February 14th
Roz pulled the truck into the driveway and shut off the motor. Never had she been so glad to get home, even if it was just for a quick check on the house before she went off to Sarah and Gene's place; her day had come straight from the black gates of hell itself, and she had a headache from teeth clenched to hold in the scream stuck at the back of her throat. She sat there for a few moments, watched fat flakes fall around her as warmth slowly leaked from the cab. At last she got out. Snow squeaked underfoot as she trudged to the kitchen door.
Roz's heart wilted a little at the thought of Greg's late hours at the clinic tonight. While she'd known for some time that holidays like Valentine's were at the bottom of the priority list for her husband, she still held a faint hope that maybe they could at least share some supper together. Since they'd stayed at Gene and Sarah's they'd seen less of each other than usual, a happenstance more attributable to luck than deliberate choice on their part. The two new patients at the clinic had everyone at work on answers, as well as on call at all hours. Of course that meant Greg was gone quite a bit, even with his tendency to play hooky any chance he got.
The kitchen was warm, but Roz missed Hellboy's usual greeting; the Heebster was still at the Goldmans, no doubt spoiled rotten as he soaked up the attention lavished on him by everyone. She took off her jacket and walked over to hang it in its usual spot, only to pause. A brightly colored piece of paper was stuck to the hook. She took it in hand and found it was a Post-it note folded in half. When she opened it, Greg's bold writing flashed up at her.
wash your hands, then take ten paces northeast
A reluctant smile touched her lips. She put the jacket on the hook and washed at the sink, turned in the correct direction and measured off her steps, though she knew where she would end up—at the kitchen table. Her laptop faced her. Another bright note sat atop the lid.
open me wide and turn me on, baby
Roz's smile grew. She lifted the lid and booted the computer. After the welcome finished yet another note showed up, this time on the screen.
click me
She did so. A second note popped up.
ooohh! aaahh! again woman! do it again!
Laughing, she obeyed. After a moment music began to play. As Roz listened, her amusement turned to delight.
It was late last night
I was feeling something wasn't right
there was not another soul in sight
only you only you
so we walked along
though I knew that there was something wrong
and a feeling hit me oh so strong about you
then you gazed up at me and the answer was plain to see
'cause I saw the light in your eyes
Last night he'd kissed her eyelids as she lay drowsing, on her way into sleep. Now she understood the gesture; what made it even more powerful for her was the knowledge he'd chosen music she liked. It warmed her like sunlight, strong and sweet.
Though we had our fling
I just never would suspect a thing
'til that little bell began to ring in my head in my head
but I tried to run
though I knew it wouldn't help me none
'cause I couldn't ever love no one or so I said
but my feelings for you
were just something I never knew
'til I saw the light in your eyes
She remembered his proposal, the way his hands had held hers, warm and gentle with just a little tremor in them; the way he'd spoken, and his urgent conviction had matched her desire for him.
but I love you best
it's not something that I say in jest
'cause you're different girl from all the rest
in my eyes
and I ran out before but I won't do it anymore
can't you see the light in my eyes
When the song ended a note came up on the screen:
twenty-two paces east
Roz headed for the bedroom, careful to count off the steps. If Greg wrote twenty-two, that was exactly what he meant. She ended up in front of the door and one more note:
I love to swing so make me happy
She obeyed and opened the door, to stop by the bed in surprised pleasure. Two outfits lay side by side, both new to her. One was a silk sweater the color of deep topaz, with a pair of black slacks; the other was a teddy with a matching lacy robe in soft peridot-green. Roz looked at them for a few moments. Then she reached out and stroked the teddy. It warmed to her touch- real silk, just like the sweater. She thought of Greg, his hands on her as he slid the straps from her shoulders . . . She started to pick it up and a note tumbled onto the bed. Roz unfolded it.
no, this is for LATER—pack it up to take with you, get changed into the other outfit and meet me at Lou's in half an hour
Oh, he knew her so well . . . and she loved him even more for it. Roz glanced down at herself, at the shabby jumpsuit and old tee shirt and jeans under it. She started to undress, hummed softly under her breath, and couldn't keep from smiling.
[H]
She comes in in right on time just as he knew she would, his practical-down-to-her-toenails woman. Her hair is dusted with snow, but it doesn't detract from her beauty—not for him anyway. She leans in to kiss her grandfather's cheek and give Sarah a hug, then turns and makes her way to him. He gets to his feet and watches her, sees how an inner joy warms and softens her dark, sardonic features, and knows he's done exactly the right thing to take an evening and spend it with her.
"Hello, amante," she says softly. Her kiss is tender; her soft cap of hair brushes his cheek. Greg breathes in the scent of her, musky and clean with echoes of lavender and flowers from her soap. He steals another kiss, enjoys the way her eyes close in pleasure. They stand there together, oblivious to the bustle of people around them, and hold each other close. And so of course his phone rings.
They get situated while Greg listens to his team over speaker phone as they argue for various diseases, until he says "None of you has the slightest idea what the hell you're talking about. Call me back when you have a clue. Just make sure it's tomorrow. Any earlier and I'll hang all three of you by your balls, and that includes Chandler." He ends the call, but when he starts to turn off the phone Roz puts her hand over his.
"No," she says quietly. "It's all right. Leave it on."
She understands, and she's okay with what has to be. The knowledge eases his uncertainty over the success of this whole idea, just as Sarah comes up to the table. She looks a bit less subdued today, though her sea-green eyes are shadowed. "Hey you two," she says. "Ready for the antipasto?"
"Bring it on," Greg says, and takes pride in Roz's delight at his surprise. No pizza and Coke for them tonight; Lou's agreed to a four-course dinner complete with wine. God knows how he's managed it along with the usual business he gets on a Tuesday night, but that's his problem. Greg's only interested in the result, and since he knows his father-in-law's talent in the kitchen, it'll be a dinner to remember.
They start off with spiedini de albicocca al prosciutto crudo, dried apricots ("soaked in Italian brandy, it's something only Poppi does," Roz tells him) wrapped in Parma ham on little rosemary skewers. There is a bottle of white wine on the table. "Verdicchio Classico Riserva le Giuncare Monte Shiavo," Roz says. "The '05 is pretty good and it was on sale, so we bought a couple of cases."
'Pretty good' is an understatement. It's unoaked, clean as fresh linen and not sweet at all, with hints of lemon and sea air. It banishes the snow and cold in plentiful evidence outside their window like a ray of Italian sunshine. Greg sips the wine and watches Roz eat an apricot. The dull gold of her new sweater brings out the highlights in her sable hair. She looks like a burnished idol, her green eyes full of secrets. He can't wait to follow her to their bedroom at Gene and Sarah's place and ravish every inch of her.
"You know, we are in a public restaurant," Roz says, and slants a sly glance at him full of humor and desire. "I want you too," she whispers, and offers him the other half of her apricot. He leans forward and takes a bite. It's delicious, sweet and salty with hints of rosemary and aged oak from the brandy. The kiss he steals tastes of it too, and of her.
The next course is salad—bagna cauda with winter vegetables. "Poppi's having fun," Roz says. "This is his grandmother's recipe, and she got it from her grandmother. He doesn't make it very often, so it's a big honor to have it tonight."
Greg has to agree. The sauce is not thick and greasy; it's the texture of thin custard, delicate and yet pungent with a nice hit of acidity from white wine vinegar, and packed with flavor from the whole milk, anchovies, garlic and olive oil used to make it. The Romanesco broccoli, cauliflower, new carrots, and radishes have all been blanched but are still crisp. The contrast between the warm, silky-smooth sauce and the crunch of the vegetables is a delight.
"You start making this, I'll eat more green stuff," Greg says, and Roz laughs softly.
"And jack your cholesterol sky-high too." She puts her hand over his for a moment. The little chip diamond in her engagement ring winks and flashes. "Maybe now and then. I like it best on new beets, but Poppi didn't put them in tonight because they're too messy."
Coniglio con le cipolle, rabbit with onions, is the main dish. Simple and not at all spicy, the meat is tender and juicy, browned to perfection with a wonderful crispy crust of pancetta, garlic, sage and olive oil minced into a rough paste, and served with whole small onions cooked in the pan juices. There are crusty fresh rolls and a fine red wine to go with it: Famiglia Anselma Barolo.
"From the Piedmont," Roz says. It tastes like juicy ripe blackberries, with a delicious smooth tannic kick to balance the sweetness. It complements the dish beautifully, brings out the smokiness of the pancetta and the browned onions and meat.
At one point Lou comes by their table to spend a few minutes. He pours a little wine and sips it between brief comments. "It isn't often I get a chance to make something besides pizza and calzone," he says. "Hope you like the menu."
"If it weren't for the fact that we're snowbound in the southern Adirondacks, we could be in Italy," Greg says. It's a snarky remark, but he softens it a bit with honesty. The older man's dark features brighten with quiet pride, mirrored in Roz's face as she smiles; the resemblance between them is strong. It's still so strange to realize he's part of this little family. He's never belonged anywhere at any time in his life, never been wanted as a member of any group, and now he's got people who view him as foster son, son-in-law, husband, and most incredible of all, friend. He resists the temptation to pinch himself and says instead "So what's for afters?"
Dessert is panna cotta, served with a warm compote of winter apples and dried figs in a prosecco base. There's toasted black pepper and vanilla bean flecks in the cream, a perfect complement to the natural sweetness of the fruit and liqueur.
"You've got this recipe, right?" Greg says, as he envisions a large helping of this delicacy in his own home.
"Of course." Roz kisses his cheek. "I'll make it for you, amante, you have my promise."
They linger over cups of espresso and a little dish of dark chocolate truffles shared between them, while they talk idly of events of the day. Around them the bustle of a busy night goes on—parents with noisy kids, pizza and burgers and platters carried out of the kitchen in a steady stream, people coming and going—but he and his wife sit in a small bubble of peacefulness, just the two of them. Roz holds his hand in hers, her slender, work-worn fingers gentle. It should set him on edge, all this intimacy. Instead he finds himself open to it; not without some trepidation, true, but he's willing to take the risk because she's worth it. He hasn't felt this way since before the blood clot. A part of him is still aghast at his recklessness, but right now, in this moment, he simply doesn't care.
At last it's time to go. They stop on the way out to thank Lou—well, Roz does, but she speaks for Greg too though he'd never admit it—and then they walk through the endless snow to their respective vehicles. Roz escorts him to Barbarella. Before he opens the door she gives him a kiss so scorching-hot it ought to melt every snowbank in a fifty yard radius.
"Drive safe," she whispers against his lips. "I'll never forgive you if you end up in a ditch."
"Kiss me like that again and I can't be held responsible for the consequences," he says. She grins at him, her dimples flash, and then she's headed off to her truck.
[H]
Roz pulled into the driveway. Greg had managed to beat her here; no doubt he'd floored it on some back stretch she was unwilling to use because of the road conditions. He was a risk taker, she'd always known that . . . I don't know whether to kiss him for his eagerness or smack his face for being an idiot, she thought. With a sigh she put the truck in park and turned off the motor, picked up her purse and the bag with her new lingerie, then went inside.
It was quiet in the main room. Greg was nowhere to be seen. Roz hung up her coat and scarf and went into the downstairs bathroom. It took only a few minutes to wash up a bit, brush her teeth, remove her clothes and put on the silk teddy and robe. It lay soft as mist against her skin, and rustled faintly as she moved. She took a wet comb to her hair, smoothed it carefully here and there. When she'd done the best she could to look presentable she reached into her purse and brought out the little bottle of essential oil that served as her perfume. She dabbed a bit on pulse points and behind her ears—just enough to create scent but not drown out everything else—and made her way upstairs in near silence.
The door to their room was slightly ajar. Roz eased it open and slipped inside. Greg stood in front of the fire, stirring the embers before adding another log. He wore the bathrobe she and Sarah had made for him, his hair ruffled a bit. At her entrance he straightened and faced her. They stood a few feet apart. The flickering light played over his impassive features, but she saw the desire in his eyes, the way his throat moved as he swallowed. Emboldened by this response, she walked forward until she was only a breath away.
"Happy Valentine's Day," she said softly. His gaze searched her features, bright and questioning. After a moment he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to him, made the surrender obvious. He deepened the kiss; his tongue touched hers, stroked her palate. His hands slid down her arms, caught her wrists gently. She didn't resist. Her husband was a man keenly aware of all his senses. Despite his reticence and barriers in everyday life, when he put his mind to it he could use that awareness in ways that always surprised and delighted her.
The kiss ended. He drew her toward the bed and released her hands so he could slip the robe from her shoulders, as his lips nuzzled her temple. The silk floated to the floor in a shimmering heap at her feet. She shivered, but not with cold. Impatient now, she undid the tie on his robe. It fell open to reveal the start of an impressive erection, as well as the great scar on his right thigh. His gaze moved away from hers, but she caught his face gently and held it until he looked at her again, his reluctance plain. The uncertainty and apprehension she saw there made her heart ache. After all this time, he was still afraid of her reaction to what he considered an unredeemable flaw. With gentle deliberation she placed her left hand atop the scar. The ridges and gullies were warm under her palm. She felt the new muscles there bunch and tense, ready for flight, and knew a fierce happiness at the return of what had been taken away so many years ago, even while his instinctive reaction saddened her.
"Beautiful man," she said, and meant it. She loved everything about him, from his bald spot to his long, narrow feet; it was all a part of him, same as the little rumble in his deep voice, his biting sense of humor, the way his smile quirked to one side, the line between his brows, the child-like way he delighted in small pleasures, his deep sense of justice, the calluses on his fingers, and above all his brilliant, restless mind. She had been given the truly humbling privilege to catch occasional glimpses into that mind—to see the pure, wordless worship of beauty in all its forms but most especially music, the encyclopedic grasp of details large and small, the processes he used to find truth and order in deception and chaos, the powerful emotions he feared would overwhelm him; she accepted all of it, because it made him who he was-flawed and difficult, yes, but a man worth loving. She knew others often saw only the prickly armor he wore to keep them away. She knew him better, and was thankful she did. His presence in her life was the finest gift she'd ever been given.
His fear faded as he took in what she'd said; his big hands rubbed her arms in a slow, tentative way. She shifted her focus from the scar to his erection, and smiled as he gave a soft gasp when she began to work him. His eyes darkened, focused on her. Long fingers trailed over her skin to stroke her belly, slid lower to find the little knot that pulsed and throbbed between her thighs. She moaned and pressed her body to his.
And then they fell together, a slow, sweet tumble to the bed. Greg eased the straps of the teddy from her shoulders to expose her breasts. He tugged the silk over her hips. She wriggled out of the garment and pushed it aside, held his head to her as he suckled first one nipple and then the other. His teeth tugged gently to make heat grow in her belly, and his scruff brushed her skin so that she trembled as she held him.
They took their time; while he was no longer on narcotics, the damage from years of opiate use was still present. Roz knew it often annoyed him that he required a fairly lengthy session of foreplay before he was ready for actual intercourse, but for her it was no difficulty at all. She reveled in the chance to explore his body and bring him pleasure through her touch, her closeness. Tonight was no exception; she stroked the spring of his ribs, held his hips and tasted him, her tongue tracing the line between his pectorals over his diaphragm to his abdomen. She followed the natural course provided for her by his erection, and enjoyed in his soft anguished groan as she tickled the velvety underside of his glans.
"Mmmm . . . salato," she whispered, and kissed him there, made it a teasing brush of her lips.
"Si marmocchio," he growled. With care he eased her on her back and moved over her. Roz opened to him without hesitation, lifted her hips to give him better access. He slid inside her slow and firm, his gaze tender as she began to match his rhythm. She loved these moments best, when the last of his masks fell away and he showed her his true self, diamond-bright and vulnerable, to reach out for her when his release took him. He brought her with him as he always did, held her as she shuddered and moaned and clung to him, awash in sweetness.
They lay in each other's arms for a long time after, content to be close in the soft semi-darkness. "You spoil me," Roz said after a while. Greg chuckled.
"Most wives would be furious at the lack of bling."
"You've already given me diamonds," she said. "I love them, but I don't need more." She put her head to his chest, felt the steady thump of his heart under her cheek. "Tonight was perfect, amante. Thank you."
"You won't say that when you have to get up in a few hours and go to work," he said. He played with a lock of her hair.
"I'm taking tomorrow off so I can sleep in with you," she said.
"Yeah?" His arm around her waist tightened gently. "Bad girl, playing hooky for no good reason. I like it," he whispered. He cupped her breast, and his thumb brushed her nipple. She heard the pleased approval in his voice under the soft mockery and smiled. She snuggled closer to him.
"I have a perfectly good reason," she said. "I want to spend time with you. We haven't been together much since we came here. I miss you," she said simply. His embrace tightened gently.
"Miss you too," he said. There was reluctance in his words, but she understood why. She drifted into sleep, aware at some point Greg had brought the covers up over them both before he kissed her, his breath warm against her skin.
February 15th
He wakes up by degrees, aware that he's alone in the bed. With reluctance he cracks open an eye. There's cold pale light sidling into the room from the window, but it's defeated by the glow of the fire blazing in the fireplace. It sends welcome warmth his way. Slowly he draws breath and gives a cautious stretch, pleased to find only a little soreness waiting besides the usual creaks and pops created by age and a cold morning. As he moves his hand over Roz's pillow to see if the cotton case is still warm, he encounters a box. It's substantial, with a smooth, cool exterior. Intrigued now, Greg rolls on his side to examine this mystery. Roz's mp3 player is draped over the pillow in front of the box with a little note attached to it. With a snort of amusement he opens it.
play me first, amante
When he complies, the song that rumbles out is vintage Bruce:
Well now you may think I'm foolish I love you for your pink Cadillac
for the foolish things I do
you may wonder how come I love you
when you get on my nerves like you do
well baby you know you bug me
there ain't no secret 'bout that
well come on over here and hug me
baby I'll spill the facts
well honey it ain't your money
'cause baby I got plenty of that
crushed velvet seats
ridin' in the back
oozin' down the street
wavin' to the girls
feelin' out of sight
spendin' all my money
on a Saturday night
honey I just wonder what you do there in the back
of your pink Cadillac
pink Cadillac
He laughs aloud and picks up the box. It's black with a soft matte finish, the hook latch and hinges silver. He opens it to find a small object nestled inside a velvet interior. It's made from chrome, with a glass tube seated in the metal cylinder. Inside the sealed tube are crystals in solution, visible through an oval window cut in the holder. It's a Weems storm-glass, a replica of the one used on the HMS Beagle during Darwin's voyage to the Galapagos Islands. He'd seen it in a catalog some time ago and admired it; she remembered, and here it is.
"Nice," he says, delighted. There's chrome mounting hardware with it too. He can hang it in his office by his desk.
Now some folks say it's too big
and uses too much gas
some folks say it's too old
and that it goes too fast
but my love is bigger 'n a Honda
yeah, it's bigger 'n a Subaru
hey man there's only one thing
and one car that'll do
anyway we don't have to drive it
honey we can park it out in back
and have a party in your pink Cadillac
crushed velvet seats
ridin' in the back
oozin' down the street
wavin' to the girls
feelin' out of sight
spendin' all my money
on a Saturday night
honey I just wonder what it feels like in the back
of your pink Cadillac
pink Cadillac
[H]
Roz poured cold water into the top of the coffeemaker and set the carafe in place. She hummed softly with Al Green on the CD player, and glanced at the bacon as it sizzled in the skillet. Sarah had taken Jason to school and wasn't back yet; Roz suspected she was involved in yet another meeting with the principal and the police over what had happened with Jason's dad. Both Sarah and Gene wanted the principal replaced, but it would take some doing as Fiddyment was connected with people higher up in the local government. Still, she wouldn't put it past them to eventually throw Nancy out on her ear, and no loss. The woman was an idiot.
She shook her head and then smiled as two long arms stole around her. Big hands cupped her breasts for a moment before they slid to her hips.
"Fryin' up bacon in a pan for your man," Greg murmured. Roz turned to face him. Her smile widened at his rumpled hair and the bags under his eyes.
"Guess I better put some Geritol in your coffee," she teased. He growled and pulled her to him for a long and satisfying kiss.
"You liked your present?" she asked a bit later.
"Mmm." He nuzzled her neck. "Bacon's ready to burn up. So am I."
"Horndog," Roz said on a laugh, but she rescued the skillet and got the eggs ready.
They ate breakfast together, enjoyed their closeness, the quiet house and the music. "Come to the office later. Show up naked, bring lunch," Greg said.
"Yes, no, yes," Roz said, and smiled when he gave a theatrical groan. "Come on, you know McMurphy would lock me out if I arrived in my birthday suit, and blue-with-cold is definitely not my color. But I could wear that beautiful sweater you gave me . . ." She offered the last bite of her bacon. Greg leaned forward and looked into her eyes. His sparkled with amusement and what she knew was love. He took the morsel from her fingers, munched and swallowed.
"Just the sweater—guess I could live with that," he said. Roz rolled her eyes but the laughter inside spread through her, filled her with joy.
"I'll see you at one," she said when he was dressed with backpack in hand at the door. He raised his brows.
"Better bring something good if you're not showing up in the altogether," he said. Before she could answer he bent to give her a kiss that silenced her most effectively. He straightened. "Hah," he said with no little satisfaction, and went out into the sunny morning. Roz watched him go. Her fingers touched her tingling lips. Greg hopped into Barbarella, started the engine, gunned it and peeled out. Snow sprayed everywhere as he fishtailed down the drive and into the lane. After a moment she shut the door and went to the kitchen, and enjoyed the sensation as she floated about two inches above the floor. It was going to be a good, a very good day, and she couldn't wait to share it with her husband.
salato—salty
si marmocchio—you're a brat
'I Saw the Light,' Todd Rundgren
'Luna Llena,' Jesse Cook
'Pink Cadillac,' Bruce Springsteen
'Still In Love With You,' Al Green