The Man, The Moon And The Marriage Vow Page 10

  His arms tightened around her and at last—at last—his mouth met hers.

  Chapter Eight

  With a tender cry of pure exultation, Evie wrapped both arms around Erik’s neck. She pulled him closer, tighter, as she surged up on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his.

  There was heat, heat passing between them, like a current through a wire. Evie sighed and the sound seemed to echo in her head. His lips moved on hers, coaxing.

  Her mouth parted slightly and he touched her, beyond her lips, with his tongue.

  Evie gasped, startled and aroused by such an intimate caress. His tongue went farther, tasting the moist inner surface of her mouth, while his arms tightened around her. Every inch of her body seemed to ache and yearn. Her skin felt hot, her breasts hard and full. His hand moved at the curve of her back as he molded her body to his. Evie knew enough about male physiology to comprehend that it was the evidence of a man’s desire she could feel, pressing at her belly.

  The sheer reality of that shocked her a little.

  She stiffened.

  Erik moaned. And then he went still.

  His hard arms relaxed; they cradled her instead of crushing her close. He lifted his head and looked down at her.

  And then he smiled.

  Evie managed a dazed little grin in return.

  He stepped back from her and dropped his hands away. “Take some time. Think about this.”

  She stared. He had to be kidding. How would she think of anything else?

  “Take a few days. The rest of the week,” he was saying. “I’ll call you on Friday. You’ll come to my house, for dinner. And then later, after the kids are in bed, we’ll decide where we’re going with this.”

  Evie managed a numb little nod before he turned on his heel, strode through the arch that led to her living room and let himself out the door.

  Evie moved through the rest of the week in alternating states of bliss and apprehension.

  On the one hand, she just knew that everything was going to work out fine. She and Erik had found each other at last. They would say as much to each other on Friday. And after that, they would never be parted. They would share the kind of love that her uncle had talked about—the true, lasting, committed kind. Evie would know what Oggie had called “God’s greatest gift.”

  Yet at the same time, Evie was absolutely positive she and Erik were headed for disaster. Since she’d been twenty-two, and she and her sisters had gone their separate ways, Evie had lived alone. There was a good reason for that. She was not like other women. And she’d always feared what might happen, should she try to get too close to other people—or to become intimate with a man.

  When she let down her guard, strange things occurred. Like they had that day, down in the shop.

  And yet, since that day, everything had been normal. No visions. No objects flying off counters and crashing to the floor.

  Evie couldn’t help it. She was human, after all. She couldn’t stop herself from hoping that she and Erik might share what she’d never dared to dream of before. That she might have the kind of life other women enjoyed: a family of her own and a good man to stand at her side.

  “Evie, are you sick or something?” Becca asked on Thursday, when the girls came in for one of their afterschool visits.

  “No, honey. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t seem so fine.”

  Jenny jumped in. “Becca’s right. Lately you seem like something’s bothering you.”

  “I have…a lot on my mind.”

  Becca and Jenny exchanged a glance, then Jenny said, “Dad told us you’re coming over tomorrow night for dinner.”

  Evie’s stomach tightened at the mention of the fateful day and time. She took a breath and let it out slowly. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Dad’s going to cook,” Jenny said in a grim tone.

  Evie looked from one child to the other. Had they figured out what was going on between their father and herself? She answered blandly, “Well, that will be great.”

  Becca wrinkled her button nose. “You never ate what our dad cooked, did you, Evie?”

  “No, I haven’t, not that I recall.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  The girls glanced at each other again.

  “Is something the matter?” Evie delicately inquired.

  Two angelic faces gazed up at her. “Uh-uh,” they said in perfect unison.

  Then Jenny announced that she was going to go over and straighten out the stationery section. “People are always putting the cards back in the wrong places,” she said.

  “I’ll help,” Becca volunteered.

  Evie let them go, shaking her head, still unsure whether or not the girls sensed that something momentous was going on.

  But then she shrugged. She was probably better off not knowing what the girls sensed at this point. She had enough on her mind without worrying about how the girls were going to take it all. There would be plenty of time to deal with the children later—if things worked out the way she prayed that they might.

  The girls stayed until five, when Tawny called and asked Evie to send them on home. After they left, Evie closed up and mounted the stairs to her apartment.

  The phone, which was the same number both in the shop and in the apartment, had started ringing just as she opened the door. Evie hurried to the kitchen extension and caught it on the second ring, “Wishbook. How may I help you?”

  There was silence.

  “Hello?” she said, a little more carefully than before.

  Another beat, then at last the caller spoke.

  “Hey there, Evangeline.”

  Evie knew the voice. It was the voice of her childhood, of her nightmares.

  “Found you again,” her father said.

  A mug on the counter by the sink slid off and crashed to the floor. Evie shuddered at the sound.

  “I’ll always find you,” her father went on. “But this time was a piece of cake, since you left Santa Fe with my own brother and he’s lived in the same town for about a century.”

  A numbness seemed to claim her. It took her vocal chords first. She opened her mouth, then shut it, since it was clear to her that no sound would be coming out.

  Her father didn’t seem to be bothered by her silence. A low, dry chuckle came over the line. “I’ve known where you are for months now, and that’s the truth of it. I’ve been bidin’ my time, that’s all. Givin’ you an opportunity to really settle in before I called and let you know you haven’t shaken your dear old dad yet.” The chuckle came again. “Course, I did drop my big brother a line a couple a months ago. Just a hint, you might say. Did he happen to mention that?”

  Evie thought of the postcard with the poker-playing dogs on it as her knees started shaking. Slowly she sank to the straight chair against the wall by the phone.

  “Evangeline?”

  “Leave me alone.” Evie didn’t know where she’d found her voice. But she had found it. And it was surprisingly firm. “Leave me alone. Stay out of my life.”

  She heard a sigh on the other end.

  She went on. “I’m not running away this time, Father. I’m through running. Do you understand?”

  There was a beat, then he said, “Sure, I understand. And I think it’s damn gutsy of you. Yes, indeed.”

  “I’m staying put. Here, in North Magdalene.”

  “Well, certainly.” The voice dripped sarcasm. “Of course you are. How terrific. And convenient for me, too. I won’t have to go wanderin’ the western states tryin’ to find out where you’re off to now.”

  “Just leave me alone,” she said once more.

  “Now, now. You know I can’t do that. Someday you’re gonna wise up and change your mind. And then—”

  “I haven’t changed my mind in fifteen years, Father. You might as well accept the fact that I’m not going to change it. Ever.”

  “Now, now. Don’t steal an old man’s hope away.”

  “Give it up. I am serious.”
<
br />   “My, my, don’t you sound determined?”

  “I am determined. And if you call me again, I’ll—”

  “No need to make threats. I won’t call you. We know where we stand now. Good night, Evangeline.”

  The line went dead. Evie sat for several seconds, unmoving, until the dial tone turned to an irritating beep. Then she reached up and hooked the headset on the cradle.

  She remembered the shattered mug. Moving slowly, like a very old woman, she slid from the chair and knelt on the floor to gather up the larger pieces. Once she’d thrown those into the trash, she got out the broom and the dustpan and took care of the rest.

  After the broken mug was completely disposed of, she had no idea what to do next. Her mind wasn’t working too well, actually.

  She dropped into the chair by the phone again and spent several minutes staring blindly at the floor.

  Maybe she should call Oggie, tell him what had happened.

  But what could her uncle do? Absolutely nothing. This was her problem. In the end, she’d have to be the one to deal with it.

  And really, she didn’t feel like calling anyone right now anyway. All she felt like was lying down.

  Yes. She needed to lie down, that was what. To lie down and rest and think all this through.

  With a weary sigh, Evie dragged herself to her feet and trudged to her bedroom where she stretched out, fully clothed, on the bed. She folded her hands on her stomach and closed her eyes.

  Two hours later, when full dark had descended, Evie had come to two parallel conclusions.

  One, she really wasn’t going to run away this time. She would remain in North Magdalene, for better or for worse. And two, tomorrow night, if Erik made her dreams come true, if he said he wanted to share more with her than friendship, she was going to tell him about her past.

  Oh, not everything, of course. Not the parts that no one would ever believe anyway. Just the facts. About Evangeline, who’d been only a girl, but who’d been known far and wide as a very special girl—a girl with certain unexplainable abilities. A girl who could find lost loved ones when no one else could. A girl who could soothe the most tormented of hearts—all for a price. A price set by her father, Gideon Jones.

  She’d saved all the old newspaper clippings, even though she’d been tempted more than once just to toss them out. They were yellowed with age now, stored in a manila folder in a file cabinet downstairs. She’d take them with her tomorrow. Then, when she and Erik were alone—and if he said the things she kept praying he might say—she’d show them to him.

  And after that, if he still wanted her, she’d say yes with all her heart.

  They all sat down to eat not long after Evie arrived at Erik’s the next evening. Evie looked from Becca to Jenny to Pete and wondered why they all looked so glum. Did they know that she and Erik planned to talk of the future tonight—a future that, of course, would have a major effect on all their lives? Were they unhappy about the possibility of having Evie and their father get together? Were they starting to resent her, fearing that she’d try to take their mother’s place?

  But then the food was passed and Evie understood.

  It was awful. The roast was stringy and the peas had been boiled until they were a truly unappetizing shade of gray. The gravy resembled brown tapioca and the mashed potatoes had the consistency of large-curd cottage cheese. Becca, Jenny and Pete made faces with each bite they took. Evie realized that all the grim glances had been in anticipation of their father’s cooking, that was all.

  Twice, Evie opened her mouth to say how delicious it all was, but then she’d catch Becca staring at her as if daring her to say something good about the stuff. Evie said nothing. She simply couldn’t tell that big a lie in front of an impressionable child.

  For dessert, there was a cobbler that Erik was careful to announce Grandma Darla had made. Everyone had seconds on that.

  Once the meal was through, Pete disappeared. Erik, Evie and the girls began to clear the table. Soon enough, Pete reappeared in the doorway to the kitchen with a toothbrush in one hand and a roll of clothing under the opposite arm.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said breezily, already turning for the front door.

  “Back by noon,” Erik called.

  “You bet.”

  “Where’s he going?” Jenny asked, when the front door had shut behind him.

  “A sleep-over,” Erik said. “At Mark’s.”

  “Does Marnie get to go?”

  “From what I understand, no,” Erik said. “And I don’t think she’s very happy about it.”

  “’Cause she’s a girl,” Jenny said, with some satisfaction. “And girls don’t get to have sleep-overs with boys.”

  “Something like that,” Erik muttered. “Now clear off the rest of the stuff from the table please, so Evie and I can finish loading the dishwasher.”

  Jenny went eagerly to the task, a smug little smile on her freckled face.

  When the dishes were taken care of, they all retired to the living room to watch The Secret Garden, which Erik had rented. The movie held both Becca and Jenny in thrall. It was about an orphaned girl who brought a dead garden to glorious flower, taught her tortured uncle how to love, showed her sickly cousin how to live—and learned to cry. Even Evie, who’s mind was on other things, found herself caught up in the beauty and wonder of the tale after a while.

  “That was a good story,” Becca decreed once it was done.

  And then Darla appeared at the front door. “All right. Special night. I want to take two little girls home with me.”

  Jenny’s eyes lit up. “A sleep-over at your house, Grandma?”

  “Yes.”

  Ten minutes later, Erik and Evie stood facing each other—alone—in the living room.

  “They’re gone,” Erik said. “Lord, I love them. But it sure is heaven. This quiet. And you…”

  “You planned this, didn’t you?” she tenderly accused.

  “What? That horrible dinner? The movie? Getting rid of the kids?”

  “All of it.”

  “I did.” He held out his hand. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  She thought of the large, sealed clasp envelope in which she’d put the yellowed clippings to carry them over here. It was under her purse on a table in the dining room, where she’d left it when she first entered the house.

  “Evie?”

  She put her hand in his, reveling as always in the absolute rightness of his touch. The envelope, she decided, could wait a little while.

  Erik pulled her into the hallway and up the stairs, past the girls’ rooms and Pete’s room and even his own, to the closed door of the room that Becca had called his special room.

  “This is my studio,” he said, pausing with his hand on the knob.

  “I know. The girls told me.”

  “They’re not allowed in. A man needs one place to call just his own.”

  “I understand.”

  His eyes, always so warm and open to her of late, were suddenly impossible to read. He muttered “I hope you do,” in a prayerful tone.

  “Erik?” she whispered, unsure.

  But he had already pushed the door open, reached in to flip on a light, and stepped back out of her way.

  Evie blinked. It was the room of her vision—the room where she and Erik had been making love. But in her vision, it had been daytime. Light had flooded in through the windows. Now, after eight at night, those windows were dark.

  “Please. Go in,” Erik suggested, oddly formal now.

  Evie moved across the threshold, aware of the easels, the paintings of woodland scenes and snow-capped peaks, of the worktable laden with paints and brushes and cleaning supplies. Even of the small couch beneath the windows—the couch of her vision, on which she and Erik had been making love.

  It took her a moment to pick out the real reason Erik had brought her in here. But at last she saw it. A portrait on an easel in the corner to her right.

  She
approached it slowly, vaguely aware that Erik had followed her into the room.

  “God,” Erik murmured prayerfully behind her. “Don’t hate it.”

  Evie glanced back at him, briefly—and that was when she saw all the sketches that were tacked to the drawing board beside her. Sketches of her own face. As the portrait was of her.

  She looked at the painting again.

  Behind her, Erik put his hands on her shoulders. She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying his touch. But then, once again, she was looking at herself—at herself as Erik saw her. Someone luminous, with shining eyes and a faint, barely there Mona Lisa smile.

  “Say something.” He squeezed her shoulders gently. “Please.”

  Evie smiled, and couldn’t help wondering if her real smile was anywhere near as mysterious as the one on the glowing face in the painting. “You’ve made me much too beautiful.”

  Though he was behind her, she could feel the tension drain from him. “You don’t hate it.”

  “No. I don’t hate it.”

  His hands moved on her shoulders, massaging a little. “I haven’t made you too beautiful. I’ve made you as I see you.”

  She dared to lean back just a fraction, enough that her head touched his chest. “Well, then, you’re blind. And I’m flattered.”

  His body tightened again he gripped her shoulders and held her a little away. “I didn’t intend it as flattery.” His tone was gruff.

  She turned in his arms and slid her hands around his neck. Oh, it was so wonderful. To be able to touch him so casually, as if he belonged to her. As ifshe were his.

  His face was stern. “It’s the way I see you, Evie. It’s honest, to me.”

  “Erik. I was teasing you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I love it.”

  “You do?” He searched her face.

  She nodded, then tried to explain herself. “I…I’m just a little stunned, that you see me like that. But stunned in a good way, honestly. I didn’t know what to say, so I tried to cover up my own awkwardness by teasing, that was all.”

  “Good. That’s good.” He searched her face some more, then explained, “I painted it this week. While I was making myself stay away from you.”