Night Road - Kristin Hannah [117]
He leaned closer, kissed her lightly at first, then more passionately. His hands slid down her silky nightgown and found the lacy hem, then bunched it, dragged it up, up, until she was naked. He took off his boxer shorts and threw them aside.
She followed the lead of his desire, touched him the way he liked, arching into his hand until she had to have him inside of her. When she came, it was an explosion of feeling from somewhere deep inside of her. She cried out so loudly it embarrassed her, and when she collapsed beside him, she was trembling.
They never spoke about this new passion of theirs; she knew that he, like she, was afraid that words would jinx it. For so many years after their loss, sex had simply been gone, like smiles and laughter. Its return had surprised both of them. Somehow, they’d learned to connect by touch, to communicate their love almost solely without words. It wasn’t the A answer, wasn’t enough for Miles, whom she still caught looking at her with infinite sadness most of the time, but it was what they had now, and she knew how lucky they were to have it.
She kissed him lightly and drew back. Reaching down for her nightgown, she slipped it back on and got out of bed. At the windows, she stopped and twisted the shades’ rod, letting the light stream in. To her left was the garden she’d given up on. It was a riotous mess of flowers and branches and leaves, without order or care. Ugly.
Miles came up beside her, kissed her shoulder. “We’re still watching Grace today?”
Jude nodded. “Zach has a finals study group this morning. He seems stressed out.”
“I was stressed out second year and I wasn’t a twenty-four-year-old single dad.” He squeezed her upper arm. “Why don’t we bring Gracie over here? Zach can come over whenever he gets done. We can play a game. We still have that Candy Land around somewhere, don’t we?”
Jude saw their reflections in the window: watery, pencil-drawing-like shapes. At the words Candy Land, time fell away; she was a young mother again, hunkered down on the floor with her twins, reaching for a card, laughing …
She slipped out of Miles’s arms and went into the bathroom. She was out of her nightgown and into the shower before he could get to her.
“I forgot,” he said, standing in the doorway, giving her that disappointed look again. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s just a game.” Her voice barely cracked, but she knew it betrayed her.
There was a pause before he said, “I’ll go for a run and meet you at Zach’s.”
“You run too much,” she said.
He shrugged. It was his way of dealing with the loss. He ran; he worked.
“See you later,” she said finally. She stayed in the shower until she heard him leave, and then she got out and began drying her hair. By the time she’d dressed in a pair of pale beige capris and a soft cotton T-shirt, she was in control of her emotions again.
Grief was like that these days: a stealth bomber. She could be going along just fine, moving forward, and then something would blow up unexpectedly. Years ago, when it had all been fresh, she could spend days off the path, in a gray world where nothing was stable. Now, she could right herself most of the time.
That was progress.
She started to leave the bathroom and remembered halfway to the door that she hadn’t brushed her teeth or put on makeup.
She went back and brushed her teeth but decided to forgo the makeup. She’d only have to remove it tonight, and nothing left her more wrung out than a day with Grace and Zach. It took so much effort to be present in their lives without really being present that she came home exhausted.
She went to her car, a black hybrid SUV, smaller than the old Escalade, and started the engine. Backing out of the garage, she executed a tight three-point turn and drove up the gravel driveway, noticing the wildness of their land. Everything had grown in the past few years; blackberry bushes climbed like bullies over everything.
She turned onto the main road and drove to Zach’s house.