Page 105 of Reckless
Every little thing she did made the room rearrange around her a little more naturally.
She fit.
She fit because she brought life into the spaces she occupied.
By the time breakfast broke apart, I had touched her exactly twice.Once to pass her the jam.And second when she dropped a napkin and I picked it up before she bent for it.
Both times the contact had been brief.
I wanted ten minutes alone with Kelly that did not feel stolen from under twenty other people’s eyes.
Apparently that was too much to ask.
After breakfast, I found her first in the library.
“Hi,” she said, looking up from a book.
“Hi.”
“You’re hovering.”
“I am not hovering.”
“You’re standing in a doorway staring at me.Your book is upside down.”
Then Hope appeared and stole her.
I found her second on the terrace.
“You again,” she said.
“This is my house.”
“It’s your parents’ house.”
“That distinction does not help your argument.”
Then my mother appeared and stole her for opinions on table linens.
I found her at lunch, seated across from me, and spent the meal watching her eat a strawberry and trying not to resent the concept of other people.
By three-thirty, I had reached the end of my tolerance.
Luckily Kelly stood near the far wall in that strange cool half-light the cave always carried, barefoot again, one hand trailing through the thin sheet of water as it ran over the rock.She wore a loose white cover-up over what looked like a dark bikini.Her hair was up.The line of her neck was bare.
For a second I simply stopped.
She was exquisite.
Kelly heard me before I moved again.
She looked over her shoulder.
That immediate lock-on of attention, the recognition that happened between us now before anything else had a chance to.
I took a step and said, “You keep disappearing.”
She smiled.“Disappearing implies I’m hiding.”
