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  “Who?” he said, his eyes widening.

  “You know, those people who advertise on television. ‘If you have a pain in your drain, you’ll be in luck with our truck.’ They have a mobile service and come to your house with a van full of plumbing equipment.”

  He was laughing helplessly, the wrench dangling from his hand. “You are priceless,” he said, when he could talk.

  “I hope Gloria thinks so when we arrive an hour late for her performance,” Carrie said pointedly.

  “Go away,” he said, waving her out of the room and returning to the tub. Carrie had a last glimpse of him kneeling again before she pulled the door closed behind her.

  Ten minutes later he knocked at her bedroom door. “All done,” he said. “You can go in anytime.”

  “Thank you,” she called breathlessly, wondering whether he would try to come into the room.

  “I’ll be downstairs,” he added, answering her question.

  Carrie hurried to shower and dress, selecting a deep pink wool shift that enhanced her coloring. She applied her makeup hurriedly, so conscious of Jason’s presence in the house that she could barely concentrate. Her lipstick smeared and she wiped it off, settling for clear lip gloss instead. When she was ready she caught her reflection in the dresser mirror as she raced past it. She looked flushed and happy.

  She found Jason sitting in the living room with a book in his lap.

  “What are you reading?” she asked, as she went to the hall closet for her coat.

  “Social Studies Curricula in the Elementary School,” he replied, holding up the volume for her inspection. “Fascinating. I had no idea so much planning went into teaching history.”

  “Where did you find that?” she asked, shaking her head. Why on earth would he pick that up?

  “It was on the coffee table along with the Sunday Times and a biography of Twyla Tharp.”

  “Gloria left that,” Carrie said. “I’m woefully ignorant about what she does; that’s supposed to inform me.”

  “Ready?” he asked, standing up briskly.

  Carrie nodded. He unrolled his sleeves and shot his cuffs, rebuttoning his collar and pushing up his tie. He helped her into her coat and then put his jacket back on. “Is there a latecomer’s lounge?” he asked, taking out his car keys.

  “I think so.”

  “Good. People really don’t appreciate it when they’re trying to watch a show and you’re climbing over their knees.”

  Jason opened the door to a windy autumn evening, the sort of night when it was easy to picture The Highwayman riding across the moor to keep a tryst with the landlord’s daughter. The moon drifted in and out of cloudbanks, creating a changing fall of light and shadow. Dried leaves swirled around their ankles with each gust, skimming across the ground with a life of their own. Carrie shivered, and Jason’s arm slipped easily around her waist.

  “Halloween is over,” he teased. “The ghosts have climbed back into their graves and the trolls are back under their bridges.”

  “Winter is here,” Carrie replied, conscious of the warmth of his touch even through her wool coat. “It seems to arrive overnight.”

  “Stick with me,” he said, half kidding, half not. “I’ll keep you warm.” He released her long enough to take her hand and led her to his car.

  It was a late model sedan of foreign make, unfamiliar to Carrie but certainly expensive. She slid onto the cool leather of the passenger seat, wondering where the evening would lead them.

  During the drive Jason was relaxed and talkative. There was no sign of the tormented stranger she had encountered in his bedroom. Carrie enjoyed his company as he told her about his business and the uncertain enterprise of single parenthood. They reached the Civic Center a little after eight, and they were alone in the latecomer’s lounge behind the balcony.

  “Which one is she?” Jason asked, settling into the seat beside her. They were viewing the show through a glass partition at the top of the house.

  “I can’t tell,” Carrie answered, peering down at the miniature spinning figures on the stage. “From this distance they all look the same.”

  They studied the performance in silence until Carrie spotted Gloria emerging from the wings for a solo.

  “There she is!” she said triumphantly, pointing.

  Carrie watched Jason as he observed her friend. His green eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, like a fan in the bleachers waiting for the kickoff. He didn’t say anything for a while and then observed, “She’s blonde, isn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Carrie said. She had been expecting a critique.

  “Tall and slim,” he added, looking away. “I’m sure she’s very pretty.”

  It wasn’t until that moment that Carrie realized Gloria bore a superficial resemblance to Jason’s late wife. She was so used to seeing her friend that she had never considered it, but even across the auditorium he had noticed it.

  Clearly, Louise was never far from his thoughts.

  “She’s lovely,” Carrie replied in a subdued voice. All of the joy she had felt earlier drained out of her.

  He glanced at her. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “No, of course not. What could be wrong?” She settled in beside him and watched the show, a disjointed whirl of color and movement that meant nothing to her.

  They went down to the lobby at intermission, and Jason got drinks for them at the bar. Carrie sipped her wine, her expression preoccupied.

  “Your friend is very good,” Jason commented, downing half of his scotch. “Are we going to meet her after the show?”

  “Do you want to?” Carrie asked unhappily.

  He shrugged. “I thought you’d want to let her know that you made it,” he answered. “Isn’t she expecting you?”

  “I guess so. We’ll go up to the dressing room after the curtain,” Carrie replied, not meeting his eyes.

  Jason set down his glass and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve done something to upset you,” he said flatly. “Please tell me what it is.”

  “Why Jason McClain,” a voice behind them said. “I never expected to find you here.”

  Jason turned at the greeting and Carrie could see his muscles tense, as if for a fight. “Hello, George, Amanda,” he said neutrally. “It’s good to see you.”

  It was anything but good to see them, as Carrie could tell from his demeanor. But he was polite, shaking hands with the man and nodding to the woman.

  “We thought you had become a hermit,” George said jovially, looking Carrie over with interest. “I must say this young lady is an improvement over the horses who’ve been occupying your time.”

  Jason had no choice but to introduce them to Carrie. They were neighbors of his who owned an adjoining farm.

  “Will you be coming to the auction?” George asked Jason.

  “I never miss it.”

  “And the dance?” his wife asked, smiling at Carrie. “I’m on the board you know. We’ve missed Jason these past two years; he hasn’t joined us since...” Her voice trailed off as she realized she had broached an unpleasant subject.

  “I’ll be there,” Jason said smoothly, filling the uncomfortable silence. “Miss Maxwell will be accompanying me.”

  Amanda found this piece of information of consuming interest as she sidled up to Carrie and put her hand on her arm. “How nice for both of you,” she said. “George, why don’t you and Jason go get a drink? You look like you’re due for seconds.”

  Jason clearly didn’t want to leave Carrie at Amanda’s mercy, but he was too much of a gentleman to ignore Amanda’s suggestion. The two men went off together and Amanda was left alone with her prey.

  “It’s wonderful that Jason is getting out again,” she began, sighing dramatically. “George and I were really worried about him; he took his wife’s death so badly.”

  “It was a tragedy,” Carrie replied, hoping that Amanda’s broom was double-parked.

  “They say he almost died trying to save her,” Aman
da went on. “He was in the hospital for months with the burns. You can see the scars. But I don’t think it mars his looks at all, do you? He’s so handsome. But then, so was Louise. The two of them together were a sight to see. At the last Harvest Ball she attended she wore an ice-blue sheath that was the talk of the whole event. She and I worked together on the arrangements for it. She was quite good at that sort of thing, a born organizer.”

  And you’re a born harpy, Carrie wanted to say. Why did people get pleasure out of such destructive behavior? “Her friends must miss her,” Carrie murmured, sure that Amanda wasn’t listening. She looked around for Jason and saw him making his way toward her, his face mirroring his concern.

  “How did you two meet?” Amanda asked, coming to the point of the conversation.

  “I work at the school Johnny attends,” Carrie answered, telling the truth without providing grist for Amanda’s mill.

  “Um-hmm. And have you been seeing each other long?”

  At this point Jason arrived and Carrie moved immediately to his side. He took her hand protectively and led her behind him.

  “We have to run, Amanda. George is on his way. See you next week. So long.” He whisked Carrie out of the lobby and into the hall, pausing to look down at her when they were out of Amanda’s earshot.

  “Was it awful?” he asked, his jaw tight, not even pretending that it could be anything else.

  Carrie didn’t answer, unsure of what to say.

  “That woman is a blight,” he said tersely. “George is okay but I knew that she would give you a hard time. I tried to be as quick as possible.”

  “You were,” Carrie assured him. “I wasn’t alone with her long.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “She was...talking about the Harvest Balls in previous years,” Carrie replied, honestly enough.

  “And my wife?” he asked tonelessly.

  “She mentioned how beautiful she was, something about a blue dress she wore to one of the galas. She said that they had worked on the plans together.”

  “Nothing else?” he went on, eyeing her closely.

  “Just that you took her death very hard. She’s nosy, Jason, that’s all.”

  “Louise is dead,” Jason said fiercely. “I wish people would let her rest in peace.”

  “They were friends,” Carrie said. “Of course Amanda is interested.”

  Jason’s eyes closed, and when he opened them they were changed, devoid of anger. “You’re such an innocent,” he murmured, cupping her chin in his hand. “I had forgotten that women like you existed.”

  “Naive women?” Carrie said, joking halfheartedly.

  “Sensitive, compassionate women,” Jason answered. He glanced over his shoulder at the departing crowd. “Do you really want to go back up there?” he asked. “We could have a cup of coffee in the cafe downstairs and catch your friend after the show.”

  “Fine,” Carrie said. She would rather talk to him than see a million shows.

  Once they were seated in a booth in the little plant filled restaurant he reached across the table separating them and took her hand.

  “There are going to be more people like Amanda at this formal,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Maybe not as offensive but certainly as inquisitive.” His glance fell to their intertwined fingers. “You have to understand that I’m the local curiosity,” he continued sarcastically. “I survived a disaster and then had the consummate bad manners to keep the details to myself. I didn’t dine out on the gory particulars and people resent that sort of thing. They tell themselves they’re inviting you over to alleviate your grief. What they really want to do is pick at your wounds and shudder deliciously at your grisly horror stories.”

  “I don’t think most people are that bad,” Carrie said softly.

  “I know you don’t,” he replied, in a tone which indicated that she knew nothing about it. He tried to withdraw his hand and she clutched at it, holding onto his fist.

  “I’m sure some of them wanted to keep your mind off what had happened and provide you with company,” she went on. “They probably thought you were sitting alone in that big house reliving every moment. People can be charitably motivated, Jason.”

  “Maybe,” he said, sounding unconvinced. He paused to give their order to a waiter and then said, “I’m trying to tell you that you don’t have to go with me to this thing. I’ve skipped it before and I can skip it again. I asked you to come with me only because it gave me an excuse to see you again. Getting together with the other breeders is good for business but I’d rather stay home than make you uncomfortable.”

  “I want to go, Jason,” Carrie said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Are you?” he asked, as if unable to believe it.

  “Yes. I want everyone to see that you’ve picked up with your life and made a complete recovery.”

  He smiled, as if the idea appealed to him. “How disappointed they’ll be to discover that I’m back to being boring and normal.”

  “I’m sure you were never boring,” she whispered.

  His gaze locked with hers as the waiter deposited their cups in front of them. He left his untouched and said, “Let’s go.” His tone was husky, full of promise.

  “We have to wait to see Gloria,” Carrie reminded him breathlessly.

  “Stop off at her dressing room and leave a note. She’ll know you were here and we won’t have to stay.”

  “Okay.” They rose together as Jason left some money on the table.

  He asked an attendant if they could go to Gloria’s dressing room and was told that guests were not permitted backstage. Carrie decided that she would write a note and give it to the guard, who promised to deliver it. They left directly after she did so, waiting hand in hand while a teenaged boy in a Civic Center jacket retrieved their car.

  The trip back to Carrie’s house was quiet. Jason drove with deliberate efficiency, taking the shortest route. Carrie sat at his side, glancing at his clean profile from time to time, wondering what awaited her. She felt a combination of anxiety and excitement that knotted her hands in her lap. The passing scenery blurred into a montage of bare trees outlined against a moonlit sky.

  Jason reached for her coat the instant her door closed behind them. He put it next to his on the hat stand in the hall, and then pulled her into his arms.

  He just held her for a long moment without speaking, and with her ear against his chest Carrie could feel the runaway beating of his heart. Then he set her at arm’s length and examined her face as if he were seeing it for the first time.

  “Carrie,” he said softly, touching her cheek with gentle fingers. “I never expected to find you in my son’s fourth grade classroom.”

  “Why not?” she whispered, mesmerized, not even hearing what she was saying.

  “John’s teacher last year looked like a fullback for the Los Angeles Rams,” he answered, smiling slightly. “And had a personality to match. You can imagine my shock when I showed up for that first meeting this time and found myself talking to you.”

  “Have you told Johnny that he’ll be getting a new tutor?” Carrie asked, concerned about the boy’s reaction.

  Jason nodded. “He doesn’t mind as long as he can keep you as a card partner,” he said grinning.

  “Would you like something, a snack?” Carrie asked, remembering her manners. “You must have had dinner early.”

  “All I want is you,” he replied and bent to kiss her.

  He began cautiously, as if holding himself in check. His mouth lingered on hers, tasting, nibbling, caressing with a feather touch until she was pressing forward, eager for more. When he felt her response he let go a little, tightening his grip and opening her lips with his tongue. Carrie’s head fell back and she answered him with abandon, meeting and matching his ardor with hers.

  Jason saw that she was receptive and pressed his advantage, kissing her throat and the tops of her breasts above the neckline of her dress. Tired of bending over to r
each her he made a sound of impatience deep in his throat and swept her up, dropping one arm to lift her legs off the floor. He continued to run his lips over her skin, ceaselessly, urgently, as if famished for its feel against his mouth. When his tongue dipped into the valley between her breasts, partially exposed by her clothing, she could feel him suddenly check his headlong flight. He closed his eyes and pressed his face to her bodice, his breathing loud and ragged in the silent room. She laid her cheek against his hair.

  They remained in that position for several seconds, like Leander sheltering Hero from the waters of the Hellespont, and then Jason set Carrie on her feet again. He turned her to the side and reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. Carrie stood motionless before him as he slipped the dress off her shoulders and let it fall in a heap to the floor. She stepped out of her shoes and he gazed at her as she stood before him, barefoot, clad only in her stockings and lacy beige underwear.

  “You look like a little doll,” he murmured. “Come here.”

  He tossed his suit jacket on a chair and sat on the sofa, taking her hand and pulling her into his lap.

  He embraced her, inhaling her fragrance and drawing his lips over the sensitive hollow of her throat. She gasped, and when he kissed her this time his control was less evident, his mouth impatient on hers. His hands moved up her arms and settled on her breasts, shielded by the thin scrap of material she wore. He reached back and undid the clasp of her bra expertly, removing it and putting it aside. Carrie moaned as he cupped her breast in his hand and stroked the sensitive nipple, which rose instantly at his touch.

  “You are perfect,” he whispered. “Everything in miniature, like an Aztec figurine.”

  He began to caress her more intimately, taking her breast in his mouth. She arched toward him, her body yielding to pleasure as he laved her with his tongue. His mouth moved across her midsection to her navel and he kissed it. His face was flushed and his lashes swept his cheeks, twin amber crescents tipped with gold.

  “So long,” he moaned. “It’s been so long.”