Page 115 of The Treasure House

The house was all shut up, the curtains drawn and the front porch furniture taken in. Marly let herself in around the back, inhaling the dark, musty air. She’d known on some level that going back would be hard, but she hadn’t been expecting to cry the moment she stepped over the threshold. But cry she did, like a baby.

There were memories everywhere. She could practically hear the old wireless radio warbling and Aunt Betty mixing up a jug of “vacation cheer,” the spoon clinking against the glass wall of the jug as she gave it a hearty stir. Monopoly games on the porch and reading on the swing; dinners at the long table in the front room; lazing in the parlor way past her usual bedtime. Mom drinking coffee in the morning sun on the front porch, idly thumbing through a screen magazine; Mom laughing with Sylvie as they set the table for dinner; Mom stopping by Marly’s room to say goodnight…

The first week was the hardest. She pulled all the dustcloths off the furniture and got everything in order, just as Aunt Bet and Mom did every year. She tidied the yard. She slept in her old room, under the oak tree, just because it was routine. But then, after a week she decided it was silly not taking the master bedroom, given this was her house now, and she moved all her stuff in.

By July she was restless. She wrote a lot of letters, to friends, to her Dad and her brothers, and to Freddie. And then, in the middle of the month, a telegram came.

Home on leave. Fancy a visit? x F

The moment Marly saw Freddie de Marche she decided she’d never loved him. He was standing on her front porch, holding a bunch of blue flag iris and grinning ear to ear. He was suntanned and fit, his hair buzzed short, and even though he was in navy shorts and a white knit shirt, he stood ramrod straight like he was in uniform.

“Well, hey there, pixie stick,” he drawled, pulling off his sunglasses, his pale eyes sparkling like the sun glinting off the ocean.

Oh. Marly had a revelation as the feelings hit her. The blast of heat in her cheeks, the slow throb in her belly, the itchy restless longing. This was lust. She didn’t love Freddie de Marche. She lusted after him. Now that she was older and had more experience, she could recognize it for what it was, although she’d not felt lust like this with any other boy. As Freddie gave her a crushing hug, Marly was aware of the contours of his body against hers and she made a soft breathless noise.

“Belated congratulations on the college degree,” he said cheerfully, passing her the irises. “Wish I could have seen you in that mortarboard.”

“I looked great. You missed out.”

He laughed and followed her into the house, carrying his bag.

Marly’s heart was skidding in her chest. Maybe she hadn’t thought this through, she realised, as she led him to her old bedroom. The thought of him staying didn’t seem like such a good idea now. She’d convinced herself that they were just pals, that she’d matured, that he meant nothing. But now that he was here in the flesh, she was burning up.

“You brought all the cats here,” Freddie said, having noticed the porcelain cats tucked into curious spots all over the house.

“I did,” she said primly. “A crazy cat lady house needs cats.”

He grinned at her with his crooked lips. “You’re never going to be a crazy cat lady, short stuff.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not so short anymore.”

“I noticed.” And something new glimmered in his blue gaze, something that made her tingle. Freddie de Marche had noticed she’d grown up. And maybe he was burning up a little too.

Freddie stayed with her for two weeks. Two of the best weeks of Marly’s entire life. They walked on the beach, swam in the rolling waves, read books, and talked about nothing and everything. The thing about Freddie, she thought, was that when she was with him, she had his full attention. He gave her the sense that there was nowhere else he’d rather be and no one he’d rather be with. Marly, so used to being left in the margins, found it intoxicating.

But she didn’t want to be intoxicated anymore, she thought helplessly. Freddie had made his feelings about her perfectly clear. And although he was stealing looks at her in her bathing suit now, Marly knew Freddie well, and knew he was only seeing the bits in the bathing suit, and not her whole self. He still called her half-pint, and short stuff, and pixie stick. For Freddie, she would always be a kid.

And Marly didn’t want that.

And yet he drove her crazy. She also stole looks at him in his bathing suit, with his golden, army-fit body. His arms and legs were defined with muscles, his chest and stomach hypnotizing. Sometimes she had the strongest urge to touch him. The feelings she was having had to be carnal sins. At night she lay in her bed in the front bedroom, listening to the creak of his bedsprings as he rolled over and she felt like she had a fever. There were times she gripped the brass bars of her bed to stop herself getting up and going in to him, the urge was so strong.

“You seeing anyone?” he asked her as they lazed on the sand one afternoon. It was the first time he’d ever asked about her love life.

“I was,” she said. “We broke up just before graduation.” Marly had ended it because she’d realized there was nothing she wanted less than to be Mrs. Acton Barr.

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

“Why? What’d he do to you?” Freddie darkened.

“Proposed to me.” Marly giggled, stretching. She sensed Freddie’s gaze dropping down her body as she did.

“What’d you do, break the poor guy’s heart?”

Marly snorted. “He’ll be fine. He was more interested in football than me anyway.”

“I doubt that,” Freddie said, and she heard the tightness in his voice.