'Yeah, I already checked.' I stood and took the mug from her. 'Seems like we're set, doesn't it?' I guess by now my grin had turned a little sloppy. My free hand curled around the back of her neck.
Her eyes began to glisten with moisture and there was no need for her to reply, no need at all.
Later we relaxed on the old, rooted bench at the back of the cottage, watching the sun sink lower into the darkening woodland and dunking the last of our bread into mugfuls of hot soup. The evening was still warm and we were bathed in a soft glow, the white walls of Gramarye hued a pale pink. O'Malley's men had worked expertly on those walls, scraping them clean and repairing, then giving them a couple of coats of cement-based masonry paint. We could hear the chatter of birds getting ready for bed, and occasionally the muted sound of a passing car drifted around the corner of the cottage from the road.
Most of the essential stuff had been unpacked: my music gear, still in cases or under covers, was in one of the attic rooms I intended to use for writing and taping; Midge's art equipment and drawing board was in the round room, which would obviously be our living room, but in which she had decided she would also like to work. It was a sensible arrangement and one we were used to, her particular occupation being so unobtrusive anyway. I'd fixed up our bed next door to the freshly painted room, neither of us wanting to breathe in fumes while we slept; because the latter was slightly bigger, we'd move the bed in there when the smell of paint had faded. Framed paintings leaned in stacks against the walls, and ornaments stood in various groups around the place like friends sticking together in a strange environment; but chairs and tables and lamps and things were more or less positioned— refining could be done over the next few days. Big Val had rung earlier to make sure we'd settled in okay; fortunately she was never one to waste time on idle chitchat, and the line was awful anyway, so Midge wasn't on the phone for long. We'd decided to quit as soon as the sun was halfway down its lazy glide.
'Tastes good,' I said, smacking my lips appreciatively.
'You're sure you don't need something more?'
'This is fine. Too tired to be hungry.'
'Mm, me too. Doesn't the forest look tantalizing with the sun turning its roof reddy-brown, while underneath it's so dark and mysterious.'
'Looks kinda creepy to me.' I finished the last of the soup and put the empty mug down beside me, picking up a can of beer as I straightened again.
'And already there's a mist rising.'
'Must be pretty waterlogged out there in the open with all the rain.' I pulled the tab and drank from the can. 'D'you think it gets really cold here at night?'
'Maybe a bit more than city boys are used to, but I don't think you'll need your thermals for a while yet.'
'Bet it gets dark too. No street lamps.'
Midge stretched out her slim legs, her shoulders snuggling down against the back of the bench. 'You'll get used to it, Mike.' She sighed long and deep, a comfortable sigh, and said, 'It's good to be back.'
'Still a country girl at heart, eh?'
'I suppose I must be. Nine years in the city can't completely eradicate an upbringing, nor would I want it to.' The change in mood was swift—often the case with Midge. She lowered her eyes. 'I wish they could have seen Gramarye, Mike; I know they would have loved it here.'
Putting down the can, I took her hand in both of mine and held on to it.
She said quietly, 'I think they had hopes of me eventually marrying a nice country vet, or a parson.' She smiled, but it was an expression of sadness. 'Dad would have loved that. Imagine the long evenings they'd have spent talking shop.'
'He wouldn't have found much in common with me.'
'Oh, Mike, I didn't mean it like that. Dad would have loved you. You're both very alike in many ways.'
'I'd have liked him, Midge. From all you've told me, I think I'd have loved him too.'
'Mother would have thought you a rascal. That's how she'd have put it—a
The first tear emerged to dampen her cheek. 'It was so cruel, Mike, so horribly cruel.'
My arm went around her shoulders and I moved my head close to hers. 'You've got to try and forget that part of it. They'd have wanted you to remember the good things.'
'It's impossible to forget what happened to them.'
'Then accept. Accept the cruelty of that along with all the good times. And think of how proud they would have been of you now.'
'That's what hurts. They can't know, they can never know about my work, about you . . . about—about this place. It would have meant so much to them. And to me, it would have meant so much to have them proud of me.'
There wasn't a lot I could say, so I just held her close and let her weep, hoping as I had many times before that the tears were part of her letting go, each measure of outward grief part of the healing process. How much hurt was still locked deep inside, I had no way of knowing, but I could be patient; she was worth that.
'I'm sorry, Mike,' she said after a while. 'I didn't mean to spoil everything.'
I kissed away tears. 'You haven't. Here and now, with me, is a good time for you to cry. I only wish there was more I could do to ease it for you.'
'You've always helped, you've always understood. I know it's foolish of me to be still grieving after all these years . . .'
'There's no special time limit for such things, Midge, there's no clock you can suddenly switch off. It has to run down on its own.' I lifted her chin with my finger. 'Just remember what the doctor told you: don't let that sorrow taint everything else. You've a right to be happy, and that's what your parents would have wanted.'
'Am I that bad?'
'No, not at all. Though it's when you're at your most contented that memories seem to edge their way in.'
'That's when I miss them so.'
I felt inadequate, as I suppose we all do at such times, and all I could offer was the comfort of my arms and the depth of my own feelings for her. Her weeping had stopped, the darkness in her spirit relenting enough to allow other emotions to seep through.
Her kiss was tender and my senses sank into hers. I was used to the sensuous intensity of our intimacy, especially after tears had been shed, but now I was almost overwhelmed. When we finally broke away from each other, I literally felt dizzy and had to draw in breath like a swimmer emerging from a long dive. Midge, too, was a little shaky.
'This country air has a weird effect,' I quipped and was unable to control a mild tremor in my voice.
'I think . . . I think we should go in,' she said, her face bathed in a warm glow from the setting sun. Although there wasn't a hint of lasciviousness in her tone, we both recognized our mutual need.
I stood, bringing her up with me. 'Been a busy day,' I murmured.
'Been a long day,' she responded.
'Need our rest.'
Midge only nodded. Taking my hand, she led me toward the door, but we stopped in surprise when we saw into one of the windows of the cottage. I heard Midge gasp and her hand tightened in mine.
The round room looked as if it were ablaze, so vividly did the sun's dying rays reflect from the curved walls.
Yet there was nothing frightening about the phenomenon, for the radiance was peaceful, strangely calming in its effulgence, with no fierceness to it at all. We watched, and even our shadows were suffused into a soft hue against the redness.
I turned to Midge and for one crazy moment I thought I saw tiny fires playing in her eyes, but when she blinked they were gone, and only reflected warmth shone from her. She looked serene standing there, her lips curved in a small, knowing smile, her hair colored a rich auburn by the sun behind, and for some reason I felt a tiny stab of. . . I don't know—unease, nervousness? I couldn't define the sensation.
This time, it was I who led her away. We went inside and I locked and bolted the doors. We were more drowsy than either of us had realized, the tiredness falling rapidly like a warm smothering blanket, making our movements slow, almost sluggish. We undressed, leaving our clothes where they fell, and climbed wearily into
