Jennifer Greene - Sunburst

Erica sipped her kirsch, unsettled by Morgan’s probing. She knew nothing of a promise Kyle had made to his father, but she was acutely conscious that he had said nothing to Morgan about the debts Joel had left for them to pay off. More than that, she could see in Kyle the almost imperceptible change that seemed to come over him whenever someone mentioned his father. A slight stiffening of his shoulders, a chill replacing the warm and vibrant expression in his eyes… As though he were haunted by guilt, she thought, when that just couldn’t be. Kyle had been a wonderful son to Joel, generous and concerned. They had lived some distance apart, of course…

“…covered with stain and her hands full of paint thinner!” Morgan was laughing.

“I can’t keep her out of it.” Kyle’s brooding blue eyes flickered to hers. “You should see some of the projects she’s taken on.”

“Now I’m beginning to get the picture,” Morgan said, grinning. “The lady’s the monkey wrench you hadn’t expected to find in the works, Kyle? Maybe it’s the image of raising kids in the country-”

“I’m here,” Erica reminded them pleasantly.

“The lady’s loyal. But then, in the first throes of idealism people are always filled with enthusiasm,” Kyle continued to Morgan.

“I beg your pardon-”

But Morgan was staring deliberately at Kyle. “That will last until she misses her spring trip to Paris to buy clothes. The swimming pool in the backyard, the country club. Everything she grew up to expect. You can’t give it to her here, can you, Kyle?”

Kyle finished his drink, looking at Morgan, not bothering to answer. Erica felt a knot twist in the pit of her stomach. Morgan’s tone was light; he couldn’t possibly know what a knife wound he had just inflicted on Kyle.

“Morgan,” she said flatly, “I have never in my life gone to Paris to buy clothes.”

“No,” Kyle agreed quietly, “it was New York you and your mother went to for your shopping sprees. Twice a year.” He stood up and stretched. “Maybe it’s time we all called it a night. Morgan, you’re going to be here through the morning?”

Morgan shook his head, standing, too. “I’ve got to get back pretty early. This stopover was stolen time as it was.”

The two men talked a few minutes longer, while Erica got up to take the glasses to the kitchen, then fetched linens to make the couch up as a bed for Morgan. Her stomach was still tied up in knots. The two of them always played the old men-against-the-women war when the trio was together; usually it amused her. It didn’t tonight. They both made it sound as though she valued material things above all else. In the past, she knew they had been very important to her, and yes, occasionally she missed the freedom to buy a steak instead of hamburger or to have fresh strawberries out of season. She was no saint. But she didn’t miss those biannual shopping expeditions, or the swank house in Florida, or Beluga caviar. And her new life offered certain riches she had never had before-the thrill of building something together, a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction in her own work, the pleasure of being an active participant in their marriage, in their…life. It was an opportunity to share a life as they never had before.

If Kyle wanted her there. But ever since they moved, he had fought every single thing she tried to do to help him. For Erica, it was like discovering a rainbow that disappeared every time she came close. She saw the chance to achieve a real depth that had been missing in their marriage before; yet each time she went in search of it, Kyle-her Kyle-disappeared, walled up inside himself.

She finished making up the couch. The two men had collapsed in their chairs again, and were once more discussing solar energy. Wearily, she sat on the carpet beside Kyle, leaning her head back against his knee. She was frankly dead on her feet, but she was not going to bed without him. No way. The stiff posture of pride he’d erected as a barrier between them made her ache with the desire to bridge the gap.

She heard none of their conversation. Absently, Kyle’s fingers were playing with her silky hair as he continued talking, lifting and smoothing the tresses with gentle fingertips. His touch was so soft it brought a quiver inside, a sensual desire to lean her head back even farther and bare her throat for him. Was she perhaps too sensitive to his every mood, making a mountain out of the molehill of his recent indifference? But that sensitivity was a gift as well, when Kyle’s slightest touch could evoke such an incredible languid sensuality from deep within her.

“If nothing else, you could generate power for a hot-water system that way. I was reading…”

“Your wife always did have eyes too big for her face when she was tired, Kyle,” Morgan interrupted abruptly. “I think Erica’s about to fall asleep against your leg. Maybe it is time we called it a night.”

Erica raised her head, startled at the tone of his voice. Morgan was staring at her with a strange expression-displeasure, something tight and controlled in the set of his jaw. She felt an odd kind of embarrassment, as if she were a teenager caught by a parent in some intimacy, when of course there was nothing like that. She glanced back at Kyle, who was viewing Morgan with narrowed eyes, his face too much in shadow for her to discern his exact expression. Kyle’s hand suddenly tightened possessively on her shoulder, and then he urged her to her feet with a pat on the back. “Up we go.”

“I made up the couch,” Erica started to tell Morgan, “but if you need anything…”

“You ought to know I can take care of myself after all this time,” he chided, but there was no playfulness in his voice, no warmth, and she sensed that his eyes followed the two of them as they made their way up the winding stairs. Erica felt the hardness of his gaze, almost as if it were a hex. But that, of course, was ridiculous, a wild fancy brought on by exhaustion…and fear.

The carpeted spiral staircase that led to the loft, with its wrought-iron banister, never failed to give Erica the illusion of climbing to another world. Which it was, when she reached the top.

The beamed ceiling stretched in a long inverted V the full length of the large room. The far wall was all glass, allowing the moon and stars to cast a shimmering light on the dark carpet. There was none of the clutter or cheerfulness of the room below; the mood here was one of peace and privacy. They’d built the bed on a carpeted platform; to the right of the stairs was Kyle’s private area-bookshelves, a recessed desk space; to the left of the stairs was her own niche, with recessed cabinets where she stored her needlework and other personal projects. Both areas were separated from the bedroom proper by hand-scrolled screens that could easily be put aside. Quiet colors and textures made the loft a haven that contrasted sharply to the vibrant hues and energy of the downstairs areas.

Kyle moved past her to the bathroom, and Erica absently wandered to the dresser to take out a nightgown. She’d switched on the lamp by the bed when she came up for Morgan’s bedding; now she switched it off and moved to the glass wall.

The bushes were trembling below in a night breeze. A gnarled old elm reached up to stroke a light-leafed branch against the window. Fleeting clouds were playing a game of chase across a midnight sky, the moon a stark lemony crescent behind them.

The country road in front of the house rarely saw a passing car at this hour. The town of Three Oaks was only a ten-minute drive, and it was Three Oaks and a half dozen other small towns like it that brought in their business, though Madison, the state capital, was not too far away. In the short time she’d lived here, Wisconsin had impressed Erica by its lack of skyscrapers and the absence of the hustle-bustle that went with them. Oh, there was industry from Green Bay down to Milwaukee, but that wasn’t the flavor of the state.

The flavor was country and country towns, where European immigrants had settled some generations before with their crafts and their customs and their desire to establish roots and live in peace. The Wisconsin landscape, with its winding roads and endless woods and streams, offered shelter, a gentle privacy that had changed very little for generations. In Erica’s imagination, Wisconsin was all lush greens, not the arid leaf color she associated with Florida. The nights were more velvet here, the earth a rich dark color… It mattered somehow. The place had had a sensual appeal for her, a feeling of tightness, even from the beginning.

She heard Kyle behind her and turned to him with the nightgown still in her hand. In the darkness, she could hear him moving toward the bed, drawing down the sheets. Absently, she reached behind her to unsnap the hooks of her smocked dress. “Kyle?”

“Mmm?”

He was exhausted, she knew that; it was the worst of times to bring up anything that mattered. Still, she couldn’t quite let it go. “When you were talking to Morgan,” she asked tentatively, “what did you mean? What was the promise you made to your father?”

“It doesn’t matter, Erica.”

But it did-to her. Leaning back in the shadows, she waited. Kyle shifted restlessly against the pillows. “My father told me the McCrery name meant nothing to me,” he said neutrally. “He died lonely, because of my pride. I misjudged him badly over the years…”

She shook her head violently, though he couldn’t see the gesture in the darkness. “Kyle, you were good to him,” she protested. “I know you lived far away, but that…just happens. You called; you always saw that he was cared for; you sent him money. Morgan told me once that you even built this house; you were in school, working three jobs, and he thought you were crazy to come back up here that summer… And you stayed with him that whole month before he died-”