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“I just had a thought.” She popped up on her toes, nipped his lip, and dropped back onto her heels. “The girls are staying with Mark for the long weekend. Felix is out of town, going to a concert in Vancouver with friends. Only Cyril and I will be home. If you wanted...” She traced the Harley Davidson logo on his T-shirt with a delicate finger and then finished in a rush, not meeting his eyes. “You could spend the weekend with us. And I wouldn’t mind...I mean, I would like it if...” Again, she trailed off.
“Are you asking me to stay the nights?”
She peeped up at him. “If you want. If you don’t think it will be too awkward. But you know Cyril best and he knows—”
This time, her words were cut off by his mouth. He kissed her with a passion that burned like a fever. “I want, Penta,” he murmured against her lips. “Holy Christ, I want.”
PENTA SPENT THE LONG weekend alternately burning with embarrassment, suffused with contentment, and overflowing with delicious wickedness.
Cash arrived just before dinner on Saturday. The three of them took their places at the table with excruciating politeness. Conversation started off stilted and she despaired of finding a topic that would encourage Cyril to break his morose silence. But the metamorphosis she’d witnessed the day before seemed to be continuing. When she mentioned the new release in an action movie franchise she knew he liked, he brightened, and soon he and Cash were deep into dissecting how the stunts had been done and lambasting the lead’s mediocre acting.
Afterward, the three of them streamed an earlier movie in the same series. Cyril sprawled in an armchair while she and Cash almost-but-not-quite cuddled on the sofa. It ended about the time the neighbourhood association was set to launch their Canada Day fireworks, so they walked to the nearby park and oohed and aahed along with the crowd.
When they returned to the house, Cyril hesitated at the top of the stairs leading to his room in the basement. His gaze flicked between her and Cash, a worldly wisdom in his eyes that made her want to squirm. For several painful seconds their roles were reversed, as if she were the child and he the parent. She wondered why it was worse with Cyril than it had been with Delilah and Felix.
He nodded at Cash. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Mom.” His feet thudded down the stairs and she heard the quiet click of his door closing.
Cash turned to her, expression blazing with shameless intent. “Seems like we have his blessing.”
Her mouth too dry to speak, she simply took his hand and led him to her bedroom.
Like their first time together, the sex was fervent and volatile, fueled by extreme unspoken emotions. She fell asleep curled under his arm and woke later to the sweep of his hand over her belly, her breasts. This time, their lovemaking was tender, drowsy, a matter of soft words and sipping lips, quiet pulses and rolling tides.
The next day and night passed with an aura of unreality. It was the same sensation she had during vacations—that the real world was on pause and the usual rules didn’t apply. Whenever the little voice inside her brain reminded her this was nothing but an interlude, she silenced it firmly.
The hours went by far too quickly. Cash left on Monday afternoon after a gratifyingly lustful but disappointingly quick romp on the kitchen counter, Cyril being out of the house at the time. Felix wasn’t expected home until around eight o’clock, but Mark pulled into the driveway at dinnertime. The girls piled out, chattering excitedly even before they swept into the house, their father bringing up the rear.
“Guess what, Mom!” Abra danced on her toes, bobbing with delight. “Daddy wants to take us to Mexico!”
“He does? When?” Many northerners fled south to enjoy beach vacations in the depths of winter. It was a little early to start planning, but she should be thankful Mark had given her this much notice.
Delilah’s enthusiasm was only slightly restrained by her teenage ennui. “Jacinta’s family have invited us to come for the whole month of August. They live in this village near Manzanillo.” She enunciated the word with a Spanish inflection no doubt learned from her stepmother. “She showed us pictures. It looks cool.”
Penta stared at Mark, brain reeling. “A whole month? And so soon?”
“The boys are invited, too.” He didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed. He shouldn’t have mentioned it to any of the children without talking to Penta first.
She clenched her fists in fury. If she expressed opposition now, she’d be the spoilsport, hated and despised. “That sounds very exciting,” she said through gritted teeth. “Your father and I will have to discuss it.”
Thankfully, neither of the girls took this as a possible no. They clambered up the stairs to their rooms, leaving Penta facing an unrepentant ex-husband.
“You know you should have talked to me before raising the girls’ hopes.”
“What reason could you have for not allowing them to go?” His chin jutted in challenge. “They’re old enough to know their own minds, even Abra. Jacinta and I chose August so as not to disrupt the school year. I don’t imagine Felix will go”—she thought she saw disappointment flicker across his features—”but hopefully Cyril does. It will be a great experience for all of them.”
She hated he was right. Hated he’d considered all the angles. Hated that she hoped his guess regarding Felix was correct, as it was petty to wish their oldest son would reject his father in even the slightest way.
But most of all she hated that she wanted to say no.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rainbow Park, an urban refuge of rolling green hills and copses of coniferous trees, was a favourite location for wedding photos in the summer and tobogganing in the winter. On this Saturday in July, a large bowl-shaped area was dotted with colourful tents and displays, and several food trucks had made their careful way down the slope. The scent of burgers and hotdogs mingled with that of samosas and souvlaki, and the laughter of children floated over the babble of the crowd.
Rainbow colours flew everywhere—flags and banners, T-shirts and dresses, hats and bandannas—as the Prince George Pride Society and their community supporters celebrated with family and friends.
The Silverberry Book Club members were out in full force. It wasn’t their official July activity—that would be a yoga class on the riverbank the following morning—but Terrance Renfrew and his husband Bennett Ayers were on the organizing committee and nothing short of an earthquake would have stopped the Silverberries from coming.
At the moment, most of them were gathered in a loose group on the soft springy lawn on the side of a hill, watching the commotion below.
