Odd Mom Out

The ferry warning sounds. We’re less than ten minutes from disembarking. Luke and I head back downstairs to his bike, pull on our helmets, and prepare to unload.

Once on Bainbridge, we travel up Winslow Way, past a beach and fishing pier to the quaint downtown once known as Winslow but that now is just Bainbridge.

Luke parks the bike and we walk the length of town, which I’m surprised to see is already closed. The only places still open are restaurants, a coffeehouse, and a lone drugstore.

I peek into the window of the dark bookstore. “I wish something was open. It’s so pretty here!”

“We do have dinner reservations,” Luke says, glancing at his watch. “In fact, we should probably head to the restaurant now.”

“Is it far?”

“Nope. Just a couple blocks from here. We could take the bike, but it’s such a pretty night I’d like to walk.”

I shoot him a swift side glance. Luke Flynn, Man as Big as a Mountain, rides a Freedom bike, drives an old Land Rover, heads a multibillion-dollar company, and also happens to be a romantic. “Good.” I smile at him, a giddy sensation in my heart again. “Let’s do it.”

Dinner’s at the Four Swallows, an amazing restaurant tucked inside a historic little house. Each room of the house has tables and booths, and each room has a different ambiance, too.

The menu’s spectacular, everything sounding so mouthwatering, ranging from an appetizer of kiwi, pears, and feta cheese dipped in toasted pine nuts and served with crackers and roasted garlic, to succulent lamb and freshly prepared northwest seafood.

We eat by candlelight, squeezed into an antique booth that looks as if it came from an island church. We talk and laugh over dinner and dessert.

“Tell me about your mom,” he says, sitting with a black coffee in front of him. “How long has she been diagnosed?”

I think of my mom, picture her slim elegance, her once impeccable manners, and my smile falters. “Five years, I think.” My shoulders lift and fall. “My dad ignored the symptoms as long as he could. He didn’t want to believe it, especially as my mom was definitely young to be diagnosed.”

“I take it you and your mom were close?”

Another stab in my heart. It takes me a long moment to answer. “Not as close as we could have been.” I’m silent again, and I think about all the could-have-beens and should-have-beens. “I was a rebellious teenager.”

“What teenager isn’t?”

He has a point, but I know how I behaved, and I know it’s because I thought we had so much time. I took my mom for granted. I guess I thought we’d all live forever. “Dad doesn’t want to put Mom in a home, but even with help, he’s having trouble managing her. Mom wanders a lot right now. Some specialists say Alzheimer’s patients wander because as they regress, they go back to another point in their life, to an earlier point, and they’re looking for someone or something.”

Luke’s expression is concerned. “What would your mom be looking for?”

And I suddenly know. “Eva,” I murmur.

“Your daughter?”

“My sister.” I look up at him, candlelight flickering, throwing shadows off and on his face. “I had a sister named Eva. She died just before her second birthday. I was four.”

“Do you remember your sister?”

I feel hollow inside. “I remember her being gone.” Which is true. No one talked about “Sissie” after she died. She was never mentioned again, and all her baby things were quickly removed from the house. I don’t think I really even remembered I had a sister until my daughter was born and the only name I could think of in the hospital was Eva. I held my six-pound-five-ounce baby girl against my chest, and as I held her, I kept hearing over and over, Eva Rose.

Mom was livid that I gave my daughter my sister’s name. For weeks after Eva’s birth, she wouldn’t speak to me, and when she finally sent something for the baby, she didn’t include a card.

I thought Mom was such a bitch for doing that. I don’t think I forgave her for a long, long time.

We’re still sitting deep in conversation when the waitress brings us the bill. “Just a reminder that the last ferry to Seattle tonight leaves in a half hour.”

It’s a scramble now to pay and hustle back down the hill to Winslow to get the bike.

By the time we reach the ferry, they’re already boarding and we’re waved on and parked in record time.

We’re laughing as we pull off our helmets. I’m laughing so hard that Luke’s arm goes round to steady me, and then we’re kissing.

As he kisses me, my legs give way, my mouth trembling beneath his. I slide my arms around his waist, beneath his leather jacket, and as the kiss deepens, I hold him close and closer still. It’s been so long since I was kissed like this. So long since I felt what I feel.

Later, we climb the stairs, heading for the top deck to watch as we sail toward the spectacular Seattle skyline, the lights of the city glittering beneath a sky full of stars.

Everything tonight is perfect. The wind’s crisp and cold, yet the moon overhead shines fat and full, and our ferry pushes through the water, humming and creating a white foamy wake that looks iridescent in the moonlight.

Luke stands behind me, his arms around me, and I hold his arms against me, hold him tight, hoping I know what I’m doing, hoping no one will get hurt, hoping this amazing, happy feeling will last at least till morning. That Luke will maybe stay till morning.

On the doorstep of my house, I invite Luke in.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he says, cupping my face. “It might be too soon.”

“I think you’re chicken,” I taunt softly.

His body hardens almost instantly against me. I hide a smile. I always did like playing with fire.

We end up inside, kissing against the front door. Then, still kissing, Luke walks me backward, step by step, through my living room and down the hall. “Which is your room?” he mutters, tugging my black cash mere V-neck sweater over my head.

I shiver in my black lace bra. “That way—” I indicate toward my room, and after sweeping me into his arms, he pushes open the door and carries me in, dumping me unceremoniously on the bed.

He strips off his shirt and then stretches out over me on the bed. Our chests are bare, yet we both still have jeans and boots on, and the feel of his chest with its warm skin over taut thick muscle makes me want all of him just as bare.

Luke kisses me more deeply, his tongue teasing mine, and I arch against him. Reaching up, I clasp his face and then slide my hands down to his shoulders, amazed at the feel of him. He feels amazing. Unreal. Perfect.

I caress down until my hands reach his belt. “Can we dispose of these?” I whisper against his mouth, tugging on the belt and jeans.

“You’re so impatient,” he answers, kissing the hollow beneath one ear and then lower, on the side of my neck, making me shudder beneath his delicious weight.

“I’ve only waited ten years, baby.”

He pushes up to prop himself with his elbows. “How long has it really been?”

“Ten years.”

“Ten years without sex?”

I cringe at his incredulous tone. “I do have toys, some very nice toys—”

“Pocket Rocket?” he guesses.

I grin and nod. “Among others.”

He drops his head to kiss the swell of one breast and then the other. “Are you nervous about making love?”

“No,” I answer without hesitating, and then I wait until he looks me in the eye. “I just want it to be good.”

Luke laughs that deep, sexy laugh of his and runs his hand through my hair. “No pressure there.”

“None at all,” I agree solemnly. “Oh, and Luke?”

“What, my darling chicken?” he asks, now unzipping the zipper of my jeans and leaning lower to kiss my abdomen just above the lace of my very low-cut black thong. I shiver as his tongue snakes across the lace, going low, lower, until the tip of his tongue hits right

where I’m most sensitive.

“I want to come, too,” I pant, the air now strangled in my throat.

He slides off my jeans and parts my knees. “You’ll come, baby. You just leave it to me.”

I do come. Not just once, but twice, and I think I could even have another orgasm, but Luke teases me that I don’t want to be sore, and he’s right. He doesn’t have a problem staying very big and very hard, and it has been a long, long time.

Luke stays the night, sleeping next to me, his right arm wrapped securely around me.

I don’t sleep, though. Instead I lie there, strangely at peace.

I’ve missed this so. I’ve missed being someone’s woman.

I’ve missed belonging somewhere, to someone.

Luke leaves early in the morning before I can even make him coffee. Turns out he has a flight to the East Coast in just three hours, and he’s got to get home, pack, and grab his computer.

I wander around the house until Eva returns at ten.

“What did you do last night?” she asks me.

I feel myself redden. “Had dinner with Luke.”

She turns on me eagerly. “Was he here, or did you go out?”

Oh, he was here all right, I think, biting my lip and hiding my smile. “We went out. He took me to a restaurant on Bainbridge.”

“Was it fun?”

I picture his bike, the dinner at Four Swallows, the ride home on the ferry, and then I remember the feel of his mouth on me. I go hot, and the breathless feeling is back, the one that makes me want to find Luke and strip off my clothes and beg for a repeat of last night’s performance. He was good. And he was right: He knew exactly what to do with my body. “Very,” I croak.

She looks at me from the corner of her eye but says nothing more.