Four Winds of Heaven

August 1999

Someone was watching her. A sudden chill shot down her spine, and Emily DiCarlo stiffened in her chair. The feeling of being watched pulled her attention towards the front door. She moved forward in her seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of white by the door. Waiters on their cigarette break, she told herself. Scolding herself for her jumpy nature, she turned back to her food and attacked her veal with her fork.

Her gaze drifted back to the glass door. Late as it was, the moonlight gave the Roman collar around the old man’s neck a silvery glow as he walked past the restaurant‘s glass windows. Emily’s eyes followed him, her dread increasing. He was tall, his hair streaked with gray. Not a priest from the church she occasionally attended. She didn’t recognize him. He’d looked inside the restaurant. She knew it. It was the collar she had seen out of the corner of her eye. It shouldn’t bother her, she insisted silently. She was Catholic and had been around priests for most of her life. But it did. The admission unnerved her. Why?

She caught the last part of Craig’s invitation to dance and nodded eagerly, standing up. Leaving her meal for the most part untouched, she let her co-star lead her around the dance floor and nodded, smiling in the right places as she only half listened to him, her mind still on the priest she had seen. It shouldn’t bother her, she repeated. She forced herself to focus back on Craig, glad to let his chatter occupy her attention.

He took her home from their play’s opening night party at two thirty in the morning. Laura, her best friend, would approve, Emily thought, smiling.

She walked into her apartment, relieved to finally be alone. She closed her eyes and shook off the last remnants of nervous energy and kicked her heels off with a sigh. She let her sore feet rub against the soft beige carpet for a few seconds, rewarding them for four hours in four-inch black heels.

She picked up the receiver on her navy blue cordless phone, mounted on the kitchen wall, and dialed her friend’s number.

While waiting for her friend to answer, she pulled off her pantyhose and wiggled her toes pleasurably against the cold pink tile. Taking a small pot from the cupboard, she filled it with water. She spooned some cocoa into a mug, gathering some of the powder off the rim and licking her finger.

“Hey babe.” Laura’s groggy voice greeted her.

“Were you sleeping?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. I’m up now. How did your date with the Keebler Elf go?” she asked, making fun of the man’s last name.

“Laura, it wasn't—”

“I know, blah, blah, it wasn't a date. So?” she urged.

“I had fun. Got kinda shaky a few times,” Emily admitted, leaning against the wall.

“Oh?”

“Don’t worry. Craig drove me home before I could completely lose it.”

“But besides that, you had fun, right? That's the important thing.”

“Well, I figured since the play is over now would be a good time—” she began, pouring the boiling water into the white mug, knowing her friend’s excited squeal was seconds away.

“You're coming! You're coming to visit!” Laura cried happily.

“Yes!” she said, entertained by her reaction. Dropping a few tiny marshmallows in, Emily took a careful sip and shivered as the heat spread on her tongue.

“When are you coming?”

“Day after tomorrow. I should be there in the morning.”

“What time should I be at the airport?”

“What airport? I'm taking the bus,” she insisted.

“Oh for crap’s sakes, do you have any idea how long a bus ride it is from New York to Toronto?”

“Do you have any idea how many people die in plane crashes every year?” Emily countered.

“Em— Forget it. I literally can't afford to get into this argument with you. I'll meet you at the bus terminal, you chicken-shit.”

“Love you too, sweetie. The bus should be there around nine,” she informed her and hung up.

****

The dream never changed. Within seconds of closing her eyes and drifting off, Emily could feel his mouth on her breasts. Her fingers drove into his hair, pulling his lips back up to hers. Her body was on fire for this man. She wanted him with a passion she only gave rein to when she slept.

His fingers slipped inside of her, and she moaned at the rush of sensation. He lifted himself above her and she ran her cheek along the damp warmth of his chest, feeling his heart beat, strong and slightly quickened as if he was a man of real flesh and blood and not simply her every desire wished into being.

She ran her fingers along his back, sliding them across the slippery muscles. Emily arched her neck as his tongue slid to her pulse. She eagerly lifted her hips to accept him into her body. With a groan, he pushed deep inside her and held them both still before finding her mouth again. He thrust hard once, gripping her hips and setting a slow, steady rhythm, taking her higher and higher with him until she came apart in his arms. The force of it jolted her awake, and she was left breathless and throbbing at the memory. As always.