True Colors

He put his hand around the back of her neck. His fingers felt warm and solid against her skin. She leaned back just a little so that she felt anchored by him, held close.

“Do you want me?” he asked.

She felt the softness of his breath against her lips. She wanted to close her eyes or look away; anything that would allow her to pretend. But the truth was in his eyes, as clear and visible as a starfish at low tide. He was still in love with his wife.

But she’d been lonely for a long time, and now that opportunity had drawn so surprisingly close, she couldn’t make herself push it back. She moved closer and looked up at him. “I want you.”

His kiss was a cool glass of water to her parched soul and she drank greedily. When they finally drew back, she saw her own desire reflected in his eyes.

“Come on,” she said, taking his hand, leading him into the house and down the hall and into her bedroom. Without turning on the lights, she stepped out of her robe and nightgown and pulled him into bed.

He kissed her until she begged for more, and when he finally made love to her, she clung to him with all the desperate passion of a woman who’d been alone too long. Her release was an exquisite blending of pain and pleasure, and she cried out, almost weeping at the emotions that came with it.

“That was great,” he said, lying back into the pillows and pulling her close.

She lay beside him. It had been so long since she’d been in bed with a man, she’d forgotten how much space men took up, how heavy their legs felt, how nice it was to have someone kiss your bare shoulder for no reason at all.

Long into the night they talked and kissed and later they made love again. At around four o’clock, Winona finally put on her nightgown and went into the kitchen. When she returned to the bedroom, she held a tray of food—Denver omelets, sourdough toast with fresh local honey and orange juice she’d squeezed herself.

Mark sat up in bed, letting the covers fall away from his naked chest.

She climbed in beside him.

“It’s been a long time since someone cooked for me,” he said, and then leaned sideways to kiss her.

The truth was that she had at least a thousand recipes in her card box at the house in town. She’d been collecting them for years, perfecting them all alone, waiting for someone to cook for. She ate her breakfast, listening to him as he talked. He told her about the countries he’d visited and the problems he’d had raising a teenage girl alone for the past year, and how happy he was to be starting over in Oyster Shores.

After breakfast, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. When he let go, they were lying on their sides, their legs entwined, their heads on separate pillows, staring at each other.

“How come you never came home for Christmas or anything like that?”

“I left at eighteen, remember? All I wanted back then was to get the hell away from the small town where everybody knows your business. When I married Sybil, my mom and dad came out to the wedding, but it was the only time they ever visited, and I couldn’t get Sybil west of Chicago.”

“Did you and your mom talk?”

“Some. That’s a strange question.”

Winona chose her words carefully. This was a conversation they had to have, and there was danger in it. “A long time ago there was a murder in town. It was a big deal around here.”

“I remember hearing about it.”

“Dallas Raintree.” She paused, then said, “He was married to my sister, Vivi Ann. Your mother testified against him.”

He frowned. “Yeah. I guess I knew all that. Is it important? Does your sister hate my mom or something?”

“You know Oyster Shores. Nothing is ever out in the open, but I’ve seen your mom cross the room after church to avoid having to talk to Vivi Ann. And vice versa.”

“It’s all gossip to me and I don’t see . . . Wait a minute, are you talking about Noah’s father?”

“Yes.”

“Do I need to worry about Cissy around him?”

“A week ago I would have told you to keep Cissy away from him. He’s had some trouble in school—you’ll hear about that pretty soon, I expect. Some people think he’s trouble waiting for a place to happen, but actually, I think he’s okay.”

“That’s good enough for me. And now, how about some more small-town gossip?”

“What?”