Package Deal(77)

After he opened the sliding door to her room and walked her toward the bed, he slipped her silk nightgown off her shoulders. It fell in soft folds to the floor. In the moonlight, she was a silent statue in alabaster. When he lay down beside her, she wrapped her arms around him to gather him in. That night, he caressed away her tears and repeated how he felt about her, no longer caring that she hadn’t said the same words to him.

Just before dawn, she woke him with whispered words that gave him hope, words he rejoiced to hear.

“I love you, too, Marcus. I should have told you—before. I love you so much, and I know Cece does, too.” They made slow, languorous love, each savoring what the other had said. That morning, over breakfast, they discussed how—together—they would talk with Cecelia.

And for the next two days, they continued their planning sessions, determined to make the writers’ workshop beneficial for the participants, even as they talked about how to work out their private life.

“Tomorrow’s the first of some big days,” he said, his arms around her as they lay in his bed.

“Hmm,” she murmured before she kissed him.

On the final day of the workshop week, the participants gave them standing ovations and rave reviews, requesting that it be offered again the following summer. Marcus and Amanda looked at each other and laughed through the applause, gratefully accepting the particiapants’ comments, pleased that the week had ended so well.



“You’re home!” Her mother welcomed Amanda with a hug. “You look tired.”

“It was a lot of work, but the evaluations were good and I’m pleased about that.” She smiled at her mother.“Where’s Cece?”

“She and Sam are at the soccer field, practicing. She said she wanted to work on her kicking. She kept saying something about making sure both legs worked, as if they don’t. That girl and her soccer. And Skipper’s in the yard.” Her mother put down the newspaper and walked into the kitchen. “They should be back soon.”

While Amanda was sipping a glass of iced tea, Skipper barked, and the back door slammed. The two girls entered in a rush of laughter, the dog at their heels.

“Mom! You’re back. Look at your tan!” Cecelia hugged her.

“Yes, we had free time during our lunch hours. I enjoyed sitting outside. How was your practice?”

“Fine. I don’t want Coach to think I’m not strong enough for the first team. Sam said she couldn’t tell which leg I broke by how far I was able to kick the ball. Right, Sam?”

Her dark-haired friend, taller than Cecelia by at least six inches, nodded. “She was great, Mrs. Gardner. You look hot with that tan.”

“Thank you, Sam. Are the two of you ready for dinner?”

“Not me. My mom’s coming to get me. She should be here soon.” A horn sounded from the front. “That’s her now. Bye, Cece. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sam skipped down the steps to her mother’s car.

Amanda waved at Joan, then turned back and walked into the kitchen to join her mother.

“Cece. Please get cleaned up. We don’t want to keep Grandma’s meal waiting. And could you please put Skipper in the yard while we eat?”

Cecelia and her grandmother did most of the talking through dinner. After it was over, Amanda sat on the couch, images of the workshop and her nights with Marcus spiraling through her brain. What was Marcus doing? He’d said he was going straight home to write up a final review of the workshop while the changes they’d outlined were still fresh in his mind.

“I’m going to submit a grant for next year—so we can expand a bit,” he’d said. “These evals will support that—and your notes, too.”

But, was that all he was thinking about—the workshop? She missed him already.

“Where are you, Amanda?” her mother asked. “You look as if you aren’t here—or maybe you wish you were somewhere else.”

A smile flitted across her face, but she remained silent, unwilling to reply.

Her mother sat down and began to fold the newspaper. “So, when are you going to decide to settle down, find some nice man, and get married? My granddaughter needs a father, not just a memory you created for her, maybe even a brother or sister.”

“I haven’t created a memory for her, Mother.”

“You know what I mean, Amanda.” She stacked the papers in a neat pile.

“No, I don’t.” Amanda picked at the seam on her shorts. “I’m tired. The workshop was successful, but it was a lot of work. I need to get some sleep. What time is your flight tomorrow?”

“Trying to get rid of me already, now that you don’t need me to watch Cece while you traipse off into the woods with that newsman—”