The Poacher's Son (Mike Bowditch 1)

certain, mischievous grin I only ever saw when we were alone. “You’ll cook something?”
    “I’ll make us some sandwiches,” I admitted.
     
    We sat around in the dark eating roast beef sandwiches and drinking beer and talking about our college years. It seemed the safest subject. After a while we moved to the scratchy sofa in the living room. She had three beers, which was one more than her limit, but I didn’t even think to stop her. I just watched her body loosen and a smile settle across her lips. I was trying to convince myself that we were back in the past, when she was still the happiest person I knew.
    “Do you remember that outing club trip to Great Pond?” she asked, her voice a little too loud.
    “The one where Ted and Lisa hooked up?”
    “And they rolled around in poison ivy.”
    We both started laughing. “I’m surprised that never happened to us.”
    “I need another beer,” she said.
    “I’ll get you one.”
    We both stood up at the same time. She laughed, and I laughed, and then I kissed her. She pulled away at first, but I leaned my body against her and wrapped my arm around her waist. Suddenly she started kissing me back. Her hair smelled of faded perfume and of hours spent in the August sun. When we stopped kissing, she maintained eye contact.
    “We shouldn’t do this,” she said, but there was no certainty in her voice.
    “I’ve missed you.”
    “I’ve missed you, too.”
    I reached my hands up under her T-shirt and felt the warmth and softness of her skin and then I unfastened her bra and she leaned back to pull the shirt over her head. I cupped her breasts in my hand, first one, then the other, and pushed my head forward to kiss each nipple, feeling each one harden in my mouth.
    She stood up then and unbuttoned her shorts and stepped out of them and her underwear, too. Standing before me, she pulled my T-shirt over my head, and I kissed her flat stomach above the dark golden triangle of hair. She took my head in her hands and tilted it back and kissed me again, hard. I stood up, kissing her all the time, and felt her fumbling with the button of my pants.
    She pressed me naked back onto the couch cushions. Then she straddled me and guided me inside her. I felt the warmth of her and the surprising wetness and I trembled and groaned so loud it surprised us both. She smiled and gripped the back of the sofa and leaned forward so that her hair was in my face. As she moved, her breathing became audible, and her back became slick beneath my hands. She lifted her eyes and kissed me again with her mouth wide open, and I slid my hands beneath her thighs and stood up from the couch.
    With her legs wrapped around me, I carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed. I was above her now and lunging into her. She put her arms out for me to hold. She wanted me to pin her to the bed, and I did. Her eyes were closed tight now, and she was biting her lip, and I felt the muscles of her body tensing and tensing, and I pressed on harder until a shudder ran first through her, then me.
    Afterward, she curled herself against me, pressing a hand flat on my chest, with a leg thrown over mine. We didn’t speak. I thought that I would surely fall asleep first, exhausted as I was, but soon her breathing slowed, and I knew she was fast asleep.
    The moon was out now, and the light through the open window made Sarah’s blond hair appear to be touched with frost. I watched her for a long time and thought how beautiful she looked lying there and I wondered what the hell was wrong with me that I’d let her slip out of my life. The smell of pine needles drifted in through the window screen, and outside I heard the orchestrations of the crickets in the cordgrass of the salt marsh. After a while, I rolled over and shut my eyes and tried to sleep. But it was no good. In the morning she’d just end up regretting everything she had done when she was drunk. What we’d done to night would just make it harder for both of us to say good-bye again.
     
    The phone rang just after midnight. Sarah moaned but didn’t wake. I padded out into the living room and just managed to pick up before the answering machine did.
    “Hello?”
    “I need you to do something,” said my father’s voice.
    My heart began to flutter. “Dad, where are you?”
    “Canada.” The fuzz of static told me he was speaking on a cell phone.
    “How’d you get across?”
    “Never mind that.” He paused, as if listening to