Dark of Night: A Novel

Chapter OneIf Dave had known, before he’d picked up the phone, how much trouble this one call would cause, he would’ve let it go directly to voice mail.But it was Sunday morning, and he was enjoying—very much—the experience of surfing the cable TV news channels from the comfort of Sophia’s bed.He loved hanging out in the bedroom of her little apartment, and notjust because most of the time he was in here of late, he was in the processof taking off Sophia’s clothes.Though she’d lived in this tiny second- floor walk- up for far fewer yearsthan he’d inhabited his spacious and still- spartan condo, she’d turned thisplace into a real home. Her furnishings were unique—quirky, mismatchedpieces she’d picked up in flea markets and painted in the vibrantcolors of the Mediterranean. Rich blues in a variety of shades mingledwith bright yellows, warm reds, and a green that brought to mind the newness of spring. Artwork—some of it her own, and quite good—hung on the walls. The open windows were covered by full, gauzy curtains that shimmered and breathed with the breeze. A ceiling fan was kept always running, moving at its lowest, laziest speed.Last week Sophia had moved the TV into the room for him—an admittednews junkie—and as the phone rang again, he pushed the remotecontrol’s mute button as he shouted to her, in the bathroom, “You wantme to get that?”Sophia had just turned on the water, and as he heard the shower doorclunk shut, she called back, “You don’t have to.”Dave should’ve ignored it and turned off the TV and gone into thebathroom to help Sophia wash herself in those hard- to- reach places, buthe was an idiot. He was still on a high from last night, when his plane hadlanded and he’d turned on his phone to find that she’d called him whilehe was in the air. Five times.She’d gotten home several days early from her own business trip toDenver and—of course, because he had purposely neglected to tell her ofhis own international trek—was wondering where he was. She was cookingdinner, although, honestly? After four days apart? They were going tobe eating late.Dave had called her immediately, headed straight to her place, whereshe’d jumped him the moment he’d walked in the door—as if she’d beenas starved for his touch as he’d been for hers.Incredibly, it wasn’t the fabulous sex they’d had right there in her living room that had made his day, week, year—no, life. It was later, after dinner, with Sophia drowsy, her head on his shoulder, as they were about to fall asleep, telling him that she’d missed him, and that she slept much better— as in, she didn’t have her usual nightmares—when she spent the night in his arms.It seemed the perfect segue for him to ask her about those nightmares—a topic they’d both shied away from, for years. And this time, hewas ready for it. This time, he knew the questions to ask.But then she’d added that, in the morning if he wanted her to, she’dclear out a drawer for him, maybe make him some space in her closet . . . ?If he wanted her to?Dave had answered by kissing her, and she’d kissed him back, andthey’d made love again—slowly this time. Sweetly. She’d breathed hisname on a sigh and she’d fallen asleep almost immediately after, leavinghim holding her in his arms, with his heart so full his chest actually hurt.But now, in the light of morning, the TV, the empty drawer, and thecloset space weren’t enough for Dave. Nuh- uh. No, sir. He had to furtherstake his claim here in Sophia’s life by answering the telephone on herbedside table at 10:37 on a sunny Sunday morning, with a voice still rustyand deep from a satisfying night made up only partially of sleep.“Hello?”There was a hesitation—an indrawn breath—as if the person on theother end were surprised to hear someone male pick up the phone. That’sright. Uh- huh. He was so the man. He was the dude with the cojonesgrande who was going to get his very own drawer here in Sophia’s prettybedroom.“May I speak to Sophia?” The voice, when it finally came, was female,older, with a hint of Great Britain in its precise enunciation.“I’m afraid she’s indisposed,” Dave said. “May I take a message?”“Please. Will you ask her to call her Aunt Maureen?” She pronouncedit ahhnt, rather than like the insect. “Maureen Miles. I’m her father’s sister. . . ?”Oh, no.“Yes,” Dave said. “Of course. Hi. Sophia’s, um, told me about you.From Boston, right? I’m Dave. Her . . .” What? Boyfriend? Lover?Bedroom- drawer guy? They’d talked about a lot of things over the pastweeks, but they’d never precisely defined what their relationship now was.Maureen Miles didn’t seem to care. There was more to her message.“Will you let her know that her father’s back in the hospital?”Shit. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Dave said. “Mass General again?”Another brief pause. “Yes. The doctors have given him only a few daysthis time, and he would like, very much, to see his daughter. I should thinkshe owes him at least that much—”“I’m sorry,” Dave cut her off. “With all due respect, ma’am, do we livein the same universe? Because in the reality- based one where I reside,Sophia owes him nothing.”“He’s her father,” the woman said.“He may have contributed his sperm to the creative process,” Davesaid tartly, “but in my opinion he lost the right to call himself Daddy a fewdecades ago.”She was silent again for a moment, but she was just regrouping. Shehadn’t given up. “Please tell her that he’s being moved into hospice in afew days.”“I’ll give her the message,” Dave said, a but heavy in his tone, and thewoman hung up without a thank- you.He dropped the handset into the phone’s cradle and flopped backonto Sophia’s pillows, staring up at the spinning ceiling fan.From the bathroom, he heard the sound of the water shutting off, theshower door opening. Sophia’s melodic voice. “We need to get moving ifwe’re going to make it to Encinitas by noon.”What? Dave lifted his head and aimed his voice toward the bathroomdoor. “Noon? Wait a minute, why?”She appeared in the doorway, gloriously naked, drying herself with atowel, her wet hair slicked back from her face. She was one of thosewomen who were even more beautiful when not wearing makeup.Or clothes.It was hard to think or listen when Sophia was naked, and he’d obviouslynot heard her response to his question, because she gave him her I’mrepeating myself because you’re staring at me blankly smile and said, again,“The main parking lot’ll fill up by noon.”“Seriously?” Dave sat up, struggling to make sense of her words. “Are wetalking about the same thing? The parking lot’ll fill up? For a flea market?”“Antique show,” she corrected him, heading out of sight, back to thesink, where she kept a collection of bottles and jars of lotion, each one ofthem smelling sweeter than the last. If he hurried, he could watch hersmooth some onto her arms and legs, her stomach and breasts.As he skidded to a stop in the bathroom, she met his eyes in the mirror.“You know, we don’t have to go.”“I want to.” He opened the shower door and turned on the water. “Thethrill of the hunt, the excitement of finding a treasure hidden in with thetrash, the hours tromping through the brain- meltingly hot sun with the fourmillion other people who helped us fill up the main parking lot beforenoon, who are hoping to find the exact same perfect cabinet for the kitchenbefore we do, so maybe we’ll have to win a duel or probably a spelling beein order to gain ownership . . . I’m totally there, T- H- E- R- E.”Sophia had turned around to look at him, her gaze traveling below hiswaist, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she tried not to smile—and failed. “You either really love antiques, or you’re lying through yourteeth.” She reached out and wrapped her fingers around him as she gaveup and laughed. “I’m going to go with lying through your teeth.”Dave laughed, too, as she stroked him, as she smiled up into his eyes.“Obviously I’d anticipated a different morning agenda,” he told her. “ButI’m a grown- up. I can multi- task. I can both be your antique- hunting partnerand spend the day imagining all the ways I’m going to make you comeafter we get home.”“Hmm,” she said, swaying closer, the tips of her breasts brushing hischest as she pressed his erection against the softness of her stomach. “Orwe can say the heck with the main parking area, and take the PITA shuttlefrom the south lot.”“South lot,” he repeated, unable to keep himself from touching her, hisfingers sliding across her silky, clean, lotion- sweet skin. “There’s a south lot?”Sophia nodded, then jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck,her legs around his waist, like a piggyback ride in reverse.“I love the south lot,” Dave told her as he grabbed her to keep herfrom slipping off him, her perfect derriere filling his hands. And God, thiswas unlike any other piggyback ride he’d ever given anyone, because sheshifted and pushed him hard and deep inside of her. “Holy shit.”She pulled back to look at him, laughter lighting her face and makingher eyes sparkle and dance. “New one, huh?” she asked as she began tomove against him.He nodded. “Oh, yeah.” His experience with sex, pre- Sophia, wasridiculously limited, and she knew it because, well, he’d told her the truth.They’d talked about a lot of things in those first few days A.S.—afterSacramento—and while he hadn’t been ready to go into full, gory detailabout his farce of a relationship with Kathy- slash- Anise, he had confessedto Sophia that his full sexual oeuvre was limited to five interactions withone woman who didn’t particularly like him, even though she’d pretendedotherwise.Sophia hadn’t fainted at that news, no doubt because her own baggagewas also quite cumbersome when it came to sex.That first morning they’d woken up in each other’s arms, they’d madea promise to be honest in regard to their intimacy—since it was a potentialminefield for both of them.So, yes. Having sex standing up in the middle of the bathroom was anew one for him. Although there really wasn’t much he could do but standthere holding her, the muscles in his arms and shoulders getting quite theworkout.Which maybe meant he was a wimp, because she was petite anddidn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. But Dave was discovering thatholding on to a hundred- pound woman was a very different experiencethan holding on to a hundred- pound woman while having sex with her.“Ah, God,” he said. “Soph . . .”“Thumbs up or down?”“Oh, up,” he told her. “Big up.”“Me too,” she gasped, her breath warm against his ear. “But feel freeto, you know, set me on the counter, by the sink, if you need to—”“Not a chance.” Dave loved where his hands were, loved the sensationof her legs and buttocks straining to push him more fully inside of her, butwhen he shifted slightly to get a better grip, he discovered—eureka!—there was something he could do besides simply stand there and not dropher. He shifted again to hold most of her weight with his left arm, freeingup his right hand to touch her again, with slightly better aim.She sighed his name, and that, combined with the increased speed ofher rocking motion, was enough to bring him teetering to the edge of hisrelease, so he touched her harder, deeper, and she came with a moan anda shudder that he loved as much as he loved his new drawer and closetspace. And in that fraction of a heartbeat, in the brief instant of time betweenhis knowing that he, too, was going to orgasm—now—and the deeprush of mind- blowing pleasure that was already starting to surge throughhis body, he remembered the phone call.He’d yet to tell Sophia that her father was in the hospital.Dave came with a crash, with a shout—“God, I love you!”—pullingher warm, pliant body more tightly against his, as she kept coming aroundhim, urging him, as always, to give her more, more.It should have diminished his pleasure—his remembering the unhappymessage he’d promised to deliver. It should have made himashamed for forgetting something so important in the first place.It should have, but it didn’t.Sophia’s father was a rat- bastard and few besides his sister Maureenwould miss him when he was gone.“Sweet Jesus,” Dave said when he got his vocal cords working again.Sophia just laughed, still clinging to him, nuzzling his neck, ankleslocked just beneath his butt.Arms shaking, knees wobbly, he carried her out of the bathroom anddumped her onto the bed, collapsing beside her. “That was a solid thirtyon the fun scale.”She laughed again. “When is it ever not a thirty?”In an effort to lighten things up—mostly for his own sake, since thesimple fact that he was in a relationship with the woman of his dreams wasoften enough to get him choked up—Dave had suggested a rating system,one to ten, for each new- to- him sexual position, of which there were many.And yes, in all honesty, it was a way, too, for him to acknowledge his lackof experience—by addressing it straight on, with humor.“Sweetheart”—he opened his eyes to do his best Bogart—“for me, justbeing in a room with you is a twenty.”She had her head propped up on one elbow so that she could lookdown at him, her eyes wide and serious as her smile slowly faded.“You know that I love you, too, right?” she finally murmured.He gazed back at her for several long moments before he responded.He waited until he knew for sure that his voice wouldn’t vibrate with emotion.“You don’t have to say that.”“It’s true,” Sophia insisted. “These past few months have been . . .”She shook her head. “Sad, because of Nash dying, but . . . Also . . . I don’tknow if I’ve . . .” She looked down toward the jumble of bright blue sheetsbeneath them and started again. “I can’t remember ever being this . . .”She searched for the right word as Dave waited, his heart in his throat. Shemet his gaze again, her eyes guileless and nearly as blue as the sheets.“Content.”Not quite the word he was hoping for. Still, he smiled because he wasokay with it. Fact was, he’d be okay with a wide variety of less than words.Such as satisfied. Comfortable. At ease.At peace.Dave knew he was Sophia’s second choice. He’d accepted that weeksago, the very first night they’d made love. It would be enough. It wasenough.“I’m glad,” he told her now, reaching up to push her hair back behindher ear, and it wasn’t a lie. He let her look long and hard into his eyes soshe would know that he meant it, that he accepted her words for what theywere—something good, if not fairy- tale perfect.Her mouth quirked up into a smile. “You have no idea how hot youare, do you?”“What?” Dave laughed as he realized what she’d said, and then rolledhis eyes. “Yeah, actually,” he said, “I’m pretty sure I do. I fall somewherebetween pickled and poached. Maybe, right after I get a haircut, for abouttwo minutes, I can pass for steamed and . . . As fascinating as this discussionis, can we save it for tonight? Because—and I should have told youthis before, but you stupefied me with your nakedness. . . .”“I’m still naked,” she pointed out, that lip again between her teeth as she played with the hair on his chest, and dear God, Dave could see a whole lot of as long as we’re going to park in the south lot dot dot dot in her eyes. “Right,” he said, as his body stirred at the thought of staying in bed with this woman—his woman—for the rest of the morning, “so I better talk fast. That was your Aunt Maureen on the phone, Soph. Your father’s back in the hospital.”