Chapter 2

The three of them sat on the patio, where it was cooler, drinking ice-cold lemonade. Little had been said since the tearful reunion at the front door. A shy awkwardness still prevailed, but there was no tension. Lillian found herself looking again at the handsome face of her nephew, seeing her late sister in his eyes, and feeling the familiar, confusing mixture of pride, love and grief.

She let her gaze wander over the rear yard of her former home. She had forgotten how pleasant it was. The surface of the pool shimmered in the late-afternoon sun and the emerald-green grass looked cushiony, inviting. The landscaped rock garden and fountain drew a constant stream of small birds — chickadees, finches, dark-eyed juncos — their chattering and fluttering filling the quiet afternoon air. Off to the left was an impressive stone-and-mortar barbecue, which Art had built himself and at which he would stand proudly, grilling steaks or chicken or hot dogs, depending on the occasion. The recollection made her hungry.

The days passed quickly and they settled into a routine. Art had shown Lillian into the spare bedroom, and there she had remained. There was a real sensitivity to Paul’s feelings, as well as a desire to avoid hasty decisions that could doom the still-fragile reconciliation.

Nonetheless, as former husband and wife, Art and Lillian were drawn together inexorably by vivid recollections of the active sex life they had enjoyed and a mutual desire to renew it — Lillian herself had not had sex for over three years. One night after Paul had gone to bed and they sat on the couch drinking wine, her warm thigh pressing against Art’s, Lillian had turned to face him, lips slightly parted and glistening, and Art could no longer hold himself in check. He pulled her to him, his mouth covering hers. As they kissed, his hands ran up and down her back, caressed her upper arms and then moved lightly over the contours of her breasts. Within minutes, he was leading Lillian by the hand toward her bedroom, aching with desire. Since that night, he’d been a frequent guest, always after they were confident Paul had gone to bed. They made love quietly, like guilty teenagers, even though Paul’s room was far down the hall. In those stolen moments, they were conscious of the fragility of their newfound connection, treading lightly to protect what they had begun to rebuild.

One evening, as the three of them sat talking in the living room, the doorbell rang. Art frowned and glanced at his watch; it was almost eight-thirty. He and went to the door. Standing on the flagstone porch was Jennifer Rowland. She wore short, tight pants and a sleeveless summer blouse, and her dark hair was worn long, wisps curling down to touch full, pear-shaped breasts. She had a round, open face, with high cheekbones and a pixyish nose; her eyes were a hot, frank brown, containing a smoldering intensity that implied thoughts and emotions far beyond her nineteen years.

Art did not like the provocative teenage girl -- he thought she was conniving and cared about little but herself and her own amusements. He wished Paul had never begun this relationship, much less spoken of a permanent attachment. But he had not tried to interfere. Despite his dislike for Jennifer, Art felt an involuntary quickening of his breath at the sensuality she exuded.

“Hello, Jennifer. How are you tonight?”

“Just fine, Art,” she replied, her even, white teeth flashing in a knowing smile.

“Did you want to see Paul?”

“Yes, if it’s all right,” she said,

Art led Jennifer into the living room and introduced her to Lillian. Art and Paul watched the lovely blonde aunt shake hands with the girl. As she did, Lillian felt a sudden dampening of her spirits. So, this was the girl Paul had talked of so glowingly. She seemed ... slutty, with those tight pants and breasts straining against her blouse, nipples clearly visible. Lillian had known girls like Jennifer Rowland in high school and college, and had resented the way they used their youthfully sensual bodies to get what they wanted.

“How do you do, Mrs. Jameson?” Jennifer said.

“Fine, thank you,” Lillian answered.

“I imagine you’re very happy to be home after, well, after everything.”

Even though Jennifer was smiling sweetly, Lillian sensed an undercurrent of mischief in the girl’s voice. She kept her own voice even as she replied, “Yes, I’m very happy to be home.”

Paul crossed to his dark-haired girlfriend and put an arm possessively around her shoulders, kissing her cheek. He grinned happily. “What brings you here tonight, babe?”

She smiled up at him. “Well, I don’t think your phone’s on, but I talked to Dan Ahern a little while ago and he asked if we wanted to go to the dance at The Booker -- and I kind of wanted to go. So, I thought I’d come by and see if you wanted to go, too.”

“Oh,” Paul said, hesitating. “Well, I... “ He looked at his aunt. “I don’t know – we were just sort of talking and...”

“Oh, of course, Paul,” Lillian said quickly, wanting to please him. “If you want to go to the dance, please go ahead. I understand perfectly.”

“I don’t know...”

“Oh, sure,” said Art. “Go ahead.”

Jennifer said sweetly: “Well, Paul?”

“I guess it’s unanimous,” Paul replied.

“Yes, absolutely,” Art said, for he wanted, suddenly, to be alone with his gorgeous ex-wife. They had missed three nights together for one reason or another. He walked Jennifer and Paul to the door and told them to have fun.

“How about some more wine?” he suggested as they sat down facing the fire again.

“Sure,” Lillian answered, and Art poured their glasses. They sipped, then she said, “Art, I know it’s not my place, but I have to say, frankly, I don’t have a very good feeling about that girl. I don’t know much about their relationship, of course, but my intuition is making me wonder whether she’s right for Paul.”

“I feel exactly the same way,” Art said.

“Is she in school with Paul?”

“No, she graduated in the summer; she was in the class ahead of Paul’s. I think she’s taking classes at the community college.”

“Is he really serious about her?”

“Well, they’ve been dating for about two years, I’m afraid it’s getting more serious.”

“That’s my concern. If it were just casual, I wouldn’t be worried.”

“I agree, but there’s not much we can do.” Art sighed. “He’s pretty stubborn when he thinks something is right for him, and at the moment he thinks Jennifer is right.”

“She’s ... very obvious with her charms,” said Lillian, whose own style of dress was at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Art nodded.

“Anyway, enough of that,” said Art. “We have a future to plan!”

Lillian smiled.

Art raised his glass. “To the future, Lillian, to our future and to Paul’s.”