Page 118 of Reckless
Hope started telling some story about Charlie falling off a dock when he was twelve and somehow making it everyone else’s fault.Laughter rolled down the table.
Kelly smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
I waited until coffee was poured and the room loosened in that particular post-dinner way, people shifting chairs, standing in clumps, no one paying full attention to exits, and then I came up behind Kelly’s chair and said, low enough for only her to hear, “Come with me.”
She looked up immediately.
The room was warm and gold around us, my mother’s crystal reflecting candlelight everywhere, but the second Kelly lifted her face to mine the rest of it blurred.
“What now,” she asked.
“Walk with me.”
She rose without another word.No one paid attention to us as we left the room.
Outside, the night hit us cool and salty.The side drive lamps were on.The ocean was a dark pulse somewhere beyond the house.
She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows.“You stole me from a dinner party.”
“Rescued.”
“Stole.”
“You were miserable.”
“I was managing.”She smiled and lowered her arms.
“You stopped drinking your wine.You never stop drinking your wine.”
Her eyes had a sparkle as she said, “That is a disturbing amount of attention to my habits.”
“You were counting ceiling tiles.”
She let out small laugh.“I was not.”
“There are forty-seven.”
She stared at me.“You counted them?”
“I had nothing else to look at.You were pretending to enjoy dessert.”
She nodded, as she said, “I was enjoying dessert.”
“You ate three bites.”
“It was very rich dessert.”
“It was profiteroles.”
“Rich profiteroles.”
She watched me.“You noticed all that?”
“I notice everything about you.That should concern both of us.”
“It does.”
I walked her towards the walkway toward our private beach.
