Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

The grass is always greener, her mother used to warn her, and as often as not, Lucille had been right. But for some reason Charlotte could never bring herself to admit it. Nor did she ever feel the need to temper her fantasies, no matter how many disillusionments she encountered.

Hitching the sheet over her breasts, she shifted her position at the window. When she turned a certain way, the river disappeared and she could see Alex’s reflection in the glass. He had his back to the window as he stood in front of the bureau, knotting his tie. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder and their gazes met briefly in the mirror before she looked away.

Tiny shivers whispered along her bare skin, and even now, with guilt and shame niggling at her conscience, she couldn’t say that she was entirely sorry for what had happened. She’d been attracted to Alex Girard for as long as she could remember. He was nearly a decade older, but age had never mattered to Charlotte. She’d always had a thing for mature men. What did matter was that he was still technically married to her sister.

“You’ve been standing at that window for ten damn minutes,” he said. “What are you looking at?”

“You can see the river from here.”

“Just enough so that they call it a view and charge twice as much rent.” He came over to stand behind her, casually resting his hand on her bare shoulder as he propped his other arm against the window frame.

He’d just come from the shower, and Charlotte could smell the soap on his skin and the starch in his shirt. She wanted to turn and bury her head against that snowy crispness, tug loose his tie and slide her hand up under his shirttail. His stomach beneath was flat and hard from the hours he spent at the gym. He took a lot of care with his appearance, and Charlotte appreciated the effort.

Absently, he massaged her shoulder. “Man, would you look at that traffic? Seeing all those cars out there, it’s hard to believe what a ghost town this place was after the flood. Of course, eighty percent of the city was underwater. Nothing going in and out but gators and moccasins.”

Charlotte glanced up at his profile. She felt a pull of desire every time she looked at him, so she hastily averted her gaze. This morning she wouldn’t have the excuse of fear and loneliness driving her toward irresponsibility. This morning she wouldn’t be able to blame anything but her own selfish needs.

“You rode out the storm here in town, didn’t you? I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”

Alex squinted against the glare of sunlight that spilled through the window. “It was bad. Worst damn thing I’ve ever been through, but half of what you heard on the news was bullshit. Like the reports about cops leaving the city in droves. Never happened.”

“The first thing I learned when I went to work in the D.A.’s office was never to trust the media,” Charlotte said with a shrug. “But they got one thing right. New Orleans is never going to be the same.”

“No, probably not. But I’ve never seen much point in looking back. You can’t change the past. All you can do is play the hand you got dealt and move on.”

“Sometimes it’s not that easy, Alex.”

“And sometimes it is,” he insisted. “It’s all a matter of persective. Take this window, for instance. If you’re the glass half-empty type, you’d look out and see nothing but the memory of flooded streets and piles of garbage. But me? I prefer to be a little more optimistic. I look out that window and see opportunity.”

“Now you sound just like a politician,” Charlotte teased. “You can’t expect people to forget so soon. New Orleans has always been a city that lives in the past. It’s who we are.”

“And maybe that’s been our problem all along. Like I said, I don’t see much profit in looking back. I don’t believe in regrets.” His voice softened as he turned and traced a finger down her jawline. “That goes for what happened last night, too. I’m not sorry and I don’t want you to be, either.”

She kept her gaze trained on the window, as if the sunshine flooding through the glass could burn away her desire for him as easily as it melted the early morning mist over the river. “I can’t help it. I shouldn’t have come here, Alex.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I could tell that you were hurt and upset when you left the hospital last night. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“One thing you gotta know about me. I’m not a man who takes well to charity. I don’t need your pity. That’s the last thing I want from you.”

“I don’t pity you, but I do understand what you’re going through. Last night you were hurt and vulnerable, and I was lonely. We let things get out of hand. It never should have happened.”

“Is that really the way you feel?” His eyes moved over her face. “If you don’t want to see me again, that’s fine. If the earth didn’t move or we didn’t click, or you can’t stand the way I hog all the covers in the middle of the night, then tell me straight up. I can handle the truth. But don’t give me any bullshit about guilt and regrets. We didn’t hurt anybody.”

“What about Claire?”

“Claire doesn’t give a damn what I do.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

The question obviously hit a nerve that was still raw and exposed. Alex winced as he turned back to the window. “No, I’m not going to tell her. Are you?”

Charlotte clutched the sheet to her breasts, the lingering passion she’d felt earlier dissolving now in the tawdry light of the morning after. “I don’t want her to know. I can’t stand the thought of her being hurt because of something we did in a weak moment.”

“You need to lighten up.” His voice was becoming irritated, but Charlotte didn’t think he was so much annoyed with her as he was with his own conscience. “It’s over between Claire and me. It has been for a long time. I was just too stubborn to admit it. I kept clinging to the way I wanted things to be instead of facing how it really was.”

“Because you loved her,” Charlotte said softly. “You still do. That’s plain to anyone.”

“Maybe I do, but I’m damned if I know why.”

“Because she’s Claire.”

“Right.” His eyes were suddenly cold and remote as he stared out at the traffic. “She’s Claire. The woman I let walk all over me for the past six years.”

Charlotte flinched. “Don’t talk about her that way. You don’t know what she’s been through.”

He gave a bitter laugh as his eyes cut sideways at her. “ I don’t know what she’s been through? That’s a joke, right? Because I’m the one who used to wake her up from the nightmares, remember? I’m the one who was right there beside her when she went through the house looking for Ruby. I’m the one who held her for hours when she couldn’t stop shaking. So don’t tell me I don’t understand what she went through, okay? I was with her every step of the way. And it still wasn’t enough.”

“I’m sorry.” Charlotte put a hand on his arm. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. You know as well as I do what a terrible time she’s had. I’m just defensive when it comes to my sister.”

He shook off her hand and walked back over to the mirror to adjust his tie. His movements were jerky with anger. “We’re all defensive when it comes to Claire. But you and Lucille aren’t doing her any favors by feeding into this latest obsession of hers.”

“You mean the doll?”

“I mean the doll, I mean that kid she saw in the park, I mean everything. She’s got to find a way to let this thing go or it’ll eat her alive.”

Maybe it already has. Because when she remembered her sister the way she once was, Charlotte realized all too painfully that the Claire she knew now was nothing but a shell. She’d never been outgoing like Charlotte, or as openly demonstrative as Lucille, but she’d adored her daughter, loved her more than life itself. And there was a time when she’d been quietly, ecstatically happy. With Dave.