In the Shadow of Lakecrest(52)
It was jarring to see Hannah amid the hobbyhorses and wooden blocks, all the messy trappings of family life that would soon be mine.
“Time to get you home, Kate,” she said coldly. “Matthew’s very upset.”
She said nothing else. Not when I left to gather my things or when I gave Eva a sullen good-bye or when I stepped into the car. Hank kept his face toward the windshield; there’d be no friendly greetings today. It wasn’t until we arrived back at Lakecrest that Hannah finally spoke.
“Matthew’s in the morning room.”
I’d braced myself for a lecture, even a full dressing-down. But Hannah marched up the stairs, leaving me to face Matthew alone.
He’d made an effort to pull himself together. He was wearing one of his immaculately tailored suits, and his hair was smooth with pomade. But his matinee-idol features sagged with exhaustion, and his eyes, which I’d last seen wild with fury, looked at me with almost tearful relief.
“Kate.”
I hesitated, but Matthew didn’t. He practically fell forward, capturing me in his arms, pressing me close, and dropping his head into the curve of my neck. He pulled me toward a love seat so we sat side by side.
Matthew squeezed my hand. “I’m glad you’re all right. I was so afraid.”
Guilt made my response sharper that it should have been. “I should have left a note.” A pause. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“It’s all right. I figured I’d lay low and sleep in one of the guest rooms. But I tossed and turned, and when I came to check on you, I realized the bed hadn’t been slept in. We’ve been searching the house and grounds all night.”
Just like when Cecily disappeared. It had never occurred to me how terrible it would be for Matthew to go through that again.
“Thank God Eva rang this morning,” Matthew said. “Not that I blame you for leaving, after what I said.”
What I said. The cautious man beside me didn’t seem capable of raising a hand in anger to anyone, let alone killing the aunt he loved. But what he told me would have to be addressed somehow if our marriage was going to survive.
Matthew clutched my knee, reassuring himself that I was really there. “I have a proposition. Since you’ve already got your bag packed, why don’t we get away for a bit? We can stay at the apartment downtown. See a show, take Blanche and Billy out for dinner—whatever you want.”
“What about work?”
“I’ve already canceled my meetings. I’m yours through the weekend.”
His hand brushed my cheek, and my apprehension melted. When was the last time Matthew and I had fun together? The last time I felt young?
Matthew reached out, carefully, and patted me on the stomach. It was that touch, more than anything he said, that made me believe in him. In us. From the day I’d found out I was pregnant, I’d thought of the baby as a burden. Now, for the first time, I allowed myself to picture the child who would be born in four months. Would it be a daughter for Matthew to spoil? A son he’d one day send off to Yale? The thought of Matthew holding a baby—our baby—filled me with a sudden, sharp ache, and I surprised us both by bursting into happy tears.
I told Matthew I looked ridiculous, stepping out around town with a belly that bulged against my dress. He laughed and said I was more beautiful than ever, and strangely enough, I believed him. Though I felt pudgy and clumsy, I giggled my way across the dance floor at the Pharaoh’s Club with Matthew holding me firmly in his arms. We drank gin fizzes with Blanche and waved to Billy in the band. All around us, it seemed, people were talking fast and walking even faster, living at a pace I’d long since left behind. I tried to put on an air of nonchalant elegance by smoking a cigarette through a holder, and when I gave up, coughing, Matthew kissed me, breathing in the smoke from my mouth to his.
“Don’t try to be Theda Bara,” he said with a grin. “I like you as you are.”
We stumbled back to the apartment, giddy with alcohol and laughter, kissing in the elevator and pulling off each other’s clothes in the hall. My skin warmed as Matthew’s hands ran over my slip, but I started feeling self-conscious when his fingers wandered underneath, along my swollen stomach. Ever since the baby, he’d been careful how he touched me, as if I were a fragile piece of china, and I wished we could get back to how it used to be, without that barrier between us.
I kissed Matthew’s neck, then pressed my teeth against his skin and grabbed the hair at the back of his head. He gave me a mischievous look.
“Feeling naughty?” he asked.
“Very.”
With a tantalizing smile, Matthew threw one arm around my back and the other under my knees. He lifted me up and began carrying me to the bedroom, but I shook my head and whispered, “The sofa.”
Our next kisses were harder, rougher. His hands pushed and pulled as I egged him on with suggestive whispers. Matthew’s unpredictability had often left me scared and confused, but that night, I finally understood I’d always been attracted to the danger beneath his calm surface. It was what had intrigued me about him from the very beginning. The terrible things we’d said to each other weren’t forgotten, but they no longer mattered. I was swept up in the sensation of Matthew’s hands and mouth on my skin, and I didn’t want it to stop.
Curled up afterward in bed, Matthew began apologizing again, and I told him not to worry.