the other. "I love you, Cole."
Trissa felt a ravenous joy rising within her, devouring all her fear and worry, bobbing and dipping toward the brink like a barrel on the Niagara. "Trissa!" he cried out as they plunged together, and she could not care that it was Cole and not Nicholas. They were one.
All three, one.
It was a long while before they trusted their jellied bones and melted muscles enough to chance standing. It was only when he heard Trissa's teeth chattering though he held her as close as it was possible to hold her. The sound of them startled her as well and she giggled shakily. "Maybe your big, blond nurse would have stayed warm longer."
"Maybe, but I doubt that the tub would have held her and me both."
"Oh, you thug, you do remember her," she scolded, and she cuffed his shoulder as he sat up and strained to reach a dry towel to wrap her in.
"With fleeting fondness," he admitted. They depended on each other's support and their tenacious grip on the rim of the tub to get over the edge. Trissa squealed as her toes squished into a soggy towel on the floor. "We will have a lot to explain if it starts to rain on the dinner crowd," Cole said, grabbing the terry robe she'd brought him from its hook on the wall. "My guess is this tub is situated directly above Hattie's place at the table."
"Oh, God, what if they heard us?" Trissa's eyes sparkled blue as a starlit sky against the flush on her face from her chagrin and the heat of their bath. She huddled in her large, plush towel like a blanket.
"We'll just tell them that it's an extremely ancient, quite reputable tradition. Very therapeutic." To Cole's astonishment, he could not resist gathering her in his arms and kissing her again with a fervent passion. She had burned through the frigid soul of him he had guarded so well for so long. The thought alarmed him. He broke the kiss and gently but firmly put her at arm's length. "You'd better get dressed. I'll clean up here."
"But your sore back..."
"We seem to have worked the kinks out," he said dryly, and gave her a little nudge out the door.
Later when the floor and tub were dry and shining, he emerged to find the bedroom silent and deserted. He went to the closet and searched for some clothes he recognized. In the eight or so months Nicholas had been in charge, he had apparently discarded some of Cole's old favorites. Eventually he found a comfortable pair of khaki pants and a hunter green pullover, not his, but they'd do. He collected a few more articles to move to his room downstairs. If his time with Fitapaldi went badly tomorrow, he wanted the things he'd need handy to be packed. He did not know whether he would be around to do the packing or even be coherent enough to give instruction.
A shiver of the old, cold loneliness attacked as he put the clothes over his arm, and he stood still bracing for the worst of it. How curious that it should feel so foreign so quickly. But he guessed he had better get reacquainted. It had been foolish for him and cruel to the girl to pretend it could go away for long. Pretend you're happy when you're blue. He heard the whispered melody flutter through his mind. It was just a song, worse than a wish for breaking the heart.
A muffled thud thumped against the door. "Cole, open up." Trissa called, sounding a bit frantic and breathless. He yanked the door open to find her loaded down with a tray full of food and with the newspaper and her folktale book tucked under her arm.
"Augusta sent sandwiches. She said she thought we might need fortifying." As he took the tray from her, her face wrinkled in a bemused frown. "I hope she meant from the strain of the funeral."
"I'm sure she did."
She puttered around arranging the sandwiches and fruit salad cups on the coffee table. "Roger's heart tests went well, though he is disappointed that they refused to let him go back to limited duty. It looks like his retirement will be made final. Otherwise, they said if he takes it easy there is nothing -- Cole, where are you going with those clothes?"
"I thought I'd move them downstairs."
"But I brought the paper. Don't you want to hear the baseball scores? And I