A Different Kind of Forever - By Dee Ernst Page 0,43
sail again Sunday? Or we could go down to New Hope. I like walking around down there.”
“New Hope? Really?”
“They have a couple of great places for old toys and collectables. My niece’s birthday is coming up. She’ll be fourteen. She likes all that retro stuff.”
“That would be fun. But I’ve got to be home by six.”
“Yes, Cinderella.”
She spent Monday and Tuesday in her office. Michael called Tuesday night, just after nine.
“I’m ten minutes away. Can I see you?”
“Michael, the girls are here.”
“So, they’re upstairs, right? I’ll sneak in the back door.”
“Michael, I don’t know.”
“I miss you. Just for ten minutes, I swear.”
“Ten?”
He chuckled. “Absolutely”
She lowered her voice. “I miss you, too.”
“So, fifteen minutes. Twenty tops. Please?”
“Yes. Come around back.”
She stared at the phone in her hand. He was coming over. Desire moved through her like a slow pulse, pounding in her chest, deep in her gut. She stood at the foot of the stairs. Both the upstairs doors were closed. She could hear the television faintly. She went to the French doors and opened them, walking out onto the patio. She sat in the darkness. She did not hear his car. She did not hear the bell at the back yard gate. He was suddenly there, walking out of the darkness, and she led him back into her bedroom, locking the door behind them. They fumbled with their clothes in the darkness, falling together onto the bed.
“Is this our first quickie?” She whispered finally, feeling the red tide of pleasure wash through.
“I guess. How was it?”
“Pretty amazing.”
“Yeah. The best ninety seconds of the day.”
She covered her mouth to stifle her giggle. “Don’t make me laugh,” she whispered furiously.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered back.
“I have to work tomorrow. Are you busy Thursday?”
“I have to go to Kennedy Airport. Seth and I are picking up a guy, David Go. He’s from Ireland. He’s orchestrating the movie.”
“Then I won’t see you?”
“No.”
“Can you come here for lunch Friday?”
“Sure. What time?”
“Well, the girls are out by eight. You could come right after that.”
He smiled in the darkness. “That’s more like breakfast.”
“So, come for breakfast, stay till lunch.”
“And what will we do in all the time in between?”
“I was going to clean the bathroom and go to the dry cleaners.”
“Sounds fun. But if I think of another plan, you won’t be upset, will you?”
“No. Not at all. You have to go.”
“I know.” He sighed and got off the bed.
“The girls will be gone in three weeks,” Diane told him. “They’ll be with their father all summer.”
“Really?” He looked down at her. “You’ll miss them.”
She got up and reached for her robe, hanging in the closet. “Yes, I will. But hopefully you’ll be around more. That will make it easier.” She knotted the belt.
He put his arms around her. “You mean I won’t have to park my car around the block and sneak in for a nibble?”
She giggled softly. “No. Shh. Let me see what’s going on.” She went out and walked into the living room. The sound of the television was still coming down from Emily’s room. She waved to Michael, and he followed her back outside.
“Listen, if your neighbors call the cops about the stranger sneaking through their yards, you’ll come and bail me out, right?”
“Promise.” She grinned. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Anytime. See you Friday.”
“Okay. Good night.”
Marianne Thomas stopped by her office the next morning. “Hi. I’m glad I got a chance to see you. Have you got everything you need for next year?” Marianne asked.
“You mean the grad class? Yes, I think so. When do you leave for Greece?”
“July.” She watched as Diane packed some potted plants into a box. “You never told me about the musician. The one who wants to live in Montana? How is that going?”
“Very well, thanks.” Diane glanced over. “Why?”
“Just curious. Are you still seeing him? Usually by the second or third date you find out he’s married or a kleptomaniac or worships pygmies or something equally bizarre.”
“We’ve seen a lot of each other. So far, very good.”
“Really? How nice for you. How old is he?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Really? And in a band of some sort?”
“Yes, Marianne. He’s actually kind of famous.”
“Then bring him to the picnic next week. You’ll have the entire faculty in an uproar. Is he really outrageous? Blue hair, lots of tattoos, that sort of thing?”
Diane laughed. “Sorry. Truthfully, I have more tattoos and piercings than he does. And he dresses like an Ivy League grad student. If you’re looking for shock value, you’re going to be disappointed.”