“Drifting off to sleep. You?”
“I was just thinking, Mary Kate. We’re in the same boat Arnold was in. Starting over. Only we don’t have nearly the obstacles he had to overcome. If Arnold could do it, I’m not worried that we can, you know what I mean?”
I nod but of course Smoothie can’t see that in the dark. “I guess you’re right. Our issues are nothing compared to his.”
I try to remind myself of this as I fall asleep, but still, something inside feels a little lost and confused, and I can’t quite figure out why.
Chapter 19
I stir a while later with someone shaking my shoulder gently.
“Hey sleepyhead, wake up!”
My head is in a fog as I open my eyes to see Smoothie leaning over me, right in front of my face.
“I’ve got something to show you. Come on!” He’s as enthusiastic as a small child who’s just spied Santa’s bounty and wants to drag his kid sister down to see, too.
He pulls me off the sofa. I’m wearing his t-shirt again, since we’re in a stranger’s house and all. I tug the shirt down over my behind and wrap the blanket around me for warmth.
He grabs my hand and leads me outside.
“Check it out,” he says, pointing up to the sky.
“What?” I rub my sleep-clouded eyes to clear them better so I can see.
“Up there,” he reaches for my hand and motions in the direction he’s talking about. “A lunar eclipse.”
Sure enough, the moon is cast in a bath of bloody light, which he explains is caused when the moon, Earth and sun are aligned so that the moon crosses the Earth’s shadow.
“I was laying there awake, staring out at the full moon, and then I noticed it kept getting darker. I have to admit I got a little spooked, what with all of your musings earlier and such. I stepped outside to see what was going on, and could see the eclipse occurring. I just wanted to share it with you, it’s so beautiful. Happy Independence Day, Mary Kate.”
I’m touched he’d wake me to share it with me. “It’s the perfect gift, Smoothie. Thanks for thinking of me.”
The night is still but for a few rabbits skittering across a nearby field. We lay down in the dewy grass, at peace with the world, staring up as the moon gradually loses its fiery hue, and soon we both drift off to sleep, me cocooned in my army-issue blanket, Smoothie right atop the damp grass, my hand still enveloped in his. We wake at dawn to the cooing of mourning doves and the dull rasping of crickets. Smoothie’s got grass creases on the side of his face and it makes me laugh.
“Poor baby. You should’ve snuggled up in my blanket,” I tell him.
“I was waiting for an invitation.”
“You don’t need an invitation to find shelter from the elements!”
“Now you tell me. Thanks a lot!” He flicks me with his finger across my arm and I scooch over a little to give him room to share the blanket while we wake up slowly. I’m acutely aware of the film of sleep blanketing my mouth and very much want to avoid talking too close to his nose so I don’t kill him with it. Although funny thing, I don’t even notice that morning breath problem coming from him.
“I just realized something really eerie,” he says.
“What?” I turn my head and stare at him, worried about what it might be.
“Madame Zayna was right. The sun and the moon and the stars—” Smoothie says. “Last night. Remember?”
I think back and realize she was spot-on with her prediction. “Whoa. That’s so weird. How could she have known that?”
“Maybe it was written in the stars,” he says. “I think we have to honor this special occasion with something celebratory.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t you worry, Mary Kate. Nothing you need to know about just yet. I’ve got something in mind, though. I’ll let you know when the time is right.”
“You don’t have to be so cryptic about it.”
“I’m not. I just want to surprise you with my great idea.”
“All right. But it can’t involve bodily harm. And if it’s food, it better taste good.”
“It’s a deal. If it’s food, it’ll taste divine.”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you evaded the bodily harm clause.”
He just whistles like he hears a song in his head. Or maybe he does?
This leaves me dreadfully curious about his intentions but he’s not about to disclose his new secret. After soaking in a few minutes more of the early morning sun, we go inside to wash up before getting back on the road.
Arnold cooks up homemade waffles and sausage patties courtesy of his “little lady friend’s” recently butchered hog, served with steaming cups of espresso. He’s fixed plates for the birds and monkeys, so everyone is gathered around for the meal—right out of the pages of Snow White. I’m amazed he doesn’t live in a tree. It’s a wacky little family he’s got here, but it’s his family, so good for him.
Eventually we hug our new friend farewell, shake each respective beak and several tiny monkey fingers, and they send us on our way with a picnic basket full of food for lunch.
We’ve entered New York State, and judging by the map, we aren’t but a day or two’s meanderings away from our ultimate destination. I suppose if we pick the windiest country roads, we can stretch this trip a bit longer. I’m not in a hurry for my crazy plan of action, anyhow, so that’s what we decide to do.
After a few hours of driving, Smoothie spies a sign for a nearby park.
“Let’s go unfold our picnic, see what Arnold and the monkeys fixed for us,” he says.
“I’m hoping the monkeys weren’t involved in the fixing of it. I mean, they were cute and all, but blech!”
We park the car and grab the basket from Arnold and wander along a wooded path for a ways until we reach a clearing with a pond, which looks like the perfect venue for an impromptu picnic.
If we had a blanket to spread out, I guess we’d do that, but we’re not so prepared, so instead just plop down on the soft grass and I start to put out the food. There’s salami and cheese and a box of crackers, ham sandwiches, a bottle of champagne and two plastic cups.
“That Arnold, he sure knows how to do it up,” Smoothie says.
I don’t know that I’ve ever had a drink in the middle of the day. This is something not done in my world. But Smoothie uncorks the champagne, pours us both a cup of it and raises his glass.
“A toast,” he says. “To freedom.”
“To freedom.”
“And to our personal chef,” he adds.
“To Arnold. Where would we be without him?”
“Probably dining at Aunt Sarah’s Pancake House.”
“I think we’re out of the South. No Aunt Sarah’s here.”
That gives me pause, knowing we’re no longer in the South. No longer near Richard and all that represents. Like I’ve just managed to traverse my own Underground Railroad and now I’m really free. But once you’re free, what do you do with yourself? I haven’t exactly been thinking for myself for a hell of a long time. Only thing I have focused on is my date with a waterfall.
“You with me, Mary Kate?” Smoothie interrupts my thoughts.
“Oh, sorry. What’d you say?”
“That swimmin’ hole is looking mighty inviting. You up for a swim?”
“We don’t have bathing suits!”
Smoothie shrugs. “That never stopped me before.” Next thing I know he’s standing, peeling off his jeans, once again in boxer briefs, this time a red pair. I have to glance away before I choose to stare. It’s not very ladylike to stare, this I can tell you.
Smoothie takes a running leap and splashes into the pond, just him, his boxer briefs, and that shark’s tooth necklace. I realize it doesn’t take much to spruce up a man like him.
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Smoothie surfaces, all glistening and fresh and white teeth and smiles. “Whooo hoooo! Mary Kate, get your behind in here. Water’s fine!”
I look around and don’t see a soul. But still, I can’t wear my nice new clothes and soil them in that water.
“Come on, lady, or I’ll come drag you in here!”
“I told you I don’t have a suit.”
“Just strip down to your skivvies. It’s just me. I’ve already seen your skivvies.”
Smoothie’s seen my skivvies. Smoothie’s seen my skivvies. Smoothie’s seen my skivvies.
I have never been in my underwear in front of anyone but for Richard, and even then mostly in the dark or with my back turned to him. I don’t think God made me to be in front of anyone in a panties and bra. I’m meant to be in something more, well, covered up. Like a tent.
Smoothie is splashing around like a little boy, hooting and hollering and clearly enjoying himself.
“I’m coming after you, Mary Kate.”
He gets out of the water, the dappled sunlight that’s reflecting on his damp skin gives him an appearance of illumination that almost takes my breath away.
He reaches over to me, takes my sandwich, and puts it back in the basket.
“Now don’t be bashful. It’s only me. All you gotta do is this, baby.” With that, he reaches for the hem of my shirt and lifts it up over my head. My arms evidently have a mind all their own because they willingly lift up, completely betraying my intent, the damn things. I look down and realize I’ve got my purple polka dotted bra on, and try to reassure myself that it’s practically like a swimming suit.
Itsy bitsy teeny weeny purple polka dot bikini. Itsy bitsy teeny weeny purple polka dot bikini. Itsy bitsy teeny weeny purple polka dot bikini. This I type to the tune of the song. I must be losing it. My fingers tremble as I type the words.
“And this,” Smoothie continues. He reaches for the button of my shorts, and in what seems like slow motion, unfastens it, then drags the zipper down. My face is burning like I’ve got a serious fever, but I am not sure I’ve ever had this kind of fever before. My fingers are typing a mile a minute but I’ll be damned at this point if I even know what I’m typing. I suspect it’s Greek or Polish or maybe even Chinese. I suddenly hear heavy breathing and Christ, how pathetic, I must be panting like a dog. And then, weirdly, I feel something licking my leg, like a dog.
I look down, where Smoothie is sliding my shorts down my leg, and holy shit, there is a dog panting and licking my leg. Which is probably good because if it had been Smoothie I think I’d have passed out right here and now.
I am standing in front of Smoothie in my purple polka dotted bra and panty set from Wal-Mart and he’s in his red boxer briefs and he’s wet and I’m dry and there’s a raggedy light brown mutt of a dog with soulful eyes licking the salt off my skin and Smoothie begins to laugh.
“Come here, you mangy mongrel,” he says, scratching the dog’s ears with his fingers. He looks around and sees a stick nearby and grabs it and tosses it into the pond, and the dog promptly abandons my salt lick of a leg and chases the stick into the water. Smoothie laughs and reaches for my hand and we start to run into the water.
“Come on, Mary Kate,” he says, as if I have a choice. He pulls me along and when we reach the edge he grabs me by my waist and tosses me in, head first.
Now, I am from Virginia and I have never been anywhere in which the water is anything but warm and welcoming in the summertime. And while it might be plenty toasty enough outside, suddenly I am sucking my breath in due to the frigid water temperature.
“Jesus, Smoothie. This isn’t a pond, it’s a giant glass of ice water,” I say as I come up for air. My body is covered in goose bumps.
The dog is splashing back to us with the stick in his mouth and this time I take it and give it a good toss and he goes paddling back out after it, splashing me in his wake.
“See, I told you it was fine,” he grins that devil of a grin. I can’t help myself and reach down and scoop up two handfuls of water and splash him and he splashes me back and then the dog is upon us doggy-paddling in circles around us and we’re laughing and dunking each other and the dog is clawing at us in an attempt to stay afloat or join in the camaraderie or whatever it is that goes on in a dogs mind in cases like this.
Finally we get him calmed down by tossing the stick to the shore, and I’ve warmed up a little bit but still have gooseflesh, so I decide to float on my back for a few minutes, hoping to soak in the hot July sun. I close my eyes and lose myself in the moment, the wash of water beneath me lulling me into a settled mental state.
Smoothie is mermaiding around the pond, diving deep and then popping up with a big splash. He goes down and I don’t hear a thing for a while and get anxious that something’s happened to him. Maybe he’s tangled in weeds underwater or something. Maybe he hit his head, or mysteriously blacked out. My imagination begins to take over and I am about to dive under in a desperately random attempt to find him when he springs up with a loud splatter.
“You miss me?” his eyes twinkle with mischief.
“You!” I just holler at him. “I thought something had happened. I was going to go after you. Why I ought to—”
And then—out of nowhere—I begin to sob. Huge, heaving, stupid girly sobs that really make me mad because I just hate to cry. Seems I’ve cried more in the past week than I did during an entire marriage.
Smoothie reaches over to me and pulls me in. His strong arms wrap around me and he presses my head to his chest. “Shhhhhh,” he whispers against my head. I heave and gasp and make an embarrassing scene which makes me look pitiful and I’m sure my eyes are red and my nose is running and why the hell do I cry around this man?
Smoothie looks me in the eye and I have to stare back. “I’m sorry, Mary Kate. I didn’t mean to upset you. You know I’d never willfully do something to make you sad.”
I nod my head. “It’s just, it’s just—”
I can’t seem to find my words.
“There, there.” Smoothie strokes my head.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you at this point with everything that’s happened,” I finally blurt out. “I know this makes me sound weak and pathetic and stupid and sniveling and—”
“Hey,” he says as he lifts my chin up with his thumb. “You’re not weak or stupid or sniveling. It just shows you have a heart. Nothing pathetic about that.”
Just when I start to notice I’m standing in shallow water in a swimming hole in my skimpy underwear with a half-naked man, just when my fingers are about to start typing a dissertation I think, just in the nick of time, our little mutt friend splashes back into the water and wedges his nose right between the two of us and Smoothie lets go of his hold on me. This time I do think the panting is me and not the dog, however.
Smoothie and I stand divided by the mongrel in front of us, and finally then does Smoothie decide to assess what he sees. He lets out a long, low whistle.
“I told you those would look hot on you, Mary Kate.”
I look down and notice for the first time that my bra and panties are just the slightest bit see-through when wet. See-through when wet. See-through when wet. See-through when wet. It does me no favors that I’m shivering cold, no physical evidence to the contrary, if you know what I mean.
Smoothie breaks through the silence created by my own mortification.
“You gotta wonder at Mother Nature’s design flaws,” he says. “For example, it’s a wonder how the cold water brings things out on a gal and shrinks things up on a guy.” He grins and I am perhaps even more mortified to realize I appreciate his appreciation of me, even if it is in a general sense. I haven’t ever had a man’s appraising eye land on me in a good way.
But I am eternally grateful that the dog chooses this moment to jump up on Smoothies chest,
commanding his attention.
“What’s that, fella? You hungry?” And with that, we both turn toward shore and retreat to our picnic, perhaps realizing at the same time that we might be more hungry than either of us is prepared to admit to.
Chapter 20
Let me tell you something: having a picnic lunch (or the remnants of one) in your wet underwear is something you just have to try once in your life, simply for the illicit pleasure of doing something so untoward.
Smoothie and I laugh as we sit in the grass dripping off, and while part of me wrestles with whether to be ashamed, embarrassed, or—dare I say it?—aroused, the other part of me seems to get quite readily used to the whole affair. It’s like that first time I took a drag of my girlfriend’s cigarette in junior high school, and the next thing I knew I was at the cigarette machine pulling the knob on my very own pack of Newports.
The dog plunks down across my shins, wet and hairy and bedraggled. He places his chin across my knee and looks up at the two of us forlornly.
“I think Buddy here wants some vittles,” Smoothie says.
“Vittles? Who are you—Jed Clampett?”
He laughs. “Beverly Hillbillies fan, too, huh?”
“Are you kidding? They were my surrogate family. Along with the families on the Munsters, Father Knows Best. Hell, even the Ghost and Mrs. Muir. And I spent hours trying to perfect my nose wiggle like Samantha Stephens on Bewitched.”
“I was partial to the Partridge Family myself,” Smoothie says. “That Laurie Partridge…Uh uh.” He makes that hand gesture that guys do that suggests they’re wanting to do it with a woman.
I crumple my napkin into a ball and lob it at him. “Her brother was way cuter than her anyhow.”
“Not as cute as yours truly.” Smoothie bats his eyelashes like he’s flirting.
“Not as cute as Rudy here,” I say to change the subject.
“Rudy?”
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