Chapter Twenty-five

Madelaine and Angel walked hand in hand down the midway. The surreal smear of sound and color and light exploded around them. Barkers called out, laughing, urging Angel to try his hand at the ring toss, or buy a corn dog, or get his photograph taken with Heloise the fat woman in booth number six.

Madelaine was mesmerized by all of it. With each step she felt the years falling away. Angel’s betrayal faded into insignificance, and the days and nights she’d waited for his return were forgotten. She couldn’t carry that weight anymore, not now, when she felt lighter than air, and young … so young.

“Look!” Angel pointed at a booth on the midway and dragged her toward it. She stumbled after him, laughing, clinging to his hand.

At the booth he slipped on his mask and leaned over the wooden edge. The barker, a wrinkly-faced old man, grinned at him. “Win a bauble for your girl, mister?”

Madelaine saw what Angel was looking at, and her breath caught. It was a pair of gaudy, red plastic earrings, dangling from a coat hanger stapled to the wooden backboard.

She knew she shouldn’t look at him right now. If she did, he’d see everything in her eyes. He’d know what this moment meant to her, what his remembering made her feel. But she couldn’t look away.

When their gazes met, she felt a jolt of electricity. “The earrings,” she whispered.

He smiled and tenderly touched her cheek.

“Okay, you lovebirds,” the barker called out in a booming voice, jangling the change belt at his waist. “You gonna play or what?”

Angel grinned. “Or what.”

Before Madelaine could ask what he meant, he’d grabbed her hand and was pulling her down the midway. Laughing, she clung to him, letting him sweep her away. It wasn’t until they’d reached the edge of the carnival that she understood where he was taking her. She caught her breath and felt a tiny pinching pain in her heart.

He took her to the tree, their tree.

The memories came back in a rush, squeezing her chest until she could barely breathe.

He kneeled in the dying grass, dragging her down beside him. Wordlessly he let go of her hand and started clawing at the earth, digging until there was a pile of dirt at his knee. “Got ’em,” he said at last, drawing the dirty red earrings from the damp black ground. He pulled the mask from his face, let it hang limply around his throat, then he turned to look at her.

Madelaine stared down at the cheap plastic trinkets and remembered their last night together—when they’d lain under this old oak tree and promised to love each other forever.

It should hurt, remembering that; it always had in the past. But tonight, with the earrings in his hands and the smell of popcorn and magic in the air, nothing had the power to hurt her.

“You remembered,” she whispered, biting down on her lower lip. When she looked at him, the tears came, cresting, slipping down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them, didn’t want to.

He used one muddy finger to push a strand of hair from her eyes. “What did we say back then? Crazy teenaged words about our love never ending, about these earrings being a reminder of our love for always …”

She forced herself to laugh and wanted to say something glib or easy, but nothing came out except a croaking, quiet “Silly words.”

No smile curved his lips. “Not silly. You said, ‘Let’s leave them here. That way a part of us will always exist under this old tree. When we’re old, we can come back here with our grandchildren.’ ”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“I tried to forget, Mad. I ran and ran until there was nowhere left to go. A lot of the time I did forget, but the words were always back there, buried inside me.” He took her hand in his and placed the cheap, filthy jewels in it. “I never forgot you. I know that doesn’t make everything all right, but I never forgot …”

She wanted to say I love you right then, wanted to say it so badly, the words burned in her throat. “I never forgot you, either.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say, but it was all the courage she had. This moment meant too much; she couldn’t jeopardize it with words he wasn’t ready to hear.

“Let’s go on the Ferris wheel,” he said.

She smiled at him and nodded. He pulled her to her feet and held her close. Together, clinging to each other like teenagers in love, they strolled down the midway. Halfway there, she bought a huge puff of cotton candy and pulled off a winding, sticky strip.

He stopped in front of the Ferris wheel, shaking his head at her. “I can’t believe you’re going to eat that stuff in front of a heart patient.”

“You never did like it.”

Surprise darted across his eyes, and then he smiled. “I forgot how well you knew me.”

She pulled off another piece and popped it in her mouth.

He pulled out the bandana and wiped the sticky smear off of her nose. “You should have had stuff like that as a kid,” he said.

She tried to laugh, but it wasn’t funny and they both knew it.

“Come on.” He took her hand and led her onto the Ferris wheel. The ride operator—a young girl with bleached hair and a pierced nostril stared at Angel in obvious awe.

“M-Mr. DeMarco,” she said, “are you the one who rented us for the night?”

He nodded. “Give us a long ride, willya, darlin’?” He dragged Madelaine onto the wide, black-vinyl-covered seat and clicked the safety bar in place. Then he gave the girl a thumbs-up. The ride began with a whining, mechanical groan, and they were pulled away from the ramp.

Madelaine leaned back and stared up at the night sky. The seat swayed and rocked and lifted them higher and higher into the darkness, until stars were all around them, close enough to touch, and the midway was a faraway haze of yellow and white light.

Angel draped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close to him. In the distance they could hear the rollicking calliope of the merry-go-round and the mechanical whoosh of the Round-up.

But up here, tangled in the blanket of stars and touched by the light of a half-moon, the carnival seemed a million miles away.

Angel twisted around to face her. “Mad …”

There was something in his tone of voice that frightened her—he sounded so serious. She was suddenly afraid that this was it, that he’d done all this just to say good-bye. Maybe he wanted to do it right this time. Now he had a daughter to think of—he didn’t want to roar out of town on a Harley.

“Don’t say anything,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes, knowing in that instant that she’d never be able to forget him this time, never be able to get over him. If he was going to leave, she’d rather he just did it, just picked up his stuff and ran. She couldn’t take a good-bye.

“I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

Her breath escaped in a rush of relief. She was so thankful for what he hadn’t said that it took her a second to realize what he had said. “Thank you for saving your life?” She swallowed hard. “Is that what this is about, Angel? Thanking your cardiologist?” The words tasted bitter.

He smiled softly. “No. I don’t mean thank you for saving my physical body—although I do appreciate it.” He leaned toward her and touched her cheek, giving her a tender smile. “I mean, thank you for saving my life. Without you in these past few weeks, I couldn’t have found the strength to go on. I think I would have drunk myself sick and run away. But you … and Lina, you gave me another way.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“That’s my Mad,” he said, laughing, tugging a strand of hair from her lip. “I’m going to kiss you now, Mad. If you’ve got a problem with that …” Smiling, he leaned toward her.

She stared at him, mesmerized by the yearning she saw in his eyes. The desire to kiss and be kissed by him was irresistible, and before she knew it, she was leaning toward him.

He took her face in his hands and tunneled his fingers through her tangled hair, tilting her face up. Slowly he kissed her.

His mouth fit hers perfectly, just as it had so many years ago. It started out soft and gentle, that first kiss after so many lost and lonely years. She clung to him, kissing him with everything in her, as if she could draw that essential spark of him into her very soul, as if she could have some piece of him to take away from this magical ride.

The kiss deepened, turned wrenching and dangerous. His tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting, exploring, memorizing, and still she clung to him, moaning her response, molding her body to his.

The Ferris wheel bucked and carried them back up into the stars, but Madelaine hardly noticed. All she felt was an overwhelming need to be touched and held and stroked by this man.

The ride came to a jerking stop.

“That long enough, Angel?”

Madelaine pulled out of his arms and stared at the young ride operator. The girl gave her a grin.

“I think we’re done,” Angel said, pulling his mask back into place. “Come on, Mad.”

Madelaine felt light enough to float off the ride. He took her hand and led her, stumbling, down the midway.

They walked together for hours, talking, laughing, remembering the good times and letting go of the bad. Angel was his usual larger-than-life self, tossing dollar bills to the employees as he passed them, signing autographs, and standing patiently to have his photograph taken.

Finally they made their way back to the entrance. There he stopped to talk to an older gentleman in a ragged wool coat. “The first wave of kids will be here at ten o’clock tomorrow. Show them a good time and you’ll see a hell of a tip.”

Madelaine frowned at Angel as they walked away. “Who was that? What kids?”

He shrugged. “Tomorrow I’ve arranged for a bunch of kids from the Make-a-Wish Foundation to have the carnival to themselves. Them and the kids from Children’s Orthopedic. No big deal.”

Madelaine stared at him. “You really have changed.”

He pulled the mask down and grinned at her. “You got off the Ferris wheel with your clothes on. Now, that’s a change.”

She didn’t blink. “What makes you think I want them on?”

He swallowed hard. His smile fell. “Get in the car.”

“Where are we—”

He unlocked her door and swung it open. “Let’s go.”

Angel had never wanted to make love to a woman as desperately as he wanted to right now. Every time he looked at Madelaine, he felt the ache grow and swell. It had taken all of his self-control—and probably some of Francis’s—to get off that Ferris wheel without ripping her clothes off.

It was all he’d thought about at the carnival, wanting her, needing her, and yet now that he had her close beside him, he was scared to death. He drove slowly through the deserted streets, his hands sweaty on the steering wheel. He tried not to think about having sex with her, but the thought kept coming back to torment him. He’d planned for it, fantasized about it, but—

Could he do it? That was the question that paralyzed him, made the sweat break out along his forehead. He didn’t know if he could last the distance, or if he could even start the race. Before the surgery? No problem, but that was a hell of a before.

By the time they reached their destination, he was barely able to utter a coherent sentence. He eased the Mercedes up to the curb and killed the engine.

She gasped quietly and turned to him. He didn’t need to hit the interior light to see the look on her face. Her eyes would be wide and unblinking, her teeth nipping nervously on her lower lip. “Why are we here?” she said softly.

He cracked his door open and let light splash across her face. “You’ll see. Come on.” He felt her reluctance and forced himself to ignore it. He’d given this thing a lot of thought, and it had to be done. Some demons could be swept under the rug, but some just had to be faced.

He reached under his seat for a flashlight, then got out of the car and waited patiently on the curb.

After a long minute, she hit the handle and opened her door. Climbing out, she slammed the door and stared up at the house he’d pulled up in front of. Her father’s house.

It stood on the hill like a castle, a peaked black silhouette against a starry sky. Moonlight glanced off the mullioned panes of glass and wound around the bars on her bedroom window. The white-pillared portico sheltered the front step from rain and cast the stoop in shadows. Four sculpted brick chimneys rose from the peaked roof line. A spike-tipped black iron gate guarded the hillside lot, kept the riffraff from wandering in.

It looked gloomy and angry, the darkened house she’d grown up in. Skeletal trees marched along the fence line, their limbs clinging to the last leaves of autumn.

“Only thing missing is a sign that says Bates Motel,” Angel said wryly.

Madelaine didn’t return his smile.

“Come on, Mad,” he said quietly, reaching out his hand for her.

She came toward him slowly, taking his hand, tucking her small, cold one in his. Wordlessly he led her to the front door, then scouted around for a rock. Finding one, he drew back, ready to fling it through the plate glass living room window.

She stopped his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Getting us inside.”

She gave him a strange look. “Try the key. It’s in the loose brick under the top step.”

He cast a look downward, saw the brick sticking out. “It’s not half as fun.…”

She didn’t smile. “Use the key.”

He found the key in the crumbling mortar of its hiding place and slipped it into the lock. The door opened with a whining creak. He flashed his flashlight into the gloom and walked into the shadowy foyer, her hand held tightly in his. Slamming the door shut behind them, he led her down the foyer, past the massive kitchen, into the dark room that had once been her father’s office. Even now, all these years later, it still smelled of cigar smoke and power.

He fished a book of matches from his pocket and knelt before the huge white marble fireplace. Plucking firewood from the copper barrel on the hearth, he built a fire. Flames leapt and writhed on the long-dry wood. Heat pumped into the cold room.

And still she stood there, shivering, unmoving.

He went to her and took her hands in his. When their gazes met, he saw her anxiety, and the words he’d practiced stuck in his throat.

“Why are we here? You know how I feel about this place.”

He heard the fear in her voice and he ached for her, just as he had so many times in the past. He didn’t know the particulars of what had happened to her in this house, with that crazy, mean old man as her father, but he knew she’d been hurt. “This is where it happened, and it seemed right that this is where it ends … and maybe begins.”

“I don’t understand.”

He looked around the room. It was exactly as he remembered it, except for the fine layer of dust that clung to the furniture now and the faint scent of mildew. Silver sconces, black with tarnish, still held thick white candles. Two huge burgundy leather chairs sat huddled in the corner, backed up to heavily paneled walls. Long, dirty windows parenthesized the fireplace, their panes half-covered by dusty drapes. The same bear rug covered most of the thick plank flooring. “This is where I sold my soul for ten thousand dollars.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she said, and he could tell she meant it. But there was too much between them, too much at risk, to pretend he hadn’t done what he’d done to her. If they were going to have any chance for a future, he had to atone for the past.

“I know we don’t have to talk about it, but I need to apologize for what I did. I know an apology doesn’t mean much—just a few words that are overused—but I’m sorry, Mad.” His throat tightened. “If I’d known—”

She went so still, she seemed to have stopped breathing. A thin vein pulsed wildly at the base of her throat. She looked like a frightened deer, ready to bolt. “Known what?”

“I was seventeen years old. What did I know about life? You were the first girl I fell in love with, and you made it seem so damned easy—sort of like finding a killer toy in the Cracker Jack box.” He touched her cheek, felt its velvety softness, and he smiled. “I didn’t know I’d never feel that way again, or that you’d haunt me. I didn’t know I’d spend the rest of my life dreaming about a girl I’d walked away from.”

Her eyes met his, the look in them frank and unflinching—a long way from the teenage girl he’d fallen in love with. “I always understood what you did, you know. I even forgave you a little bit—or I thought I had until you showed up again. My father was a powerful man, hard to deny.” She gave a throaty laugh. “I know that better than anyone.”

She was offering an easy way out, and he wanted to take it. Before the surgery, he would have, but he couldn’t do it this time. It was too important that he be honest—for both of their sakes. “It wasn’t your father. I could have stood up to that asshole; it was me. I was afraid to swear I’d love you for the rest of my life.” He shook his head. “Pregnant or not, you were for keeps, I knew that, and I knew if you vowed to love me forever, you’d keep your word. You would love me.…”

There were tears in her eyes. “Yes.”

“It scared me, Mad. I couldn’t handle your love—not at seventeen, hell, not even last year. I knew I’d start being the jerk, screwing around on you, drinking too much—all the things I always did.” He moved closer and gently took her face in his hands. “I’m not that scared kid anymore. I know what I want now.”

“Don’t say anything else, Angel, please.…”

He knew what she was doing. She was afraid he’d say he loved her and then break her heart again. He wished he could blame her, but she had every reason to protect her heart from him. All he could do was try and keep on trying until one day she believed in him again.

He thought of all the things he could say to her right now, all the words he could use to tell her he loved her, but in the end, they were only words, and she’d heard them from him before. Instead, he leaned toward her, took her fragile, beautiful face in his hands, and kissed her, slowly and thoroughly, the way he hadn’t even imagined back when they were kids. He hadn’t known anything about love. He didn’t know then how it twisted your insides and made you feel like you were made of glass. How sometimes—like now—you felt so brittle that a good wind could shatter your soul.

“Say something,” he said softly.

She closed her fist around the earrings, then let them drop soundlessly to the floor. “I don’t want to talk. I want …”

“What?” he asked. “What do you want? Just tell me and I’ll move heaven and earth to get it for you.”

“You,” she whispered. A slow, seductive smile spread across her face. She kicked one shoe off—it clanged against the spittoon in the corner. The other one hit the claw-foot desk leg. “I want you, Angel DeMarco.”

His breath broke into wheezing little gasps. Had his heart been connected to his central nervous system, it would have been thumping out of control; instead, it kept up its steady, unflappable rhythm. He swallowed, noticing that his throat was dry.

She started to unbutton her sweater, and he grabbed her hand. The minute he did it, he felt like a fool. He tried to smile it off, but she’d seen the truth in his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do it, Mad,” he whispered, humiliation a cold stain in his stomach.

She didn’t smile or pretend not to understand. “Your doctor advised you that you could resume sexual relations whenever you felt … up to it.”

A smile quirked one corner of his mouth. “I have to admit, it turned me on when she said it.”

“And how about now?” she asked softly, unbuttoning his shirt.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe we should wait …”

She smiled and undid another button. Her hand splayed across his chest, each finger as hot as a brand on his flesh. “Should we?”

He couldn’t concentrate with her doing that. He felt her fingers, working nimbly on his shirt, her fingernails scraping the tender flesh of his chest. She peeled his shirt away, revealing the bright red scar.

He felt a moment’s hesitation, an uncertainty. It meant so much, loving her, and he was afraid he couldn’t do it. Afraid his secondhand heart would just give out.

She pressed onto her tiptoes and kissed the very top of his scar. Her lips were warm and pliant against the new flesh, and he shivered in response. He couldn’t hold himself apart from her. He wanted to crush her to him, bury himself deep, deep inside her, so deep he couldn’t tell where she began and he ended.

With a groan, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a passion he’d never felt before. He kissed her until he couldn’t breathe for wanting her. Slowly he lowered himself to the bear rug, and she followed him, her fingers still working on the buttons. When they hit the rug, she pulled his shirt off and tossed it away.

He wrenched her soft green sweater off and threw it over his head, then he unhooked her bra and let it slide through his shaking fingers to the fur.

She knelt on the rug before him, her breasts glimmering and perfect in the firelight. She reached up to cover them.

“The baby—”

He pulled her hands away and studied the tiny, silvery lines she was trying to hide. He could tell by looking at her that she thought she was damaged somehow, that her woman’s body couldn’t compare to the girl’s he’d loved before.

Very slowly he leaned forward and cupped her small, round breasts in his hands. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, bending down to kiss the soft swell of one breast.

She shivered and released a tiny moan, then arched slightly toward him. He took a nipple in his mouth as he unbuttoned her jeans and pushed her down onto the rug.

He eased the pants off of her, then the underpants, until she lay there, glistening with firelight, her naked body stretched out before him, wearing nothing but a pair of fuzzy socks. He dug deep in his pocket for a condom and pulled it out, tossing the little foil packet on the floor. Drawing back, he yanked off the rest of his clothes and threw them toward the door, then he came down beside her, kissing her again, stroking her body until she arched toward him and pleaded in his ear. Quiet, breathy words that strained his self-control.

He drew back, breathing hard. His heart pumped in an irritatingly calm rhythm, reminded him that nothing about this was normal.

“I don’t know, Mad,” he whispered brokenly.

“Don’t worry.” She took the condom packet and ripped it open, letting the bits of foil fall to the floor. Smiling, she reached down. Her fingers closed around him, squeezing, stroking. “You seem okay so far.”

Her hand was working magic. He moaned, closed his eyes.

“Should we keep going?” she breathed at his ear, licking the sensitive flesh of his lobe.

He felt drugged. It was all he could do to nod. His throat was too dry to form words. He felt her slip the condom in place and smooth it down, down the shaft.

With a groan deep in his throat, he rolled over and kissed her. Long, electrical kisses that sent him spiraling over the edge. He felt her take hold of him again, guiding him toward her, inside her.

He almost came right then, but he held himself back, biting down hard on his lower lip. She clung to him, whispering his name, her hips grinding, thrusting against his. They fell into a rhythm as old as time, but it felt new to Angel, so new. With incredible effort, he held his need in check, bringing her closer and closer to the brink.…

He felt the tiny pulse of her climax and he was lost. His own release was a shuddering explosion. Afterward, he thudded down on the rug beside her, his breath coming in hacking gasps.

“It was never like that when we were teenagers,” he said.

She smiled, snuggling closer. “Not quite. It was more like ‘Beat the Clock’ back then.”

They laughed together and lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, remembering so many things. He rested his cheek on the swell of her breast and studied her naked body in the writhing, golden firelight, tracing the flat surface of her belly with one finger. She was so beautiful …

He didn’t ever want to leave her. He wanted this moment, this intimacy, to go on and on, his soul cradled in the warmth of her touch, her smile.

But how did a man like him say that to a woman like her? What were the magic words that would make her believe that what they’d just done was special and that he’d finally grown up enough to realize it?

There were no words that he could think of, and so he used his body to tell her that he loved her, that he couldn’t get enough of her. His hands, his lips, his tongue—he used them all to worship her body again, until she cried out with pleasure and then slumped against him.

They lay entwined forever. Then, with a trembling laugh, she tried to draw away. “We’d better get going …”

“No way.” He drew her closer, until their bodies were a sweaty, seamless whole. “It’s probably not even midnight.”

She rolled over and smiled down at him. Her hair spilled in a messy pile of honey brown, caressed by firelight, and her lips were puffy and swollen from his kisses. Her nipples caressed his bare chest. “Welcome to dating a single parent.”

The words were like the tiny flick of a knife. He winced. “Is that what I’m doing, dating you?”

A frown darted across her face. Nervously she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well … what would you call it?”

He lifted a hand to her face, touched her cheek, traced the pink outline of her upper lip. He wondered suddenly how a man could survive, loving a woman this much; if she wanted to, she could rip his soul out and smash it beneath her foot. Just like he’d done to her.

For the first time, he understood—really understood—what he’d done to that beautiful, trusting sixteen-year-old girl, and the shame was almost overwhelming. And more than shame, there was regret, deep and aching and unquenchable.

He gazed up at her, loving her so much it hurt. “I’d call it falling in love.”