Free The Night, The Day by Andrew Kane Page B

count. It felt good, as if he were finally returning to her. She brought her hand slowly to his face, gently touching his cheek as she leaned into him and kissed his lips. It was a tender kiss, but one which vibrated through her entire body.
    “I love you,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.
    “And I love you ,” he responded as he drew her into another kiss, deeper and harder.
    Enveloped in his hold, she wanted nothing more than to have all of him. Releasing herself, she took his hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”
    “But what of dinner?” he asked, grinning mischievously.
    “It will have to wait.”

chapter 9
    T he village of Lake Success was aptly named, in light of its grand homes and winding, impeccably groomed streets. It was not a place Martin and Katherine could have afforded, were it not for the financial assistance of Katherine’s parents. Martin had initially been opposed to the idea – there were plenty of fine neighborhoods within their price range – but Katherine’s father, a prominent Peoria surgeon with whom Martin had developed a most amicable relationship, had convinced his new son-in-law to at least take the money as a “non-interest loan.” Katherine fell in love with the neighborhood, saw it as a wonderful place for children, and Martin couldn’t bear to disappoint her. He promised himself, and Katherine, that he would pay her father back in full, though the man had never expected or even desired to see the money. Martin’s first two royalty checks on his book took care of the first and last installments, and his only regret was that Katherine hadn’t lived to see the house become theirs. He believed, however, that somehow she knew.
    The house was a four-bedroom, center-hall colonial on Bridle Path Lane, a street that had once, years before the development of the area, served the very function for which it was named. Set back nicely from the road, on about half an acre of property, it boasted all white hand-split cedar shakes, with old-world crystalline windows and traditional drapery adding as much to its exterior as to the rooms within. Its simplicity, which lent it a storybook complexion one might find somewhere in Middle America rather than here among its more imposing neighbors, had clinched it for Katherine. It had reminded her of home.
    For Martin, it had all been a big surprise. He had never imagined himself taking pride in something so mundane as a house. But as Katherine slowly added her touch, the more he came to appreciate it, and her. It became, in every sense, a reflection of their lives: pure and warm. And within its confines, he would always feel her presence.

    “Daddy’s home!” Martin heard as he entered the house.
    Elizabeth came running from the den and jumped into his arms, yelling, “Daddy!”
    He hoisted her up and held her tight, relishing every squeeze and kiss, though his bones and muscles were telling him that she was getting too heavy, and he too old. A wave of sadness passed through him. “How’s my girl?” he asked.
    “Good, Daddy, really good.”
    He put her down, trying to conceal the strain.
    “Come see what we were doing!” she commanded as she led him back to the den.
    Jamilla was sitting on the den floor, pondering the pieces of an almost completed puzzle. As usual, she was dressed simply: fitted blue jeans and a black T-shirt bearing a faded image of Celine Dion. She was a small-framed woman in her early 20s, with long, straight black hair, dark skin, brown eyes, and what Martin had always regarded as sweet facial features. She looked up at him with the same smile that had so impressed him the first time he’d met her, the smile that had told him that she would be the perfect caregiver for his daughter. “Ah, Dr. Rosen, how are you tonight?”
    Martin had grown accustomed to her accent though, when he hired her two years earlier, he was worried that it might hinder Elizabeth’s language skills. He had since learned quite the