Whiskey Beach Part 47

"A decent cop should've seen through that."

"I think they did, but they couldn't prove he'd done any of it. It kept going, little things, bigger things, for over three months. I was on edge all the time, and my work was suffering. He started to show up at restaurants where I'd be having lunch or dinner. Or I'd look out my apartment window and see his car drive by, or think I did. We ran in similar circles, lived and worked in the same general area, so because he never approached me the police couldn't do anything about it.

"I snapped one day when he strolled into the place where I was having lunch with a coworker. I marched over, told him to leave me the h.e.l.l alone, called him names, created a terrible scene until the woman I worked with got me out."

"He broke you down," Eli stated.

"Completely. He stayed absolutely calm through it, or I thought he did. And that night he broke into my apartment. He was waiting for me when I came home. He was out of control, completely out of control. I fought back, but he was stronger. He had a knife-one of mine from my kitchen-and I thought he'd kill me. I tried to get out, but he caught me, and we struggled. He cut me."

Eli stopped walking, turned to take both of her hands.

"Along my ribs. I still don't know if it was an accident or he meant to, but I thought I'd be dead, any second, and started screaming. Instead of the knife, he used his fists. He beat me, he choked me, and he was raping me when my neighbors broke in. They'd heard me screaming and called the police, but thank G.o.d they didn't wait for the cops. I think he might've killed me, with his bare hands, if they hadn't stopped him when they did."

His arms came around her, and she leaned into him. She thought a lot of men backed off when they heard the word "rape." But not Eli.

She turned to walk again, comforted by his arm around her waist. "I had more than a black eye this time. My mother had been in Africa and came straight back. You'd know all about the process-the tests, the interviews with the police, the counselors, the lawyers. It's horrible, that reliving of it, and I was angry to be viewed as a victim. Until I learned to accept I was a victim, but I didn't have to stay one. In the end I was grateful they worked out a plea so I didn't have to go through it all again in a trial. He went to prison, and my mother took me to this place in the country-a friend's summer house in the Laurel Highlands. She gave me s.p.a.ce, but not too much. She gave me time-long quiet walks, long crying jags, midnight baking sessions with tequila shots. G.o.d, oh G.o.d, she's the most wonderful woman."

"I'd like to meet her."

"Maybe you will. She gave me a month, and then she asked me what I wanted to do with my life. The stars are coming out. We should walk back."

They turned, walking now with the evening breeze at their backs. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her I wanted to live at the beach. I wanted to see the ocean every day. I told her I wanted to help people, but I couldn't face going back to an office, going back to appointments and meetings and strategy sessions. I blubbered because I was sure she'd be disappointed in me. I had the education, the skills, the experience to make a difference. I had been making a difference, and now I just wanted to see the ocean every day."

"You were wrong. About her being disappointed."

"I was wrong. She said I should find my place, and I should live my life in a way that satisfied me, that made me happy. So I came here, and I found ways to make myself happy and satisfied. I might not be here, doing what I really love, if Derrick hadn't broken me."

"He didn't break you. I don't believe in fate, in destiny, in absolutes, but sometimes it smacks you in the face. You're where you're meant to be because you're meant to be here. I think you'd have found your way."

"That's a nice thought." She stood on the bottom beach step, turned to him, laid her hands on his shoulders. "I have been happy here, and more open here than I ever was before. I made a very deliberate decision a year or so ago to go on my s.e.xual fast because, though I'd met some very nice men, none of them fulfilled that part of me that may have been damaged more than I admitted. It's a lot to lay on you, Eli, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd help me break my fast."

"Now?"

"I was thinking now would be good." She leaned in to kiss him. "If you wouldn't mind."

"Well, you did make soup."

"And bread," she reminded him.

"It seems like the least I can do. We ought to go in the house first."

He cleared his throat as they started up the steps. "Ah, I'm going to have to make a quick trip to the village. I didn't bring any protection. I haven't been thinking much about s.e.x until recently."

"No problem, and no need for the trip. I put a box of condoms in your bedroom the other day. I've been thinking about s.e.x recently."

He let out a breath. "You're the best housekeeper I've ever had."

"Oh, Eli, you haven't seen anything yet."

CHAPTER Thirteen

OUT OF PRACTICE, HE THOUGHT WITH SOME NERVES AS they climbed the beach steps, and he wasn't entirely convinced s.e.x was like riding a d.a.m.n bike.

Sure, the basics remained the basics, but the process required moves, technique, timing, finesse, tone. He liked to think he'd been pretty good at it once. n.o.body'd complained, including Lindsay.

Still.

"We're going to stop thinking about it," Abra announced when they reached the door. "I'm messing up my head, and I'll lay odds you're messing up yours."

"Maybe."

"So let's stop thinking."

She peeled off her hoodie, hung it on a peg, then grabbed his jacket, yanked it off his shoulders as she pulled herself in, as she fixed her mouth on his.

His brain didn't explode out of the top of his head, but it sure as h.e.l.l banged around in there.

"That's how it works," she said as she tugged his jacket off, hung it up.

"Yeah, it's coming back to me." He grabbed her hand, pulled her along with him. "I don't want to do this in the laundry room, or on the kitchen floor. And they're both looking pretty good to me right now."

With a laugh, she spun into him, took his mouth again as she flipped open b.u.t.tons on his s.h.i.+rt. "No reason not to get started on the way."

"That's a point." She wore a soft blue pullover, or did until he yanked it up and off, tossed it behind them as they arrowed toward the stairs.

She pulled at his belt; he dragged at the skinny white tank she wore under the pullover. And both of them tripped on the base of the stairs.

They teetered, groped.

"Maybe we'd better get up there," she managed.

"Good idea." He grabbed her hand again.

They raced up-like a couple of kids, he'd think later, running toward the big, s.h.i.+ny gift under the Christmas tree. Except most kids didn't try to rip each other's clothes off while they ran.

Out of breath, he finally stripped off her white tank as they hurtled into the bedroom.

"Oh G.o.d, look at you."

"Look later." She slid his belt free, let it fall to the floor with a clunk.