If he likes Whitman, then he’s the ultimate sex machine.”
“Whitman? No, that would seem so...obvious. And a little desperate.”
“But you are desperate,” Trish said. “Maybe it would be best to just admit that right at the top. There is something sexy about a woman desperate to copulate.”
“Copulate?”
“My mother always taught me to use the proper terms for sex.”
“Alice Pettit told me to keep my knees together and my feet on the floor,” Emma said. “Marliss Franks warned me that naughty girls burn in hell and Reverend Kopitsky said that my body is sacred and my virtue worth more than gold. It really didn’t matter, though. Once I got that stupid brace, the boys stayed away.”
Her teenage years had been lonely at best. She’d been diagnosed with scoliosis at age thirteen and had worn a back brace through most of high school. Burdened also with massive orthodontia and a bad case of acne, she hadn’t been the most attractive option for a prom date. Just months after the brace came off, her mother had been diagnosed with cancer and Emma’s attention had turned to nursing her. There’d never been time to date, and without dating—and living in a small town—sex had become an unreachable goal. Now, after all these years of chastity, she felt vulnerable, unprepared for a relationship. She had no idea how to talk to boys or flirt. She still felt like the girl with the back brace and the pimples.
She’d always taken solace in her studies, graduating at the top of her high school class. After high school came college and grad school. She’d lived at home, for both convenience and cost, and so she could watch over her mother’s care.
Four years ago, she’d finished her masters in information sciences and been offered the head librarian’s job at the small library in town. Though she’d always dreamed about leaving town and starting life somewhere new, Emma stayed to see her mother though the last stages of her illness.
The people of San Coronado had always stood behind her and her mother, Elaine. Elaine had been a beloved kindergarten teacher at the local school and everyone had known her. During her illness, there’d been lots of volunteers who’d arranged fund-raisers—spaghetti dinners and bake sales and benefit concerts—all to help with her mother’s medical costs. A prayer circle had spent two hours a week praying for her recovery. How could Emma refuse the job and a chance to return something to the community that had given her mother so much love and attention?
So she’d thrown herself into her work, completely updating the library’s catalog system, rearranging the floor plan and adding new programs for children and seniors. And though her mother had urged her to get out and socialize, it was easier to just work into the late hours and then flop into bed when she got home.
She’d had dreams once. She and her mother had always talked about traveling together, taking the summer to see exotic places. They’d pored over travel books and planned itineraries, keeping their notes in leather-bound journals.
New Zealand, Indonesia, Portugal, Finland, Costa Rica. Lists of things to see and do, places to eat. Even during the worst of her mother’s illness, they’d kept at it, as if the work held some magic cure.
And once it was clear there would be no cure, her mother made her promise that she’d find a way to go on her own. She’d save her money and buy a ticket to one of the places that had fascinated them both.
As for her lack of social life, that had really been her own fault. After her mother’s death, she’d given herself the chance to grieve. It had been easy to shut herself in the house and avoid people. The more time that passed, the more overwhelming getting back out there became. She pushed aside thoughts of a social life to focus entirely on a rigorous work schedule. But now, she felt as if the world had passed her by.
There were a few available men left in town and at least one of them was interested. But trying to start a relationship underneath a microscope was daunting. Everyone seemed a bit too invested in her happily-ever-after.
“I know how difficult it’s been on you,” Trish said.
“I’m not complaining,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m a lucky woman. I have a wonderful job and a wonderful best friend. I don’t need anything else.”
“Yes, you do!” Trish cried. “You need to feed your soul and your heart. You need passion in your life. And a few really good orgasms. I think this Mac guy is the answer to all your problems.”
“Let’s say I do decide that I want to pursue something...carnal with Mac,” Emma said. “I have to be ready to do it. I mean, it could happen quickly, right? Sometimes, the passion is so overwhelming you just can’t help yourself.”
“Sometimes,” Trisha agreed.
“So, I should buy some sexy underwear and do the whole wax thing. And a mani and a pedi. I’ll get my hair cut, too, so I don’t look like a demented bear the morning after. Oh, and I have to be ready to provide breakfast if he stays the night. I’ll have to plan a menu. And I probably should brush up on...you know...sex.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“We have a whole section of books in the library in our self-help section. They’re quite informative. I expect he’s going to be good at it, so I’d like to return the favor.”
“There is a possibility that you might be overanalyzing this,” Trish said. “I’ll be honest with you, once you start taking off your clothes, there’s not a lot of time to think.”
“Great advice,” Emma murmured. She reached out and restarted the car, then pulled it back out onto the road. She gripped the wheel with white-knuckled fingers, her mind spinning with the possibility that her long ordeal might be over soon.
There were some women who chose to be virgins until they married. But Emma knew she’d never marry. And sex was something that she wanted to experience, a simple human need that had to be satisfied.
“There is another option,” Trisha said. “I was reading an article a couple weeks ago about a brothel in Nevada that had men on the menu. You could always pay for it. For the right price, I bet Joey would consider it.”
“You’re offering up your husband?” Emma asked.
“Not to you,” Trish said. “Besides, you’re looking for a perfect male specimen, not a guy with a furry chest and the body of a teddy bear.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I find the man incredibly sexy. And he’s always been so enthusiastic in the sack. And he’s got the goods.”
“Thank you for your generous offer, but I’m going to have to refuse. But I will buy you lunch.”
As they drove toward town, past pastures and vast irrigated fields, the windows of the car open to the afternoon breeze, Emma felt happy, as if the future had suddenly opened up in front of her. There weren’t many days when she didn’t think about the lack of passion and adventure in her life. But today, she was different. There was an excitement that burned inside her...a delicious anticipation that her life was about to change.
* * *
MAC STARED UP at the facade of the San Coronado Public Library. A bronze plaque beside the door designated the neoclassical building as an Andrew Carnegie library, one of over a thousand built by the wealthy industrialist in the early part of the twentieth century
