Making love in the clouds, she thought as the whiteness billowed above. Then she closed her eyes and lost all sense of where she was. There was only the pounding of the rain and the magical touch of Guy’s hands, his mouth. It had been so long since a man had made love to her, so long since she’d bared herself to the pleasure. The pain. And there would be pain after it was over, after he was gone from her life. With a man like Guy, the ending was inevitable.
She ignored those whispers of warning; she had drifted beyond all reach of salvation. She pulled him down against her, and whispered, “Now. Please.”
He was already struggling against his own needs, his own urgencies. Her quiet plea slashed away his last thread of control.
“I give up,” he groaned. Seizing her hands, he pinned her arms above her head, trapping her, his willing captive, beneath him.
His hardness filled her so completely, it made her catch her breath in astonishment. But her surprise quickly melted into pleasure. She was moving against him now, and he against her, both of them driving that blessed ache to new heights of agony.
The world fell away; the night seemed to swirl with mist and magic. They brought each other to the very edge, and there they lingered, between pleasure and torment, unwilling to surrender to the inevitable. Then the jungle sounds of beating rain, of groaning trees were joined by their cries as they plummeted over the brink.
Even when she fell back to earth, she was still floating. In the darkness above, the netting billowed like parachute silk falling through the emptiness of space.
There was no need to speak; it was enough just to lie together, limbs entwined, and listen to the rhythms of the night.
Gently, Guy stroked a tangled lock of hair off her cheek. “Why did you say that?” he asked.
“Say what?”
“That I’d be gone. That I’d leave you.”
She pulled away and rolled onto her back. “Because you will.”
“Do you want me to?”
She didn’t answer. What difference would it make, after all, to bare her soul? And did he really want to hear the truth: that after tonight, she would probably do anything to keep him, to make him love her?
“Willy?”
She turned away. “Why are we talking about this?”
“Because I want to talk about it.”
“Well, I don’t.” She sat up and hugged her knees protectively against her chest. “It doesn’t do anyone any good, all this babbling about what comes next, where do we go from here. I’ve been through it before.”
“You really don’t trust men, do you?”
She laughed. “Should I?”
“Is it all because your old man walked out on you? Or was it something else? A bad love affair? What?”
“You could say all of the above.”
“I see.” There was a long silence. She shivered at the touch of his hand stroking her naked back. “Who else has left you? Besides your father?”
“Just a man I loved. Someone who said he loved me.”
“And he didn’t.”
“Oh, I suppose he did, in his way.” She shrugged. “Not a very permanent way.”
“If it’s only temporary, it’s not love.”
“Now that sounds like the title of a song.” She laughed.
“A lousy song.”
At once, she fell silent. She pressed her forehead to her knees. “You’re right. A lousy song.”
“Other people manage to get over rotten love affairs…”
“Oh, I got over it.” She raised her head and stared up at the netting. “Took only a month to fall in love with him. And over a year to watch him walk away. One thing I’ve learned is that it doesn’t fall apart in a day. Most lovers don’t just get up and walk out the door. They do it by inches, step by step, and every single one hurts. First they start out with, ‘Who needs to get married, it’s just a piece of paper.’ And then, at the end, they tell you, ‘I need more space.’ Then it’s ‘How can anyone promise forever?’ Maybe it was better the way my dad did it. No excuses. He just walked out the door.”
“There’s no such thing as a good way to leave someone.”
“You’re right.” She pushed aside the netting and swung her feet out. “That’s why I don’t let it happen to me anymore.”
“How do you avoid it?”
“I don’t give any man the chance to leave me.”
“Meaning you walk away first?”
“Men do it all the time.”
“Some men.”
Including you, she thought with a distinct twinge of bitterness. “So how did you walk away from your girlfriend, Guy? Did you leave before or after you found out she was pregnant?”
“That was an unusual situation.”
“It always is.”
“We’d broken up months before. I didn’t hear about the kid till after he was born. By then there was nothing I could do, nothing I could change. Ginny was already married to another man.”
“Oh.” She paused. “That made it simple.”
“Simple?” For the first time she heard his anger, and she longed to take back her awful words, longed to cleanse the bitterness from his voice. “You’ve got some crazy notion that men are all the same,” he said. “All of us trying to claw our way free of responsibility, never looking back at the people we’ve hurt. Let me tell you something, Willy. Having a Y chromosome doesn’t make someone a lousy human being.”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, gently touching his hand. “I’m sorry.”
He lay quietly in the shadows, staring up at the ceiling. “Sam’s three years old now. I’ve seen him a grand total of twice, once on Ginny’s front porch, once on the playground at his preschool. I went over there to get a look at him, to see what kind of kid he was, whether he looked happy. I guess the teachers must’ve reported it. Not long after, Ginny called me, screaming bloody murder. Said I was messing with her marriage. Even threatened to slap me with a restraining order. I haven’t been near him since…” He paused to clear his throat. “I guess I realized I wouldn’t be doing him any favors anyways, trying to shove my way into his life. Sam already has a father-a good one, from what I hear. And it would’ve hurt everyone if I’d tried to fight it out in court. Maybe later, when he’s older, I’ll find a way to tell him. To let him know how much I wanted to be part of his life.”
And my life? she thought with sudden sadness. You won’t be part of it, either, will you?
She rose to her feet and groped around in the darkness for her scattered clothes. “Here’s a little advice, Guy,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t ever give up on your son. Take it from a kid who’s been left behind. Daddies are a precious commodity.”
“I know.” he said softly. He paused, then said, “You’ll never get over it, will you? Your father walking out.”
She shook out her wet blouse. “There are some things a kid can’t ever forget.”
“Or forgive.”
Outside, the rain had softened to a whisper. In the thatching above, insects rustled. “Do you think I should forgive him?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose I could forgive him for hurting me. But not for hurting my mother. Not when I remember what she went through just to-” Her voice died in midsentence.
They both heard it at the same time: the footsteps slapping through the mud outside.
Guy rolled off the pallet and sprang to his feet beside her. Shoes scraped over the threshold, and the shadow of a man filled the doorway.
The intruder held up a lantern. The flood of light caught them in freeze-frame: Willy, clutching the blouse to her naked breasts; Guy, poised in a fighter’s crouch. The stranger, his face hidden in the shadow of a drab green poncho, slowly lowered the lantern and set it on the table. “I am sorry for the delay,” he said. “The road is very bad tonight.” He tossed a cloth-wrapped bundle down beside the lantern. “At ease, Mr. Barnard. If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead now.” He paused and added, “Both of you.”