Then she closed her eyes, and her lips spread apart again, and she moved in and it was like the old
days. I got lost in her mouth, felt her tentative tongue taking a chance, and responded with mine. And
then she was in my arms and it was all I could do to keep from crushing her. I felt her knee rubbing
the outside of mine, heard the riding crop fall into the sawdust, felt her hands sliding down the small
of my back, pressing me closer to her.
I forgot all the things I was going to say to her. The accusations, the questions that would clear up the
dark corners of my mind. Whatever anger lurked inside me vanished at that moment. I slid my hands
down and felt the rise of her buttocks and pressed her to me.
“Oh, Jake,” she said huskily, “I wish it was that summer again. I wish the last twenty years never
happened.”
Don?t we all, I thought; wouldn?t that be nice. But I didn?t say
“Forget all that,” I mumbled without taking my lips away. “Nothing to forgive.”
“Oh, Jake, I want it to be like it used to be,” she said, with her lips still brushing mine. “Come tonight.
Please come tonight. Don?t stay away again.”
And without thinking any more about it, I said, “Yes.” And I knew I meant yes. I knew I would go
and the hell with Dutch and the Taglianis and the bell with safety and distance and vulnerability. I
would go because I wanted to and because it was my payoff for twenty years. I said it again. And
again.
“Yes... yes. . . yes.”
32
UP JUMPS THE DEVIL
When I left the stable, the first person 1 saw was Stick. He was leaning against the dreaded black
Pontiac and was looking right at me when I came out. She was a couple of feet behind me, standing
inside the stall but visible nevertheless. His expression never changed; he simply looked the other way
as he took out a cigarette and lit up.
“Later,” I said quietly, without turning, and walked straight to the car. Stick had traded in his slept-in
seersucker for a pair of ratty chinos, dirty tennis shoes, and a black boatneck T-shirt, but the brown
fedora was still perched on the back of his head.
“Sorry if I?m late,” I said, staring out the windshield.
“First things first,” he said, swinging around and heading back out the gate.
We drove a couple of minutes in silence and I finally said, “That wasn?t what it looked like.”
“I didn?t see a thing.”
“Look, I knew her a long time ago. It?s no big thing.”
