James Patterson - Honeymoon

“Cool it, J.J.,” I told him. “Max asked a good, smart question. You did, Max.”

“Yeah!” said Max. “Smart!”

I smiled to myself and picked up the pace. “C’mon, guys, we’re almost there.”

On some of our past trips together, I’d taken them to Bear Mountain and the Mohawk Trail. I’d even taken the boys out to Yellowstone for a week. Now I felt the need to do something really different. Or maybe it was guilt about Nora that I was trying to ease. Either way, I had one night with the boys and I was determined to make it a great one.

I turned to them as we came to a dead stop. “So, what do you guys think?”

Max and John Jr. stared with wide eyes and dropped jaws. For once, they were speechless… and I was loving it. There aren’t that many campsites in the Bronx, but I was pretty sure I’d found the best.

“Welcome to Yankee Stadium, boys.”

The two of them immediately dropped their knapsacks and sprinted for the field. It was late afternoon and there wasn’t a soul around. Nobody but us. Derek Jeter and company were in the middle of a West Coast road trip and we had the place to ourselves. The House That Ruth Built! Just lock up when you leave, said my friend in the front office. He could do worse than to have an FBI guy in his debt.

I opened up my duffel and broke out all the necessary equipment. Bats, gloves, caps, jerseys, about a dozen scuffed-up balls.

“All right, who wants to hit first?”

“Me, me, me!”

“No, me, me, me!”

Until the very last rays of sunlight slanted behind the massive scoreboard and soaring stands, my two sons and I had the time of our lives in Yankee Stadium.

“Do we really get to sleep here?” asked John Jr. in amazement.

“Of course we do, dumbhead!” chirped Max, turning the tables on his older brother. “Daddy said so.”

“That’s right, I did.” I walked over to the duffel and grabbed the tent kit. “Now which way should we face?”

I had one finger pointing toward center field, and another in the direction of home plate.

“Tell you what, we’ll compromise and face third base. That’s where my favorite Yankee played when I was growing up.”

“Yeah, mine too,” yelled John Jr. “A-Rod!”

The boys and I set up our pup tent. Actually, I set it up as Max and John Jr. continued to run amok on the infield dirt. They were still bursting at the seams with excitement, and it was incredible to watch them. Maybe I was finally getting my priorities in order.

Chapter 89

THEY EMBRACED AND KISSED like a couple of overheated teenagers in the foyer of the house in Back Bay. Nora had just arrived.

“What a treat,” said Jeffrey, holding her tight in his arms, stroking her hair. “I’ve got you for an entire long weekend. Imagine that.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, now. I feel bad, though, about keeping you from your novel,” she said. “I know how close you are to being done.”

“Actually, I’m not close at all.”

She looked at him, confused, and then he broke into a grin.

“You finished?”

“Yesterday, after a marathon all-night session. I must have been channeling my frustration over not hearing from you.”

“See?” she said with a playful poke at his chest. “I should leave you hanging more often.”

“Funny you should say that.”

“What do you mean?”

“The hanging part. I changed the ending; that’s how my main character dies now.”

“Really. Let me read it.”

“I will, except first I want to show you something. Come.”

“Yes, master. Anywhere.”

He took her hand and led her upstairs. They passed his library, heading toward the master bedroom.

“If you’re about to show me what I think you’re going to show me, I’ve already seen it,” she quipped.

He laughed. “Such a one-track mind!”

Steps before the doorway to the bedroom he stopped and turned. “Now close your eyes,” he whispered.

Nora obliged and he guided her into the room.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now,” he said.

Nora did. Her reaction was immediate. “Omigod.”

She looked at Jeffrey and then back above the fireplace again. She walked toward it, slowly. An oil painting— of her.

“Well?”

“It’s beautiful,” she said before realizing how that might sound, since it was her portrait. “I mean—”

“No, it’s beautiful, all right.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind, rested his head on hers. “How could it not be?”

She continued to stare, and finally tears welled in her eyes. He really did love her, didn’t he? The painting represented how he felt, how he saw her.

Jeffrey gave her another squeeze. “See, it wasn’t a mattress. It was a canvas.” He glanced over his shoulder at the mahogany four-poster. “Of course, now that we’re up here…”

Nora turned around to face him. “You really know how to get a girl into bed, don’t you?”

He flashed a grin. “Whatever it takes.”

“I love it.”

“And I love you.”

They kissed and undressed, making their way toward the bed. He lifted her gently, a feather in his strong arms. He laid her down on top of the duvet and paused before joining her. His eyes unblinking, he simply wanted to enjoy the view. And Nora let him. He deserved to look at her naked; he was so good to her.

They made love slowly at first. Then feverishly, holding nothing back. Their legs and arms intertwined like a fuse. Until, finally, they exploded. At least Jeffrey did—and Nora played her part to perfection, at least as good as Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally, though not to comic effect.

A minute passed as they embraced, neither saying a word. With a deep exhale, Jeffrey finally rolled to one side. “I’m hungry,” he said. “How about you?”

Nora propped up her head with the pillow. She couldn’t help seeing her portrait on the wall, and for a moment she stared into her own eyes. She wondered if there was any woman in the world quite like her.

“Yes,” Nora finally answered, softly. “I’m hungry, too.”

Chapter 90

NORA WAS STANDING over the polished stainless-steel Viking stovetop, looking like a dream, when Jeffrey joined her in the kitchen. “You were right,” he said. “A shower did feel good.”

“See, I told you. Nora knows best.”

He peeked over her shoulder at the skillet. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do in here?”

“Not a thing, darling. I’ve got everything under control.”

She reached for the spatula. There really was nothing he could do, was there? She’d made up her mind. As he sat down she gave his omelet one last flip.

There’s no turning back. I have to do this. Tonight’s the night.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he said. “That magazine photographer is coming up next weekend. He’ll be here Saturday afternoon to take the shots of us for the article.”

“I guess that means you’ve thought it through and made your decision?”

“About telling the world what a truly lucky guy I am? Yes. Jeffrey Walker and Nora Sinclair are a blissfully married couple. If anything, I feel even more strongly about going public.”

She stifled a laugh.

“What?”

“You make it sound like a stock offering,” she said. “Like business.” Nora turned back to the burner and scooped up Jeffrey’s omelet, putting it on a plate.

For a silent minute she sat at the table with him and watched as he swallowed bite after bite. He looked happy and content. And why not?

“So tell me more about the novel,” she eventually said. “It ends with a hanging?”

He nodded. “I’ve written guillotines, sword duels, and firing squads, but never a good old-fashioned hanging.” Suddenly he lifted his hands up to his neck and made a choking noise before giving way to a laugh.