’t look at her. “It’s kind of my graduate thesis when it’s done. I’m still working on it.”
She poured them both a cup of coffee. She doctored hers with more sugar and the flavored creamer from the refrigerator. He took his black. She sat at the table with him and processed what he said.
“I don’t regret reading it or thinking it was about me even though it kind of was, it wasn’t. I get that. I still want to thank you because it changed my life. I did need something and you did provide that, even if it wasn’t intentional.” She sipped her coffee and tried to accept that her dream of them being soul mates was based on being his muse, his sad, pathetic muse. She wasn’t a sad girl anymore though and she could handle being lonely. “I’ll make some breakfast. Your clothes will go in the dryer soon, and you can get back to your life without the rollercoaster in it.”
He seemed to be choosing his next words very carefully so she set about making breakfast. The washer buzzed and he left the kitchen to put his clothes in the dryer. She had food on the plates when he returned. She was still in just a t-shirt and panties and he was still in just a towel. “So, tell me about the last ten years, Mr. Crosby. That is what we were supposed to do before I put the safety bar down and took off on you.”