The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown [66]
“Come into the kitchen,” he said. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Bean slipped off her shoes by the front door—barefoot, he was only a few inches taller than she—and followed him. The kitchen had been re-modeled since she had been here last, with expensive appliances that gleamed, self-satisfied, in the dim light. Bean might have asked about it, but doing so would have brought reality dangerously close to the fantasy, would have entailed mentions of Lila and the children, and Bean knew better than to spoil the moment. Leaning on the edge of the marble-topped island in the center of the room, she watched Edward’s hands as he deftly opened a bottle of wine and poured her a glass, the liquid settling joyfully into the bowl.
“Let’s have a toast,” Edward said, filling and then raising his own glass. “To old friendships, rekindled.”
“To the future,” Bean said.
Same as the past.
There had only been one married man on Bean’s too-long list, an attorney at the firm where she worked, too old to not yet be partner, tired and beaten down and welcoming of the wonder of this young beauty who brought pageantry and drama to his staid life. They made love on his desk, Bean laid bare on open files, a cold paperweight against her arm. They rented obscenely expensive hotel rooms for only a few hours. He bought her jewelry, plied her with lavish dinners, whispered lyrics from old power ballads in her ears. In his Walter Mitty dreams, he was powerful and dominant, and Bean let him believe that, let him be magnanimous at the expense of her own strength. But it wasn’t any of that which bothered her. It was the family pictures she turned her back on when she lay on his desk, the handmade card she found in his pocket while he showered in their room at the Plaza, lost in steam and floral soap. It was the way that when he moved above her she could picture him kissing his wife goodbye in the morning, pushing his children on the swings, living the life that she was pulling him away from.
It appeared, after all, that Bean had some standards.
But then here she was again, watching a very married man, married, frankly, to a woman who had done nothing but good for her, make her a very fancy meal. Pickings were, after all, rather slim. But, oh, it was so nice to be so obviously wanted. So nice to worry about her hair and her makeup instead of money and her awful prospects. So nice not to be turned away from for someone younger, prettier.
There was a picture of Lila and their youngest child, who’d been only a baby when Bean graduated, on the refrigerator, nestled together against a backdrop of snow. Lila’s eyes, bright and blue, crinkled at the edges, above cold-pinked cheeks. Bean closed her eyes for a moment and sent out a silent apology. For these gifts we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly sorry.
“How are we so lucky to be graced with your presence again?” Edward asked. He held his wineglass in one hand and deftly worked a wooden spoon in a skillet on the stove.
Bean sidled around the edge of the island so she was closer to him, the picture behind her. Her heart beat faster, her hand slipped against the stem of her glass as she set it down. “It’s so noisy in the city,” she said. “I thought it was about time for a little piece of quiet.”
Edward nodded. “Then you’re in the right place. I can’t remember the last time I had to complain about the volume in Barney.”
“You’re obviously not spending a lot of time at the keg parties,” Bean said. She rested her hand against the countertop and turned, pushing her hips toward him, calculatedly making herself available.
“My interest in partying with college kids died shortly after bell-bottoms abandoned us. I think there’s an evolutionary limit on how long drinking warm beer can hold your interest.”
Bean stepped closer again. “But all those nubile young coeds? Come on, don’t you find it the least bit tempting?” Oh, it was so easy for her, every move planned for maximum effect, every phrase calculated to raise the temperature. The thrill of