Public Displays of Affection

Charlotte shook her head. “He said he refused to talk about something so personal with a stranger.”

  “Even if it meant losing you?”

  Charlotte pulled away from her embrace. “I never gave him that ultimatum. There were times I thought about leaving him, but all I had to do was look at Matt or Hank and that idea lasted about three seconds. But, Bonnie—can I tell you something?”

  Charlotte’s chin started to quiver and Bonnie felt her own tears coming. “Anything.”

  “I even fantasized that…” Charlotte broke loose with a sob, wrapped her arms around herself, and rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet until she could continue, and it rushed out of her in one long burst: “I fantasized that Kurt would die peacefully in his sleep, and I’d be free, and then he did die! Just like I imagined! And I know this isn’t rational, but I thought maybe I was being punished for putting so much emphasis on sex. And, Bonnie—God!—this sounds so stupid when I say it out loud, but I have this fear that if I give in to Joe, give in to lust, something else awful is going to happen. I must sound nuts.”

  Charlotte sobbed again and Bonnie just barely got her onto the couch before she collapsed. She lay curled on her side and cried so hard, for so long, that Bonnie was afraid Hank would hear her.

  Bonnie perched on the edge of the sofa, stroked Charlotte’s arm, and told her to go ahead and cry—get it all out—and kept an eye on the door to make sure she had the privacy she needed.

  When Charlotte’s tears slowed, Bonnie rubbed her back and said, “It was not your fault that Kurt died.”

  Charlotte nodded in silence, her face still hidden in her arms.

  “I don’t think the universe sets out to punish any of us, sweetie. You’re so young, with so much life ahead of you. Please don’t be afraid to live it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Can’t you let things slide for one night, Charlotte? Just keep the kids home and not run around like a crazy person? For one night?”

  Bonnie’s suggestion sounded tempting but impossible. “We’re hosting the Loveland Little League tonight. The place is going to be a zoo, and I’ve got snack bar duty.”

  “Good Lord, Charlotte.”

  She laughed. It felt good to laugh after all that crying. She’d cried for over a half hour, and now she was behind schedule. The kids were finishing up their dinners but had yet to change their clothes.

  “Hank, honey, go put on your leotard. Justin and Matt, put on your uniforms and grab your gloves.”

  The kids dispersed—her two running up the stairs and Justin bolting out the back door for his own house a block away.

  “Let me do something for you tonight,” Bonnie said, loading the dishwasher. “How about I take your concession stand duty?”

  “No. That’s okay, Bon. Really.”

  “Then let me take Hank to ballet and pick her up.”

  Charlotte looked at her friend and smiled. Because of Bonnie, she was starting to feel better about things. She felt lighter inside, more hopeful, and a little less burdened by guilt. Bonnie had been right about so much. It wasn’t her fault that Kurt had died. God—whoever he or she was—didn’t take Kurt’s life to punish her for having a sex drive. The idea was almost laughable, and one day she hoped to be able to laugh at herself for ever thinking that. Right now, she’d focus on trying to find a way to love and honor Kurt’s memory but grab hold of her own life—the only life she’d ever get.

  “Thank you, Bonnie,” she said, taking a deep breath. “That would be great if you could drive Hank tonight.”

  The phone rang. The news she got caused Charlotte to reach into the pantry and shoot a steady stream of squirt cheese into her mouth. It was either that or cry some more.

  “That was the Liebermans.” Charlotte took a big swallow. “They just canceled on me for the concession stand. All three of them.”

  “Give me that,” Bonnie said, holding out her hand for the aerosol can and squirting the cheese on her tongue. “God! This stuff is hideous!”

  They laughed loud and long, and Bonnie was saying that she and Ned would take two of the Lieberman spots when they noticed a nicely dressed woman at the back door. Charlotte was surprised when the stranger poked her head inside the house like she was an old friend.

  “Everybody decent?”

  Charlotte studied the woman, looked to Bonnie for confirmation, and the two of them screamed out at the same time, “Ohmigod! LoriSue?”

  She was getting used to the fuss by now, having spent the last couple days dressed like Hilary Clinton.

  It was kind of fun seeing everyone’s reaction to her transformation. The girls in the office went ballistic, especially over her hair. Jimmy, the scum bucket, told her she hadn’t looked that hot since high school. Justin hugged her and told her she was the prettiest mom in Minton, and she had to admit that that one made her a little teary eyed.

  But nothing could compare to the shocked looks on Charlotte’s and Bonnie’s faces.

  “So what do you think, girls?” LoriSue twirled around to give them the full effect of outfit no. 3—a cotton-rayon blend pencil skirt that hit midcalf, topped by a complementary summer-weight twinset, both in a hand-dyed dusky blue. She kicked up her heels to show off her simple but elegant sling-backs. She shook out her hair, which she had to admit felt delicious as it moved freely against the back of her neck, unencumbered by hair spray.

  The two women stared in stunned silence. Bonnie was clutching a can of something in her hand, and a little poof of orange goo went shooting out onto the kitchen floor.

  “Well?”

  Charlotte was the first to speak. “Wow, LoriSue. You are beautiful and sophisticated and stunning—absolutely stunning.”

  Bonnie nodded in agreement, her mouth ajar. Finally she spoke. “You’re Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman—toward the end.”

  LoriSue liked that analogy. It didn’t offend her in the least. In fact, she really did feel like Cinderella.

  Justin burst in the door at that point wearing his uniform, baseball mitt in hand. It seemed like Charlotte had everything in control, as usual, and was about to take the boys to the ballpark. LoriSue thought maybe it should be her turn tonight.

  “I’ll drive Matt and Justin,” she said, holding up her digital camera. “I’m taking pictures for the Web site, so I have to be there all evening.”

  “Isn’t she megapretty?” Justin asked, leaning against her side and gazing at her. LoriSue kissed the top of his ball cap.

  “Yes, she’s megapretty,” Charlotte said.

  LoriSue locked eyes with her. Charlotte was megapretty, too, in her own way, and LoriSue wondered why she’d never really seen that before. Charlotte had always seemed plain to her, kind of washed-out and moving around too much. But tonight, as she stood still in her kitchen in a ratty pair of jeans and a simple V-neck T-shirt, LoriSue noticed a glow in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes that she didn’t recall seeing before.

  And LoriSue couldn’t help but think that maybe all women were beautiful—even Bonnie, who was still staring at her—each in her own way.

  “I don’t suppose you’d like to do concession stand duty?” Bonnie asked. “We’re short a grill cook.”

  Not in this outfit. LoriSue held up the camera. “Otherwise occupied tonight, sorry.”

  Bonnie suddenly grinned real big, looked at Charlotte, and said, “Know of any other warm bodies?”

  Charlotte didn’t answer. Her eyes were focused on something right behind LoriSue and Justin, something that had transformed Charlotte’s face. If there had been a glow about her a minute ago, the woman was now on fire from the inside out. LoriSue knew exactly what she would see when she turned around.

  Joe Mills—everyone’s favorite warm body.

  He’d gone over the situation in his head so many times that his brain hurt and had decided just moments earlier that he really should talk to Charlotte, tell her a little bit about what was going on in his life, enough that she could make an informed decision. br />
  He just couldn’t bear the thought of ever doing anything that would hurt her.

  As Joe glanced at the house full of people, he realized their little chat would have to wait. Then he sensed that something had changed. And as Hank ran through the kitchen in a little black ballet outfit and raced toward him, Joe felt like he’d walked onstage in the middle of act 2.

  Then it registered. It was Charlotte. She was completely different—transformed. She was looking at him with naked greed. Desire. Not a trace of ambiguity anywhere. It was like she’d decided to stake her claim and stake it now.

  The force of it knocked the air right out of Joe’s lungs—but that could have been the impact of Hank’s little body, which had just thudded against him. Her chubby arms were squeezing him around the hips.

  He blinked at Charlotte.

  Then, with a little smile barely pushing up the corners of her mouth, Joe felt her slide her gray gaze up and down his body like she was painting him with long, steady strokes of a brush. It was a blatantly sexual move. His favorite kind.

  Then he realized he didn’t know the woman standing just inches away from him at the back door. He was about to introduce himself when he let out a startled laugh. LoriSue should go into undercover work.

  He nodded at her in approval. “Nice,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she whispered back.

  He watched a hot wave of embarrassment wash over LoriSue, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She was married to Jimmy Bettmyer. Nobody deserved that fate. And Joe hoped to God that this drastic makeover wasn’t for him. Yes, she looked about five hundred times more attractive than she did a couple weeks ago, but the look didn’t reach out and grab him.

  His gaze returned to Charlotte and he smiled at her.

  The only woman he wanted—the only woman he’d ever really wanted—was Charlotte.

  She shot a full-throttle smile right back at him and he felt his insides melt. He knew right then, as his hands patted Hank’s red curls and his eyes couldn’t leave Charlotte’s face, that he was, in fact, falling in love with her.

  “Joe?” Charlotte said. “Can I ask you something?”

  Matt burst into the room at that instant and waved his baseball glove in the air. “Hey, Joe!”

  “Hey, Matt.”

  “Hey, Joe,” said another voice.

  “Hey, Justin.”

  “Yo, Joe,” said Bonnie.

  “Yo, Bonnie.”

  And Joe sensed that whatever Charlotte was about to ask him was going to be big—life changing, even—yet she was brave enough to ask him in front of all these people.

  He gave her his full attention. “Yes?”

  Charlotte tilted her head and said sweetly, “You any good with a spatula?”

  As a matter of fact, he was damn good with a spatula. But he suspected they weren’t talking about the same thing.

  Charlotte watched Bonnie’s Toyota head down the drive with Hank buckled in the backseat, followed by LoriSue’s BMW, Matt waving to her out the rear window. And suddenly they were alone, just Charlotte and Joe, in the driveway.

  She could feel him, though he wasn’t touching her. It was the memory of his touch that she felt, the ghost touch she’d lived with for all these years. But he stood right next to her now. All she had to do was reach for him, and he’d be real.

  The thought left her breathless.

  “Charlotte, we need to talk.”

  “No more talking, Joe. I want to kiss you.”

  She heard Joe make a little strangled squeak. “There’s something I should tell you first.” He took a step away. “Slow down just a second.”

  She couldn’t help herself—she laughed. She reached out and touched the silky sleeve of his polo shirt, staring at how her fingers played on the hem of the fabric, noticing how pale her hand looked near his rich brown skin. It occurred to her that he really should change clothes before his stint at the grill, because this nice shirt would be ruined. She’d tell him that in a minute. Right now, she wanted to put her lips on him. And they had about ten minutes before they absolutely had to be on their way. The two of them could accomplish a lot in ten minutes.

  “You know, Joe…” Charlotte raised her eyes to him. She could see him holding back. His jaw was clenched. His lips were tight. She saw the air rushing in and out of his nose—like a bull trying his best not to charge. “Things have been mighty slow for me the last thirteen years.”

  One of his eyebrows twitched.

  “I don’t think I want slow anymore.”

  The other eyebrow twitched.

  “In fact, I’m damn sick of slow.”

  Joe shifted his weight and licked his lips, never taking his black eyes off hers. Those eyes held that familiar look of entitlement, along with a touch of surprise. The look advised her to be damn sure of what she was doing, because there would be no turning back.

  She remembered that look. She liked that look.

  “Do I have to ask for it, Joe?” His eyes got big.

  “Because I’ll beg for it if you want me to.”

  Joe’s lips parted. The man looked stunned.

  “Give it to me, Joe,” she whispered. She pressed her body up against his and used her tongue to lick up the front of his silky polo shirt, her eyes locked on his.

  Joe let out a sigh and a moan and took a step in to her and just kept walking. Charlotte strained her neck to keep focused on his face, now so close, and reached her arms behind her in case he backed her into the side of the house.

  Which is exactly what he did. She hit the siding with a thud.

  “Ask for it again, Charlotte.”

  She stood on tiptoe. She reached her arms up over his shoulders and hooked them around his neck. She smiled at him. She grabbed a handful of his hair. And pulled him down close.

  “Please,” she breathed. “Kiss me, Joe.”

  She attacked him like he was a Honeybaked Ham. Like he was her first decent meal in more than a decade. Which he was.

  Joe’s hands were all over her bottom and the back of her thighs. He was kneading her, pushing her on, and on she went, kissing him, eating him, as snippets of her poetry and their recent conversations floated through her mind and propelled her kiss into higher gear—”meat…”

  “slut…” “ladylike little split fruit…” “perkiest little pink cherry nipples…” “lying in wait…”

  Charlotte jumped him—just threw her legs around his waist and gloried in the feel of his hands clamping her butt. Joe pulled her tight against him and ground her against the wall with his pelvis.

  Her head hit the siding, and a dull discomfort radiated down her neck to her shoulders only to be erased by the searing pleasure, pleasure that had no beginning and no end because of this mouth, this tongue, this man. All over her.

  “Oh God, Joe,” she whispered against his kiss. Joe’s arms went tight around her. She couldn’t get close enough. It was as if she wanted to push herself inside him, obliterate her own being, and become part of him.

  “I’ve wanted you forever,” he said, his hands in her hair, his kisses moving across her cheek and down her throat and onto her collarbones. “I’ve missed you the last couple days, Charlotte. The last thirteen years.”

  “God, I’ve missed you so much, Joe.”

  The kissing stopped and they just held each other. Joe propped his chin on her shoulder and hugged her so hard she thought she heard the crunch of the cartilage between her ribs. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but that Joe was real and he was in her arms again.

  He backed away from the house and began walking, Charlotte’s body stuck to the front of his. He crossed the drive toward his yard. Charlotte laughed.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He stopped in his tracks. He said nothing, but just hugged her even harder. “Joe?”

  “I was going to take you to my bed, but I realized that probably wouldn’t be a wise idea.”

  “Yeah. We need to be going.”


  Joe laughed. “Right. Want to ride in my car?”

  Charlotte pulled back a little so she could look down into Joe’s face. That baseline melancholy she sometimes saw in Joe was back, not quite hidden by his gentle smile. She kissed that smile, brushed her fingers through all his thick black hair, and wondered what made him so sad.

  “I’d love to go for a ride in your car. The boys talk about it all the time.”

  “So I hear. Let’s go.”

  She unhooked her legs and slipped down the front of his body until her feet hit the driveway. Joe took her hand. “Oh, wait! You really should change your shirt,” she said.

  Joe frowned and glanced down at himself. “You don’t like this shirt?”

  Charlotte laughed. “I love the shirt. But I don’t think you have any idea what you’re getting into—the concession stand is a pit of grease.”

  “Ah. Then come with me and I’ll change.”

  Charlotte hadn’t been inside the Connor house since before they began packing, so the bareness of the place shocked her. She stepped inside through the pool patio door to the kitchen, immediately noticing that there was no fruit on the counter. No art on the walls. No candles on the family room mantel. Just a black leather couch, one lamp on one end table, and a dinette set with two chairs. Joe lived simply.

  “I’ll be right back.” He began walking toward the center hallway.

  “I’m waiting down here?”

  He turned to face her, the sadness back with a vengeance. “Please. If you don’t mind.”

  The hurt was immediate. Apparently, Charlotte was good enough to grope in the drive but not good enough to let upstairs. She shrugged and looked down at her sandals.

  Joe walked back to her. “Charlotte?”

  At the brush of his fingers on hers, she looked up.

  “I am not used to having a woman in my life. I’ve been alone a very long time.”

  She nodded and swallowed, overwhelmed by the serious tone of his voice and the pleading in his expression.

  Whatever he was about to tell her was difficult for him. “Okay,” she whispered.

  “There are things about me that I don’t usually share with anyone.”