headlights. He inched forward and Kylie could see the two-story clapboard house with a covered porch that skirted around the three sides that were visible. There was no landscaping or gardens, but someone had recently driven a tractor mower around the house in circles to keep it clear of brush and cut down the tall grass, so it seemed to have a lush green lawn.
Kylie said, “It’s pretty. Does somebody live here?”
“No, not at the moment. I have a couple who live on another place come by and keep it nice.”
“What’s it for?”
Forrest turned off the engine and got out, then walked with Kylie toward the steps. “There’s a stream, a creek about a quarter mile back from here just before the land rises. See? Over there. I guess you can’t really make it out in the dark. My grandfather stocked it with trout, and this was supposed to be a fishing lodge. He, and later my father, used to bring friends from town here for a few days at a time. They’d fish and play cards and so on.”
As they stepped up onto the porch, she said, “What happened?”
“A lot of things. I got the impression that some of the friends weren’t men. I think that occurred to my mother sometime in the fifties.”
“I’ll bet she was pissed.”
“I never really knew. I heard that much from an old guy my father kept on here as a caretaker when I was a kid. My father stopped coming here, anyway. I think by now the trout have died off.” He took a key from a nail above one of the rafters of the roof over the porch, unlocked the door, and turned on the lights.
Kylie stepped in slowly and looked around her. “This was a fishing lodge?” She stared at the big stone fireplace, the stained-glass light fixtures on the walls, the mission-style antique furniture. She peered into the big doorway that led to the billiard room. “This is nicer than our house.”
“I guess he wanted to impress the girls,” he said. He put his arm around her waist. “So do I, of course.”
“Girls? Plural?”
“Girl.”
“That’s better.” She set her purse on the floor, put her arms around Forrest’s neck and kissed him. The kiss started gently and tentatively, then became more passionate. It was clear that she intended it not to be a single touch of the lips, but the beginning of a much longer, deeper experience.
Ted Forrest reciprocated, and the affection began to build into arousal, his hands moving over her clothes and then inside them.
She broke off the kiss. “I suppose the bedrooms upstairs are dirty and yucky?”
“No. I have them keep some rooms furnished in case I want to spend some time by myself.”
“Show me.” She took his hand and tugged him toward the staircase.
He climbed the stairs with her, then pushed open the door to the old master bedroom and switched on the light. The room was all heavy wood furniture that matched the woodwork and cabinets. Half of the room was a sitting area. There was a stone fireplace here, too, and a small bar. He took a step toward it, but Kylie tugged his arm again, and he went with her to the bed.
They said nothing about the time that was passing, but it was in the room like a third presence. They had no time, no leisure to be gradual or linger over anything. They undressed quickly, impatiently, dropping their clothes on the floor and resuming the interrupted kiss.
They made love feverishly, and then, when it was over, they rolled apart on the bed and lay still. Ted Forrest closed his eyes. He could feel his heart still beating hard as his breathing slowed gradually.
After only a few seconds Kylie rolled back to him, grasped his wrist in both hands and turned it.
“Hmm?” He opened one eye.
“You didn’t even take off your watch.”
“Sorry. I guess my mind was elsewhere.”
“I know what it was on.” She kissed the back of his hand and then dropped it. “It’s after ten. We’d better go.”
He raised himself on one elbow. “I suppose.” He was still winded, and he didn’t want her to notice that it was taking him longer to recover. He pushed himself up and took the long way around the bed.
She hopped off and began to dress quickly. By the time Forrest reached the pile of clothes, she was already fastening her bra. She stopped and hugged him. “That was so nice.”
“Yes, it was.” He edged away and began to dress, thinking about the time. It might still be possible to get her back to the coffee shop before it closed at eleven, but getting home before the music lovers left was going to be more difficult.
“Have you ever brought Caroline here?”
“You mean this way? To sleep here?” He wasn’t sure which answer was the one she wanted. She might like it if she was usurping some of Caroline’s territory.
“You know I do.”
He took a guess. “Never. She wouldn’t come to any of these places. To her, `rustic’ means the concierge doesn’t bow.”
“Then it can be our place. Our special place.”
“Our special place. What a nice idea.” He had been considering bringing her here for weeks, but he had been afraid it would scare her, maybe depress her. There was no way of predicting what women were going to think, even when they were young.
She was nearly dressed now, just tying the sneakers she wore because of the hours she spent on her feet working the coffee machines at Marlene’s. “Yep, our place. When Caroline catches us and throws you out, maybe we can even live here.”
He joined her laugh, but his voice was hollow and weak. “It had better not happen for a few years. The police around here probably wouldn’t let me reach the station alive.”
“Don’t,” she said. “That’s not funny to me.”
“Me either.”
She went to the bed and started to make it, but he held her arm. “You don’t want to make any beds.”
“Won’t somebody know?”
“No. The caretakers will come tomorrow. It’s their job to put fresh sheets on if the bed has been used, not to figure out what happened in them.”
He tucked in his shirt and buttoned the last two buttons on the way to the door, turned off the light, and ushered Kylie downstairs. Her purse was lying in the middle of the floor where she had left it. She scooped it up and they went outside. He locked the door and placed the key up on the rafter where he had found it.
The efficiency of their movements was exhilarating to him. They got into the car and he drove to the highway. This time Kylie said, “What’s the combination?”
“It’s 8-14-32.”
She got out, ran and opened the gate, watched him drive through, and then closed and locked it to the ringbolt on the steel stanchion and got back into the car. The car began to move while she was fastening her seat belt.
On the way back to town, he looked at Kylie’s expression. She seemed happy, relaxed, and confident. She rested her hand on his thigh in a proprietary way and looked out the window as though she were memorizing every sight.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I love you. That I never met anyone who was like you in any way. That I wish I were older, or that you were younger.”
“I’ll vote for the second one,” he said.
“I won’t. If you were younger, you wouldn’t love just me. You would have, like, forty or fifty girlfriends.”
“I would not.”
“Yes, you would,” Kylie insisted. “You forget that I know all about you.”
“Well, the vote is one to one then. I guess it doesn’t matter. We have to live with the ages we are, and do our best.” He was feeling uneasy, and at first he wasn’t sure why, but then he realized that there was something about Kylie that was bothering him. She seemed too relaxed, too confident. He added, “And please, don’t forget
