Chapter Five
Jared came to her again in a dream so vivid, she’d swear he was haunting her—if a haunting could be so pleasurable. He lifted the cool sheets and slid into bed beside her. The pale moonlight glimmering through the window reflected in his midnight-blue eyes. He pressed the length of his warm, muscular body against hers. He held her gaze as he ran his hand up her side, his fingertips tracing little whorls on her belly. He breathed her name, then buried his face in her hair, kissed her neck. She waited, afraid to move, almost afraid to breathe, lest she break the spell and end the dream. Even asleep, she knew this encounter was fleeting, insubstantial, and yet she opened her heart to him, so grateful to feel his touch again, to hear his voice, to taste his skin.
“Clara.” He sighed, shifting his weight over her. The box springs creaked as his body drove her deeper into the mattress. “My lovely girl.”
He’d called her that since their college days. She’d been with a few boys before Jared, but he was the first one who really loved her, who knew how to melt her reserve and open her up, body and soul, like a full-blown rose. She always felt beautiful in Jared’s arms.
And now his hand slid down to caress her inner thighs, tracing a silvery line of pleasure up one leg and down the other, barely brushing the soft, yielding flesh between, until she clutched the sheets and threw her head back in frustration and desire. Every cell in her body cried out for him.
In the moonlight, Jared’s smiling, teasing face hovered above hers. It was no misty, insubstantial vision. He was right there with her, as heavy and warm as in life. He leaned in to nibble her lower lip. “You want?”
In a voice hoarse with need, she groaned, “I want. Oh God, I want.”
His lips brushed slowly, teasing as they feathered down her throat, between her breasts, over her belly, down, down, down. When he finally reached her tingling clit, she was aching for him, arching her back to reach for his kiss. With exquisite slowness, he parted her slick folds with the tip of his tongue and licked her so slowly—once, twice—and then slid back upward, his warm skin against hers, the hard length of him filling her in one delicious rush. His hot mouth clamped onto her shoulder as he thrust hard and fast, rocking the headboard against the wall.
She grasped his warm, strong back and raised her legs to take him in deeper, her heels clasped against his muscular backside. He bucked against her, sending waves of electric pleasure up and down and in and everywhere, sparkling like stars beneath her skin until she cried out and clutched…
The pillow was all she held. Just the long body pillow Jared bought her the last Christmas before he died. Just some cloth and stuffing, damp and warm but not alive, not a man, not her Jared. As the pulsing between her legs subsided, she sobbed into the pillow, whispering his name again and again.
“Come back to me, Jared, come back…”
****
Clara’s toothbrush dropped from her hand and clattered into the sink. The sight of her tear-swollen eyes and blotchy face was almost horrifying enough to keep her from joining Doug and Harry’s running group before work. Then again, most runners have blotchy faces by the end of a run.
“Just go,” she told her reflection while she adjusted her headband. Since Jared’s death, she’d let the physical side of her life fall away. At her husband’s side, she’d biked for miles on rough trails, hiked Mount Hood, swum in the sea. Now, her only exercise was walking within the shop or around her neighborhood, plus occasional long, teary wanderings along the Willamette River. Going for a run with a bunch of strangers took courage. Jared would approve.
And so she pulled on her running tights, laced up her long-neglected Nikes, and drove across town to Bluebeard Coffee. Through her open car window, the cool early-morning air caressed her cheek.
Most of the shops in the Market District were still dark, but cars packed both sides of the street near the café. Walking from the public lot two blocks away, she counted a dozen 26.2 bumper stickers. Great, Harry’s running club was full of marathoners, and she hadn’t run in ages. Could she even make it to the end of her first run without embarrassing herself?
The sunny, noisy coffee shop was jam-packed with runners from early teens to early eighties, all geared up for a run on a crisp June morning. She gawked at the rainbow of Spandex filling the narrow cafe. Fighting back the urge to flee, she squared her shoulders, whispered, “Fake it ‘til you make it,” and stepped inside.
The runners’ voices echoed off the café’s cement floor and walls, the roar of greetings and conversation punctuated by grumbles from the espresso machines. She spotted Doug’s shiny, shaved head above the crowd. He waved from his seat at the counter and pushed his way toward her. He took her hands in his like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they’d been friends for a long time. The corners of his blue eyes crinkled into smile lines. “Clara. I was hoping you’d come.”
“Yeah, well, I could use the exercise. And I felt like trying something new.”
She winced, realizing how flirtatious her words might sound, but Doug’s relaxed smile didn’t flicker.
“Here, let me introduce you.”
She followed him through the crowd, watching the easy movement of his long, graceful body as he made his way back to the counter. Doug was taller than Jared, with a runner’s wiry muscularity. His shoulders were broad beneath his reflective windbreaker, his spandex-encased legs sculpted like a superhero’s. She bit back a giggle at the thought: Doug as a cartoon rescuer, swooping in to save her from isolation and indecision.
“Clara, this is Mona.” He indicated a plump woman about Clara’s age with sturdy legs encased in hot pink, tiger-striped leggings. A neon-orange sports bra corralled her large bosom beneath her unzipped Oregon Ducks hoodie, and a turquoise headband restrained her frizzy dark hair. A running rainbow. She grinned, grabbed Clara’s hand, and squeezed.
“Hey, glad to meet you, Clara. Doug says you haven’t run in a while?”
“Yeah. I’m not so sure my knees will approve.”
“Well, you just take it easy today. Stick to the back of the pack with me. You’ve got long legs like Doug. I’ll bet you’ll be chasing after him before long.”
Did she mean…? Clara glanced up at Doug, whose craggy cheeks were flushed. Just what had he told his running friends about her?
“Clara!” A pair of strong arms wrapped around her shoulders from behind and squeezed. “You came! Good girl.” Harry’s scratchy cheek scraped against hers.
“Oof. Easy, Harry.” She turned to greet her employee—and matchmaker, it seemed. Caught in the act of winking at Doug, Harry grinned and shrugged.
“Will we be back in time to open the shop at ten?” Clara asked.
“I will. You take your time, Boss Lady. Enjoy yourself.” Harry gave her arm a hearty pat and strolled into the crowd to greet a pair of sleek, gray-haired women.
Doug rolled his eyes. “Harry’s…”
She nodded. “He’s a good soul. And he likes you. That counts for a lot with me.”
He grinned down at his shoes. “Thanks.”
After everyone arrived, an older man briefed them on the day’s route, and they set off, heading toward the river. Clara chugged past shuttered art galleries, antique shops, and bars, struggling to keep pace with the pack. She’d forgotten how hard the first minutes of a run could be. Her leaden legs protested every step. How had she ever considered running fun? But after ten minutes, her endorphins kicked in, her gait smoothed out, and she settled into an easy, fluid rhythm.
The pack of runners stretched out as the speedier ones took the lead, Doug among them, Harry not far behind. They soon left the busy downtown streets and turned onto the South Bank Path along the Willamette. On her left, the broad river slid smoothly past, its surface glittering green. The sun warmed Clara’s back, and the cool air refreshed her sticky brow. Even more than fully inhabiting her body and testing its limits, she enjoyed the camaraderie of all these people running together, and the happy chatter all around her. She was having fun. How long had it been since she could honestly say that?
Doug and Harry disappeared into the crowd ahead, but Mona kept up a steady patter of conversation. “So, bookstore owner, huh? Must be fun.”
“It is, but the recordkeeping is a lot of work.”
“Man, I’d love that. I’m a CPA.” Puff, puff. “For city water and electric.” Huff, puff. “Not exactly thrilling, but it pays the bills, ya know?” Puff, huff. “Only books I see are the ones I bring in.” Huff, huff. “Love me some romance books. You know, the spicy ones. Muy caliente.”
They chatted about favorite books and authors, and before Clara knew it they were rounding the corner back onto Pearl Street. Bluebeard Coffee was just a few blocks ahead. Delighted at her unexpected strength, she picked up her speed.
“Come on, Mona. I’ll buy you a coffee.”
“Hey, what’s the rush? Don’t push it too hard your first time out.” Red-faced and puffing, Mona matched her burst of speed and grabbed her hand as they crossed the imaginary finish line, applauded by the other runners gathered in front of the coffee shop.
“Tah dah!” Mona pumped their clasped hands overhead. “You did it! Four miles, Clara!” She pulled her in for a squishy, sweaty hug.
“Great run. Thanks, Mona.”
“Any time. You come back next week, you hear?” She peered into the crowd, waved overhead like an excited kindergartener. “Here she is, Doug.”
Doug pushed his way toward her. He’d shed his windbreaker, and his faded marathon T-shirt was plastered damply to his chest, revealing chiseled pecs and a tight belly. “You finished! Really good, Clara. How do you feel?”
“Marvelous!” Her blood was singing, her cheeks flushed, and her legs tingling from the unaccustomed effort.
“Two days. Epsom salts.” Mona gave Clara’s back a hearty pat
“Huh?” Clara turned for clarification, but Mona had already moved back into the café.
“She means you’ll be sorest two days after the run,” Doug said. “It’s a good idea to take a hot bath to relax your muscles.”
“With Epsom salts. Right.” Clara grinned up at him, feeling a little giddy. From the run, no doubt.
“Do you have to leave right away?”
“Pretty soon. Saturday afternoons are a busy time at the shop. But I promised Mona a coffee.”
“Good. Can I join you?” His smile was lopsided, a bit bashful, and very charming. No wonder Harry thought she’d like him. He was easy to talk to, and she could use a little easy.
Over foamy cappuccinos, Doug and Mona introduced her to several members of the running group. Afterward, Clara’s hips protested when she hopped down from her bar stool. Mona patted her hand. “Take a few Ibuprofen, and just keep showing up. That’s the important thing. Running is wonderful for clearing your mind, even if it hurts sometimes.”
Doug walked her back to her car and waited while she unlocked the door and peeled off her clammy windbreaker. Sweat plastered her T-shirt to her skin. His pale eyes opened wide, his easy smile faded, his lips parted. And then he gave his head a shake.
“Sorry. You’re, um, very pretty. I hope you’re not offended.”
“Not at all.” In fact, his compliment tickled her, though she certainly wasn’t feeling especially pretty in her wind-blown, sticky state. “See you next week, then?”
“Count on it.” He flashed a broad grin, took a few steps away, then turned back. “Say, do you like musicals?”
“Sorry?”
“You know, Sound of Music, Cats, Les Miz.”
“Oh, um…sure. I mean, I’m not a singer, or anything, but I like to watch musicals.”
“Our school’s drama club won a state-wide competition, so they get to perform again at the amphitheater in the park. They’re doing Little Shop of Horrors on Tuesday night. Lots of my students are in the play.” He fumbled with his knit cap. “Maybe you’d like to go? With me?”
A high school musical? Of all the first date scenarios she imagined, this had to be one of the most unexpected.
“Okay, why not? I’d love to.”
Doug pulled his cap back on and grinned broadly. “Cool. I’ll pick you up at six. At your shop? We can do dinner first, if that’s okay. You like Thai?”
“I do. I’ll see you then.”
Clara shook her head and chuckled. A new hobby, a new friend, and a new date, all in one morning.
Driving home, she realized she hadn’t thought of Jared since she’d left the house; she hadn’t worried about the bookshop, and she hadn’t thought of Nick, the handsome professor who’d jolted her with his smoldering gaze and his flirtatious ways. What a relief to have something else to focus on, something to look forward to.
The memory of Doug’s friendly, lopsided grin followed her back home. She emerged from the shower, wiped the steam from the mirror, and gazed at her reflection. Still skinny, but maybe there was some strength there she hadn’t noticed before. She could become a real runner, maybe even train for a race. She pointed her toe, flexed her leg muscles. As Mona said, running is a great way to clear the mind. And her mind certainly needed clearing.
She toweled off and let her imagination wander—Doug’s tall, lanky body behind hers, his shiny head gleaming, his wide smile beaming down as she stroked lotion onto her legs, smoothed it across her belly, her hips. Doug had such long fingers. How would they feel on her body? Would they glide across her skin like this? Would they cup her breasts with whisper softness, or grip her firmly, insistently?
And then it hit her, the sharp stab of guilt. How could she stain this place with fantasies about intimacy with a new man? This home they’d shared had become a shrine to her lost love, a place where she hid from the outside world and cushioned herself with memories.
But you can’t live in a shrine.
Clara met her own gaze in the mirror, her vision blurred by a mist of tears.
“What should I do, Jared?”
A soft breeze lifted the bathroom curtains. With a whispering sound, they settled back against the wall. Clara clutched the counter, her heart thudding. Was Jared answering her? He visited her in her dreams, but could he reach for her during her waking hours?
Through the open window, a fat black fly buzzed into the room, zoomed in frantic loops, and then pinged off her forehead.
“Oh, God.” She collapsed in a fit of giggles. She searched for messages from the great beyond, and what did she find? A fly. With tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks, she rolled up a magazine and chased the little pest until it found its way back to the open window and sailed on through.
She skidded to a stop. Poised on the windowpane, a butterfly gleamed like moonstone, a gossamer creature of silvery blue. Clara held her breath. The tiny flier slowly closed its wings, then opened them again.
“Are you…” She didn’t finish the thought. The possibility was too eerie to say aloud.
The butterfly slowly folded its wings again, opened once more, then fluttered away, dancing on the wind.
She stared after it, hand to her heart, her mouth open in wonder.