Keeper of the Light

“Just eleven weeks,” she said.

Alec raised his dark eyebrows in a question. “I thought you said…?”

“Oh.” She felt herself blush. “He…stopped by one night.”

For the first time, Alec smiled, and she could see the handsomeness hiding behind his haggard demeanor. She laughed herself.

The door to his office opened a crack and a woman stuck her head in. “Alec?” She stepped into the room. She wore a white lab coat over jeans, and her dark hair was braided down her back. She glanced at Olivia, then back at Alec. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know you were with someone. Are you working?”

“You wish.” Alec actually grinned. He stood up and walked around his desk to kiss the woman’s cheek. Then he gestured in Olivia’s direction. “This is Olivia Simon. She was the doctor in the ER the night Annie died.”

“Oh.” The woman’s expression sobered and she turned toward Olivia. “I’m Randi Allwood.”

“Randi’s my partner,” Alec said.

“Can’t prove it by me,” said Randi. “I seem to be running this place singlehandedly these days.”

Alec nodded toward Olivia as a signal it was time to leave, and she rose from her seat.

“I need to talk to you, Alec,” Randi said as Alec started for the door.

“All right,” Alec held the door open for Olivia. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He walked Olivia to her car. “Thanks again for doing this,” he said, “and good luck with your husband.”

“Thank you.” Olivia turned to face him.

“Does he know about—” Alec dropped his hand between them, nearly touching her stomach with the back of his fingers “—what happened the last time he…stopped by?”

Olivia shook her head. “No.”

“Does he know you still love him?”

“I think so.” Did he? There had been so much unpleasantness between them lately that perhaps he didn’t.

Alec opened her car door. “Make sure he knows that, okay?”

Olivia got into her car and waved to him before pulling out onto Croatan Highway. She could not recall the last time she’d told Paul she loved him. What about that night in April? She must have, but she couldn’t remember. She’d avoided the memory of that night for the past few months.

It had been a Thursday night, early in April, and he’d stopped by the house, looking for something. Software for his computer? She didn’t remember. It wasn’t important. She was already in bed, but she was not quite asleep when she heard him let himself in. Her first thought was angry, bitter—what gall, marching into the house as though he still lived there—but it was quickly replaced by relief, that she could see him, talk with him. She lay still as he walked through the living room and up the stairs. He came into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the queen-size bed.

“I’m sorry to disturb you this late,” he said. “I just need to pick something up and then I’ll be out of here.”

She looked up at him. It was dark in the room, but she thought she saw something tender in his eyes. He was actually sitting on their bed, next to her, the warm length of his thigh against her hip. She reached for his hand and held it softly on his knee, grateful that he didn’t try to pull away from her.

“You don’t have to rush off,” she said.

He lightly ran his thumb across the back of her fingers, encouraging her, and she brazenly drew his hand beneath the sheet to her bare breast.

He said nothing, but she felt the tips of his fingers graze over her nipple, once, then a second time. She wrapped her hand around the buckle of his belt, worried she was pushing him too far, too fast, but unable to stop herself. She had gone without him far too long.

He gently withdrew his hand from under the sheet and took off his glasses, folding the wire arms before setting them on the night table, close to the lamp. He lowered his head to her lips and kissed her softly. Then he began undressing, slowly, folding his shirt, his pants, and Olivia’s heart pumped with anticipation, not just of making love to him but of the possibilities wrapped up in this moment. The hope. When he slipped into the bed next to her, she was smiling. She wanted to welcome him home.

He touched her woodenly at first, as though he did not quite remember who she was, what she liked. His penis lay limp and cool against her thigh, and she bit her lip in disappointment. She was doing something wrong; he was not aroused. The old uncertainty washed over her. Insecurities she had thought were long gone.

His touch grew more certain, though, as he stroked her body, and when she finally straddled him, reaching down to draw him inside her, he was more than ready. They made love with an exquisite slowness that Olivia knew she was controlling with her own body. She did not want it to end. While they were locked together she could pretend that everything was all right, that they would be together not just at this moment, but tomorrow as well, and next week, next year.

She cried when it was over, bathing his shoulder with her tears, and he ran his hand over her hair. “I’m so sorry, Liv,” he said.

She raised herself to her elbow to look at him, not certain why he was apologizing. “Please stay,” she said.

He shook his head. “We should never have made love. It just makes it harder for you.”

“You still think about her.” She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice.

“Yes.” He rolled out from under her and sat up on the side of the bed, reaching for his glasses. “I know it’s sick,” he said. “I know she’s dead, but it’s as though she’s taken over my mind. I’ve stopped trying to fight it. I’ve just given in.”