When Darkness Falls(30)

Devon frowned. “I know. I noticed them the other day.”

“That shouldn’t be happening.” Lydia breezed past him and sat on the couch. She crossed her legs and leaned forward. “You need to relax. Have some fun. Get out of this place.”

“That’s the issue. Not being able to go out.”

“I bet you can. I bet you can go out tonight.” Lydia gestured to the couch. “So this is new. Does it pull out?”

She was there, and Devon found he didn’t want to make her leave. She wasn’t coming on to him, at least no more so than she always did, a little, with every man. And he was glad to see her. Being with Lydia didn’t require any deep emotions, or deep thought. They already knew each other so well.

Lydia stood. “Let’s go dancing. Like we used to. C’mon, I’ll hail a cab and you can hop right in.”

“Dancing? I don’t feel like—”

“But you will.”

“It’s early yet.”

They ate first and hung out at The Underground. At nine-thirty, at Lydia’s direction, the cab driver took them to a club on the near north side. Devon didn’t notice the name, he was so concerned with getting inside before terror struck. But it never did. Lydia danced and Devon people watched. He couldn’t help watching Lydia, too, from the corner of his eye. Her body swayed in its own rhythm, in time with the music but not following it. Toward the end of the evening she took Devon’s hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. He tried to keep a foot or so between them, as if they were back at one of their Catholic junior high school dances, but with so many people around them, their bodies pressed together. Dangerous, but he felt alive. In touch. Lydia smiled and slid her arms around his waist. Devon closed his eyes, felt the drums pounding through him. Wrong, this was wrong. And he had no intention of stopping.

Lydia downed shots two at a time but never seemed drunk. She jumped on stage with the band and danced with the guitarist, who later gave her his phone number. Around midnight, she led Devon downstairs to the pool tables. They’d both become experts playing in bowling alleys in grade school and junior high while their fathers drank.

As they played, Devon kept his distance, focusing on the game. The dance had just been a dance. That was all. Nothing he’d need to tell Haley about.

Lydia beat him seven times out of ten and insisted on paying for all the drinks.

“You’ve got a lot of bills,” she said, when Devon protested. He didn’t argue. He did have a lot of bills. Emergency room bills, psychiatrist bills….

At two in the morning, they left the club, laughing over nothing, walking in the street. Devon filled his lungs with the night air. It was early May, but a cold snap had set in the day before. He could see his breath. The chill energized him.

“This was good,” he said. “I haven’t gone out for fun in a long time.”

A taxi pulled in front of them. Lydia slid in first. “Don’t you with Haley?”

“Not really. Things were so intense before we got married. It was fantastic, but in that keyed up way. You don’t really relax. And since these attacks started, I’ve hardly been able to go anywhere, except to the doctor and to The Underground. Haley hasn’t complained, but I know she’d like to get out some.”

Heat blasted from the taxi’s back vents, and Devon unbuttoned another button on his shirt, surprised. Chicago taxis weren’t known for strong heating or cooling systems. When he’d been standing on the corner, he hadn’t felt cold, despite having gone out without a jacket. They passed a bank building and the digital thermometer flashed forty-five degrees. He shook his head. It must be the alcohol keeping him warm.

“Were you cold out there?” he asked Lydia.

“I’m never cold,” she said.

“I thought everyone in L.A. wears winter coats if it goes below sixty.”

“Not me, babe. Only warm blood in my veins.”

“Isn’t it cold blood that keeps living things warm in any temperature? Like reptiles have?”

She laughed and touched his knee. “What are you saying?”

The taxi stopped in front of The Underground. Devon insisted on paying, since she’d paid for everything else, and gave the guy a thirty-percent tip because it was the first time he’d felt good in such a long time.

Lydia accepted a blanket and pillow and told him she’d be fine on the couch.

In the loft bedroom, with Haley away, Devon dreamed.

He is wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and boots, intent on leaving. Lydia stands near the couch. Naked. Her body is smooth and pale and he is surprised he can see her, because the windows are still blocked and all the lights out. She smiles at him, moves toward him, and though a moment ago he needed to get outside, now he sees only her. She presses against him, kisses him. She tastes like spiced apple cider, not the beer she drank earlier, and of course that’s right, because it’s a dream.

Her lips are against his ear, her breath hot. “Let’s go in the bedroom.”

Not there, he thinks, not wanting to be in the room where he and Haley make love.

“It’s a dream,” Lydia says. “It doesn’t matter.”

It should matter. It does matter, even in his dreams.

“You can’t control your dreams,” Lydia says. “And you can’t control me.”