Part 30 (2/2)

”I look forward to talking to you on the phone every day because I love hearing what you have to say...about anything. I think about you whenever we're apart. When we're together I want to hold onto you, kiss you as much as possible. And this,” he said, gesturing between us, ”I've never experienced this before. Do you know what you look like when we're together?” I looked away, suddenly shy. ”No, really, do you realize how hot you are?” He turned me again as he took some more shampoo and started to lather my hair slowly. ”Carolyn, your mouth parts in this incredibly s.e.xy way. Your heads tilts to the side, exposing this part of you,” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss my neck. ”Your t.i.ts sway when you move against me. Your p.u.s.s.y is heaven. And the look in your eyes...You look at me like no one else has ever made you feel this way before. It makes me feel like a king.”

”No one has ever made me feel this way. Only you.”

He rinsed my hair and then let his hands roam lovingly over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and my belly, pulling me in close to him. ”I've never felt this way either, baby. It's only you.”

Look at him. I know he hates wearing a suit but he looks so d.a.m.n fine.

I love him just as much when he's in his grease splattered tee s.h.i.+rt, jeans and work boots, but the way he looks tonight? I'm ready to haul him home and role-play some alpha-male billionaire tames his smart-mouthed secretary fantasy.

I spy two middle-aged women standing a few feet away from Jeremy. They're whispering, stealing looks at him and then giggling like two teenagers crus.h.i.+ng on the hot guy. No, no, no ladies...he's mine.

He is mine-heart and soul and body.

And I am Jeremy's in every way.

A part of him grows inside me now. Everyone describes pregnancy as a miracle but since finding out that we're expecting, I occasionally have to stop and catch my breath. I'm awestruck. It's amazing to think that we made this. Jeremy making love to me created life that grows inside of me.

It's been our secret this past week. I'm only seven weeks along. We decided to wait a few more weeks to tell our family, and then we'll let the rest of the world in on our big news when we're three months along.

Yesterday we heard the heartbeat. Everything sounded perfect, strong and healthy, according to the doctor, but Jeremy and I are being careful. We've held our friends' hands after they've shared their happy news only to suffer a crus.h.i.+ng loss a few weeks later. We know it's not uncommon with the first pregnancy, so for now we're keeping this between us two. But it's impossible to keep from dreaming about this little person, and it's nearly impossible to contain this overwhelming desire I have to dance and scream to everyone within earshot that I'm so d.a.m.n happy!

Telling Frank and Sadie will be hard. They've had two miscarriages back to back. My heart breaks for them, even though every loss makes Sadie all that more difficult to be around. I'm guessing that when she hears our news, the few times a year we see them will dwindle down to nothing.

I hurt for Jeremy because this once close friends.h.i.+p has been fading away slowly but surely ever since I came back into the picture. Jeremy doesn't see things that way, though. Life is short in his opinion. Too short to spend time with people who don't have your best interests at heart. I can't say that I miss dodging Sadie's snarky comments or the way she'd regularly bring up Kenzie's name in conversation. Not that she's done that recently, though. Sadie and Kenzie had a major falling out a year ago over something ridiculous. I guess when you put two catty kittens in a cage together it won't be long before they try to claw one another's eyes out.

We have a full life now filled with friends who are true. Tori, Andie, Mateo, Taylor, Mike, Vince and Ava are all regulars at our house on Sat.u.r.day nights. And whenever Vanessa and her partner Marie are able to get away from their business, they have their own personal guestroom in our home. Yes, Vanessa is someone I have come to understand and to love like a sister. Chuck Watters is also a regular guest, and others who have shared our past, like Anna Clarke and her Declan, are regulars around our dinner table.

Having Anna in our lives doesn't bring me pain or grief. No, Anna brings me solace as few other people can. What we all went through, separately but connected, is a tie that will bind us forever.

More than eight years have pa.s.sed since that fateful night. It took me two years to climb out from the darkest depths of despair, and another year to feel like I was truly healing and on the road back. The past few years haven't been without setbacks or self-doubt, but I can say now that fear has no place in my daily life. I'm confident that I can handle whatever comes my way, just like the Carolyn Harris I was at fourteen-the karaoke loving captain of the Science Olympiad team, the steadfast friend, the girl who dreamed big...the Girl Most Likely to Succeed.

I fingered my collar, trying to create some s.p.a.ce as it pressed tight against my neck. It's only for a few hours. For her I can suffer.

I hate wearing a suit. This number is of the custom-fit, high-end variety and it still makes me feel stiff and trapped. Any day of the week you'll find me in jeans, boots and a thermal s.h.i.+rt. My ”topcoat” is a flannel b.u.t.ton down. My most important business meetings warrant no more than khakis and a polo s.h.i.+rt. Carolyn bought me this suit for tonight, though, and I wasn't about to complain. Especially after she told me I looked ”delicious” and she was looking forward to ”unwrapping her prize” later tonight.

And she looked incredible, so I needed to step up my game anyway. I smiled as I watched her work the room in her strapless, silver sequined dress. She wore heels that were sky high, raising her enough so that I could easily make her out in the crush of bodies that surrounded her. She was selling, and these rich old geezers were eager to buy whatever my beautiful girl was peddling. Her hair was up, revealing the soft curve of her neck and the promise of beautiful b.r.e.a.s.t.s hidden beneath the taut fabric of her dress. I was dying to pull her into a closet and claim her.

My desire for her would never let up. I wanted her right now just as much as I did years ago.

”Looks like tonight is going to be another smas.h.i.+ng success! Thanks again, Jeremy.” I turned to look at my old friend and smiled. ”Can you stop ogling your woman for a few minutes so that I can pimp you out in the gallery?”

”Sure, Andie, anything for the cause.”

Andie tapped an older woman on her shoulder and then gestured to me. ”This is the artist.”

”Oh my word,” she said, clutching her chest. ”You're gorgeous, young man!”

The woman in front of me had to be pus.h.i.+ng seventy-five. After the awkward greeting, we had a long conversation about color and perspective-she was a fellow artist and a collector of Chuck Watters' work. She was interested in a piece I'd donated called My Life. Carolyn was the subject-no surprise. She posed for this one just last week.

Every piece I did was special to me but the ones of Carolyn were especially hard to part with. I felt like I was giving away a piece of me. Tonight was no exception; as I stood looking at Carolyn in this piece, discussing details of the work with this woman, I had the strong, familiar urge to lift it off the wall, pack it up and take it back home.

Carolyn would laugh at me, reminding me that our new home had limited storage s.p.a.ce, persuading me with the argument that Briarwood needed the funds more than we needed yet another picture of her.

She didn't understand. Every piece evoked a memory for me-a look, something she had said, her touch.

The woman had gone off to look at other works but I was still standing in front of my Carolyn, lost in thought. Andie broke the spell. ”I'm telling you, Jeremy, every year it's the same. Don't these bidding wars tell you something? You should be doing this. All. The. Time.”

”Uh, no. I'm not the starving artist type.”

”Yeah, you're the stinking rich general contractor type. Sellout,” she teased, poking me in my ribs.

I shrugged. Since my partner retired last year, Tri State Electrical was all mine and we were doing well-very well. It was a good feeling. No, it was a great feeling knowing that the twelve-hour work days, the six-day work weeks-that the hard work was paying off.

There were times when the realization that I now had serious money would hit. It wasn't really the money, but the luxury of security. That I could afford the kindly home health aides who attended to my grandfather every day last year before he pa.s.sed, that I could relieve my father of any and all financial concerns, that I was secure in the knowledge that I could provide well for my family-where I come from, that's luxury.

Most recently, it was the day I surprised Carolyn with a plot of land, a beautiful two acre piece of property in Darien, and asked her if she'd like to help me design a house on it. As she paced the lot, yammering on about which side the kitchen should face and what angles would offer the best views, she stopped in her tracks and looked at me. ”Who are we designing a house for?”

I just smiled wide as she ran towards me and tackled me to the ground. ”For us? For you and me? Are you asking me to move in with you?”

”If you'd let me up, I'd kneel like I'm supposed to, Carolyn. I'm asking you to marry me.”

I never got up. She never let me and I figured that lying in the gra.s.s with this beautiful girl's body covering mine was a better way to do it anyway.

”Excuse me, Mr. Rivers. My name is Madeline and this is my husband, Arnold.”

”h.e.l.lo.”

”I have to tell you, I'm a great admirer of your work.”

”We both are,” her husband added. ”My bride, though,” he said, gesturing to his elderly wife, ”I think she enjoys getting into catfights with the other bidders over your work every year. It's like an Olympic sport to her.”

She playfully hit his chest as she looked back to me. ”It's partly true. I find myself scheming to keep everyone away from your pieces so that I can snag them for myself. It never works. I've only managed to get my hands on one, Blue Gingham. And I want to tell you, it gives me such joy. I find myself looking at it almost every day.”

”Wow, thank you. I appreciate that. And I remember that piece. It was hard to part with it.”

”But this one,” she mused as she studied My Life, ”this one speaks to me in a different way. I may be imagining it but I'd guess there's a strong connection between you and the subject. I don't know if it would be possible to evoke this level of feeling if there wasn't.”

Her eyes lit up as realization set in. ”But the subject is the same! She's the same one, the girl from that oversized piece.” She hit my chest then, with some force, I might add. ”Do you know how crestfallen I was that night?” Her husband was shaking his head, exasperated but amused, and I was just flat-out confused. ”I plotted, calculated my bids...only to be outbid repeatedly. And then when I was giddy with the certainty that I was going to win? That I was going to beat out the insipid little tart who'd been outfoxing me at every turn?” She sighed dramatically. ”I looked to see them removing the piece from the wall. True Beauty...I still remember the name. Oh, I was heartbroken. I'd wanted it so badly.”

I couldn't help but smile. ”It hangs in my house. In my bedroom, in fact.”

”As it should,” she said, resigned. ”Please tell me you won't be pulling this one,” she pled as she gestured towards this image of Carolyn. In this piece she was looking at me with affection, her two hands resting lovingly across her flat belly-already devoted to the little person growing inside of her.

Just one week before, Carolyn stood in front of the sink, her lips rounded in a surprised O, the stick with the pink plus sign in her hand. I fell to my knees before her and rested my head against my child. I had never felt a rush of pure love so intense in my life. A week later now and I still struggled to put my feelings into words. The picture told the story best. That image of Carolyn and our baby was My Life in every sense.

”This one's for you,” I said as I reached up to remove it from the display. ”But just so you know...it's not one of a kind.”

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