He motioned to the couch, and they sat close to each other, her knee pulled up and resting against his thigh. Outside the window, the moon had risen and its light spilled through the clouds, turning them silver white. Taylor took another sip of Champagne, watching Denise.
"What are you thinking?" she asked. Taylor glanced away briefly before facing her again.
"I was thinking about what would have happened had you never been in the accident that night."
"I would have had my car," she declared, and Taylor laughed before growing serious again.
"But do you think I'd be here now, if it hadn't happened?"
Denise considered it. "I don't know," she said at last. "I'd like to think so, though. My mom used to believe that people were destined for one another. That's a romantic idea that young girls have, and I guess part of me still believes it."
Taylor nodded. "My mom used to say that, too. I think that's one of the reasons why she never remarried. She knew there could never be anyone to replace my father. I don't think my mom's even considered dating anyone since the day he died."
"Really?"
"That's how it always seemed to me, anyway."
"I'm sure you're wrong about that, Taylor. Your mom's only human, and we all need companionship."
As soon as she'd said it, she realized she was talking about herself as much as she was about Judy. Taylor, however, didn't seem to notice.
Instead he smiled. "You don't know her as well as I do."
"Maybe, but remember, my mother went through the same things your mom did. She mourned my father always, but I know she still felt the desire to be loved by someone."
"Did she date?"
Denise nodded, taking a sip of her Champagne. Shadows flickered across his features.
"After a couple of years, she did. She saw a few men seriously, and there were times I thought I'd have a new stepfather soon, but none of them ever worked out."
"Did that make you angry? Her dating, I mean?"
"No, not at all. I wanted my mom to be happy."
Taylor raised an eyebrow before draining the last of his Champagne. "I don't know if I would have been as mature about it as you were."
"Maybe not. But your mom's still young. There may still come a time when it happens."
Taylor brought the glass to his lap, realizing he'd never even imagined the possibility.
"What about you? Did you think you'd be married by now?" he asked.
"Of course," she said wryly. "I had it all worked out. Graduate at twenty-two, married by twenty-five, my first child at thirty. It was a great plan, except that absolutely none of it worked out the way I thought it would."
"You sound disappointed."
"I was," she admitted, "for a long time. I mean, my mom always had this idea of what my life would be like and never missed the opportunity to remind me. And she meant well, I know she did. She wanted me to learn from her mistakes, and I was willing to do that. But when she died . . . I don't know. I guess for a while there I forgot everything she'd taught me."
She stopped, a pensive look on her face.
"Because you got pregnant?" he asked gently.
Denise shook her head. "No, not because I got pregnant, though that was part of it. It was more that after she died, I felt like she wouldn't be looking over my shoulder all the time, evaluating everything in my life. And of course, she wasn't, and I took advantage of that. It wasn't until later that I realized the things my mom said weren't meant to hold me back, they were for my own benefit so that all my own dreams could come true."
"We all make mistakes, Denise--"
She held up a hand, cutting him off. "I'm not saying it because I feel sorry for myself now. Like I said, I'm not disappointed anymore. These days, when I think about my mom, I know she'd be proud of the decisions I've made over the last five years."
She hesitated before taking a deep breath. "I think she'd also like you."
"Because I'm nice to Kyle?"
"No," she answered. "My mom would like you because you've made me happier in the last two weeks than I have been in the last five years."
Taylor could only stare at her, humbled by the emotion behind her words. She was so honest, so vulnerable, so incredibly beautifu . . .
In the glowing candlelight, sitting close, she looked at him squarely, her eyes lit with mystery and compassion, and it was at that moment that Taylor McAden fell in love with Denise Holton.
All the years of wondering exactly what that meant, all the years of loneliness, had led to this place, this here and now. He reached out and took her hand, feeling the softness of her skin as a well of tenderness rose within him.
As he touched her cheek, Denise closed her eyes, willing this memory to last forever. She knew intuitively the meaning of Taylor's touch, the words he'd left unspoken. Not because she'd come to know him so well. She knew because she'd fallen in love with him at exactly the same time.
In the late evening, moonlight spilled through the bedroom. The air was silver as Taylor lay on the bed, Denise resting her head on his chest. She had turned on the radio, and the faint strains of jazz muted the sounds of their whispers.
Denise lifted her head from his chest, marveling at the naked beauty of his form, seeing at once the man she loved and the blueprint of the young boy she never knew. With guilty pleasure, she recalled the sight of their bodies intertwined in passion, her own soft whimpers as they'd become one, and how she'd buried her face in his neck to stifle her screams. And she'd done so knowing that it was what she both needed and wanted; she'd closed her eyes, giving herself to him without reserve.
When Taylor saw her staring, he reached over and traced her cheek with his fingers, a melancholy smile playing on his lips, his eyes unreadable in the soft gray light. She moved her cheek closer to his fingers as he opened his hand.
In silence they lay together as the digital numbers on the clock radio blinked forward steadily. Later Taylor rose. He threw on his pants and walked to the kitchen to get two glasses of water. When he came back, he saw Denise's figure intertwined with the sheet, covering part of her. As she lay on her back, Taylor took a drink of water, then set both glasses on the bedstand. When he kissed her between her breasts, she could feel the cool temperature of his tongue against her. "You're perfect," he whispered.
She put one arm around his neck, then ran her hand down his back, feeling all of it: the fullness of the evening, the silent weight of their passion.
"I'm not, but thank you. For everything." He sat on the bed then, his back against the headrest. Denise moved up and he draped one arm around her, pulling her close to him.
It was in that position that the two of them finally fell asleep.
Chapter 20
When she woke the following morning, Denise was alone. The bedcovers on Taylor's side had been pulled up, his clothes nowhere to be seen. Checking the clock, she saw that it was a little before seven. Puzzled, she got out of bed, put on a short silk bathrobe, and checked the house quickly before glancing out the window.
Taylor's truck was gone.
Frowning, Denise returned to the bedroom to check the bedstand: no note. Not in the kitchen, either.
Kyle, who'd heard her puttering around the house, staggered sleepily out of his bedroom as she was pondering the situation, plopping down on the living room couch.
"Hewwo, Money," he mumbled, his eyes half-closed. Just as she answered, she heard Taylor's truck coming up the drive. A minute later Taylor was slowly opening the front door, a grocery bag in his arms, as if wary of waking a sleeping household.
"Oh, hey," he said, whispering as soon as he saw them, "I didn't think you two would be up yet."
"Hewwo, Tayer," Kyle cried, suddenly alert.
Denise pulled her robe a little tighter. "Where did you go?"
"I ran to the store."
"At this hour?"
Taylor closed the door behind him and walked across the living room. "It opens at six."
"Why're you whispering?"