“Forgive me,” he rasped. “It’s my fault, all of it. Darling, please don’t leave.”
She told herself not to listen. But his chest brushed her back, and as always, the warmth of his skin, the feel of his breath, weakened her resolve.
“Look at me,” he told her. “Please.”
She did not fight him as he guided her around, though she managed to avert her gaze. He loosened the scarf from her head, threading his fingers through her hair, and she cursed the tingling of her skin. Soon he leaned forward. She prepared to defy a kiss. Instead, his forehead gingerly rested on hers. He closed his eyes and whispered, “Vivian, I’m scared.”
It wasn’t just the words that captured her but the ache in his tone, a helplessness she, too, had once endured. His soul lay before her, raw and open like a wound. She could not bring herself to walk away.
“Everything will be all right,” she told him. “You’ll see.”
He tilted his head and smoothly, slowly nuzzled her cheek. A familiar but foreign sensation. “I love you so very much,” he said. “All this time, I always have.” He covered her lips with his before she even noticed their approach. What started out brief and tender-an apology, a token of gratitude-gained the charge of something greater.
It was a yearning, deep and buried. A grieving for years past. It was for every touch and smile and kiss they were promised, stolen by the grips of war. It was a need, for even a moment, to be in control yet swept away by an emotion too vast to describe.
Above all, it was freedom. And like a plucked string, that feeling reverberated to Vivian’s core as Isaak laid her on the bed. His hands and mouth rushed over her, fulfilling wants of their own. A distant voice whispered in her mind, a reminder that no freedom came without a price. But that voice swiftly faded at the sound of Isaak’s breathing, the clank of his loosened belt. Flames chased his fingers as he moved under her dress and a moan slipped from her throat.
The last sight Vivian caught before closing her eyes were wiry cracks on the ceiling, the markings of a structure on the verge of crumbling.
45
Audra’s hopes had been whittled to fragments, but a sizeable one remained. The revelation had come to her yesterday, after the regression attempt had failed. Her focus on their session had quickly turned to “First Thursday.”
The monthly art walk in the Pearl District was known for beckoning hordes of people, many of whom, like Audra, had little knowledge of art. They came for the cultural experience. Galleries on practically every block showcased the newest exhibits. Amid the sculptures and paintings, wineries served complimentary tastings and musicians played jazz and blues.
Dressed up for the evening, Audra had worn a touch of makeup, her hair long and styled, but only to fit in with the trendy mass. Her attendance at The Attic held a singular purpose.
“Audra!” Judith greeted her. Her voice barely carried over the surrounding murmurs and cellist’s performance. “I told Sean to invite you, but he didn’t tell me you were coming.”
Audra smiled. “It’s not his fault. I didn’t let him know until this morning.”
“Well. In that case, I’ll let him off the hook this time.” Judith laughed, then gasped with delight. “My goodness, this must be your son.”
“Yep, that’s him. Jack, this is Sean’s mom, Ms. Malloy.”
“Hi,” he said with a wave. He even gave a congenial smile.
“Please, call me Judith. Oh, Audra, he’s even cuter than I remember from the festival.” Judith patted the lime-green scarf that draped her like a cowl-neck. The rest of her outfit was elegant and artsy in flowy black silk. “Wow, I can’t get over how much he looks like you.”
The remark would have seemed a mere courtesy if not for the genuine awe in Judith’s tone. Maybe with age Jack finally resembled Audra more. A nice notion.
Audra winked at him. “That’s meant as a compliment, you know.”
He didn’t respond, distracted by the guests milling about, many using their wineglasses to point at various pieces.
“Feel free to roam around, you two,” Judith said. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen Sean yet, but he should be arriving soon.”
“Actually,” Audra said, “he insisted on driving us. He dropped us off at the door so he could go find a parking spot.” Parking in northwest Portland was never scarcer than on First Thursdays, which had made Sean’s offer to chauffeur them difficult to resist. The added benefit for Audra had been the chance to privately thank him for his support after the park.
“Well, how about that,” Judith clucked. “Sounds like a bit of the chivalry I tried to drill into his brain managed to get through.”