his hand appear, extending the red and white package with one cigarette half cocked.
She met his eyes nervously. "No, thank you, I quit years ago."
"Ah, I should have guessed."
He lipped the cigarette straight from the pack --a memory from the past--and she saw that his mouth
had not changed at all. The evidence of 69 aging that marked the rest of his face had not reached his lips. They were crisply etched, generous, as beguiling as ever. When he suddenly stood, her heart leapt. But he only fished for a lighter in his trouser pocket, then sat on the edge of the sofa again while she watched him light up. He scowled as the smoke lifted, then threw back his head on a heavy exhalation as he slipped the lighter into his breast pocket. At last the ritual was through, and he rested with his hands pressed butt to butt between widespread knees, the cigarette seemingly forgotten in his fingers. He studied her until it took great effort for Rachel to keep from begging him not to.
"So, Rachel, where do we start?"
His question startled her, though she tried hard not to let it show.
"I think you know the answer to that as well as I do. We don't start."
"Then maybe I should have asked, where do we end?"
"We ended years ago, Tommy Lee. I really don't know why you've come here."
He glanced around. "I wanted to see your
house from the inside for once. It's a beautiful house, what I can see of it. Owen must have worked out fine with your daddy."
A faint blush heated her chin and cheeks. "Yes, he did. He worked his way up to vice-president at the bank."
"Yes, I know," he said softly.
"Yes, I suppose you do. There's probably very little we don't know about each other."
"There's no such thing as a secret in a town this size, that's for sure."
She shot him a sharp glance, but he was studying his cigarette, and when he raised his gaze she hurriedly dropped hers. "I understand you live out on the lake now."
"Yes, ma'am," he drawled with a touch of irony. "Got a big house out there." He chuckled quietly. "Folks called me crazy when I built it, but now they drive by in their boats and stare at it, and I think a few of them actually like it."
She couldn't help smiling for a moment, but she knew all the other things they said about him, too.
"Do you enjoy being ... unconventional?"
"Unconventional?" He glanced up with a
crooked, sad smile. "Why, I'm as 71 conventional as the next one. What you're meaning to ask is if I enjoy being the hell-raiser they say I am, isn't it, Rachel?"
"You said it, Tommy Lee. I didn't."
He seemed to consider the question a long time, all the while studying her closely. When he answered, he sounded resigned. "No, I don't enjoy it much. But it kills time."
Rachel bristled. "Is that what you consider three marriages and three divorces--killing time?"
He flicked his ashes into the crystal ashtray and answered as if to himself, "Well, it was killing anyway. But then we all can't be lucky like you and end up with a marriage made in heaven, now, can we?"
"You've grown cynical over the years."
"Hell, yes. Wouldn't you if you tried three times and failed?" She glanced aside as if appalled by his admission. "Does it bother you, Rachel, the fact that I've been married all those times? Is that why you're so tense?"
Her eyes snapped angrily. "I'm tense because I've just been through two grueling years
watching my husband die of cancer. It would make anybody tense." She jumped to her feet and he followed, catching her elbow above the marble-topped table.
"Rachel honey, I'm sorry."
She carefully withdrew her arm. "I'm not your Rachel-honey anymore, and I begin to see what it is people object to about you, Tommy Lee. You had no business coming here like this so soon after Owen's death, and especially after I asked you not to."
Their eyes clashed for long seconds. Then she turned her back and walked to one of the arched windows, where she stood staring out at the
She met his eyes nervously. "No, thank you, I quit years ago."
"Ah, I should have guessed."
He lipped the cigarette straight from the pack --a memory from the past--and she saw that his mouth
had not changed at all. The evidence of 69 aging that marked the rest of his face had not reached his lips. They were crisply etched, generous, as beguiling as ever. When he suddenly stood, her heart leapt. But he only fished for a lighter in his trouser pocket, then sat on the edge of the sofa again while she watched him light up. He scowled as the smoke lifted, then threw back his head on a heavy exhalation as he slipped the lighter into his breast pocket. At last the ritual was through, and he rested with his hands pressed butt to butt between widespread knees, the cigarette seemingly forgotten in his fingers. He studied her until it took great effort for Rachel to keep from begging him not to.
"So, Rachel, where do we start?"
His question startled her, though she tried hard not to let it show.
"I think you know the answer to that as well as I do. We don't start."
"Then maybe I should have asked, where do we end?"
"We ended years ago, Tommy Lee. I really don't know why you've come here."
He glanced around. "I wanted to see your
house from the inside for once. It's a beautiful house, what I can see of it. Owen must have worked out fine with your daddy."
A faint blush heated her chin and cheeks. "Yes, he did. He worked his way up to vice-president at the bank."
"Yes, I know," he said softly.
"Yes, I suppose you do. There's probably very little we don't know about each other."
"There's no such thing as a secret in a town this size, that's for sure."
She shot him a sharp glance, but he was studying his cigarette, and when he raised his gaze she hurriedly dropped hers. "I understand you live out on the lake now."
"Yes, ma'am," he drawled with a touch of irony. "Got a big house out there." He chuckled quietly. "Folks called me crazy when I built it, but now they drive by in their boats and stare at it, and I think a few of them actually like it."
She couldn't help smiling for a moment, but she knew all the other things they said about him, too.
"Do you enjoy being ... unconventional?"
"Unconventional?" He glanced up with a
crooked, sad smile. "Why, I'm as 71 conventional as the next one. What you're meaning to ask is if I enjoy being the hell-raiser they say I am, isn't it, Rachel?"
"You said it, Tommy Lee. I didn't."
He seemed to consider the question a long time, all the while studying her closely. When he answered, he sounded resigned. "No, I don't enjoy it much. But it kills time."
Rachel bristled. "Is that what you consider three marriages and three divorces--killing time?"
He flicked his ashes into the crystal ashtray and answered as if to himself, "Well, it was killing anyway. But then we all can't be lucky like you and end up with a marriage made in heaven, now, can we?"
"You've grown cynical over the years."
"Hell, yes. Wouldn't you if you tried three times and failed?" She glanced aside as if appalled by his admission. "Does it bother you, Rachel, the fact that I've been married all those times? Is that why you're so tense?"
Her eyes snapped angrily. "I'm tense because I've just been through two grueling years
watching my husband die of cancer. It would make anybody tense." She jumped to her feet and he followed, catching her elbow above the marble-topped table.
"Rachel honey, I'm sorry."
She carefully withdrew her arm. "I'm not your Rachel-honey anymore, and I begin to see what it is people object to about you, Tommy Lee. You had no business coming here like this so soon after Owen's death, and especially after I asked you not to."
Their eyes clashed for long seconds. Then she turned her back and walked to one of the arched windows, where she stood staring out at the
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