Free Pike's Folly by Mike Heppner Page A

nothing more.
    He felt as though he were looking at and speaking to a very young girl. “What do you want to do?”
    She pushed a lock of her dark hair behind one ear. Because the danger had passed—this was a quiet street, after all—being naked didn’t feel special anymore. In fact, it struck her as depressingly banal. She hadn’t risked enough, hadn’t gone far enough. She lacked the courage to continue. From now on, her nakedness was a punishment—given by herself, to herself—for having a body and for being a bad person.
    Stuart’s voice prompted her. “Marlene?”
    Feeling pressured, she asked him for his sports jacket, which he took off and handed to her. “Just turn around,” she said. They’d both been through enough for one night—especially Stuart, who wasn’t as committed as she was. But it was a good start. She felt good about what she’d done.
    It took them twenty minutes to get back to the inn. Stuart drove a few miles under the speed limit, keeping both hands on the wheel. Marlene’s silence scared him; every now and then he said, “How’re you doing, hon?” or “Would you like me to slow down?” or “We’re almost there.” She found that she couldn’t speak to him just now. They’d debrief later, back in the room.
    The grassy parking lot behind the inn was half-empty when they returned. Stuart noticed a young couple walking down a stone path to their car. “There’s someone out there,” he muttered. “Maybe I should run in and bring out some clothes.” She handed him his jacket, which he refused. “You need it more than I do,” he said.
    She tossed it at him anyway. The parking lot was not well lit, and all he could see was the gray shape of her body in the passenger seat. “Just bring me my jeans and a T-shirt,” she said.
    Sighing, he climbed out of the car and walked across the lot. The couple wished him a happy Thanksgiving but cast a curious eye at his sports jacket, which was rumpled. He smiled and continued stiffly on. At the steps, he watched them pass behind his own car and squeeze into a silver Audi. The car started and pulled away; as it did, he unzipped his pants and took out his penis. Within seconds, an aching loneliness overwhelmed him—the night was made even more silent by the sound of crickets—so he stuffed it back and went inside.
    Up in the bedroom, he opened Marlene’s suitcase and brought out something for her to wear. Along with her clothes, she’d packed a hardcover novel, written by someone he’d once met while out promoting his own book on tour. The book surprised him, in that Marlene rarely read for pleasure. He felt as though he’d caught her cheating with another man—which, in a sense, he had. Still, he could hardly blame her; what this other man had accomplished was something beyond his own abilities and ambitions. He was creatively impotent, and J. Alan Sessions was not. She was better off without him, better off reading someone else’s book.
    When he looked up, he saw her standing naked in the doorway. “I left the car unlocked,” she said. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, okay? My whole body’s shaking.”
    For ten minutes, he listened to the sound of the shower running, then undressed and moved into the sitting area, where he halfheartedly fondled his cock by the window. Doing so gave him no pleasure, only the vague sense that he’d lost control of his life.
    When she finally came out of the bathroom, she was wearing a towel around her midsection and another wrapped turban-style around her head. “We’ll try it again tomorrow,” she said, “but during the day. I think I’ll stay in the car, if that’s all right— at least just to get started. We’ll see how it goes.” Reaching up, she unwound the towel from around her head and dashed