Take it to the Grave Bundle 1 Page 3

  I sure as hell wasn’t going to reminisce about my mother. I forced myself to focus on the bookshelf part of the story.

  Jake put down his guitar. “I miss my dog,” he said, staring morosely into the fire.

  I chuckled. “You are such a country song.”

  Jake grinned, and Rich twisted slightly to face me.

  “What do you miss, Lucy?”

  I kept the smile on my face, and raised my eyebrows. “What?” I asked, pretending to not hear the question as my mind raced for an answer. Okay, maybe raced wasn’t the right word. It lurched at a sluggish pace.

  “Who or what do you miss from home?” Rich repeated, framing his words too clearly for me to play dumb a second time. Damn it. He was experiencing a brief moment of clarity, of purpose, when I was concentrating really hard on not letting my head loll back. Not fair.

  “Ketchup,” I responded, broadening my smile. Ah, good one.

  My fellow campfire huddlers groaned, and a line appeared between Rich’s brows. For the first time, my glib response wasn’t cutting it with the group. With Rich.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “You’re always joking, always laughing, but you never really tell us anything. About you, anyway.”

  For a moment, I wanted to argue, wanted to point out that revealing my heretofore unrealized passion for table condiments was me sharing something personal, but the intent look in Rich’s eyes, the earnestness, interest and puzzlement I read there, his eagerness to learn about me, to connect with me... It was seductive. Exhausting. Tempting. I blinked. Slowly. Chatri’s home brew was burning through my system, calming me. Lowering my defenses. Careful, that little voice inside my head whispered.

  “Come on, Lucy. Can you tell us something about yourself? Anything?” Rich urged in a quiet, pleading tone.

  I glanced briefly around the campfire. Everyone stared back at me, waiting, anticipating. These were people I’d practically lived with for four months, worked shoulder-to-shoulder with, laughed with, shared meals with, raged at the bureaucracy with, celebrated with, cried with... I glanced back up at the man who held me so tightly, so closely, and who stared at me so hopefully.

  I looked him straight in the eye. Well, in his four eyes. I saw two of him, at the moment. I blinked. Nope. There were still two of him. “My real name is Maisey,” I blurted. The soft gasp inside my head was a belated warning bell. You idiot.

  Rich blinked, then pushed me away a little. I swayed, coolness washing over me at the loss of contact, the surprising distance that yawned between us. “Shut up,” he exclaimed in disbelief.

  I may have been slightly drunk, but even I saw the faint horror, the hurt, in his eyes, the slack-jawed shock. I heard the crashing silence around the campfire. I felt the brittle coolness of our separation like an Arctic blast that was more effective than a cold shower could ever be, freezing the effect of Chatri’s hypnotic potion in my veins, and I saw the crystal clarity of consequences unraveling in my mind’s eye, and what I had to do to avoid them. Fix it, now.

  I reacted. Curling my hand into a fist, I slugged him playfully on the shoulder. “‘‘Course it’s not, you idiot,” and laughed as I’d practiced for years, injecting levity that bordered on hysteria, but was apparently enough to void my brief, insane moment of honesty. Rich guffawed as he slung his arm over my shoulders again, tugging me off balance. I kissed him briefly on the lips to shut him up, and Jake started strumming his guitar again as Harry reminisced about his dad’s jambalaya.

  I settled back against Rich, pasting a smile on my face as I surreptitiously tipped the rest of my drink into the sand, letting that truth serum poison soak into the beach, never to betray me again.

  I let the conversation ebb and flow around me as I stared into the golden flames. That was close. Too close.

  * * *

  An hour later, I stumbled as Rich leaned on me, but managed to catch my balance before we both face-planted in the scrubby brush that formed a natural barrier between the sea and the village. Rich sniggered. I fetched my phone from my shorts pocket and used the light to illuminate our way back to our hut.

  “You would love my mother, you know?” Rich slurred into my ear. “An’ she would love you.”

  I almost wished I was drunk enough for this conversation, but I’d stopped drinking after my stupid-ass confession, and my brain function was nearly back to normal. Well, as normal as I could get, anyway. And I was hearing way more than I wanted to. God, I can’t believe I slipped up so badly back there. Moron. I didn’t do sharing, I didn’t do intimacy, I didn’t do truth or dare and I certainly didn’t play happy families. Why hadn’t I seen this coming? Was I blind as well as stupid? Or was I so desperate that I was willing to fool myself into a facade of a relationship with Rich?

  “You know, Lucy, when we get back home, we are going to have so much fun,” Rich breathed in my ear, his hand sliding down my back to cup my butt. “Not that we’re not having fun now.”

  I shot him a sidelong glance, then turned my attention to where I was going to put my feet without twisting an ankle. “I like fun, too, Rich,” I replied. Maybe he’d get the hint. Fun and games, no strings.

  “We’ll buy a house, something that backs onto a beach, great views,” he said, gesturing widely with his arm. “An’ a ham—” he hiccupped “—hammock. In the yard. And we can swing and watch the kids play.”

  I stumbled again, my stomach twisting in a coil that threatened to expel Chatri’s homebrew. “Kids?” I tried to keep my tone casual, but Rich was apparently too drunk to notice the high-pitched panic in my voice.

  “Yeah, at least two, so they can play together. I’ve always wanted four, but I’ll settle for three. Yeah, three...” Rich nodded, then lurched and had to brace himself against the trunk of a palm tree to prevent himself from falling down.

  I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat. Three kids. Oh. Dear. God.

  “You’re great with kids, you know,” he murmured, pulling me closer and kissing me on my cheek. “You’re going to be a great mom.” That voice inside my head gasped, then choked with laughter, rejecting the concept immediately. Instinctively.

  I blinked. No. No, no, no, no. I’d make a horrible mom. I’d make a horrible wife. How could he not see that? I was not settle-down material. The very idea of creating a home, one that couldn’t be packed in twenty minutes and hauled over my shoulder in a backpack at a moment’s notice, was enough to make me want to puke, then cower in the fetal position in the dark somewhere, in a place where I could hide and never be found.

  I took a deep breath. It was time to move on.

  I sighed in relief when our hut came into view, and I managed to help Rich up the stairs. He was too involved, too invested, in what should have been a trivial, unimportant, fun little hookup. I had to leave.

  Overwhelming sadness made me halt in our doorway. I watched Rich stagger toward the mattress on the floor. He was cute. Sexy. Dark hair, dark eyes and a physique that had made me drool when I first met him. He was also nice. Really, really nice. Not complicated, he said what he thought and was casual, laid-back. Where had this serious attachment come from? When had it flared? And why hadn’t I quashed it before now?

  Now, he wanted a home by the sea and a hammock we could swing in to watch our three kids play. Talk about suffocating strings.

  Rich turned to me, and waggled his eyebrows. “Well, are you coming in?” he asked, and despite the fear clenching my stomach, I had to smile as he swayed his hips suggestively. See—this was fun. He peeled his shirt off his shoulders with an expression that told me he thought he was being sultry and erotic, but in reality looked like he was having a seizure.

  I stepped forward and helped him get rid of the garment. He really was a beautiful man, and I knew that as much as I hated doing it, I was going to hur
t him. I hated him for putting me in that position, and I hated myself for doing it.

  He cupped my cheek, his face going from sexy to concerned in a matter of a few drunken blinks. “Hey, why so sad, sweetheart?”

  I opened my mouth. Hesitated. For a moment, Rich blurred, and the memory of Pedro and the orphanage in Belize flashed through my mind.

  “What do you mean, you’re leaving?” Pedro cried, running his hands through his hair. “You can’t.”

  “Please, Pedro. This was only ever going to be temporary. No strings, remember?”

  “No strings?” His voice rose, and I winced at the pain and anger that seemed magnified by the tears welling in his eyes. “That was ages ago, mi amor. We have shared so much, done so much—” he took a step toward me, his expression pleading “—loved so much.”

  I swallowed, fighting back my own tears. “I’m so sorry, Pedro. I—I just can’t do this.”

  “This? This!” Pedro beat at his chest, and I flinched at the raw pain in his face as his tears fell. “This is my heart—my love! I thought we were good together.”

  I closed my eyes against his agony. God, this is not what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to hurt him... For a moment, I thought of nodding, of just running to him and hugging him, easing his pain and whispering that everything was going to be all right. I’d made a stupid, horrible mistake. But the thought made goose bumps rise on my arms, and my stomach heave at the thought of living this life with him, day in, day out, trapped by a man’s love.

  I couldn’t do it.

  “I’m sorry, Pedro. I have to leave. It’s not you—” I stopped talking. I couldn’t trot out that trite little speech that had been so useful so many times before. Pedro deserved better. “I’m broken, Pedro. I’m damaged goods. You deserve better than that.” Better than me.

  Pedro shook his head, reaching for me. “I’ll fix you,” he whispered, and I tried to dodge his hands, to turn away and leave, but he caught me, pulling me in close. “Let me help fix you. Our love—we can fix anything, mi amor.”

  His arms felt like tight bands of steel enfolding me, crushing me, suffocating me. I struggled, and I could feel his tears soaking the back of my shirt.

  “You can’t fix me, Pedro,” I whispered. I couldn’t be fixed. I broke free of his grip and scooped up my backpack. “I’m so sorry, I have to go.”

  I ran to the door before he could grab me again. I slammed it shut behind me, and felt the door shudder as he hit it on the other side. I flinched, and stepped away warily, my gaze on the doorknob.

  He hit the door again, and then I heard the rustle of fabric as he slid down to the floor on the other side, sobbing. I backed away, tears streaming down my face. I turned and fled.

  I smiled shakily at Rich. That memory was a shock. I’d happily avoided it, and had only really taken stock when I was out on the street, stunned to find myself operating on autopilot. At the time, it had felt like a gap in my memory, but every now and then, something would surface, something from the black void that hid so much that I’d gotten used to its murky protection. I bit my lip gently. I wasn’t going through that again. I didn’t want another scene. It was cowardly, it was pathetic and it was the only way I could do this. I learned from experience. I tilted my head into his touch, and closed my eyes. I’d leave in the morning. Before he woke.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, finally meeting his gaze, masking my pain, my intent. My pathetic cowardice. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

  He drew me closer, his muscled arms enfolding me ever so gently. “Are you...too tired?” he murmured, dipping his head to nibble at my ear.

  I blinked back tears. I shouldn’t, but I’m selfish. I’d be gone tomorrow, but we still had tonight. “No, I’m not...too tired,” I whispered, sliding my arms around his neck.

  He moved his head, trailing his lips from my ear to my mouth, and kissed me. I hated myself, but I kissed him back. He tasted of home brew and coconut, responsibility and obligation. He tasted of dreams, and for one night I was going to cheat forever, and grab my happily-ever-after and have it right now. For one night, I’d indulge Rich, I’d indulge me. The cruelest of sweet fantasies, I was going to pamper that daydream. Tomorrow, with all its regrets, remorse and recriminations, would come. But tonight, right here, right now, tomorrow could kiss my ass.

  Rich scooped me up, and I wrapped my legs around his hips as we kissed, long and languidly. Even drunk, Rich was a fantastic kisser. I writhed against him, and he panted as he turned and lowered me to the mattress. I hit it a little harder than I’m sure he intended, but I didn’t mind. A perverse voice in my head whispered I didn’t deserve softer, kinder consideration for what I was doing.

  I pulled the tank top up over my head, gasping as Rich pulled my bikini top aside and bared my breasts. I moaned, arching my back as his hands lifted and molded my breasts, and he tweaked my nipples as he took my mouth in a scorching kiss.

  I raked my nails down his back, and he lifted his head briefly, groaning in delight. I fumbled for the waistband of his shorts, unbuttoning them and sliding the zipper down to grasp him, already hard, in his boxer briefs.

  He groaned. “God, Lucy, I lo—”

  I moved up to kiss him, to stop him from uttering words that couldn’t be unsaid, from using that name that wasn’t mine. It was like unleashing the beast. He growled, his fingers sliding into my short hair, angling my head so he could deepen the kiss.

  He rocked his hips against mine, then ran his hands over my body. We twisted in the sheets, dragging at each other’s shorts. When we were both naked, I rolled over on top of him, straddling his hips. He glanced up at me, a sexy, goofy smile on his face, as he slid his hands over my hips. I dipped my head and kissed him, caressing the dark hair off his forehead, then gasped as he rolled us over and slid into me.

  It was beautiful, it was hot and it was so bittersweet. Every sigh, every muscle clench, every caress, was laden with tenderness, with an unspoken farewell.

  When it was over, Rich rolled to the side, breathless, his arm lying across my chest.

  “Good night, Lucy,” he murmured, his eyelids flickering as he tried to stay awake. I watched him lose the battle as his chest rose and fell evenly, and his eyelids slid shut.

  “Goodbye,” I whispered when I knew he was asleep.

  You’re doing the right thing, Maisey. I frowned at the voice inside my head. Sometimes, doing the right thing sucked.

  I slid from the bed and gathered my things. Twenty minutes later, I slung my backpack over my shoulder, grabbed my wallet and passport and slunk out into the night.

  I didn’t look back.

  Sarah

  “Sarah, how wonderful to see you. It’s been ages.”

  Plastering a smile on my face, I return Genny Winton’s greeting with the ubiquitous air kiss on both cheeks. If there was one advantage to being pregnant, it was having a legitimate excuse to avoid Genny and her tribe. But those days are over—no one can miss the East Hamptons Village Fair, especially when Eleanor is one of the organizers.

  “It’s for charity, Sarah. The hospital needs us,” she’d say whenever I’d invent a new excuse. To make matters worse, the sadist had put me in charge of the bake stand. The aromas of sugar and cinnamon are a constant siren call.

  “So this is the little man,” Genny says. She appraises my son with a frown. “He doesn’t seem happy.”

  Elliot’s face flushes scarlet as he fusses, kicking his little legs and seizing a lock of my hair in a tiny fist. He yanks, and I manage not to shriek in pain. Instead I disentangle myself and bounce him on my hip, doing my best to channel Super Mom. It’s not easy, but then again, nothing is in the 1950s tea dress Warwick insisted I wear. It’s his favorite, and I couldn’t talk him out of it. He refuses to acknowledge that the majority of my clothes no longer fit.

  “He�
�s not normally like this.” I wish Genny would go away so I can give my son another bottle. That’s what he wants, but I don’t dare do it with an audience. “He’s colicky.”

  Her frown deepens. “How old is he?”

  “Three and a half months.” I watch her brain struggle with the simple math until I’m surprised smoke isn’t coming from her ears. Go away, you stupid cow. Go away and leave us be.

  “He should be past that by now.” Her voice oozes with fake concern. “He’s a bit old for colic. Perhaps you should take him to the doctor. Is he sleeping through the night?”

  “Sometimes.” More like never, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. I already felt like a failure in the shadow of her perfection. Genny had given birth to her twins, what, a year ago? And within a month or two, you wouldn’t have known she’d ever been pregnant. What was she, a size zero? Double zero? It took every ounce of willpower not to push my old “friend’s” face into a lemon meringue pie. “What would you like, Genny? Is that sweet tooth of yours still plaguing you? I have a few of Tessie’s caramel buns left.”

  As I’d hoped, Genny’s appraisal of my son is replaced by an expression of horror. “You know I don’t touch anything made with white flour or sugar. I have to watch my figure.” This last she says with an unmistakable smirk of triumph as she pats one nonexistent hip. I feel like an elephant in comparison. “Actually, that’s what I came over to talk to you about. I heard about Warwick’s little problem.”

  Now it’s my turn to be horrified. I pull away from her as if she’d slapped me. “What are you talking about? What problem?”

  “Well...” Genny simpers. She drags the word out as she toys with her long hair, twisting a silky strand around one perfectly polished finger. “Tad played a few rounds with your husband last week, and, well...the subject of your weight may have come up.” She smiles at me, her teeth sharp as a serpent’s.

  Fire ignites my face, beginning at my neck and rising into my cheeks. It’s impossible to stop, so I pretend to be engrossed with arranging a price card in front of Gretchen Tildle’s shortbread. “Oh?” I try my best to sound unconcerned. The heat of the day, which was just tolerable before, has become unbearable. Sweat trickles down my chest to soak my unflattering nursing bra. My unrelieved breasts ache something awful. Shut up, Genny. Just shut up and go away, please.