His hand went to my breast. I’d been too tired to go to my room for pajamas and so wore only my bra and panties beneath the blanket; my clothes lay over the back of the rocking chair. It was strange to be there in the nursery, with Michael so close by, yet I felt myself responding to Press despite all that had happened. Grief and fear and, finally, elation had made me vulnerable. I’d ceased to trust him by then, and perhaps I’d even ceased to really love him. But desire has no need for love.
He climbed onto the bed, and was on his knees in front of me, hurriedly unbuckling his pants. As his pants fell, he took down his boxer shorts. I couldn’t see much in the darkness, but the smell of him was musky, and he pressed himself against my face, my lips. His hands were in my hair, and he forcefully massaged the back of my head and my neck. Remembering that Michael was there below us, I pulled away. I whispered that we couldn’t.
“Of course we can,” he answered and tried again.
“I won’t.”
I pulled away again, whispering no. I had never told him no before.
With a grunt of frustration, he pushed me gently onto my back and quickly found my panties and began to remove them. The tension of Michael being so close caused me to tremble, and by the time Press entered me, I had to grind my teeth together in my mouth to stop their violent knocking. Our tender passion the afternoon that Eva died felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. The thought made me sad and I banished it, but it was quickly replaced by the memory of Terrance and J.C. in the garden. No, not Terrance. Hugh.
And through it all, I had the sensation that Press and I were being watched.
Press’s face was buried against my neck, and the length of him was far inside me. I chanced a look at Michael, but he still lay sleeping, turned away from us. Despite the heat of Press’s body, I felt a rush of cold and I looked beyond him to see a shadow on the ceiling, an ill-defined, darker spot in the darkness. As I watched, it gathered itself into a tight circle and slid across the ceiling to hang, suspended, for a few seconds before dropping in a long oily stream. I was startled by the sound of breaking glass, but Press was pushing into me with concentrated determination and wasn’t disturbed. I squeezed my eyes shut. Waiting. Praying that what I’d seen was only a trick of the darkness. Whatever it had been had frozen every bit of my sudden desire, and I let Press finish without offering much in response, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was quiet as he came inside me, shuddering to a stop to lie against me, heavy with sweat. When his breathing returned to normal, he rolled off me carefully—the bed was small, and Michael was still just a couple of feet away.
“Look what you do to me, you witch.” He kissed me on the nose, his face shining with perspiration. There was no sign of the cruel Press, the deceitful Press. But whatever he saw on my face quelled his pleasure. “What’s the matter? He’s fine. He doesn’t know a thing.”
Whatever I might say about what I’d seen would surely sound mad, but I couldn’t help thinking of Olivia. “What about everyone downstairs?”
His teeth were bright in the room’s dim light. “I’ll tell them the truth. That you seduced me.”
Suddenly, I didn’t want him to go. Turning onto my side, I wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him to me, wishing, wishing that Olivia hadn’t died. That Eva hadn’t died. That he could be the same man I’d married and not a man of secrets. That I could close my eyes and open them a moment later to find that it was still early spring, and we were all happy and safe.
Finally he kissed my forehead. “They really will start chewing on the curtains if I don’t get back to them. Try to go back to sleep.”
He left the room, pulling the door softly closed behind him.
I lay back on my damp pillow. When Rachel and Jack were gone, would he go to J.C.? In that moment, I didn’t really care. I had my son back, and that was all that mattered.
I dropped my hand to where Michael lay below me. Heat clung to him like a protective cloak. My poor boy.
Shivering, I pulled the discarded blanket all the way up to my shoulder and lay watching the place on the ceiling where I’d seen (or imagined I’d seen) the shadow. Before I finally fell asleep, I heard the distant chimes of the great clock in the hall ring two.
I dreamed.
The windows and doors of Bliss House were open and the winter cold was coming for me and there was no way for me to outrun it. Glittering ice covered the windows at the front of the house. I was naked, crouching close to the walls as I moved, trying to cover my genitalia because I felt someone was watching me. Not Press, but perhaps Marlene or Terrance. I was certain one of them might emerge from one of the rooms or come out from the back of the house. The paneling was so frigid that I knew if I paused too long in any one place, my skin would turn into a tough, frozen hide and I would become immobile like Hera in the garden. No, I had to keep moving.