wouldn’t they
have been out for dinner with him? I wonder if he’s freeloading on the Anderson
place?
Eleanor pulled Philip’s sweater off over
his head and asked, as he emerged from inside it, all tired and bleary-eyed,
“Son, are there any strangers around? Have you seen anybody in the woods who
didn’t belong?”
Philip yawned and shook his head.
“Uh-uh.”
As she tucked him into his bed, he said
in his I-can’t-keep-it-to-myself-any-longer voice, “Did you see him, Mom? Jeff?
He had dinner with us at the hotel.”
So that’s what he’d been smiling at all
evening. Not, as she thought, someone across the room, but at his own imaginary
friend right across the table from him. “Oh, really, honey?” She smiled. “What
did ‘Jeff’ eat for dinner?”
“Didn’t you see? The same as me. You
looked right at him, Mom. You smiled.”
“Oh, yes,” Eleanor said, switching off
the light. “I remember now.”
~ * ~
Eleanor sat at her desk beside the
fireplace, blank screen in front of her, idle hands bracketing the keyboard,
strappy sandals kicked off and lying halfway across the room. Why oh why did
Grant have to start that business again? I thought he was going to give me more
time to think. He’s never been stupid enough to proposition me right in front
of my own son, so what was the problem tonight?
It must’ve been the dress... The
perfume.
She had chosen the dress with care,
wanting to look nice, to please Grant. It was a deep green silk which did
marvelous things for her complexion and figure, and she’d piled her hair high
on her head, leaving little tendrils hanging in front of her ears. Later, she’d
felt one curl slide loose to lie on the nape of her neck. She should have
tucked it back up. It was my own fault, she decided. If I don’t want to turn
him on, then I should take care not to dress in a way he likes.
Immediately, though, she denied that
notion. Grant had seen her dressed nicely before. He’d also seen her in jeans
and a sweatshirt. It didn’t matter what a woman wore—if a man was going to make
a pass, he was going to make it, regardless, and she hadn’t worn that dress
simply to please him, but to make herself feel good.
I like dressing up. And I don’t see why
I should have to go around in a gunnysack just so Grant can keep his hands and
his eyes to himself. To say nothing of his thoughts. But why does his saying he
wants me make me so angry? My goodness, we’re both adults. Maybe he’s right...
Maybe I am frigid. But I don’t think so... With David I was anything but.
David... A sweet smile of remembrance
curved Eleanor’s lips and softened her eyes for a long moment. She drew in a
deep breath and let it out slowly, unpinned her hair, tossed her head until it
fell free and loose against her neck and shoulders. She leaned back, raised her
arms and stretched, arching her back, feeling the silk of her dress play across
her skin. Then, with a start, she leapt to her feet, the horrible conviction
that she was being stared at from out of the night coming over her in a wave of
goose pimples. She went to the window, wondering for an instant if Grant had
followed her home. The motion sensor lights hadn’t come on. She stared out into
the darkness for a moment then, realizing if there were someone out there, she
was in a vulnerable position, she jerked the drapes closed.
Back at her computer Eleanor worked
furiously for another hour or two, then shut it down and prepared to go to bed.
That night, for the first time in years, she felt compelled to lock her doors.
That night, too, for the first time in years, David’s face returned to her
dreams. His gray eyes looked deeply into hers and his resonant voice, until now
the only clear memory she’d had murmured, “Sweetheart, sweetheart...” over and
over again.
When her alarm went off the next
morning, Eleanor reached out and slapped it angrily on the back of its noisy
head, silencing it. She felt as if her head a just
have been out for dinner with him? I wonder if he’s freeloading on the Anderson
place?
Eleanor pulled Philip’s sweater off over
his head and asked, as he emerged from inside it, all tired and bleary-eyed,
“Son, are there any strangers around? Have you seen anybody in the woods who
didn’t belong?”
Philip yawned and shook his head.
“Uh-uh.”
As she tucked him into his bed, he said
in his I-can’t-keep-it-to-myself-any-longer voice, “Did you see him, Mom? Jeff?
He had dinner with us at the hotel.”
So that’s what he’d been smiling at all
evening. Not, as she thought, someone across the room, but at his own imaginary
friend right across the table from him. “Oh, really, honey?” She smiled. “What
did ‘Jeff’ eat for dinner?”
“Didn’t you see? The same as me. You
looked right at him, Mom. You smiled.”
“Oh, yes,” Eleanor said, switching off
the light. “I remember now.”
~ * ~
Eleanor sat at her desk beside the
fireplace, blank screen in front of her, idle hands bracketing the keyboard,
strappy sandals kicked off and lying halfway across the room. Why oh why did
Grant have to start that business again? I thought he was going to give me more
time to think. He’s never been stupid enough to proposition me right in front
of my own son, so what was the problem tonight?
It must’ve been the dress... The
perfume.
She had chosen the dress with care,
wanting to look nice, to please Grant. It was a deep green silk which did
marvelous things for her complexion and figure, and she’d piled her hair high
on her head, leaving little tendrils hanging in front of her ears. Later, she’d
felt one curl slide loose to lie on the nape of her neck. She should have
tucked it back up. It was my own fault, she decided. If I don’t want to turn
him on, then I should take care not to dress in a way he likes.
Immediately, though, she denied that
notion. Grant had seen her dressed nicely before. He’d also seen her in jeans
and a sweatshirt. It didn’t matter what a woman wore—if a man was going to make
a pass, he was going to make it, regardless, and she hadn’t worn that dress
simply to please him, but to make herself feel good.
I like dressing up. And I don’t see why
I should have to go around in a gunnysack just so Grant can keep his hands and
his eyes to himself. To say nothing of his thoughts. But why does his saying he
wants me make me so angry? My goodness, we’re both adults. Maybe he’s right...
Maybe I am frigid. But I don’t think so... With David I was anything but.
David... A sweet smile of remembrance
curved Eleanor’s lips and softened her eyes for a long moment. She drew in a
deep breath and let it out slowly, unpinned her hair, tossed her head until it
fell free and loose against her neck and shoulders. She leaned back, raised her
arms and stretched, arching her back, feeling the silk of her dress play across
her skin. Then, with a start, she leapt to her feet, the horrible conviction
that she was being stared at from out of the night coming over her in a wave of
goose pimples. She went to the window, wondering for an instant if Grant had
followed her home. The motion sensor lights hadn’t come on. She stared out into
the darkness for a moment then, realizing if there were someone out there, she
was in a vulnerable position, she jerked the drapes closed.
Back at her computer Eleanor worked
furiously for another hour or two, then shut it down and prepared to go to bed.
That night, for the first time in years, she felt compelled to lock her doors.
That night, too, for the first time in years, David’s face returned to her
dreams. His gray eyes looked deeply into hers and his resonant voice, until now
the only clear memory she’d had murmured, “Sweetheart, sweetheart...” over and
over again.
When her alarm went off the next
morning, Eleanor reached out and slapped it angrily on the back of its noisy
head, silencing it. She felt as if her head a just
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