The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(87)

He couldn’t count the nights he reached for her....

God, he missed her.

He put his hands in his pockets and felt his keys. He felt the key to the room at the Coastline Inn.

He went to the closet and pulled his duffel off the high shelf. He put it on the bed and filled it with shirts and pants and boots; he grabbed his shaving kit and added it. She wanted him to be here, in her house, but she had no idea what it did to him. No matter how many times he changed and laundered sheets, he could smell her. He had erotic dreams about her and woke in the night with the taste of her in his mouth. And every time he came home the longing was greater. And the fear those days and nights would never come again grew more fierce.

He closed the duffel and locked the door behind him. He had his phone and his laptop; she would never find him hard to reach. But he needed her here or it was just too much. He’d come back of course. He’d come every couple of days, make sure it was safe, kept in order, ready for her return.

He walked to the Coastline, his duffel in one hand, his laundered and bagged uniforms over his shoulder. He was better off here.

* * *

“Where is she?” Lou McCain asked Carrie James over the phone. “She’s not at Cliff’s, she’s not answering her phone, her house is dark. Do you think she drove into the bay? Drowned herself?”

“Over a man? Are we talking about the same Ray Anne?” Carrie asked. “Please. She’s probably soaking in the tub so she’ll be nice and clean when she puts little pins in his voodoo doll.”

“I drove over there. The house is dark and she’s not answering the door,” Lou said.

“You don’t know where to look,” Carrie said. “Where are you?”

“Sitting in front of the sheriff’s office, trying to figure out where to go next.”

“What are you doing in Thunder Point?” Carrie asked. Since Lou had married last fall, she didn’t live with her nephew, Mac, any longer. Her home with Joe was midway between Thunder Point and Coquille. She taught in Thunder Point, but school was out for the summer.

“I was talking to Gina, asking if she needed any help with the kids this week, and she asked me if I knew about Ray Anne. Apparently Al just took off, without explanation. Hey, maybe she went with him!” Lou suggested.

“Our little real estate magnate? Fat chance. Meet me in front of Ray Anne’s house.”

“I’m telling you she’s not there! And I don’t normally overreact, but I’m kind of worried about her.”

“She’s just sulking,” Carrie said. “Meet me out front. I’ll show you where she is. Then you can relax and go home. And I can go to sleep. Some of us work in summer, you know.”

“Some of us are very grouchy year-round,” Lou said. She hung up.

There was a time when Lou McCain and Ray Anne Dysart couldn’t get along for five minutes. Then age, experience, patience and wisdom settled in and things eased and even became friendly. Well, and Lou got married and Ray Anne finally stopped stealing Lou’s boyfriends—that could have had something to do with it.

Lou and Ray Anne had known each other since high school in Coquille and they’d always been like oil and water. They were opposites, to say the least. Lou had been studious and pretty serious while Ray Anne had been all about fun. She’d been wearing her clothes too tight since way back then, and she always had a bunch of guys. But back then a bunch wasn’t enough—she had to have everyone else’s guy, too.

Lou and Ray Anne rarely saw each other after high school until they were reconnected in Thunder Point. At first it was like the same old rivalry—Lou in her sensible shoes and Ray Anne in her tight skirts and heels. But then they settled into an uneasy truce that actually became a friendship. Still nothing alike, they somehow managed to appreciate each other. Lou liked her now. And she felt bad about this—that a man Ray Anne had not only liked, but also counted on, would just bolt.

Carrie’s deli van was sitting in front of Ray Anne’s house when Lou pulled up. They got out of their vehicles and met in the street; Carrie was still wearing her big full-body apron with the deep pockets, as though she’d been cooking. She was holding a bottle of wine as big as a horse’s leg. “Follow me,” she said. She went around the garage, reached over the top of the gate to unlock it and pushed it open so she could get into the backyard. She rounded the garage and went to the stairs that led to the roof. When they got to the top, there was candlelight. “You better be alone,” Carrie said into the darkness.

“What are you doing here?” Ray Anne asked. She was sitting on the floor of the deck, cross-legged. She was wearing sweatpants, something Lou didn’t imagine she owned. And a long shirt. No bra; her boobs were on her chest. Completely. No further curiosity about the boob job... And she wore leather slippers to keep her piggies warm. This was a side of Ray Anne that Lou had never seen.

“We came to sit shiva,” Lou said. “Word’s out—there was a death.”

“I doubt he’s dead,” Ray Anne said. She sipped from her wineglass. “Just gone.”

“Wow,” Lou said, looking around. “This is really something....”

Carrie put the wine bottle on the deck and slowly, achingly, got down, settling into a beanbag. “If I make even a little profit this year, I’m buying you chairs for your birthday. My knees protest this sitting on the floor. It’ll take both of you to get me on my feet again.” Then she pulled a corkscrew out of her pocket.