The Guardian

  "He came in for a haircut."

  "Why?"

  "Well, that's what we do in the salon."

  He gave her an impatient glance, and she went on. "Oh, don't make this into something it wasn't. I barely talked to him. Andrea cut his hair, not me."

  "But he wanted you to do it, right? Even though you broke it off with him?"

  "That I can't deny. But I think he got the impression that I'd rather not see him anymore, even at work. I wasn't mean about it, but I'm sure he got the message."

  "Well . . . good," he said. He paused. "He does realize that you're . . . you know, seeing me, right?"

  Instead of answering, she reached for his hand. "You know, you're kind of cute when you're jealous."

  "I'm not jealous."

  "Of course you are. But don't worry, I think you're cute all the time. See you tonight?"

  For the first time since he'd spotted Richard, Mike felt himself relax a little. "I'll be there," he said.

  When Julie went back into the shop a few minutes later, Andrea was already working again, though her face was still flushed from her time with Richard. It was the first time, Julie realized, that she'd ever seen Andrea look nervous around a man. And good for her. Andrea deserved someone employed for once, though she couldn't imagine her sticking with someone like that for long. Julie had the strange suspicion she'd get bored with it rather quickly.

  She finished up with her work a little after five and began closing up. Andrea had finished up a half hour before and was already gone. Mabel was cleaning up in the back while Julie took care of the reception area, and it was then that she noticed the pair of sunglasses on the counter, beside the potted plant.

  She saw instantly that they were Richard's, and for a second she considered calling him and letting him know they were here; then she decided not to. Mabel or Andrea could do it. It was better that way.

  Julie swung by the grocery store to pick up the makings for dinner and was walking in the front door when she heard the phone ringing. She put the grocery bag on the table and answered.

  "Hello?"

  "Hello, Julie," Richard said. His tone was friendly, nonchalant, as if they spoke on the phone every day. "I wasn't sure you'd be in yet, but I'm glad I caught you. I missed not being able to talk to you today."

  Julie closed her eyes, thinking, Not again. Enough is enough already.

  "Hi, Richard," she said coolly.

  "How are you?"

  "I'm fine, thanks."

  Hearing her tone, he paused on the other end. "You're probably wondering why I'm calling."

  "Kind of," she said.

  "Well, I was just wondering if you happened to come across a pair of sunglasses. I think I might have left them in the shop."

  "Yeah, they're there. I left them on the desk. You can pick them up on Monday."

  "You're not open on Saturdays?"

  "No. Mabel doesn't think that people should work weekends."

  "Oh." He paused. "Well, I was heading out of town, and it would be great if I could get them before I go. Would it be possible for you to unlock the door for me tonight? It won't take but a few minutes of your time. Once I get them, I can be on my way."

  Julie held the phone to her ear without answering, thinking, You've got to be kidding. I know you left them on purpose just to have a reason to call.

  "Julie? You there?"

  She exhaled, knowing he could hear it on the other end, but not really caring anymore. "I think this has gone far enough, okay?" she said, no trace of sympathy or kindness in her tone. "I know what you're doing, and I've tried to be nice to you, but I think it's time to stop, okay?"

  "What are you talking about? I just want my glasses."

  "Richard. I'm serious about this. I'm seeing someone else now. It's over. You can pick up your glasses on Monday."

  "Julie . . . wait-"

  Julie pushed the button to cut off the call.

  Twenty-three

  An hour later, Mike opened Julie's front door and poked his head in. "Hey, I'm here," he called out.

  Julie was in the bathroom blow-drying her hair, and as soon as Singer heard Mike's voice, he trotted out to greet him.

  "You decent?" Mike called out. He heard the dryer click off.

  "Yeah," Julie answered, "come on back."

  Mike walked through the bedroom and peeked in the bathroom door. "You showered?"

  "Yeah. I was feeling kind of grungy," she said. She wound the cord around the dryer and put it in the drawer. "When it's busy like today, I feel like I'm coated in other people's hair by the time I'm through. I'll be done in a few minutes."

  "Do you mind if I stay?"

  "Not at all."

  Mike leaned against the counter as Julie reached for her eye shadow, and he watched as she applied it in short strokes, framing her eyes. Next came the mascara, and she brushed her lashes with the same practiced moves, the top first and then the bottom, leaning toward the mirror as she did so.

  There was something sensual about a woman when she was doing those things, something that spoke of her desire to be considered attractive, Mike thought as he watched. He noticed the subtle differences as she changed before his eyes. Because they were staying in, this evening's performance was meant just for him, an idea he found undeniably erotic.

  He knew he was in love with Julie. The past couple of weeks they'd been together made that clear, but it was different from the way he'd felt before they'd started dating. She wasn't a fantasy anymore, but something real, something he couldn't imagine living without, and he crossed his arms, as if bracing himself against the possibility that all this might still slip away.

  She put on a pair of earrings, smiling briefly, wondering what he found so interesting, yet feeling warmed by his appreciation nonetheless. She reached for the perfume, spritzing a little on her neck and on her wrists, then rubbed her wrists together, this time holding his gaze.

  "Better?" she asked.

  "You look beautiful," he said. "As always."

  Julie squeezed by Mike on her way out, her body brushing against his, and Mike followed, his eyes drawn to the gentle sway of her hips and the smooth curve of her bottom. In bare feet and faded jeans, she seemed the picture of grace, though Mike knew she was moving no differently than she always did.

  "I thought we'd do steaks tonight," she said. "Does that sound okay?"

  "Sounds great, but I'm not all that hungry yet. I had a late lunch at the garage. But a beer sounds good."

  Julie reached for a wineglass from the cupboard. As she stood on her tiptoes, her blouse lifted enough to show her belly, and Mike turned away, forcing himself to think about baseball. A moment later, standing before him, she held out the glass and Mike poured the wine, then grabbed a beer for himself. He opened it and took a long drink.

  Then he took another.

  "Do you want to sit outside for a while?" she asked.

  "Sure."

  They went to the porch, and Julie held open the screen door so Singer could head to the yard. Her blouse was sleeveless. Mike noticed the thin muscles of her upper arm and the swell of her chest and couldn't help but imagine what she might look like naked.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Please, he thought, don't let me make a fool of myself. Please.

  He took another long drink, nearly finishing the can.

  This, he thought, was going to be one hell of a long night.

  It wasn't nearly as bad as he'd thought it would be. As usual, they settled into a lighthearted conversation while the evening breeze kicked in; Mike fired up the grill an hour later and cooked the steaks while Julie went inside to throw a salad together.

  In the kitchen, Julie reflected that Mike had the look of a nymphomaniac who'd been stranded on a desert island for years. The poor guy had been staring at her all night, and though he tried to be circumspect, she knew exactly what he was thinking, because frankly, she was thinking the same thing. Her hands were so clammy, she could barely hold the vegeta
bles.

  She diced cucumbers and tomatoes and added them to the bowl, then set the table with her good china and flatware. Standing back to admire the effect, she realized that something was missing. She found two candles, put them in the center, and lit them. After turning off the overhead light, she nodded, satisfied.

  She went to the living room and slipped an Ella Fitzgerald CD into the stereo and was putting the wine on the table when Mike came in, holding the steaks. He stopped just inside the door when he saw what she'd done.

  "You like it?" she asked.

  "It looks . . . wonderful," Mike said.

  She noticed that he was looking directly at her as he spoke, and for a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Finally, Mike looked away and set the steaks on the table. Instead of sitting, however, he moved toward Julie and she felt her stomach tighten. Oh Lord, she thought, am I really ready for this?

  Standing before her, Mike brought one hand up to her face, his palm open, as if asking permission to go on. In the background, the music played softly; the aroma of dinner filled the small kitchen. Julie was vaguely aware of it all. Mike seemed to fill the entire room.

  It was at that moment that Julie knew she'd fallen in love with him.

  Mike gazed at her as if reading her mind, and Julie gave in. She pressed her face against his hand, closing her eyes and letting his touch become part of her. Mike moved closer until she could feel his chest against hers and the strength in his arms as he slipped them around her.

  Mike kissed her then. It was soft, almost like the movement of air beneath a hummingbird's wings, and though they'd kissed many times, this one seemed more real than any before. He kissed her again, and as their tongues met, Julie embraced Mike, certain in the knowledge that their years of friendship had been moving both of them steadily toward this moment.

  When they pulled apart, Mike took Julie's hand and led her from the kitchen to the bedroom. They kissed again as Mike slowly began undoing the buttons on her blouse. She felt his fingers against her skin, then felt his hand move to the snap on her jeans. He kissed her neck, burying his hands in her hair.

  "I love you," Mike whispered.

  The room seemed to be nothing but shadows and the echo of Mike's words. Julie sighed.

  "Oh, Mike," she said, feeling his breath play over her skin. "I love you, too."

  They made love, and though it wasn't as embarrassing as Julie had feared it would be, they didn't exactly set the world on fire. More than anything, Mike wanted to please Julie and Julie wanted to please Mike and there was way too much thinking on both their parts for either to simply enjoy what was happening.

  When they were finished, they lay in bed next to each other, breathing hard and staring at the ceiling, both of them thinking, I am really out of practice. I hope Julie (Mike) didn't notice.

  Unlike some couples, though, they were comfortable holding each other afterward, their initial feelings of urgency now replaced by tenderness. Again, Mike told Julie he loved her; she said the words, too. And an hour later, when they made love a second time, it was perfect.

  It was past midnight and they were still in bed. Julie was watching as Mike made small circular motions on her belly with his fingers. When she couldn't take it anymore, she wiggled and laughed, reaching to stop his hand.

  "That tickles," she protested.

  He kissed her hand and looked at her. "You were great, by the way."

  "Oh, are we stooping to that level now? Like I'm some one-night stand and you want to pad my ego so you don't feel guilty for taking advantage of me?"

  "No, I mean it. You were great. The best ever. I never knew it could be this way."

  She laughed. "Cliches, cliches."

  "You don't believe me?"

  "Of course I do. I was great," she said. "The best ever. You never knew-"

  Mike started tickling her before she could finish, and Julie squealed as she writhed away from his grip. Then, lying on his stomach, Mike propped himself up on his elbows.

  "And by the way," he said, "I didn't take advantage of you."

  Julie rolled on her side to see him better, then tugged at the sheet.

  "Oh, no? All I knew is that one minute I was getting ready to have dinner, and the next minute our clothes were flying all over the bedroom."

  "I was pretty seductive, wasn't I?"

  "You were very seductive." She reached down and ran a finger over his cheek. "I do love you, you know."

  "Yeah, I know."

  She pushed him away. "And here I was trying to be serious for a change," she said. "The least you can do is tell me, too."

  "Again? How many times do you want me to say it?"

  "How many times do you want to say it?"

  Mike looked at her, then reached for her hand again and kissed each fingertip. "If I had my way," he said, "I'd say it every day for the rest of my life."

  Ah, that was sweet.

  "Well, since you love me so much, would you mind getting us something to eat? I'm starved."

  "Sure."

  As he leaned over to grab his pants, the phone started ringing on the end table beside him.

  Once. Twice. On the third ring, Mike answered it.

  "Hello?" he said. He paused. "Hello?"

  Julie closed her eyes, hoping he wouldn't say the word again.

  "Hello?"

  He hung up the phone. "No one was there," he said. "I guess it was a wrong number or something." He looked at her. "You okay?"

  She forced herself to smile. "Yeah," she said. "I'm fine."

  The phone rang again. This time, Mike glanced at her with a look of puzzlement before answering.

  The same thing happened again.

  Julie crossed her arms. Though she told herself it probably meant nothing, she couldn't shake the sense of deja vu that suddenly washed over her, the same feeling she'd had when she'd visited Jim's grave.

  Someone, she thought, was watching her.

  Twenty-four

  The changes in Julie's life began that night.

  Most of them were wonderful. Mike spent Saturday with Julie and they made love once in the morning and again before they went to sleep. On Sunday, she and Mike went to the mall in Jacksonville and she bought a new bathing suit, as well as some new shorts and sandals. When she modeled the bikini for him after she got home, Mike stared with boggling eyes, then bolted from the couch to chase her. She ran through the house, laughing and screaming, before Mike caught her in the bedroom. They tumbled to the bed, giggling, only to find themselves buried in the sheets a few minutes later.

  Other than being naked a lot, she was surprised-and thankful-that making love hadn't altered the friendship between them. Mike still joked and made her laugh, she still teased him, he still held her hand as they watched movies on the couch.

  But as much as she wanted to deny it, what would stand out most in her mind in thinking back on that week were the phone calls. The two calls late on Friday night. On Saturday, there were two more. On Sunday, the phone rang four times, and on Monday it was five, but on those two days, Mike had stepped out of the house for a moment and she'd been the one to answer. On Tuesday, after she'd gone to bed-Mike had gone back to his place for the night-there were four calls before she'd finally unplugged the phone. And on Wednesday, when she stepped into the kitchen after a day at work, she noticed her answering machine was full.

  She remembered hitting the button for the first call, then skipping to the next message. Then the next. One right after another, the calls had come. The recorder had noted the time; each new call had been placed the moment the previous call had been disconnected. On the fourth message, her breath quickened; by the ninth, her eyes had begun to well with tears. By the twelfth, she was hitting the delete button almost as fast as she was hitting the play button, in an almost frantic attempt to stop what was happening.

  When she'd finished, she sat at the table trembling.

  All in all, twenty calls had been made to her machine that day, each l
asting two minutes.

  In none of them did the caller say anything.

  And on Thursday and Friday, there were no calls at all.

  Twenty-five

  "It sounds to me like everything's going great," Emma said on Saturday.

  Earlier that day, Mike and Julie had met Henry and Emma at the boat launch on Harker's Island. They'd loaded the boat with coolers of food and beer, sunscreen, towels and hats, tubs of ice, and enough fishing gear to hook anything that might happen to cross the stern, including Moby Dick, Orca, and Jaws himself. By midmorning, in the sound near Cape Lookout, Mike and Henry were standing next to each other, reels in hand, engaged in a competition that could only be described as profoundly juvenile. Every time either one of them caught a fish, he'd get to shake a bottle of beer and point it at the other. One of the tubs was already filled with enough mackerel and flounder to feed a waddling army of starving seals, and both men had removed their beer-soaked shirts and hung them on the rail to dry.

  Julie and Emma were sitting in small lawn chairs near the cabin, acting a little more grown-up. The sun beat down on them steadily. Because it wasn't yet summer, the humidity was bearable, though their cans of beer were coated in condensation.

  "It is," Julie agreed. "Better than great, actually. This last week makes me wonder what I was so afraid of all this time."

  The way she said it made Emma pause.

  "But?"

  "But what?"

  "There's something bothering you, isn't there."

  "Is it that obvious?"

  "No. But it doesn't need to be obvious. I've known you long enough to recognize the signs. So what is it? Something to do with Mike?"

  "No. Not at all."

  "Do you love him?"

  "Yeah, I do."

  "Then what is it?"

  Julie cautiously set her beer on the deck. "I've been getting some strange phone calls lately."

  "From whom?"

  "I don't know. No one ever says anything on the other end."

  "Heavy breathers?"

  "No, not even that. No sound at all."

  "And you don't know who they're from?"

  "No. When I dialed star sixty-nine, the recording said it was a private number, so I called the phone company. All they can tell me is that the calls are coming from a cellular phone. But the number isn't registered, so they can't trace it."