The Man, The Moon And The Marriage Vow Page 9

  “Did you paint the scene over your bed—of the pond and the willow?” Evie asked when they were strolling down the sidewalk toward Main Street.

  “Yeah.”

  “And the one of the space module, in Pete’s room?”

  “Guilty, again.” He was smiling. “And the twin fawns in Becca’s room as well as the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party scene in Jenny’s room.”

  “My uncle Oggie said you were talented.”

  “Oh, did he?”

  “Yes. And he was right.”

  They strolled a few steps in silence. Then Erik said, “Sam Fletcher dropped by my house the other day.” Sam Fletcher was the husband of Evie’s cousin, Delilah. He owned Fletcher Gold Sales, several doors up from Evie’s shop on Main Street. Sam’s store sold mining and camping equipment along with gold nuggets and jewelry and fine wooden sculptures which Sam carved himself.

  “And what did Sam Fletcher have to say?”

  “He wants me to bring some of my paintings into his store. To sell on consignment. What do you think of that?”

  “I think it’s an absolutely terrific idea.”

  They paused then, right there on Pine Street, and grinned at each other. Then, of one accord, they started walking again.

  Evie said, “I like your house. It has such nice, big rooms. It seems just right for your family.”

  Erik nodded. “I’ve been lucky. Regina’s renting it to me for next to nothing. I’m going to do a few improvements for her—including painting the whole place inside and out. And then maybe, eventually…” He let his voice trail off.

  “Eventually what?”

  He looked up at the blanket of stars overhead. It was a mild night, an Indian Summer night. The moon was a silver disk above the mountains. “Hell. I can’t say what will happen. Not at this point.”

  “What, Erik? Come on.”

  He cast her a glance, then looked at the sidewalk in front of them again. “Regina said she wouldn’t mind selling the place to me. So maybe, if I ever get back on top again, I’ll buy that house someday. That’s all I was going to say.” They were at the corner of Pine and Main. Across the street was the grocery store and a hundred yards away to the right was Wishbook and Evie’s apartment above it.

  Reluctant to turn the corner, Evie hung back. “Why was that so hard to say?”

  Erik stopped, too, a few steps after she did. He turned back to her. She could seen the reflection of the moon in his eyes.

  “Sometimes it’s hard,” he said, “to learn to dream again.”

  Evie said nothing. She knew exactly what he meant. She took the few steps to catch up to him.

  Then, side by side once more, they started up Main Street. When they reached Wishbook, Erik accompanied her up the stairs in back, where they lingered for a moment in mutual silence, listening to the crickets and the croaking of a lone frog somewhere in the little field between Main Street and Rambling Lane.

  “Dinner was wonderful,” she said at last.

  A devilish glint came into his eyes. “And that cake. Unbelievable.”

  She did punch him then, very lightly, on the arm. “Don’t push it, Riggins.”

  He chuckled, but said no more.

  She asked, hesitantly, “Would you like to…come in?”

  He shook his head. “I should get back.”

  She watched him run down the steps. Before he rounded the corner of the building he turned and waved. Her heart seemed to hover high in her chest, as light as a moonbeam, as she waved in return.

  Each day, as the leaves turned to red and gold on the trees, the friendship between Erik and Evie deepened and grew stronger.

  The girls came into the store several times a week. And more than once, Nellie appeared at the same time as the children were there. It was rocky going in the beginning, as Nellie tried to get to know her grandchildren without actually admitting what she was doing. The first few times she appeared, she backed out the door only minutes after she’d entered.

  Evie continued to treat the whole process very offhandedly. She’d wave as Nellie was scurrying out and call, “Bye, Nellie. See you soon.”

  By the time September came to an end, though, things were improving. Nellie had begun reading stories to Becca, who would sit in her lap in the “book nook” in back. And one day at the beginning of October, Nellie even challenged Jenny and Peg to a game of jacks. She was thoroughly appalled when neither girl had even heard of the game.

  “It’s another sad sign of our times,” Nellie intoned bleakly. “Two perfectly bright eight-year-old girls, and they’ve never heard of jacks.”

  And with that, Nellie marched out the door. She returned five minutes later, having paid a visit to Santino’s Barber, Beauty and Variety up the street. In her hand she clutched a paper sack and in the sack was a ball and several small, uniformly star-shaped metal objects—the “jacks” in question.

  “May we use a small section of your floor, Evie?” Nellie inquired.

  “Anywhere you can find the room,” Evie said.

  Nellie, Jenny and Peg settled on an area near the wrapping table. There—with Becca and Chippy included; of course—they sat in a circle and Nellie began teaching the girls how to play.

  Soon after, Tondalaya Clark came in looking for Peg. Evie had to suppress a chuckle at the look on Tondalaya’s face when she saw Nellie Anderson down on the floor bouncing a red rubber ball and scooping up the jacks in her swift, skinny hands.

  “Will wonders never cease?” Tondalaya asked.

  “I certainly hope not,” Evie replied.

  Erik came over that night, as he had been doing once or twice a week since the night of Septemberfest.

  They sat in Evie’s kitchen. Erik drank one of the orange sodas she always kept in the refrigerator for him as Evie told him all about how things were going between his former mother-in-law and his daughters.

  “You’re a miracle worker,” he said, after she’d described the game of jacks. “That’s what you are.”

  “No. I’m not. I’m just…a woman. Just an ordinary woman.”

  “No. No, you’re not.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  And then they laughed together. Erik reached across the table and snared her hand.

  And everything went absolutely still.

  Evie gasped, for a split second fearing they were in for another episode like the one that had occurred down in the shop all those weeks ago.

  But then she breathed easier. Because no “episode” happened.

  Nothing at all happened, really. Except for the fact that Evie had found heaven.

  Heaven in the touch of Erik’s hand on hers.

  They both remained very still.

  “I don’t want to let go,” he said into the quiet.

  “Good. Then don’t,” she whispered in return.

  “But we said we’d only be friends,” he reminded her, his voice rough and as warm as the clasp of his hand.

  “I know what we said.”

  His hand closed tighter over hers. “Evie…”

  Evie waited, her heart pounding loud in her ears. It was impossible. She’d always known it. She could never take the chance of…

  But the thought wouldn’t form completely. Her old fears seemed groundless now. He was Erik. Through these magical recent days, it had begun to seem as if he’d been born to be a part of her life. As if she’d waited through all the lonely years for him.

  Only for him.

  He spoke again. “I thought I wouldn’t let you become too important to me. But it didn’t work. I look at you and I know you aren’t mine. So then why is it I also know I couldn’t stand it if I lost you, if you left?”

  Her silly eyes were filling. Evie swiped at them, impatiently, with the hand that wasn’t clutched tightly in his.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Honest,” she promised.

  “Lord. I hope that’s true.”

  “It is. I swear it. I’ve…I’ve spent my life leaving. One place after another. B
ut not anymore, Erik. This is my home. Here. In this town.” With you, her heart added, though she didn’t say those words aloud.

  He murmured her name again.

  She whispered his.

  And then he said, “This has to stop. Now.” He let go of her hand.

  “No. Erik…”

  But he was already up and headed for the door.

  “Erik. Stop.”

  He froze.

  “Erik, please. Wait. Don’t go.”

  He turned back. His eyes met hers. His face was set, determined. But within seconds, he was softening, giving in to the power of what lay between them.

  Evie stood, a slow movement. The action brought with it a sharp awareness of her body. How heavy and weak it felt—but it was a fluid kind of weakness, very seductive, as if she floated in warm water, every movement deliciously hindered by liquid resistance.

  “Ah, Evie…” Erik whispered. It was a plea. And a kind of surrender, as well.

  She felt like a sleepwalker, a very willing sleepwalker, as she took the few steps that would bring her to stand before him.

  He drew himself up as she approached—in wariness or preparation, she couldn’t tell which.

  She kept looking in his eyes, willing him not to turn away. When she reached him, she lifted her right hand and laid it on his chest.

  He groaned.

  “Shh,” she said. “Don’t…pull away. Don’t move at all. Please.”

  He held himself perfectly still, but his heart galloped beneath her hand.

  Evie thought that she liked how he smelled. For a moment she got lost in that, in the soap-and-man scent of him. Then she recollected herself enough to go on, “I want you to know…”

  “Yeah?”

  “That I trust you, Erik.”

  A beat, then he said, “Maybe you shouldn’t.” The words were rough, but tender, too.

  She felt the corners of her mouth lifting in a knowing smile. “Oh, yes. I should. You’re a man worth trusting.”

  “God. Evie.” He was looking at her mouth. She knew in her woman’s soul that he wanted to kiss her. And she wanted to be kissed by him.

  She spoke the truth to him, boldly. “I know nothing of men, Erik. Do you…know what I’m saying?”

  “I think so.”

  “Men have asked me out, a few times. And once or twice, I went. But I was always careful. Never to let them get too close. I didn’t want to know them, not in any way that really mattered. I guess I’ve been afraid, deep down, that all men are like—” She cut herself off, appalled. What was she thinking of? She’d almost mentioned Gideon.

  He prompted, “Like who?”

  There was not much choice but to tell him. “My father.”

  “What was wrong with your father?”

  She was trapped now; she had to say something. She tried stalling. “Oh, it’s such a long story. He…he wasn’t a very good father. Someday, maybe, I’ll tell you all about him.”

  Erik closed his eyes, as if gathering his forces. “Evie, I have been wondering.” He opened his eyes and looked at her probingly. “About your past. You never say much about it. I’d like to know, about all those places you say you left. And about what your life was like growing up.”

  Evie had no idea what to say then. Half of her wanted to tell him everything. Yet some things could never be told, not even to him.

  “Evie?” Beneath her hand, Erik’s heart beat more slowly now, a deep and insistent rhythm. He was waiting for her reply.

  She hedged, “I can’t tell it all in one night.”

  He wouldn’t be put off. “You could make a start of it.”

  She bit the inside of her lip. “What do you want to know?”

  He had the first question ready. “What about your mother? What was she like?”

  It was a question that required no evasions. She relaxed a little and searched her memory for what she could recall of the woman who had given her life.

  “My mother died when I was five. I hardly remember her. I have…an impression of gentleness, when I think of her. And of singing. I think she used to sing to me. And I know she either had a little money from somewhere or held a steady job. While she was alive, we had a house to live in and food on the table.”

  “But not after she died?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Couldn’t your father take care of you?”

  Evie was careful to keep looking right at him. Every word was a risk. Hesitantly she explained, “My father was…a gambler, a con artist, really. He lived on the road. After my mother died, he took us with him.”

  “Us?”

  “I have two older sisters, Nevada and Faith. After my mother died, I grew up with them and my father…on the road, as I said. My father, he, umm, could never really afford to take care of us very well. But he wouldn’t let go of us. He’d been in foster homes a lot, as a child. And he’d been abused in them, I think. So even though he couldn’t really provide for us, he always swore no welfare people were going to get their hands on his girls.”

  Erik’s eyes were full of understanding. “It was rough for you, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  He asked one of the questions she’d been dreading. “Is your father gone now, too?”

  She knew what he meant: was Gideon dead? But she chose to take the question in the more general sense. She answered, “Yes. He is. Gone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Not for me, anyway. As I said, he wasn’t a good father. When we lost our mother and our home, we lost everything.” She felt a smile play on her lips then. “And you know what?”

  “What?”

  “In all those years, I’ve never felt I had a home till now. Here. In North Magdalene.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his smile answering hers. “I know the feeling. North Magdalene has always been home to me, too. I missed it, all those years I lived away.”

  Evie’s hand still rested against his heart. She became aware of his heartbeat again.

  Warm, she thought, he was so warm beneath her hand. She let her hand slide upward, over the hard bulge of his shoulder. She touched his tan neck with her thumb.

  His eyes changed; they turned smoky and hot. “Don’t go too far, Evie,” he warned. “Be careful.”

  But Evie was not feeling very careful inside. A giddiness swept through her. She had just navigated a conversational mine field, and had come out all in one piece. She’d managed to tell him something of her father and her childhood, without revealing anything about her strange gifts or her years as her father’s pawn.

  Now she felt bold; she felt she could handle anything. She could risk it all—and win.

  She brushed her thumb against his neck and took the plunge. “It’s more than…friendship between us, Erik. Isn’t it?”

  He closed his eyes again, as her thumb lightly moved on the side of his neck, back and forth, in a caress that was shamelessly intended to beguile.

  “Isn’t it, Erik?”

  He breathed the word, “Yes.”

  Her heart jumped. It knocked against her ribs. Suddenly she didn’t feel so bold. She whispered, “I’m afraid.”

  “So am I.”

  And then she sighed. “But I don’t think…I can stop it. I don’t think I want to stop it. Not deep in my heart, anyway.”

  His eyes were still closed. “You should stop it.”

  “No. Don’t say that.”

  “I have to say it.”

  “No—”

  “I have nothing, Evie. Nothing to give you.”

  Her fingers slid up, over his jaw to his wonderful mouth, which was so soft, in counterpoint to the rest of him that was so unyielding and strong. “Shh.” She covered his lips with her fingertips. “You have everything. Everything that matters. Never, never say that you don’t.”

  He captured her hand again then, his big fingers encompassing hers in strength and heat. And his eyes were open again, probing hers. “I don’t understand this. I never tho
ught I’d want to…trust anyone again in this way. It seems impossible, that this is happening. But then lately, since I met you, nothing is impossible.”

  He wrapped his free arm around her, unable to resist bringing her closer anymore. He pulled her to his body. She went, eagerly, hungering for just that, to be closer, to be touching him in one long caress.

  A small sigh of pleasure escaped her. It was wonderful, to be pressed against him. She’d only been this close to him two other times—the day he carried her up the stairs, and Labor Day night, when they’d danced together under the stars. She looked up at him, waiting, yearning.

  He said what she was thinking. “I want to kiss you, Evie.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.”

  “But it will be stepping over the line completely, when I kiss you.”

  “Listen,” she whispered. “Listen to what you just said. You said when, Erik—when, not if.”

  “If would be lying.” His mouth was right above hers. She could feel the sweet warmth of his breath on her face.

  “Yes. If would be lying,” she solemnly repeated his words. “Let’s not lie to each other, Erik. Not ever.” She felt a twinge of guilt. She lied by omission. He didn’t know all her secrets.

  And he never would.

  “No lies. Ever. It’s a deal,” he said.

  She pushed the guilt away, down into the deepest part of her and she dared to ask, “Now, will you kiss me?”

  “If I kiss you—”

  “Shh,” she chided. “No lies, remember? Not if. When. “

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “You are. Almost…too beautiful to be real. Are you real, Evie?”

  “I am. Oh, Erik. I am.”

  “I couldn’t bear it, if you weren’t. Sometimes I fear that. I think this is all a dream, that you’re a dream. And I’ll wake up. You won’t be there.”

  “No, that will never happen. I’m in your arms, Erik. I’m here. And I’m real, so real—”

  “I don’t…”

  “A kiss.”

  “We shouldn’t—”

  “Just kiss me,” she pleaded, not caring if she sounded too bold.

  His eyes seemed to burn down into the center of her, seeking something there—she wasn’t sure exactly what. And then he muttered a low oath.