“Coffee,” he moaned, lying back on his pillow and closing his eyes. Even though he was moaning a large smile hovered on his narrow face.
I grinned back at him. “Addictions are hard to hide. Maybe you could see a hypnotherapist about this.” He poked me in the ribs and I giggled. I actually giggled. I was glad Kay wasn’t here. She would never let me hear the end of it. Well, I was glad she wasn’t here for several reasons. Thank heavens for stubborn women who always get their own way.
“Have you no vices, woman?” he asked, sitting up and pulling part of the sheet around his shoulders. The air in the cabin was chilly with the fire out. His hair was standing on end and he had stubble on his chin, and he looked wonderful. And to be honest, that stubble had proved interestingly invigorating.
“No, none at all,” I replied airily. “Unless you consider orange juice a vice, and I'm in luck because I think I saw a can in the freezer when you were looking for cocoa last night. In fact, far from having vices, I'd say I have a number of virtues. I'm loyal, amusing, and turn around three times before lying down.”
“Oh, I would say you have more virtues than that.” He waggled his eyebrows at me in comic suggestiveness. “But orange juice—now that is certainly a vice. You just lucked out that it’s a vice that can be frozen. Ambrose is definitely the kind of guy who would know that coffee needs to be fresh. I bet he brings his own beans every time he comes out here.”
“Just shows how much you know about orange juice,” I countered. “Fresh squeezed and frozen are as different as instant coffee and some froufrou brew from an expensive beanery. But I know what is proper in a rural cabin, where one sheds one’s urban airs and affectations to embrace bucolic simplicity and drink whatever one finds on the premises.”
“Yeah, like eighty dollar bottles of wine.”
“Yeah, like that.”
We smiled at each other.
Emily Ann appeared at his side of the bed, pressing her muzzle onto the mattress and giving us a Princess-Di look through her short lashes. She wanted to go out. Jack came over beside her and put his front paws on the mattress, his body swaying with his wag.
“Okay, Emily Ann, you and Jack have been very patient,” Bob told her. “Give me just a minute.” He turned and gave me a lingering kiss before sliding out of bed. He gathered up his clothes from the floor and disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later he was back, clothed and reaching for the leashes. When they had gone outside, I leaned off the bed and rummaged around on the floor for that nightgown. It had been flung just out of reach. I stretched out and out and had almost snagged it when I began to slide off the bed head-first. I clutched at the sheets and teetered on the edge. With a wriggle I managed to roll back onto the mattress. I looked quickly toward the door to make sure I hadn’t been observed, pulled in a lungful of air, gave a little shrug, and leaped out of bed.
The floor was even colder than it had been last night, and the unheated air was brisk. I grabbed the nightie and slipped it over my head. I took a couple of steps toward the fireplace to see if there was any chance of an easy fire. The embers appeared to be out.
I was looking around for some kindling when I heard Bob’s voice outside. I assumed he was talking to the dogs—but then I realized another male voice was answering back. I scooted over to the window and looked out. Ambrose was sitting in his car talking to Bob through the open window. As I watched he climbed out and shook hands with Bob. He held a videocassette in the other hand.
I started to go to the door and wave to him, but realized in time that I was not dressed to receive callers. I dashed to the bathroom, dashed out to grab my clothes, and back in again.
I dithered. I wanted a shower before I got dressed, but should I do without and get dressed and go say hello to Ambrose? I'd had the kind of morning activity one needed to shower after. But it was Ambrose’s cabin, would it be too rude not to go out?
The shower won. I started running water in the tub. In the morning light, the glass wall looked out across a short strip of lawn and a line of trees. When the water was hot and streaming through the shower head, I flung off the gown and jumped into the tub, pulling the vinyl-lined curtains together. I sighed as hot water cascaded over my shoulders and back.
In a few minutes I heard a knock at the door. “Yes?” I called out. “I'm in the shower.”
I poked my head out between the shower curtains and saw Bob peeking around the door. “Louisa, Ambrose is here. He was able to get the tape already. I was planning to run into that town for coffee, but maybe I should wait to play the tape for you.” He stepped into the bathroom and pulled the door mostly shut.
“Ambrose didn’t bring coffee?”
“No, and he did apologize. He’s waiting on the porch until you’re dressed. He suggested that we go for provisions. Do you want us to wait so you can come along? Or shall we bring back stuff for breakfast?”
“If you don’t mind I'll stay here and wallow in the shower for a bit,” I told him. “But are you sure you have to go out of my sight? The last time we had a conversation like this you ended up getting kidnapped.”
“True. Maybe we could talk Ambrose into going and I could stay here and watch you shower. When I go into fits of caffeine withdrawal you could leap out of the tub to revive me.” He waggled his eyebrows again.
“Perhaps you had better go along to town. My first aid skills are rudimentary at best.”
“Practice could help them.”
“Just watch out for the bad guys, would you? I’m not up for any more forays into the woods.”
“I'll be careful,” he promised. “It shouldn’t take long. Ambrose knows the place so we won’t waste any time.”
“Okay.”
“I'll take Jack along for the ride. What about Emily Ann?”
“You can leave her with me, but hurry back.”
“Oh, I will definitely hurry back.” He came closer and leaned toward me to give my wet lips a quick kiss, and another lingering one. Finally he turned and left the room.
I looked at the door he’d disappeared through, then pulled my head back inside the shower curtains. I'd never seen the brand of shampoo in the shower before, but it was thick and amber colored and smelled wonderful. I piled my sudsy hair as high as its short length would allow, and let hot water rain on my shoulders and back while I drifted off in thoughts of Bob, his warmth and kindness and prickly whiskers.
When at last I felt sufficiently parboiled I peeked out to make sure no boy scout troops were hiking past the window. I had showered long enough for steam to cloud the glass, giving an other-worldly fog to the forest beyond.
I climbed out, wrapped up in one of the large, luxurious bath towels, and started to towel my hair. In my distraction I had neglected to rinse out the shampoo. Back into the tub to rinse, out again to dry and dress.
Orange juice was next on my agenda, but in the kitchen area, I saw the tape lying on the counter. The box was neatly lettered in Bob’s hand, “Ian Walsh—Copy.” The cassette, when I tipped out, had an identical label. I hadn’t noticed a television last night, but now I looked around. An armoire sat at an angle in the corner, between the windows on the front and side of the cabin. I walked over and opened the cabinet, and found a TV with a built-in VCR. I pushed in the tape, picked up the remote control, and walked back over to the kitchen area.
I pried out the can of orange juice welded by frost to the freezer. A cut glass pitcher was in a cabinet next to a row of crystal tumblers. I felt a goofy smile on my face as I stirred and thought about Bob. Soon that first lovely swallow trickled across my tongue and down my throat. Coffee could never be as good as this.
I set down the tumbler, picked up the remote and clicked to start the tape. A certain amount of fumbling was required before I could figure out how to turn up the sound. Bob was not in the picture but as the volume came up I heard his voice talking in a soothing tone.
“—a session with Ian Walsh. We have had three previous sessions. Ian is working toward hypnotic anesthesia for dental surgery. Today we will be testing the depth of his trance with temporal regressions.”
I took another sip of juice. On the screen I saw a young man, compactly built, with blonde hair and a slightly darker mustache and small beard that had the effect of making him look younger than his nineteen years. He was stretched out on a leather-upholstered chaise. His eyes were closed and he looked very relaxed. I studied his face, and liked what I saw. I felt a stab of hot anger that he was dead.
I turned to throw away the empty can, and heard a car outside. Emily Ann jumped off the love seat and ran over to the door. “That didn’t take them long,” I remarked. “I wonder if Bob or Ambrose forgot something.”
I meant to click the stop button on the remote but managed to hit the pause instead. Ian’s image froze on the screen, eyes closed but evidently speaking, his lips forming a word. I left it, hurrying across the room to throw open the door.
I expected to see Kay’s sleek red Mitsubishi that we had borrowed last night for the drive up here, or perhaps Ambrose’s Infiniti. Instead I saw a gray Mercedes.
The driver’s door opened.
The woman in red got out.