Chapters (29)
“I like Thomas,” Dale said. He rested his chin on her knee. “He told me more about the history of this area in five minutes than I learned from coming here for five years.”
“He’s like that,” Jane choked out. “He knows everything. Everything, Dale.”
“Oh?”
A terrible wave of heat was spreading over her whole body; all of her exposed skin, she worried, must be flushed and hot. She let her head fall back on the chaise and turned her face toward the window while he kissed her knees and slowly slid his hand down her leg until the tips of his fingers were somewhere inside the legs of her shorts. Everything outside looked so peaceful, e the falling leaves and Gerald turning the pages of the magazine and Thomas with a book open on the arm of the Adirondack chair. If she could just step outside her body now, she’d be able to find the strength to stop Dale, she’d be able to walk out of this room and down the stairs and outside, she’d be with them, out on the lawn in afternoon sun where she belonged. But that wasn’t likely. She couldn’t even gather enough strength to stop herself from trembling.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
One minute, it seemed, you were living your life and shopping for dinner and making plans for your career, you were full of resolve and good intentions, full of love and sacrifice and generosity, and then, without warning or transition, you were sliding off the edge of your world, unable even to reach out a hand to prevent yourself from falling into oblivion. Sweet, hot, sheltering oblivion.
“Stop,” she whispered. He pushed down her knees and crawled up onto the chaise until his chest was between her legs and his face was nestling against her stomach. “Please. Please stop.”
Something in her tone—what was it?—woke Helen. She got up, crossed the room, looked at Jane with disappointment, and hobbled out to the hallway.
“Janey,” he whispered, and ran his hands up the sides of her body and cupped her face.
“Please,” she said. “Stop. Please, please, please, please, please.”