The Shore (Leisure Fiction)

and the drumming of her heart slowed. Just a dream. Heat faded from the bed, and a sweetness thickened the air. Molten light still pooled on the windowsills, but a tide of shadows rose along the walls and dimness sloped through the room. Chilly in here. Folded, the fireplace screen leaned against the wall. I have to get more wood.

Pulling the blanket higher, she tried to examine her feelings of exhaustion and tension...and contentment? Faintly, she could hear the wind chimes that had been left behind on the downstairs balcony, and her thoughts wandered to the past. Her mother used to play something for her on their old stereo. What was it? She could almost hear it. Something classical of course--Mozart or Beethoven, she supposed. Always, it had seemed to transform their cottage into something grander. This piece in particular had been her favorite to run about to, dancing and leaping, and always she'd hated to hear the final crescendo, to know that it heralded the return of drab normality. She felt that way now. This was fragile magic. Carefully, she rolled her head on the pillow. The blanket rose evenly with his chest, and she studied the square, flat muscles of his torso. So strong- looking. Yet he exhaled haltingly, as though gritting back a continuous onslaught of small pains.

She took in as much of the room as she could without moving. A puddle of amber light dripped across the edge of the carpet, and the cat rolled through it, then shook its head free of dust and sneezed before curling back to sleep. What have I been doing here? These past two years, she'd scarcely allowed herself to think about her life, but now, struggling not to twitch, she clenched her fists. I've got nothing of my own. How could she still be living like this? I've done nothing. All the furniture had come from her parents' house. Even the dishes. Pictures on the walls. Everything. Like some college student whose adult life never got started.

In the dusk across the room, his leather jacket sagged over a bench, seeming to radiate some animal heat of its own. Dressed like a biker and trying to look inconspicuous. Ruefully, she grinned. And that awful car. Then she frowned, searching for the source of a low sound. I don't believe it. She blinked at the cat. The thing snores. She felt herself sinking back toward sleep. Now, if I could just teach it to spit, I wouldn't need a man in my life at all.

Without opening his eyes, Steve stretched across the rumpled bedding to draw a finger along her stomach. '...soft...'

'...'

'Did you say something?' he mumbled.

'...m...'

'Beg pardon?'

Sprawled in a languid stupor, she rolled and mumbled into his shoulder. 'I thought you were asleep.' Her knees slid up beneath the sheet, and her legs wrapped around him, slackly.

Murmuring something that sounded like 'I am,' he molded himself against her.

The blanket slipped down, and she wriggled on her side. Imbibing the musky smell of him, she toyed with the tightly curled hairs at the back of his neck, then languorously stroked the bright dusting of fur on his shoulders, remembering the warmth of his mouth and the taste of his tongue. Honey-colored light streaked his chest, and her fingers traced the muscles that braided his arm, traced the prominent veins. She brought his hand to her mouth, kissed his fingertips. Golden hairs glinted even on the backs of his hands.

He drew her damply into the nook of his arm. 'You're a very beautiful lady.'

'I was just thinking the same thing.'

'And modest too.'

'I meant about you, stupid.'

'I'm a beautiful lady?' He twitched back the sheet. 'If you'll notice...'

'Shut up, idiot.' She smacked playfully at his head. 'And I can't believe this hair. Like animal fur.'

His limbs wound hot and moist around her. 'And you haven't commented on my almost canine sensuality.'

'Idiot.' Her laugh blurred against his chest.

'Doesn't say much about your judgment, does it? What kind of a cop are you anyway?'

'The world's worst. Haven't you figured that out by now?'

'I think there's some pretty stiff competition for that title just in this bed.'

'Stiff what?' She stroked him.

'Stop that. Hussy.' In retaliation, his hand slipped silken between her legs.

'Oh.' Her words flowed in a warm rush. 'This scar on your stomach. It's not from an operation, is it?' Everything had changed from this morning on the beach. Even their voices sounded different, she thought, like the voices of happy strangers, and they couldn't stop touching each other. 'So jagged.' She leaned forward and tried to kiss it, but he shifted away. 'There's another. You're lucky to be alive, my boy.' She traced a line beneath his chin and down the side of his throat, until her hand hesitated. 'My God.' Her voice cracked. 'One of them did this to you. This is what you meant, isn't it?'

The bed quaked as he turned away and sat at the edge of the mattress.

'Steve...I still can't believe any of this is happening.' She watched his back. 'Look at me.'

'Uh...do you have that list of properties here?'

He barely turned his head, but she glimpsed his eyes: dirty ice.

'You have it here? The addresses you found in Chandler's office?'

'I have it.' She rolled away.

'We should begin checking them.'

'Of course.' She reached for the clothes she'd thrown off earlier. 'I didn't mean to waste your time. Should we divide them?'

'Wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean we had to...' He tried to pull her toward him, but she continued to dress. It seemed the light clarified every freckle on her pale arms and legs. 'Kit, there's no reason for you to be involved in this any further, I'll...'

'Don't even try it.' Fingers trembling, she zipped her jeans. 'We'll take turns watching the apartments.'

'No, if you insist on coming with me, we'll...'

'Barry, Steve, whoever the hell you are...' She squinted at the window. 'The only possible excuse for my not having informed the authorities already is for us to be handling this ourselves. We should have moved on it by now, but here we are instead. So tell me again how committed we are to saving lives. Do you want to eat something, before we get started?'

He shuffled through the blankets. 'Kit.'

Shrugging away from his touch, she tugged her blouse on, then hurried out of the room. As she walked, the cat pressed at her ankle.

What am I doing? She got out a skillet and began to root through the refrigerator. He's just sitting on the bed, waiting for me to say something. Her hand went to a package of ground meat, and her fingertips pressed it. Gelid. Grainy. Deep pink dotted with white. At the crinkled bottom of the cellophane, a tiny amount of red fluid had gathered. Swaying, she closed the refrigerator and leaned against the door while the room swayed; then she rushed for the bathroom. An unblinking feline gaze observed her.

Leaning on the sink, she listened to his movements in the next room. I won't be sick. She twisted a faucet, and water gushed. She watched it beat against the basin and splash across her blouse; then she adjusted the flow and cupped her hands to bathe her face. It cooled her burning eyes, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, she cringed. She tugged at the sleeves of her blouse. It made her look bony, boyish. Salt spray and the pillow had made a bizarre frizz of her hair, which now curled chaotically in a coppery mesh. The cat scraped at the door. 'Can't you leave me alone for five minutes?' She turned the shower on full blast before letting her clothes fall in a heap, as though she couldn't bear to touch them. They smell of the beach. She stood under the water a long time. Everything smells of the beach.

Afterward she wiped the skin of steam from the mirror and combed her hair straight back before wrapping herself in a white terry cloth robe. Maybe he's right. She had to wipe the mirror with a towel again to see herself, the image smeared and blurred around the edges. Wet, her hair looked almost chestnut.