Midnight Whispers

  "How would you like to try that lake Luther spoke about? It's hot enough tonight, hotter than a henhouse in heat," he added. I felt a hot blush stain my cheeks.

  "We'll take some towels, take a lantern to light the way," he continued.

  "Jefferson might wake up and be frightened," I said weakly.

  "He's not waking up so fast and he knows where he's at by now. Come on," Gavin said. "We earned some fun."

  "All right," I said. "I'll get the towels."

  Even though we weren't slinking about, I couldn't help feeling we were sneaking of in the night. Gavin didn't light the lantern until we were a dozen yards or so from the house. We found the path Luther had described and followed it over a small hill. There below us was the lake, inky and still in the darkness, but the water catching the stars here and there on its surface.

  We walked down to the dock and took off our shoes and socks to test the water.

  "It's cold," I complained.

  "Only until you get in, I bet," Gavin said. "Are we gonna go skinny dippin'?" he asked. "I can put out the lamp, if that will make you feel more comfortable."

  "No," I said quickly. "You should leave it on."

  "Fine with me," he said and started to undress. My heart was pounding. We had slept side by side naked to the bone the night before, but we had been in the darkness. Now our bodies glistened in the light of the lantern under the stars. Despite how intimate we had been, I couldn't help but be bashful and yet terribly excited. If my heart beat any faster, I would surely faint, I thought. Gavin was naked, his back to me, and I had only slipped out of my skirt.

  He turned and looked at me.

  "I'll go in first," he said and lowered himself off the edge of the dock. Then he splashed into the water.

  "It's great," he called back. He was only a dark, silhouetted head. "Come on, bashful."

  "Don't tease me or I'll turn around and run back," I warned.

  "My lips are sealed," he said quickly and kicked up his feet, churning water as he swam backwards.

  I unbuttoned my blouse and then slipped off my bra. By the time I stepped out of my panties, I was covered with goose bumps. I dipped my feet in the water again and looked for Gavin, but he was gone.

  I didn't hear him swimming, nor did I see his head bobbing about.

  "Gavin?"

  Fireflies danced over the water, their lemon-colored tails flashing on and off. In the branches of trees leaning over the water, birds twittered sleepily in their nests. A soft breeze played in my hair and made some strands tickle my forehead and the tops of my cheeks. All the way across the lake, an owl hooted.

  "Gavin, where are you?" I called in a loud whisper. "Gavin, you're scaring me," I said and then he suddenly popped out from under the dock and seized my ankles. I screamed and fell forward into the water, the shock of it making me squeal and scream some more. He laughed and quickly embraced me to keep my head from going under.

  "You all right?" he asked, laughing.

  "That was cruel, Gavin Longchamp," I cried.

  "You were taking so long, I nearly fell asleep waiting," he said. "Besides, now you're in and isn't it wonderful?"

  "I'm not speaking to you," I said petulantly.

  "All right," he declared, pulling away from me. "I'll go under and stay under until you do." And with that he submerged. I waited. it seemed like minutes.

  "Gavin?"

  The water was so still, its surface barely lapping against the sides of the dock.

  "Gavin?"

  "Does this mean you're talking to me again?" he said right behind me.

  I spun around on him.

  "Gavin. You're terrible. I was so frightened." "If you refused to speak to me forever and ever, Christie, I would stay under," he said softly and then leaned forward to press his lips to mine. Under the water, I felt his hands find my waist and slowly draw my body closer and closer to his until our thighs grazed. I felt him harden between my legs and pushed myself off, both frightened and shocked by the speed with which his manliness announced itself.

  "Hey," he cried, laughing.

  "We're here to swim," I declared and stroked away. He laughed again and came after me. Even though he could catch me any time he wanted, he remained half a foot or so away, swimming behind or alongside. I went back toward the dock until I could stand. Then he caught up and took my hands into his.

  "It's great, isn't it? Luther was right," he said. "So refreshing."

  "Yes, but it's cold enough to wake you up all over."

  "All over?" he said and brought his hands to my breasts. Then he drew me to him and we kissed again, only this time when I felt him harden against me, I didn't pull away. We kissed again and again. Naked, under the stars, every part of me felt more alive, more aware than ever. All my senses were sharper, keener. Our kisses were more electric; my breasts tingled and my knees weakened. Suddenly, Gavin lifted me into his arms. I buried my face against his cool, wet chest and let him carry me out of the lake.

  "Oh Christie," he whispered after he set me down gently on our towels on the dock, "I can't stop myself from wanting you."

  "We can't do it again, Gavin. We've got to be careful. I could get pregnant."

  "I know," he said, but he didn't lift himself away from me. He continued to plant kiss after kiss on my face, on my neck, on my shoulders and breasts. When he kissed my nipples, I moaned and closed my eyes.

  We're losing control, I thought, but the realization didn't put enough panic in me to push Gavin away. I was hoping he would know when to stop. Just a little more, I thought. We can do just a little more and still rescue ourselves from each other.

  "I love you, Christie," he whispered. "I love every part of you: every dimple . . ." He kissed my cheeks. "Every strand of hair." He pressed his lips to my head and then took my hands to his mouth. "The tips of your fingers. Your breasts . . . your stomach . . ."

  "Gavin!" I cried. "If we don't stop, we won't stop." I seized hold of his shoulder and kept him from going any lower. He rested his cheek against the small of nay stomach.

  "I can hear your heart pounding," he said. "Your skin feels so cool."

  He moved himself up so he could kiss me on the lips again and then we lay there beside each other, both of us breathing hard and fast. He cradled my head in his arm and we lay on our backs looking up at the stars.

  "You're not cold, are you?" he asked.

  "When you look up at the night sky like this, you can feel the earth moving," he said. "Can't you?" "Yes."

  "If you try hard enough, you can imagine yourself falling into the sky, into the stars," he said.

  "Gavin," I whispered, turning to him. "I want you to . . . I mean, I love you, I really do, but I keep thinking about Luther and Charlotte and what happened and what could happen to us."

  "I know. It's all right," he said. "After all, I'm the one who's supposed to be the realist, right? I'm supposed to be the sensible one who knows we can't live in a dreamworld forever. Only, when I'm with you, Christie," he said, turning to face me, "I want to throw all logic and reality away and live in dreams. I don't care about anything else."

  "You'd better care, Gavin Longchamp. I've been depending on you to be the sensible one up until now."

  He laughed.

  "Okay," he said. "I'll be anything you want me to be." He sat up. "We'd better get dressed and go back," he said, looking out over the water.

  Silently, we dried our bodies and put on our clothes. Then Gavin took my hand and we started up the gravel pathway toward the house. At the top of the hill, we turned and looked back at the lake. It seemed unreal, more like a mirror than a body of water. For a while the trees, the stars, every cloud passing lazily above it was captured and locked in its reflection. That was the way the lake held onto its memories, I thought. And now it had the memory of us as well: two young people struggling to understand a world that could be so beautiful and so cruel. Forever and ever the lake would hear our laughter and recall our warm desire in the lap of its waters
. Perhaps it heard our heartbeats.

  Gavin lifted the lantern so the light would fall ahead of us. We followed the finger of illumination that pointed our way back to the house, both of us still clinging to that cocoon of titillation. The memory of our bodies tingling took its good time to fail back into the vault behind our hearts. Both of us were in such a daze, neither of us noticed the strange vehicle parked in the driveway until we were practically on top of it.

  "Whose car is this?" Gavin wondered aloud and lifted the lantern so the light would wash the darkness off all of it. Neither of us recognized the car.

  "I don't know, Gavin."

  "Whoever it is has come some distance," he said, nodding toward the license plates. "They're from Maryland."

  "Jefferson," I said, suddenly afraid for him. "Let's get inside quickly."

  We hurried up the walk and the front steps, practically charging into the house. The moment we walked into the entry way, I heard familiar laughter and then the laughter of a stranger, a man. It was coming from the sitting room on the right.

  Gavin and I stepped into the doorway and Aunt Fern turned toward us, her hands on her hips, her face molded into her characteristic smirk. Her tall, blond boyfriend sat on the sofa with his legs crossed, smoking coolly, the corners of his mouth lifted so sharply they cut into his cheeks. Charlotte was sitting on a hassock, her hands clasped and pressed against her chest, a look of worry on her face, and Luther stood by the chair behind her looking very unhappy, his face ashen.

  "Aunt Fern!" I finally cried.

  "Well, well, well, if it isn't the princess and her little prince," she said, stepping toward us. Her eyes drank us in quickly from head to toe and came back to our faces sharply. She saw the towels in my hand. "And where were you two?" she demanded.

  "We went for a swim," Gavin said quickly. Her smirk folded into a licentious smile and she turned to her boyfriend.

  "Hear that, Morty, they went for a swim." Her boyfriend's smile duplicated her own. "Skinny dipping is more like it. My, my, my, what have you two been up to?"

  "Nothing," Gavin said sharply. "We just went for a swim."

  "Sure." Her smile disappeared and was quickly replaced by a sharp, hard glare. "I wasn't born yesterday, you know. You two might fool everyone else, but don't think for a moment you can pull the wool over these eyes. They've seen too much."

  "That's for sure," her boyfriend quipped, smiling. He had a very nasal-sounding voice. Now that I took a longer look at him, I saw his eyes were rather close together and his lips were thin and long under a sharp nose. I thought of all the men Aunt Fern had had as boyfriends, this man was the least attractive. He had big ears and a long neck and his cheeks sank in like the cheeks of an old man.

  "Shut up, Morty," she replied without taking her eyes off us. Then she smiled again. "Morty and I were on our way to Florida to Morty's beach house when I had an idea you two might have come here, and decided we should take a side trip. Sure enough, I was right.

  "You two have got everyone wringing their hands back home, you know. Uncle Philip even made a personal visit to see me because he thought you might have come to me. Fat chance of that, I told him. So," she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and bringing her hands to her hips again, "why'd you run away?"

  I would never tell her the truth, I thought. If anything, she might just laugh. It was the sort of thing she would be happy to hear.

  "Never mind," she said quickly. "You don't have to tell me why. I can see it written on both your faces," she said, looking from Gavin to me and back to Gavin. "You've gone beyond spin the bottle."

  "That's not true," Gavin said sharply, his face turning crimson.

  "Don't tell me what's true and what's not, Gavin," she snapped, a small, tight and cold smile meeting his challenge. "We're both Longchamps. I know what's in our blood. Anyway," she said, relaxing, "you don't have to worry. I'm not about to tell Philip anything. Unless," she said, nodding, "you make me."

  "Then he doesn't know we're here?" I said, breathing relief.

  "No. And I don't think he's smart enough to figure it out," she added. "So," she said, looking around. "This is quite a hideaway. Auntie Charlotte has been telling me about her redecorating," she added and laughed. Her boyfriend laughed too. "Who knows, Morty. This might take off and become thé

  "Yes, art nouveau," he said.

  "I want you two to meet Morton Findly Atwood. What do you want them to call you around here, Morty? Mr. Atwood? Or just sir?"

  "Mr. Atwood would be fine. Sir's a bit too much," he said, smiling. He flicked his cigarette ash on the floor.

  "Mr. Atwood's family is a highly respected one. They're what we call old money . . . dwindling, but old," Fern said and laughed. Morton Atwood laughed too. What kind of respect did he have for his own family, I wondered, if he could let Aunt Fern make fun of them like this?

  "Anyway, now we're here," she said, gazing around again, "we've decided to take a minivacation on our way to our vacation, right Morty?"

  "If you'd like. One thing I have plenty of," he said, "is time."

  "What do you mean, Aunt Fern?" I asked. Despair heavied my legs, making them feel nailed to the floor and my heart started to pound in anticipation of her reply.

  "What do you mean, Aunt Fern?" she mimicked. "What do you think it means? We're hanging out a while. I'm sure there's plenty of room. Auntie Charlotte was just about to show us the rooms so we could pick out one that suits us, weren't you, Auntie Charlotte?"

  "Oh sure, sure," Charlotte said, not really understanding what was happening. Luther glared furiously.

  "After all, we're all family," Aunt Fern said. "All except Luther, that is," she added, turning to him. Luther reddened with subdued anger. "Which room have you two taken?" she asked.

  "We have two rooms," I said quickly. "One for Jefferson and Gavin and one for me. Next to each other," I added.

  "How convenient," she said. "Morton, shall we inspect the facilities?"

  "Whatever you say, my dear," he replied, standing. He was a little over six feet tall with narrow shoulders and a very narrow waist for a man.

  "Morty happens to be an excellent tennis player," Aunt Fern said. "He might go pro. There aren't any tennis courts on the grounds, are there, Luther?"

  Luther's reply resembled one of his grunts more than a no.

  "I didn't think there was, but we'll make due. I'm sure there's plenty to occupy us around here. Look at how occupied the princess has been," she said nodding toward me. "Auntie Charlotte, can you re-show us around now?" she said. Charlotte stood up.

  "Oh sure."

  "Then do it," Aunt Fern said sharply. Charlotte's eyes flashed toward me as though she were pleading for help. I felt sorry for her, but I didn't know what to do. I couldn't toss them out, although I wouldn't have hesitated to do so if I could.

  "And Luther," Aunt Fern said, turning to him, "would you get our suitcases out of the trunk and bring them upstairs."

  Luther stared at her for a moment and then turned and left to do her bidding. Aunt Fern laughed.

  "I told you this would be interesting and fun, Morty. All my relatives are quite amusing." She scooped her arm under his and they walked after Charlotte.

  "Oh," she said, turning back to Gavin and me. "Don't let us interrupt you. Go right on and do what you usually do." She threw her head back and laughed.

  Gavin turned to me. He didn't have to say it. We both knew: as quickly as we had found this wonderful and magical world, it was gone.

  14

  THE BUBBLE BURSTS

  OUT OF SPITE, AUNT FERN DECIDED THAT THE ONLY bedroom suite good enough for her and Morton was Charlotte's parents' suite. I thought Aunt Fern was malicious and gleeful about it because she didn't change her mind when she saw how much her decision had disturbed poor Charlotte. The idea of someone else sleeping in that bedroom obviously terrified Charlotte. It was as if her father could still punish her for permitting it. Not that she had much choice. Aunt Fern w
as adamant, even though the room needed a thorough cleaning.

  "No one's slept in here for years and years," Charlotte emphasized. "It ain't been used since . . . since my daddy passed away."

  "Well, then it's time it was," Aunt Fern replied undaunted. She found the light switch and turned on the overhead fixture, which revealed even more dust, grime, and cobwebs. "Princess," Aunt Fern said, turning to me, her hands on her hips, "go get some clean rags, a pail of hot soapy water, and wash down all the windows and clean all the furniture."

  "That's a lot of work to start doing this late, Aunt Fern," I said. "Why don't you just choose a room that's not so dirty tonight."

  "That's a good idea," Gavin added.

  Aunt Fern flicked him a scathing glance and then turned to me, smiling scornfully, cruelly.

  "First, I doubt that any room is any cleaner anyway, and second, I like this room. Why should it have been so neglected all this time?" she asked as if she really cared. "And why are they using these old oil lamps and candles if the electricity works?"

  "They don't mind and it's expensive to run electricity through such a big house," I explained. She smirked.

  "They're living rent free," Fern said. "They have no real expenses."

  She continued to parade through the suite, deliberately turning on every lamp. She stopped at the vanity table to examine the jars of dried creams and makeup, the old brushes and combs.

  "What's all this junk doing here?" she asked. "It should have been thrown out long, long ago. Bring a garbage bag up here," she ordered.

  "Oh no," Charlotte said, shaking her head and smiling as if the idea was ridiculous. "That's all my mother's things."

  "So?" Fern replied with indifference. "Your mother's dead, isn't she? She isn't going to need makeup and combs anymore." She ran her finger over the mirror, drawing a thick line through the dust. "Don't forget this mirror, Princess. Get it shining."

  "Who do you think Christie is . . . your slave?" Gavin demanded. Aunt Fern peered at both of us through her dark, angry slits.