Sunburst

Tampa, so it was not all that surprising they had found their way to the Cotton Bowl at the same time. What was surprising was how fast it all happened. At the time, in that little first-aid station, she was mortified at being such a mess and exasperated at missing the game…and completely captivated by those Irish blue eyes, so possessive on hers. She knew in every virginal bone exactly what he had in mind…

“She’s asleep,” Morgan said quietly.

“She’s exhausted.”

“She’s lost weight; there are hollows under her eyes, and she’s been trying to work until she drops, McCrery. Naturally, she’s exhausted.”

But she didn’t hear Morgan’s low digs, couldn’t hear the subtle note in his voice that had dug under Kyle’s skin over and over, didn’t see the look on Kyle’s face, the sudden tension. She was replaying that moment in the past, dreaming it over and over again. The suit had been a favorite but too warm for the day; she had worn no blouse, only a silky little camisole beneath it that hugged every womanly curve. Someone had spilled whisky on the lapel; the scent was strong; it was not inconceivable that Kyle had unbuttoned her jacket only to sponge it off. Nor would a little silk camisole have shocked a fast-moving man like Kyle McCrery; she owned bikinis that showed a great deal more of her. But the feeling was there, that instant. The feeling that her innocence was laid bare to him, and Kyle told her with his eyes that he was claiming that innocence. She recalled that delicious sense of fear and anticipation in her mind, remembering the silent little speech she had delivered to herself, that there was no excuse for naivete in this life, that rockets didn’t really go off…

A shotgun exploded, and then another and another. Erica’s eyes flew open. The other two lounge chairs creaked as Kyle and Morgan launched themselves out of them and took off at a dead run for the new building. There was another volley of gunshots and then a crazy, raucous hooting of horns-car horns, truck horns, hunters’ duck horns, whistles, cat calls-so absurdly grating on the ears that Erica covered hers as she started running, too. She had in mind bombs, robbers, terrorists…

Suddenly, she saw Martha Calhoun coming toward her. Erica could hear Martha’s laughter even above all the other noises. “Come on!” she exhorted with a wild motioning of her hands.

“What on earth is going on?” There were people everywhere suddenly: the boys Kyle had hired and their girlfriends, their parents, Martha’s family, vaguely remembered faces like Mr. Hendriks from the grocery and the mailman, a Mrs. Polanataz who had brought them a cake the day they had moved here, neighbors and customers… Fireworks were being set off in the yard, and the new building was still surrounded by men with guns. None of the people were empty-handed; they were carting everything from packaged potato chips to homemade potato salad. One pickup truck had been backed up to the front door of the new building and clearly held a keg of beer, the bed of the truck dripping with ice blocks to keep it cold. Kyle and Morgan were already there, laughing, their heads thrown back-and a roar of approval went up when they enthusiastically downed the first paper cupful of beer. Kyle caught sight of her and motioned her to his side, but it just wasn’t that easy to get through the people in an instant.

Martha grabbed Erica’s arm and hugged her with excitement, shouting at the top of her lungs for her son to keep away from the beer. “It’s a belling,” she announced. “An old German custom-though, as you know, I haven’t a drop of German blood, but then the Irish were never ones to be prejudiced where a party was concerned. The idea is a surprise welcome to the newcomers in a neighborhood, usually honeymooners. Oh, well, I had to twist the rules a bit in other ways, too. A belling’s supposed to take place after dark, but Leonard has to be back for the milking by seven. And it’s hardly your first day in the neighborhood, but we thought that new building needed a christening and maybe we just all needed an excuse to support you two. Anyway, if you can picture how it’s supposed to be-the husband-to-be with his virgin bride; he’s finally got the lights out and her clothes off, and all of a sudden there’s an explosion of noise, and they’re expected to come down pronto, entertain perhaps fifty people who all bring food and drinks and are prepared to keep the couple from…uh…”

Erica burst out laughing as Martha finally ran out of breath.

“The idea died out around decades ago,” Martha admitted. “God knows why. Everybody jumped to take part when I called. It’s been on my mind for an age. You see, the last one I heard of was organized by Joel McCrery, and he did it up right, on the night my parents were married. I wasn’t, respectfully, born then-but I’ve heard about it for years. I’ve just been itching for an excuse-”

“You sweetheart!” Erica said warmly.

“You probably won’t say that later. Everyone’s supposed to bring their own refreshments, but a blind bat could see they’ve brought more bottles than food. I can just picture the mess a few hours from now!”

Erica could see it with her own eyes, those few hours later. The noise and confusion and hilarity had just died a few minutes ago, and Kyle and Morgan were sprawled next to her with their backs propped up against packing crates. The litter in front of them included an incredible variety of debris-half-eaten cakes, half-empty bottles, enough crackers and cheese to last a year, an empty, dripping keg…and in one corner, an eighteen-year-old boy sleeping peacefully with his head cradled in his hands, snoring.

“I’m going to have to take him home,” Kyle said ruefully, but he made no immediate movement to get up.

“You know where he lives?” Morgan questioned.

“On the other side of town.”

“Naturally.”

There was a definite hierarchy of intoxication in the room. The worst was obviously the boy, then Morgan and Erica, and last, Kyle. Morgan, who by nature livened up a party, was one of few this time who had not been in a celebratory mood. Though he’d drunk every toast to Kyle and the new venture, he’d offered none, and his head was bent down in moodiness now…or perhaps headache.

Erica had joined the hilarity with gusto, quickly separating from Martha to take over as hostess. She’d glowed, showing people through both new building and old. The support and enthusiasm and warmth the people showed to Kyle warmed her inside, filling her with pride in her man for the respect he’d earned, and the way people just seemed naturally to like him made her want to gravitate toward him.

She was not fond of beer, but it was hardly the time to be picky when her husband was being toasted. So she had drunk more than she wanted to, and now there was a slight cast of double vision everywhere she looked…but it was not the beer that had altered her mood three-quarters of the way through the party. Perhaps it was the way Morgan kept looking at her oddly every time she turned around; perhaps it was the moment Kyle’s arms were around her and they were cheered as a couple… Suddenly, as on the downgrade of a roller coaster ride, her heart had stopped for a single beat, and then she had heard the sound of her own laughter, high and joyous.

The whole day had been upbeat, as if nothing were wrong…but of course, that was an illusion. She was bubbling on about Kyle’s plans as if she were a part of them; the whole boisterous welcome to the neighborhood included her…and yet it didn’t. For the past few days, Kyle had been so much the energetic, spirited, dynamic man she married that she had almost forgotten-or tried to forget-that she wasn’t sure how long she was going to be in this cozy small town in Wisconsin. How long did he want her there?

Choices; we can’t go on the way we have been; there’s no love without active choice… Her laughter, so right and easy moments before, was suddenly a sham, and a hollow ache had wrenched inside as she saw herself as hostess to a celebration she had no right to.

Kyle stood up abruptly and viewed the sleeping boy with hands on hips, wry smile on his face. “God knows I should have seen it coming. Johnny never was away from the keg, but I don’t know what I’m going to tell his parents.” He shook his head in rueful exasperation, glancing at Erica.

She lurched up to a standing position, absently touching her fingertips to her temples at the unexpected dizziness, swearing off beer in the afternoon for the rest of her life. Silently. “I’ll help you get him to the truck, and then I’ll go after this mess.”

“Hell-just relax, Erica; it isn’t going anywhere,” Morgan insisted. “I’ll help with the boy,” he said curtly to Kyle.

The two men managed to half carry the boy to Kyle’s truck while Erica started trying to make sense of the chaos. The late afternoon sun faded in dusty shadows on the debris, not the best of mood-breakers. She started carting trash bags out to the back, each cumbersome but none heavy. She was in a hurry suddenly. She wanted the room cleared, back the way it was earlier that afternoon, when the scent of brand-newness had touched her: