The Lucky Ones(52)

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, it’s okay,” she said. “I’m fine now.”

She kissed him to prove she was okay, but he didn’t kiss her back at first. Had he seen the truth—that she’d been on the verge of full-blown panic? That she’d suddenly disappeared into what felt like an incredibly vivid memory? Eventually he returned her kisses and she relaxed underneath him. But the magic was gone from the moment. He came a few minutes later but she couldn’t. Afterward she slipped on Roland’s flannel shirt and rested her head on his chest.

“Okay, time to tell me what happened there,” he said as he stroked her hair.

“I don’t know.”

“Something happened.”

“I...” She rested on her elbow and met his eyes. “I had some kind of flashback or something.”

“A flashback? Of what?”

“Nothing that makes sense,” she said. “I was on some kind of cot, like a hospital bed, and someone was pushing something in my mouth.”

“Do you remember what?” Roland asked. He searched her face as he spoke and she saw the concern in his eyes.

“It tasted kind of like...plastic?” she said, shaking her head as if she could dislodge a memory like shaking a Magic 8-Ball.

He took a moment to think. “You know, that could have been a memory of you being intubated in the ER after you fell,” he said. “I’ve seen it done. It’s horrible. It could traumatize anyone.”

“That makes sense,” she said. She closed her eyes and willed herself to remember it all again, but nothing new came back. Yet, it was undeniable that something about being in this house again was bringing memories to the surface she’d long ago forgotten or buried.

“It hit me when you pushed your fingers in my mouth. It’s gone again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you moaned, ‘Oh, fuck, Roland,’ and, well, you know...” He pointed at the ceiling.

“I think your dad knows about us,” she said in a stage whisper.

“True, but I’d like to be able to make eye contact with the man later.”

“You’re blushing,” she said. “It’s cute. Do all monks blush after sex?”

“Yes,” he said. “Although most of us skip the sex and get right to the blushing.” He kissed her forehead. “You okay now?”

“Better.”

“How much better?” he asked, kissing her neck under her ear.

“Are you trying to have sex with me again?” she asked.

“You didn’t come, did you?”

“You are trying to have sex with me again.”

“Yes? No? Maybe?” he asked, kissing her cheek, then her lips and her throat and her chest.

Yes. Definitely yes.

After they finished, Roland stole his flannel shirt back, left her grinning on the bed and went to make dinner while she cleaned herself up. Her shower cleared her head and she regretted that she couldn’t be more honest with Roland. She’d always played her cards close to the chest with McQueen but that was because of the nature of their relationship—the sex was professional, not personal. She didn’t want to have that sort of distance with Roland. But what could she do? Deacon had begged her not to ask Roland about his sister, Rachel. Dr. Capello had instructed her not to tell anyone he thought Oliver was the culprit behind her “accident” and the phone call to her aunt. And what was there to say about Thora forgetting where she was when Allison had her fall? Allison couldn’t even remember where she’d been when she fell—how could she expect anyone else to remember?

Still, she didn’t like how many topics of conversation were off-limits in this house. Too many. But she’d only been home for a day. Not like she had any right to barge in while Dr. Capello was dying and make everyone miserable by dredging up ancient history. But there were things she needed to know. Since she couldn’t ask, she would figure them out on her own. Luckily it seemed the house was on her side. So far she’d been here less than twenty-four hours and she already remembered more than she had in years. The kiss on the beach. The attic door. Roland’s fingers in her mouth. What memory would the house offer up to her next?

At six, they all convened in the kitchen for dinner. It should have made for a pleasant meal, the five of them together again, making small talk about the weather, happy memories and Thora and Deacon’s work at the gallery, but Allison sensed quiet tension. She was worried at first she was the cause of it, until she noticed that Dr. Capello wasn’t eating but merely pretending to. Food moved on his plate but didn’t disappear.

Allison said nothing, knowing it wasn’t her place, but then Roland said, “Dad, you have to eat something.”

“You know what they say,” Dr. Capello said. “I only have to pay taxes and die. And I’m all paid up for the year.”

“Dad,” Roland said.

“Allison, would you please take my son for a walk on the beach? Or anywhere? Off a cliff maybe.”

“Maybe I’ll go back to the monastery where I’m appreciated,” Roland said as he started to stand.

“And celibate.” Deacon muttered the words but everyone heard him.