Somehow he, too, undressed and sat on the bed, and Antoinette knelt before him and took him in her mouth. Sucking and stroking him as he watched the perfect arc of her spine and willed himself not to explode. He wanted to touch her, but he couldn’t. His hands were propping him up.
She climbed on top of him and his hands were pinned again, this time above his head. She was holding his wrists together as she slid up and down. Up and down, up and down, until she moaned and Theo knew it was no use holding back. He was gone, cut loose into a part of the world so wonderful he could never have predicted its existence.
Afterwards, he lay on his back, agitated, his mind floundering like a freshly caught fish. He thought of his father first and that led dangerously to thinking about his mother. His mother. Oh, shit.
Antoinette lifted herself off him and went into the bathroom, shutting the door, turning on a light. The rush of water. The flush of the toilet. Theo lay back, terrified to move and yet tense with the understanding that he had to get out of there. He had to go home. Go home! How would he be able to go home and eat dinner with his parents and his sisters and Luke, for God’s sake, when he had just had sex with Antoinette? He thought of running away, and maybe if he’d lived on the mainland, he would have called home and told his mother a lie about staying at a friend’s and then he could have driven to another town and eaten quietly at a diner and taken steps to make himself feel more like an adult-drunk coffee, smoked cigarettes. Collected himself. Because he felt scattered, like he’d been broken into pieces: an ashamed piece, a scared piece, an intrigued piece. But since he lived on this island, where there was no place to hide, he’d have to put on his clothes, get in his Jeep, and hope that five miles of cool air through an open window would do the trick.
He dressed. Then the bathroom door opened, and there was Antoinette, still naked, standing before him, backlit.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
He thought she was making fun of him. Maybe the whole thing was a joke, then, some kind of Mrs. Robinson-type thing to her. Seducing her friend’s teenage son. Nothing about this scene was original- at least he had that much straight. Older woman, younger man. Much younger. Twenty-six years younger. It happened, probably, all the time.
“No, thanks. I gotta go.”
“Your mom makes dinner every night?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“So you should go.”
“Yeah.”
“But tomorrow you’ll stay for a glass of wine?”
“Tomorrow?”
“You’re busy tomorrow? Well, come back when ever you’re not busy. I have something I want to show you.”
“You can show me now.”
“No, next time.” She stepped back into the bathroom and was lit up again. Her skin was the color of dark honey. She stood in front of the mirror and wiped a finger tip under each of her eyes.
“Okay,” Theo said. He busied himself with his shoes, then he stood up, checked for his car keys, but was pretty sure he’d left them in the ignition. He didn’t know what to say. That was amazing? Thank you? “Listen, I’m going to go.”
She didn’t look his way. “Okay,” she said. “Bye.”
Theo rode home with both windows open, the stereo thumping. The moon was rising pale and round, and Theo howled at it. He felt okay, didn’t he? He felt great! For this moment, he let himself feel great.
He arrived home at a quarter to eight. Late for dinner, which was always at seven. Okay, so he would have to tell his mother he stayed late at the Islander with Brett and Aaron. He would get yelled at, and possibly even lose his Islander privileges for a few days; his mom didn’t like him hanging around there, anyway.
But things at home were odd, different. Instead of a regular family dinner-everyone sitting around the dining table, bright and chattery-the dining room was lit only by candles, and it was just Theo’s parents and Jennifer eating shrimp scampi from the fine china, drinking wine from the crystal. The three of them smiled at him when he walked in. His place was set.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” his father asked.
“What?”
“Your mother made scampi, and you’re old enough to enjoy it with some chardonnay,” his father said. “Trust me, it’ll wake your palate right up.”
“I’m having some,” Jennifer said proudly.
Theo shed his jacket and took his seat at the table. He watched his father pour golden wine into the glass. His mother passed him the linguine, then the scampi, then Caesar salad. He piled his plate high. He was starving.
“Where are Luke and Cass?” he asked.
“They wanted to eat hot dogs in front of the TV,” his mother said. “So I let them.” She shrugged. “I figured if they wanted to eat like kids, then the four of us could eat like adults.”
“I wish we could do this every night,” Jennifer said.
“I guess,” Theo said. He sipped his wine and the taste exploded on his tongue. He hadn’t kissed Antoinette, not once the whole time. He picked up his fork-heavy, the silver-and ate.
“I hear you’ve been playing some terrific baseball,” his father said. He reached into the salad bowl for a crouton. “I promise I’ll make it to the next game.”
“Me, too,” Jennifer said.
Theo looked at his parents and his sister. Their faces glowed orange in the candlelight.
“You all look really beautiful,” Theo said.
No one seemed surprised by this. His mother smiled at him. “So do you, sweetheart,” she said. “So do you.”
That dinner was a divine gift. A sign. He didn’t feel alien in his house at all; he’d made love to Antoinette and then he’d gone home and drunk chardonnay and eaten scampi by candlelight with his parents and his sister. It all seemed part of a contiguous whole. He was eighteen years old. An adult.
So why not go back the following day? The only obstacle was Brett and Aaron, and they were thrown off track like a couple of stupid dogs.
“I can’t go anywhere after practice,” Theo said. “I have to take my sister Cassidy to the library”
Brett and Aaron winced in sympathy.
Theo reached Antoinette’s at a quarter to six; he had an hour, which seemed like plenty of time. He was glad for the parameters. When he pulled into her driveway, he allowed himself the luxury of looking around. There was a half-moon window high up on the front of the house, a deck off the back with built-in benches, an outdoor shower. Patterned shingling, a crisp brick chimney. A neat pile of wood was stacked next to the house and leaned against it, a red-handled hatchet. Did she chop her own wood? The lawn around the house was greener than it should have been in April, and freshly edged around clumps of daffodils. Did she mow her own lawn? Theo had the urge to pick a daffodil and take it inside, but then he ridiculed himself. He was an ass.
The main door stood open and Theo peered inside. The living room was growing dark. Two candles on the coffee table were lit. Theo took in the details of the room: the fireplace, the bookshelves crammed with books, the jewel-colored Persian rug. Theo stepped in and closed the door behind him. The half-moon window threw a shape of fading light onto the wood floor.
And then he heard music, a flute, and Antoinette appeared. It was like she grew out of the floor. She was reaching and stretching and waving her arms, kicking her legs in long, fluid arcs. She was dancing. Theo held his breath. She moved her body in amazing ways, bending backwards while her arms fluttered forward. She wore black leggings and a man’s white undershirt. No bra. The T-shirt was threadbare; it was as good as wearing nothing at all, and when she bent backwards he was reminded of the night before and how she’d taken him.
He stood where he was, feet planted on a bamboo doormat until finally she collapsed in a heap on the floor, breathing hard. Theo wasn’t sure what to do; he didn’t know if she’d seen him or not. He wanted to think the dance was for his benefit, but he sort of doubted it, and he didn’t want to scare her or have her think he was spying on her. He waited until she composed herself, and then he retreated a few steps and knocked on the inside of the door. She turned her head slowly to him, her face unsurprised. So she had known he was there, after all.