Wake to Darkness Page 12

  “Carolers?” Mason asked.

  “Good God, they just beat you over the head with holiday cheer up here, don’t they?” And yet I moved past him into the hall, deliberately brushing against him, then hurried down the stairs to see for myself.

  Yes, there were carolers. Marie had opened the door and was standing there smiling at one of them, a tall, dark-haired guy who was damn good-looking. Not as good-looking as Mason, of course. But then, who was? He was smiling back at her, too, a twinkle in his eyes.

  They know each other. And that means she broke our number one rule. She told someone we were coming up here.

  Maybe not. There could be another explanation. But there is something going on in the air between his eyes and hers. I don’t miss shit like that.

  Rosie was among the singers, his Santa-sized belly making him easy to spot, and Marlayna was tucked in the crook of his arm, smiling ear to ear and singing off-key to “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”

  Mason and I joined the others, crowded together at the open door as the carol unfolded. A couple in the back added harmony, and the snowy night vista behind them made it picture-perfect, too. It was wonderful, and we all clapped like giddy cheerleaders when they finished.

  “You have to invite us in for a drink now,” Rosie said. “That’s how this works.”

  “No, Mr. Jones, not at all,” said a pale, bespectacled man I guessed was either a pastor or an accountant.

  “Yes, Mr. Beckwith, yes, it does. For me, anyway.” Holding Marlayna to him, Rosie pushed through the crowd and came inside. “Go on, have fun now. These are friends of mine,” he added, because Mr. Beckwith looked worried.

  He smiled in relief then, and waved. “Good night, Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones.”

  “Merry Christmas!” called several of the group.

  They trooped away singing “Jingle Bells” as Mason started to close the door. Then he stopped halfway as a car pulled up out front. Angela.

  Great. Now the evening was complete.

  Marlayna sniffed the air. “Now I know why you wanted to come in. I smell something good.”

  “Aw, hon, don’t be like that,” Rosie said. Then, to Mason, “It’s brownies, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, no, my brownies!” Marie ran to the kitchen.

  I ran to help her, hoping she’d made a jumbo-sized batch. And hoping even harder that this evening with the gang would pass quickly, so I could get back to that homework, alone in my room, with Mason.

  Because...what? You want to bang him?

  Yes, Inner Bitch. That’s exactly what I want. Maybe.

  I felt my alter ego snort in derision. You want more than that, and you damn well know it.

  Whoa. Where had that notion come from?

  It didn’t matter, I told myself. Another one-night stand with Mason was exactly what I wanted. Right now. I was drunk on holiday cheer and twinkling lights and anticipated chocolaty deliciousness, and I wanted another night in his arms to go with all the other sensory delights. And if there was anything more than that in the offing, I was just going to think about that later.

  Marie brought in a platter of brownies, and I saw there were at least three different varieties. Some had lighter brown swirls of what I hoped to God was peanut butter. Some had walnuts and chocolate chips, and the third batch was actually blondies, with butterscotch chips, be still, my waistline.

  She set the platter on the coffee table, a giant oak slab of a thing facing the fireplace, which was burning happily, and Josh grabbed a handful before anyone else could get close.

  “One,” Marie said. “You take one brownie at a time, Joshua.”

  So he let them go. A pile of slightly mashed brownies freshly contaminated with whatever his unwashed boy-hands had on them.

  “Honestly, Marie,” Angela snapped, “do you really think anyone wants to eat any of them now? Joshua, take the brownies you touched off that pile. Those will be all you get.”

  Mason beat him to it, taking the most mashed brownie of all and popping it whole into his mouth. Then he chewed and grinned at the same time, clearly disgusting his mother. Joshua, who’d looked wounded a second ago, burst into giggle fits.

  Angela rolled her eyes. “That’s good, Mason. Encourage him to be rude.”

  “He wasn’t being rude,” I said. “He was just being a kid.”

  Mason’s mother glared at me, and I knew I wasn’t scoring any brownie points. Okay, bad pun. Shoot me. The woman’s personality matched her hair. White steel. And I’d been as disgusted by Josh’s brownie grab as she had. I just automatically rose to Mason’s defense. Which was stupid, because he certainly didn’t need it.

  Misty came trundling in from the kitchen with a big tray full of coffee mugs, two steaming pots and various other implements of indulgence. Cream, sugar, cocoa packets, so I presumed one pot held coffee and the other, hot water.

  Jeremy jumped up from his chair to take the tray from her, and the smile she sent him was gooier than the still warm chocolate chips in the brownie I’d just picked up. Angela looked pleased and Marie looked worried. Hell, I wasn’t. Misty had a good head on her shoulders.

  So we sat around eating. Marie was mostly quiet. Rosie and Marlayna carried on most of the conversation. And eventually it turned to my work, as I had feared it would. It was always awkward when someone brought their adoring fandom to a family function. It clashed, you know?

  Anyway, it was of course Marlayna who said, “You know, Rachel, your books really changed my life.”

  “Really? Well, isn’t that interesting?” Angela set her cup delicately down and leaned forward. “Do tell us how, Marlayna. I never thought you were the type to go in for that sort of thing.”

  “What sort of thing is that, Angela?” I asked.

  She smiled at me. I smiled back. Don’t even try to out passive-aggressive me, hon. I wrote the manual.

  “Oh, you know.” She waved a hand from the wrist. “Airy-fairy.”

  Mason put his hand on my thigh. It was supposed to calm me down. It didn’t. Then he went to take it away and I slapped mine over top of it to keep it there. Because while it wasn’t calming, it was distracting in the best possible way.

  Marlayna was talking again, but I’d been focused on that hand and had to quickly tune in.

  “...not like that at all, Angela,” she was saying. “It’s...deep. She writes in truths that are so simple you just feel like you knew them all along. And I think we probably do on some level, we just...I don’t know, forget.”

  “Truths, you say.” Condescension dripped from Angela’s tone. “Why don’t you share some of these bits of genius with us, Rachel? I’m not familiar with your work. In fact, I’d never heard of you until Mason mentioned you to me.”

  Another slam. I was preparing to return the volley when Misty said, “Wow. Have you been living in a cave or something?”

  Mason snorted coffee out his nose. Well, okay, not quite, but I thought it was close.

  “I used to spend all my time worrying,” Marlayna said. She either hadn’t noticed the little round of slam-the-writer or had chosen to ignore it. “Every decision, every simple ‘should I or shouldn’t I?’ was like a life-and-death choice. I’d spend hours trying to think of every possible repercussion, trying to predict other people’s reactions to every decision I made. I was trying to choose between jobs when I read Wish and It Is Granted.”

  “What were the jobs?” I almost jumped, surprised the question had come from me. I realized I was leaning forward on the sofa, elbows on my legs, having forgotten all about Mason and his hand on my thigh, which was, sadly, no longer there. I was eager to hear what Marlayna was saying. What the fuck?

  “I was a teacher at the time,” she said slowly. “But I was offered a job in the administration end of things, and at the same time, I’d been playing around with website design, taking a few classes and practicing by putting up sites for friends. I was worried about money, security, retirement, work hours...everything you could think of. And then I
read that book, and it was like an angel whispering in my ear, ‘Just do what you really want in your heart to do, the thing that feels like the most fun. Do that, and the rest will fall into place.’”

  I wrote that? That’s actually not bad.

  “So what did you do?” I asked, and this time I wasn’t even surprised I was eager.

  “I did what my heart wanted to do and started my own website design business. Within a year I was making twice what I’d made teaching, and after the second year, more than the administrative job would have paid. And I have never once regretted it.”

  Angela made a huffing sound, but I decided to ignore her. Then Marlayna was reaching across and covering my hand with hers. “Thank you for that, Rachel. I’ve been making decisions based on what my heart wants ever since, and just like you said, my heart has never steered me wrong.”

  “Too bad I didn’t have that kind of advice seventeen years ago,” Marie said softly. “I was a nurse when Eric and I first got married. But I gave it up to stay home and raise our boys. Sometimes...I really miss it.”

  “It’s never too late, Marie,” Marlayna said softly.

  Everyone was looking at me—Angela skeptically, of course, but Mason was beaming like he was proud or something, and Misty had that “if they only knew” smirk on her face.

  “Well, we’d best get back to the lodge and let you all get some sleep,” Rosie said, maybe to break the awkward moment. “Will I see you all on the slopes tomorrow?”

  “You can see me in the water park,” Josh said. “That’s where I want to be!”

  “We’ll ski in the morning, water park in the afternoon. How’s that sound, pal?” Mason asked.

  Joshua pouted and sank farther back into his chair. I felt for the kid. That water park was all he’d talked about since we’d arrived. Maybe I’d talk to Mason about letting him go right at noon, when it opens.

  “Come on, Josh, time for you to get ready for bed,” his mother said. “Me, too, for that matter. I’m exhausted.” She got up and held out her hand to her youngest. “Good night, Rosie, Marlayna. Angela.”

  “Good night, Marie.” Marlayna went to her, gave her a slight hug and whispered something that made Marie glance my way, nod and say, “Maybe I will.”

  Hell, Marlayna was telling her to read my books. I just knew it. Like that was going to help after she’d lost her husband and her baby.

  Angela said, “No point in you two walking back to the lodge. I have my car outside.” They left, and Marie and Joshua headed upstairs, leaving Mason and me with Misty and Jeremy, who were clearly hoping we’d turn in and leave them alone.

  “I’m pretty tired, too,” I said. “Misty, help me with the mess, will you, so we can turn in?”

  “Sure.” She followed me to the kitchen, each of us carrying a pile of stuff. She wrapped the leftover brownies, while I stacked empty mugs in the dishwasher.

  I said, “So listen, about you and Jeremy...”

  “We only met a few days ago, Aunt Rache.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ve been a teenager, albeit a blind one. I know the deal. You’re seventeen. Are you on anything?”

  “Like drugs?” she asked, mortified.

  “Like birth control, Einstein.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her back on me.

  “Look, I have three things to say, kid.” I ticked them off on my fingers as I went on. “One. Not without a condom, not ever, no matter what. Two. Not before you’re ready, no matter what, no matter who. And three. Remember that sex means something. It connects you with the other person whether you want it to or not. So understand that before you proceed.”

  “You sound like one of your own books, Aunt Rachel.”

  “That’s because I’m the author. And while I’ve got your attention, I want you to keep in mind that Jeremy is in a really vulnerable place right now. He just lost his father, and then his newborn sister, so be careful with his feelings.”

  “I am not going to have sex with Jeremy.”

  “You can still be careful how you treat him.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I’m done now. Use your brain. Make your aunt proud.” I wiped my hands on a dish towel, tossed it onto the counter and left the kitchen in time to see the tail end of what looked like a similar conversation between Mason and Jeremy, who was rolling his eyes just like Misty had. I hoped they both listened, because we couldn’t keep our eyes on them 24/7. At some point with kids you had to trust them and hope they remembered one or two of your 8000 lectures.

  Mason met my eyes and nodded just slightly, telling me we were still on for that research in my room.

  “I’m heading upstairs now,” I said. “Good night, you guys.”

  “Night,” they chorused.

  And then I headed for my room, feeling like a hypocrite because I’d just lectured Misty on the dangers of casual sex while I was considering having some myself a little later on.

  Or was I?

  According to Marlayna, the crap I’d spouted in book one, crap that was really just a remix of crap I’d read myself, in braille or on audio over the twenty years I’d been told to make peace with my blindness, actually worked.

  Had changed her life, she’d said.

  Oh, she wasn’t the first. I’d had thousands of letters and emails from readers claiming the same. I guess I’d just assumed those people had thought their lives had changed, but that they would revert in short order to whatever had been wrong in the first place. Marlayna was the first person to give me a snapshot of changes that had lasted years.

  I knew the stuff by heart, the platitudes, the pseudo-science behind them. The theory that one’s inner self always knew the right thing to do, and that this all-knowing, all-seeing part of us communicated to us through our emotions. When something felt great, filled us with excitement and eagerness, that was our inner self saying “Hell, yes,” according to the message I preached.

  My inner self was shouting a very loud hell, yes to a night of hot monkey sex with Mason.

  Maybe, just this once, I would try a little spoonful of my own medicine. Practice what I preached. What did I have to lose?

  Shit, I need to take a shower!

  I hit the adjoining bathroom like my feet were on fire, cranked the taps and thanked my lucky stars that I’d packed all my inner-Barbie stuff. My sweet-smelling body wash. My extra rich conditioner. A couple of razors. I was going to do it, I thought, as I scrubbed every inch of my body. I was going to have sex with Mason tonight.

  My inner idiot giggled like a sophomore.

  My inner bitch was smiling like she knew something I didn’t. I hate when she does that.

  9

  Tuesday, December 19

  Tap tap tap, really softly on my bedroom door. And it was about frigging time. I’d only been waiting for close to two hours, which meant I’d had plenty of time to change my mind seventeen times and primp a little more just in case. You know, the usual stuff. Fix my hair three different ways and debate with myself over whether to wear pajama bottoms and a tank, or a T-shirt and panties. The latter would have been too obvious, so I went for the jammie bottoms and the tank. No bra. I’d just pretend I didn’t realize how great my small but perky boobs looked in the white ribbed, guy-style tank top. He’d believe that, right?

  Just when I decided he wouldn’t, that I would come off like a sex maniac and was digging for a suitable substitution, there came that sound of someone rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

  Nothing to do but buck up. I squared my shoulders, pulled my hair around to one side, which I’d decided looked sexy, and opened the door.

  Mason had come bearing gifts. Leftover brownies and coffee, which he put on one of the nightstands. And the way his gaze slid over my tank top made me glad I hadn’t changed. He swallowed hard, averted his eyes, and I saw the way his sexy-as-hell, stubble-coated jawline tightened. I doubted he had any idea how gorgeous he was. Or maybe he did, now that I thought about it.

>   He came on in when I stepped aside. He wore pajama bottoms, too, just like me. Unlike me, he’d chosen a loose-fitting T-shirt to cover his magnificent upper bod. I wished he hadn’t. I remembered it too well. He had the best shoulders and back. Really wide and smooth, and just...nice.

  I closed the door behind him. Too obvious?

  He set the goodies on the nightstand, snatching up the file folder he’d left there earlier, then turned to face me. “Sorry it took so long.”

  “Did it? I wasn’t paying attention.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek, like he wanted to grin but was fighting it. “I thought it’d be better to wait until everyone else called it a night. We can’t tell them what we’re really doing in here, and that means they’d jump to their own conclusions.”

  “Right. Makes sense.” He smelled good. Damn, he’d showered, too. His hair was still damp at the ends.

  My turn to avoid a full-fledged grin. I grinned on the inside, though, right to my toes.

  “Where’s Myrtle?” he asked, looking around my room.

  “She’s in with Josh because she’s a dirty traitor. But I don’t mind.”

  “He’s fallen in love, for sure. So, you have chairs in here?”

  “Nope, just the bed.” I jumped on, scooted up until my back was against the headboard and crossed my legs in front of me. Then I patted the spot next to me.

  He looked a little nervous, but he joined me on the bed. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, leaned back, positioning a few pillows behind him, and opened the file folder on his thighs.

  His thighs. I remembered them, too. Running my hands over the soft, fine hairs on them and feeling them flex hard and let go, over and over.

  “Okay, so we have—”

  “We have coffee getting cold and brownies getting stale over there,” I said, nodding to the nightstand on his side of the bed, because I needed to distract myself. And those brownies were pretty damn good.

  He looked up from the papers and nodded. “Right.” Then he passed me a mug and brought the plate of brownies over. He put it on the bed beside my legs. “There you go.” Like he knew it was the brownies I’d really wanted the whole time. Hell, he probably had. We’d been together a lot, the last time his brother had come back from the dead. Figuratively speaking.