He smiled back, but it was the wrong smile. He was looking at her still with desire, still controlled by Jade, tricked into seeing some other Sarah. Sarah felt cold and very much alone. She backed away from him when he held out his arms to her.
“I’m leaving,” she said. She turned away.
“Sarah.”
It was Brian’s voice.
She trembled but did not look back.
“Sarah, sweetheart, I love you. Come here and let me kiss you.”
She made herself walk away. She could not look back. If she looked back, she knew she would be lost. If she saw Brian she would go to him, even knowing that he was really Pete, even knowing that he was an illusion. She would make love to him gladly, greedily, accepting the illusion since that was all she had.
“Sarah, please. Come back to me. I need you.”
She broke into a run, then, through the kitchen and onto the porch and outside, down the three wooden steps. She was crying.
Outside, she slumped against the side of her car and wept. When the worst of it passed, she looked up and saw that Pete was sitting on the top step, head buried in his hands. She wiped her face with a tissue, watching him, but he did not move or speak.
“Pete,” she said at last.
He looked up, cautiously, giving her a hunted look. His face was haggard, and the expression on it might have been guilt or it might have been fear. He did not speak.
Sarah sighed, pushing herself away from the car. She felt like an empty shell, and it was an effort to move. “Come on,” she said wearily. “Let’s get out of here.”
Pete rose, moving like an invalid, and walked towards her. He stopped short while there was still quite a distance between them and said in a whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” Sarah said. “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault.” She hated the stricken look on Pete’s face. She wanted to forget what had happened—and what had not happened—but there was still this problem to be worked out between them. She sighed. “Let’s go,” she said.
They got into Pete’s car, Sarah again taking the wheel. She didn’t quite trust Pete to drive; she didn’t trust what his guilt and exhaustion might make him do.
“It was Jade,” she said again. “You don’t have to feel guilty.” She looked at him. “It was just another kind of attack. He was playing with us. I kept seeing you as Brian, and I wanted . . . all I wanted to do . . . Jade made me feel that, just as he made you feel . . .”
“But you saw Brian,” Pete said dully. “That’s why . . .” He drew a deep breath and rubbed his face fiercely with the palm of one hand. Not looking at her, he said, “I didn’t see anyone but you. I didn’t imagine that you were Bev, or anyone else. I knew what I was doing the whole time; I knew it was you. I don’t have an excuse, you see. I’ve always been attracted to you, Sarah. I love Bev. I would never do anything to hurt her. And there I was . . . acting out my fantasies about you. I don’t know what came over me—”
“Of course you do,” Sarah said sharply. “We both know that it was Jade. You wouldn’t have done that on your own. You don’t have to be ashamed of your fantasies—you would never have thought of trying to act them out except for Jade.”
Pete went on as if she had said nothing. “It was as if nothing else mattered, as if there was nothing else in the world except the two of us. And all I wanted was to make love to you. I didn’t want to think about what I was doing—hell, I didn’t even try to fight it! I can’t justify what I did.”
“You don’t have to. Pete, you’re talking as if you were alone in there—I was there, too, and I—”
“You thought I was Brian. Jade tricked you into seeing Brian,” Pete said. “He didn’t trick me.”
“Of course he did! Will you stop pitying yourself and be logical? I knew Brian wasn’t there—I knew it had to be you—but I didn’t want to argue against my own senses, and it was Brian I saw and Brian I felt in my arms,” Sarah said. “You could tell yourself you loved Beverly, but how could you argue against the lust Jade was making you feel? Jade was speeding up your pulse, muddying your thoughts, feeding your fantasies—how could you be expected to fight against that? He was playing on you physically and mentally—you didn’t have a chance. It wasn’t
“The classic excuse,” he said dryly.
The hint of humor in his voice cheered her. “And it’s over now,” she said. “We’re out of the house, and out of that whole fantasy. Jade can’t touch us here. It’s over. Let’s forget it and go on, O.K.?”
He sighed, not looking at her. “I can’t shrug it off like that.”
“Why not? You have to. There’s no point in torturing yourself over it—it wasn’t your fault. Anyway, nothing happened.” She paused, watching him for some response, but he continued to gaze out the window. “Nothing happened,” she said again. “You kissed me. I kissed you. All right. We went a little crazy, at Jade’s command. That’s all. And it’s over now. If you’d been drunk and made a pass at me we could forget it and go on as friends.”
He didn’t answer.
“Give me the key,” Sarah said wearily.
