The Art Of Desire Ch. 03

Once again, a noise interrupted the quiet morning, but it rolled over Meaghan with little reaction. She was finally distracted from her reverie, however, by the unmistakable sound of voices. Very male voices. One voice in particular. She frowned in confusion before her eyes flew open in panic to stare at the ceiling just as her husband came bursting through the bedroom door.

"Meg, I've had the most amazing experience, you'll--." His normally warm baritone faltered into an abrupt end. Meaghan couldn't bare to look, remembering all too clearly where both she and Samantha left their clothes the night before. Everywhere. "What the hell is this?" Charles asked in a chilling voice.

Meaghan finally dared lift her head enough to look at the somewhat towering man, but he was no longer watching her. They both could clearly hear the sound of the shower running in the room next door. Meaghan began to climb from the bed, but Charles was already marching toward the open door.

"You have some explaining to do," Meaghan heard Charles shout, along with the sound as the shower door was yanked open. Samantha's answering scream contrasted with Charles' surprised cry as his athletic build reappeared, backing out of the bathroom. The shower door closed again as Samantha did her best to finish whatever she had begun in the shower.

Charles turned slowly to gaze at his wife who stood silently amid the scattered clothing. She could understand the mistake. The carpenter's work clothes didn't exactly scream femininity. She lifted her eyes to meet her husband's.

"I'm sorry," Charles blurted out before Meaghan could think of a single word. "I assumed ... ."

Meaghan laughed gently, a sad sound that clashed greatly with the cheerful feeling from just minutes earlier. "I guess it's a common mistake," she replied in a quiet voice, slowly sinking to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

The silence in the bedroom was only amplified by the soft sounds from the bathroom as the water was turned off and Samantha began to hurriedly dry herself. The carpenter entered a moment later looking more than a little panic-stricken.

"Mister Becker, I'm so sorry," Sam began in a hurried voice, darting between Meaghan and Charles with a towel clutched around her as she tried to gather her things. "It's all my fault. She'd been drinking, and I took advantage--."

"Stop it," Charles ordered, turning his blue eyes on the lean woman.

Samantha, however, continued to mumble increasingly unintelligible apologies. The difference between her behavior and the charismatic woman Meaghan first met was almost shocking. Meaghan felt frozen to the spot as she watched.

Charles, however, was not quite as dumbfounded. He took two strides toward the carpenter, grabbed her arms and lifted, then all but tossed her onto the bed beside his wife, not caring that her towel slipped before she could retrieve it. His eyes seemed like lit sapphires as he studied the two women. Then in a gesture of defeat, despair, or simple frustration, he leaned against the nearby wardrobe and ran a hand over his cropped, bleach-blond hair.

"Charles, I can explain," Meaghan began in a quiet voice as she reached over to place a comforting hand on Samantha's thigh. Sam did stop fidgeting for a moment, though she was not at all the cool, collected woman from the previous few days. She was more like a bird on the verge of flight.

"Meaghan ... no, it's okay," Charles replied, his own voice a soft rumble. "I just didn't expect this." He gave a dull laugh which caused Meaghan to relax slightly. Shock. It's just shock, she thought to herself. "Christ, kiddo, how long has it been? Five years? More than that ... and never once did you go to someone else. Though I can't blame you this time," he adds, his eyes taking in Samantha's well-muscled legs.

Samantha blushed from the unexpected attention, and Meaghan flushed with a stab of jealousy, though she did not immediately recognize it as such. Was she jealous of her husband or Samantha? An unexpected wave of indignation welled up inside her just then. "We always claimed to have an open relationship," she replied hotly, her hand tightening on Samantha's thigh. "Were you just joking? Because I wasn't."

Charles watched his wife's reactions with mixed feelings of admiration, surprise, and a nagging sense of jealousy. He gently shook his head and opened his mouth to reply, but Meaghan gave him no chance. "I never asked what you did on your countless trips, Charles. Do you think I didn't wonder? Do you think I didn't lie here alone night after night wondering if you were doing the same, or if you'd found someone to love you for the week? For the night?"

Her voice began to tremble slightly, drawing a mildly stunned look from Samantha, who quickly reached an arm around the other woman's shivering shoulders. Meaghan turned her head toward Sam and buried her face against the woman's shoulder. Sam held her close while turning an alarmed look on Charles, but he was no longer watching, staring instead toward the windows.

He began to speak, then stopped to clear his throat, eyes closing. "I'll be in the study, Meg. Come see me when you're ready." Without looking at them again, he left the room, not rushed, but not taking his time.

In the silence that followed, Meaghan and Samantha sat quietly, both staring ahead. Finally, Meaghan took a softly shuddering breath and tightened her arm around the other woman. "Sam, this is not your fault," she murmured gently before moving her head to rest against Sam's. She could feel the woman trembling. Leaning back, Meaghan brushed the back of her hand against Sam's temple and studied her. Some suspicions about the carpenter's possible background tickled at the back of her mind, but now was not the time, so she turned more fully toward the other woman and gripped her shoulders tightly. "This is not your fault," she repeated again, more firmly.

Sam's mouth opened, but then she slid from the bed and began to dress, her movements erratic and nervous. Meaghan could only watch, feeling mingled sympathy and pain. Unsure what to do, going through dozens of possible things to say, Sam was already on her way to the door when Meaghan finally stood up and called, "Wait!" She hurried to the other woman and batted Sam's hands away from her shirt's buttons so she could hold them.

"Sam, the last few days, I've felt more alive than I have in years. That's because of you, and I don't want to let go of that." Her hands tightened while tears threatened to spill. "Please don't run away from me," she whispered before rising up on her toes to kiss the other woman.

Samantha did not respond to the kiss at first, her body rigid, hands unresponsive. After a couple seconds, however, she returned the kiss briefly, then wrapped her arms around Meaghan's naked body. "I don't want to hurt anyone," Sam whispered, her voice strained and hoarse. She turned her face toward Meaghan's and rested her forehead against the smaller woman's temple for a long moment before she pushed Meaghan away. She was having trouble speaking, so she simply gestured to the door before hurrying toward it, closing the door securely behind her.

Utterly baffled, Meaghan found herself alone in the bedroom that had been filled with joy, laughter and passion just an hour ago. A sudden chill made her wrap her arms around herself and shiver, then before the tears could come, she hurried to the bathroom to shower, her mind racing.

* * *

An hour later, Meaghan appeared at the door to the study. Her auburn hair was still slightly damp and curled in lazy waves to her shoulders. Her attire was clean and in perfect order. She had put the bedroom to rights and gotten rid of any trace of Sam, including replacing the bedding. Now, as she hovered just outside, she had to battle with a barrage of emotions ranging from fury to terror, but she was no frail thing to hover there waiting for the blows to come, so she stepped through the doorway.

Charles was seated at the large desk, his business things piled on the floor beside him. He had set his briefcase in front of him but had not opened it. As Meaghan walked through the door, he continued to stare at it, unseeing.

She approached, then stopped just out of reach, fighting to control the quaver she knew would be in her voice. She hated feeling so weak. Feeling like she was in the wrong. Thankfully, before she could give away those emotions, her husband spoke.

"I had forgotten about that agreement," he admitted in a low, dull voice. "I mean, I knew at the time why you asked for it, but I guess ... ." He trailed off, then looked at her, eyes searching hers. After a moment, he took in the rest of her appearance, then looked at his briefcase again. "Been taking you for granted for years now, I guess."

Meaghan tried to break in, but he continued as if he hadn't noticed. "I had to know you'd get lonely. This isn't your life. Didn't grow up like ... ." He grimaced and turned away from her. "I won't lie, though. I'd hoped I was enough."

She had no idea what to say to that. The truth of his statement stung, but the truth of the implication was harder to bear. Her silence must have been reply enough, however, because Charles got to his feet and walked toward the window, where he looked across the lawn at Maine's never-ending forest. Meaghan fought down a feeling of defeat as she stood transfixed, realizing he had to work through this.

"I struggled when you first asked that we have an open relationship." He turned to face Meaghan again. There was a helpless element to his expression that made him look so boyish, and so alone. "Didn't want to share, I guess." He leaned back against the window sill and let his gaze wander to the floor in front of him. "Should've known you'd eventually ... need something more, though." His voice became gruff suddenly, and he had to stop to again clear his throat.

Meaghan slowly drew near, hesitating before she reached down to take his hand, which remained slack in her grip. "Charles, this has nothing to do with you," she said slowly, surprised that she sounded so calm. "Nothing to do with whether or not you're 'enough'. I'm not trying to be dismissive, but I have needed this for some time. I've fought it these past five years, but living here, practically alone while you take care of business." Her expression became pinched, but she fought down her emotions again and continued. "It's not a life, Charles. It was changing me into someone I didn't like anymore."

Charles turned to her, then took her hands in his, completely enveloping them. "It caught me by surprise, that's all," he murmured. "I thought, if you ever needed to ... to go to someone else, you'd tell me first--." His voice broke, Adam's apple bobbing while he swallowed against sudden tension.

"And I should have," Meaghan replied, quietly emphatic. "It developed out of nowhere and caught me by surprise, but I should have thought ... should have stopped." She took a deep breath, her hands tensing within his. "There has never been anyone else, Charles. Not since I first met you. Not until now." She looked fervently into his eyes, silently praying he believed her. How could he not? It was the simple truth.

Tears spilled as Charles wrapped his arms around his wife, desperate in his need to hold her, and she did not fight it. "I don't love you any less because of this," Meaghan said, unable to see his face now as her own tears fell against his chest, "and if I've risked losing you now ... ." Her arms tightened around him, unwilling to say the rest out loud. She could feel him take a couple shuddering breaths, then he pushed her away, almost exactly like Samantha had an hour ago.

Charles steeled himself for a moment, then looked into Meaghan's eyes. His jaw worked, tense one moment, relaxed the next. "You're not losing me, Meg, and as long as I'm not losing you--." His words broke off as he grimaced briefly and took another deep breath. When he spoke again, it was in a firmer tone as he regained some sense of calm. "Can I at least know why? Why her?"

Meaghan could feel his fingers at her shoulders, tense but not tight. His thumbs were massaging her, but she had a feeling it was subconscious. Tentatively, she smiled up at him, then took one of those hands away from her shoulder so she could hold it. "Sam is the carpenter," she began, then nervously, helplessly laughed when she saw the same look of surprise on Charles' face that had likely been on her own that first day.

"I thought Sam was this old guy in town," he began, suddenly frowning. "Beer belly, looks like some sort of hick Santa Claus."

Meaghan had to laugh again, though it was still such a shaky sound. "Maybe that's her dad. I really don't know. But as for why ... ." She trailed off and looked at Charles' chest for a moment, her mind searching. "At first, it was a physical attraction from afar. That sort of thing. Then I got to know her, and ... I'd had some whiskey," she admitted, suddenly blushing before she snuck a look at Charles' face. "Otherwise it probably never would have happened at all." She stopped talking and just watched him for a moment.

"It's such a different feeling, when it's a woman," Meaghan continued, haltingly. "A different connection that I think I've needed all along. And it's less because you don't give me that connection, but because you just can't. It's impossible." She winced a little, so sure she was mangling her explanation, but Charles continued to simply watch her. "You knew when you met me that I was bisexual. I didn't stop being bisexual because we got married, and you knew that, too." She said it softly, but not as an accusation; now that she had begun talking, she was not going to leave it half done.

Charles swallowed again, then nodded, his head barely moving more than half an inch. "I did," he agreed hoarsely. "I guess I just never understood what you meant." He stood away from the window sill and cleared his throat. "I'm going to unpack. You ... should go find her, before she can convince herself she's--." He broke off before he could finish the statement, but Meaghan understood. She watched him move away from her, getting down to the day's details in classic Charles style.

She knew they weren't entirely okay, but she had to believe they would be. And he was right, she needed to find Samantha. Her steps back to the hallway were measured, forcibly calm, but when she reached the stairs, she could not keep herself from rushing up them.

* * *

Meaghan could hear a radio playing on the top floor. One of the local Golden Oldies stations. The cheerful tune felt entirely out of place as she reached the top landing and looked into the main room. It already looked so different from when she had first shown it to Sam. The prep work had been completed a couple days ago, and now the project was really beginning to take shape. Sam had taken on that main room herself, but Meaghan could see no sign of her, and the carpenter's tools were as she had left them the evening before.

Meaghan quickly moved to the other rooms, shyly greeting the others from Sam's crew. She knew one of them was Sam's brother, but it wasn't until he smiled that she saw the resemblance. "It's Ron, right?" she asked, then continued after he smiled. "Have you seen Sam? I just needed to ask her something." It felt like a casual lie, even though it was true.

"Haven't seen her," Ron answered, rolling a shoulder as he tugged leather gloves off his hands. "Figured maybe she had errands, or, uh ... ." He started to turn red, then so did Meaghan as she realized he knew about them.

"Sorry," she blurted out, backing toward the doorway. "I'm sure it's nothing." Now that was a lie. "I'll just call her." She hurried from the room and back down the stairs. On her way to the front of the house, she peeked out the window and could see tire tracks where her truck had been parked the day before. Not bothering to leave word, she grabbed her keys and bolted outside.

* * *

Sam hadn't gone far. There was a picnic area on the way back to town. In the summer months it was a popular getaway for the locals, but in this early spring chill, the place was deserted. Cast iron grills and fire pits dotted the shady clearing, dark and hulking as mist dulled their rusted sides.

The truck's windshield was coated by the same mist, making it impossible for Sam to see clearly, but her windows were both cracked open, so she heard the vehicle coming before it appeared through the trees. The smaller, darker driver had to be Meaghan, she realized with no small amount of relief.

Ever since she first saw Charles that morning wrenching open the shower door, she had been sure it was only a matter of time. She would be a bloody pulp. Her brother and his wife would go hungry as they lost another job because of her, and Meaghan--. Sam wiped away sudden tears while fighting uncomfortably with the tightness in her throat.

Meaghan shut off the car's engine and watched Sam's truck for a long moment. She had been in such a hurry, it wasn't until just then that she started to think of what to say, but before her mind could dwell too long, she stepped out of her car and walked over to the truck's passenger side door, where she knocked on the window.

There was the click of the locks, then a muted screech as Meaghan opened the door and slipped inside, thudding the door closed behind her.

For nearly a minute, the two women sat silently, not looking at one another. There should have been tension in the air, but instead, both felt a confused mix of uncertain emotions, broken only by the sound of water dripping from the tree branches above the truck.

Finally, Meaghan reached for Samantha's hand and scooted toward her across the bench seat, but Sam was frozen in place, fighting a sense of fear that seemed so foreign to her, yet all the more intense.

Meaghan took a deep breath, silently willing Sam to look at her. When that failed, she began to speak, her quiet voice sounding louder inside the truck's cab. "I've been so smitten with you since you first arrived, it never occurred to me to call him." Her voice sounded so empty. It wasn't Charles she wanted to discuss, but she knew she had to explain. "He'll be okay. We'll be okay," she emphasized gently, "but what I really need to know right now is whether or not you and I will be."

Sam still stared out the windshield, and Meaghan could feel her body shivering off and on. "I don't want to break this off, Sam, I lo--." Meaghan's voice caught in her throat, and her hands instinctively tightened around Sam's. "Damn it, Sam, look at me!"

The other woman did turn then, her pale brown eyes wide and frightened. Meaghan all but gaped at her, then drew her arms around Sam's shoulders, holding her tightly. Tears came in a rush as Meaghan buried her face against the other woman's neck. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, then could do nothing but hold on.

Gradually, uncertainly, Sam's hands rose to rest against Meaghan's back. Sam felt her sob once at the touch, prompting her to tighten her grip, until both women were clinging to each other, though Sam's tears had ceased and were now drying on her cheeks. Still in mild shock, she could only watch when Meaghan finally pulled back to look at her, while scrubbing the backs of her thumbs across her cheeks.

Sam found her voice, but it felt far away, floating out of her by chance rather than by her will. "I thought he was going to kill me," she admitted, her tone dull. "All I could see was ... the inside of a hospital bed and--." She was interrupted as Meaghan clung to her again.

Horrified, Meaghan's fingers pulled against Sam's back for another embrace before she pulled back, fury coloring her face. "Who hurt you, Sam?" she asked, tone and expression fierce and savage.