Finally he flicked the glowing cigar butt out toward the ocean, watching it streak against the gray sky and fall just on the other side of the guardrail.
Then he got in the Olds and drove to Edwina’s house, where now he lived only part of the time.
Her Mercedes, which she’d left in a park-and-fly lot at the airport, was in the driveway nosed against the closed garage door. The palm fronds overhead, swaying in the breeze, sent faint shadows over the car’s roof and hood. Carver braked the Olds next to it and made plenty of noise slamming the door and dragging his cane so she’d know he was coming. As if he didn’t want to surprise her with a new lover, though he was sure there wasn’t one.
She’d been home awhile. She’d changed from her career-woman outfit into Levi’s and a sleeveless white blouse. Her thick auburn hair, worn often in a bun these days, fell to below her shoulders. Her gray eyes surveyed him with pinpoints of pain. She looked older, as if the gloom of the evening had seeped into her mind. The strain between them was showing on her.
Seated on the living room sofa with one of the lemonade-and-gin drinks she favored, she said, “I phoned your cottage and you weren’t there. Wondered where you were.”
He crossed the room halfway and leaned on his cane. “Had to drive into Orlando on business.”
She sipped at her spiked lemonade, then licked her lips sensuously. If he didn’t know better he might have guessed she was flirting. “I thought we might go out for supper. The stuff they served on the plane tasted like plastic and I only nibbled at it.”
“Wish I’d known,” Carver said. “I stopped and ate on the drive back.”
No change of expression. “Doesn’t matter. Plenty of frozen dinners out there.” She motioned with her head in the direction of the kitchen, more a direct stare and a ducking of her chin than a sideways tilt. It caused something to tighten around Carver’s heart. She was beautiful when she did that; it was a gesture exclusively hers.
He limped to the wing chair and sat down, stiff leg extended in front of him, cane resting against his thigh. The heel of his moccasin was digging into the carpet. “So how’d the real-estate conference go?”
She smiled. “The way they always do. Speeches, panels, luncheons, cocktail parties. General business shmoozing. Some misbehaving by those foolish enough to mix work and play.”
“Hear any more about the Hawaiian project?”
He shouldn’t have asked. Tension crept like a shadow onto her face, stiffening her cheeks. Her smooth, fighter’s jaw jutted farther out almost imperceptibly, but Carver noticed; he knew her moods, even if he didn’t understand her completely. She said, “They’re still going to build it, if that’s what you mean.”
“I guess that’s pretty much what I meant.”
She stood up too quickly, then paced in an irregular pattern over the blue carpet, holding her glass delicately as if it were brimming with liquid instead of half empty. “You know, Fred-”
“What?” He couldn’t help interrupting her, and loudly. Knowing as he did so that they were too damned combative tonight. War was in the air.
She must have sensed the same mood. She said, “Nothing. What’s the new case about?”
“Didn’t say I had a new case.”
“When I left for Atlanta, you didn’t have an old one.”
True enough. Give her a point.
“What is it,” she asked, “top secret, you don’t wanna talk about it?”
“Nothing like that,” he said, straight-faced. Irritated. Maybe he
But always he’d talked with her anyway.
Not this time, though. “There’s not that much to it,” he said. “And it’s probably already over.”
She paced some more. Sipped some more. Though the house had been tightly sealed for days, the scent of the sea had permeated it. The air felt damp and dense enough to clutch by the handful. The thermostat clicked and the air conditioner hummed to life. “Staying here tonight?”
He said, “I don’t think so. If what I’m working on isn’t really over, it might not be a good idea for me to be around.”
She sort of sneered. “Always there’s fucking danger in your job. So melodramatic.” She was close to losing it. He didn’t want to do battle tonight.
“There are melodramatic actors out there who play for real with guns and matches.”
Her shoulders sagged. She wasn’t up to a fight, either. Not at the moment, anyway. Good. “Yeah, I guess there are. Real estate’s a saner business.”
“For saner people.”
“Or people crazy in a different way.” She finished her drink and began carrying the empty glass toward the kitchen. Such an elegant walk, even in jeans and sandals. He marveled at it. Is that why he was drawn to her? He was a cripple and she covered ground like a dancer?
“Wanna keep me company while I wolf down a microwaved dinner?” she asked.
He said, “Let’s drive someplace. I’ll keep you company while you eat real food.”
She let out a long breath, finally relaxing, even if not completely. She smiled and said, “Okay, that’s a much better idea.”
Truce.
Temporarily.
7
Carver woke the next morning to the sounds of the sea, and of Edwina breathing beside him. It was like one sound. The sun had barely risen and the breeze pushing in through the open window was cool on his bare leg sticking out from beneath the thin white sheet. Edwina had worked her way completely out from beneath the sheet and was sprawled on her back with one arm slung loosely across her eyes, as if shielding them from the sun. The air conditioner hadn’t kicked in yet, and other than the rhythmic rush of ocean and breathing, the only noise in the room was the gentle ticking of the revolving ceiling fan.
Carver’s nose and left cheek were mashed into the pillow. He turned his head, which made his neck ache. Carefully, he rolled onto his side. He studied Edwina’s nude form touched by the morning light. Picked up the subtle stale scent of last night’s sex and felt something move deep in the core of him. She sighed and dropped her arms to her sides, didn’t wake up.
He thought about last night, after Edwina’s supper and several drinks at the restaurant bar. The rustle of perspiration-soaked sheets and warm flesh. Her moans. The headboard banging out its primal rhythm against the wall. They were still capable of lust, but he knew last night wasn’t any kind of resolution other than physical. They could continue to rut even as their hearts drifted further apart-if they so chose. And sooner or later neither of them would choose that kind of sex, the kind that meant nothing more than temporary satisfaction; the train to nowhere.
Carver stretched his arm and groped around on the carpet until he found his cane half under the bed. He used it to help him sit up on the edge of the mattress. The singing of the bedsprings didn’t affect Edwina. She was sleeping deeply.
He limped into the bathroom and started the shower, adjusting the taps until the water was lukewarm. After leaning his cane against the tile wall, he held on to the towel rack and stepped beneath the stinging needles of spray. Thinking how nice it would be if the water roaring through the pipes and washing so forcefully over his body could cleanse inside as well as out, dissolve the past and afford second chances.
By the time he’d toweled dry and limped nude back into the cool bedroom, Edwina was awake.
Still on her back, she’d pulled the sheet up to cover her nakedness. There was nothing coy about it, he knew; she was simply cool in the morning breeze. She’d fluffed both pillows behind her head and was staring at Carver. Her dark hair was wildly tangled, making her look like a refined savage. Which she could be.
He awkwardly pulled on the Jockey shorts he’d gotten from his stash of clothes remaining at her house, switching hands to lean on his cane. Mr. Nimble.
Watching him through narrowed eyes, as if there were cigarette smoke bothering her, she said,
