Heartbeat Braves

by Pamela Sanderson

  Grandpa couldn’t understand what the fuss was about. As Henry predicted, he was thrilled to have someone to talk to. He was even more mystified when Rayanne burst into tears when she hugged him.

  “What’s this all about?” he asked.

  “We were supposed to pick you up and you weren’t there.” When Rayanne drew back, Henry rubbed his hand across her back. The warmth and comfort made another few tears sneak out. “I was worried.”

  “I knew where I was,” Grandpa said. “I’m ready to go home now.”

  “What about Earl’s? What about your friends?”

  He shook his head. He let Henry help him to his feet and lead him to the van.

  “Thanks for helping my grandpa,” Rayanne said to the woman.

  She smiled. “I have a papa too. I hope people are keeping an eye out for him.”

  They returned to the apartment and once he was home, whatever force had animated him during his adventure disappeared. He wandered back and forth around the apartment, moving another dish to the sink, picking up and putting down a magazine.

  “That was a good idea you had, calling your own phone.” Rayanne wanted to cheer him up.

  “I couldn’t remember your number.”

  “I’ll write it down for your wallet so you have it for next time.”

  “Next time,” Grandpa repeated like he couldn’t stand the idea. He made a creaky effort to bend down and waited until Henry went over and helped him pull out a flat storage box he kept under his bed. Henry lifted it to the bed.

  Rayanne had seen this box many times. It contained packets of photos and some surviving pieces of her ancient school work. Grandpa showed Henry one of her spelling tests from third grade.

  “One word wrong,” Grandpa said.

  “I still can’t spell ‘recommend’ correctly,” Henry said.

  “This is what you want to do? Show Henry my old spelling tests?”

  “You shush,” Grandpa said. “I’m trying to find something.” She flinched in surprise.

  “This is what I wanted.” Grandpa had a map that turned out to be huge when he began unfolding it. Henry helped him move to the kitchen table where he continued to open the document. Grandpa got out his magnifying glass to study it. “I can’t remember the place we used to go hunting.”

  Rayanne recognized what was happening. It was like he needed to regain his bearings by solidifying his old memories. If he could pinpoint something from the past, the comfort carried over into the present moment. He needed an anchor.

  “What is this map?” Henry asked him.

  “Old forest map,” Grandpa said. “Where our people are is forest lands.” The map had been folded and unfolded so many times it was breaking apart at the creases. Someone had scribbled across one corner with an orange marker. She guessed it must have been her. His finger followed the blue line of a mountain creek.

  “Somewhere around here,” he said. “We was up there, me and my brothers. Haven’t seen them in years.”

  She was accustomed to him reliving memories like this but a prickle of worry worked its way in. Had something shifted? Was this dive into old memories different than usual?

  Henry read off the names from the map. “Skeleton Gulch? Blue Rock Lake? Buster’s Camp?”

  These were all the names of places she had grown up with and played a role in his stories.

  “Buster’s Camp. That’s the one. We seen a buck on the ridge. Made a trail to lure it out,” Grandpa drew out each sentence in his storytelling voice. “One of my brothers got it. Forget which. Big one too. Our mom was happy to get the food.”

  “Sounds like a great trip,” Henry said.

  Rayanne searched the kitchen for a notepad so she could write the story down as part of her family history. She had left some notepaper for him a few weeks earlier so he could keep a list of the groceries he needed.

  “What are you doing in there?” Grandpa snapped.

  Rayanne stood up and stared at him in disbelief. He never spoke to her like this.

  “Grandpa, did something happen today?”

  “Nothing happened today. Come away from there.”

  She left the kitchen and went to stand next to him. “How come you didn’t want to go to Earl’s?”

  Grandpa folded up the map, taking his time and ignoring the original creases. “Earl fell down. Broke his leg.”

  “Oh no. Where is he now?”

  “We told him to watch out. He keeps so many things around on the floor. He’s fallen before,” Grandpa said. “His daughter said he was at the rehab center.”

  Something in Rayanne’s heart squeezed tight. One of her greatest fears was coming in and finding Grandpa on the floor, unable to move. Or worse.

  “I’ll find out where he is. We can visit him.”

  “That’s what I was trying to do. I got turned around and then no buses come.”

  “He’ll appreciate the visit when we get you out there,” she said.

  She tried to gauge Henry’s reaction to all this. She expected some show of distress at being thrown in the middle of someone else’s family drama. But instead he appeared concerned and willing to help.

  “Do you want to try to go now?” he asked.

  “I guess not,” Grandpa said. “That’s the problem with living too long. You lose all your friends.”

  “He’s not lost, Grandpa,” Rayanne said. “And you haven’t lived even close to too long.”

  “If you say so,” Grandpa said without humor. “Too bad we got no more drum group. Earl’s was the only place where we could make a racket with nobody to complain.”

  “Sorry,” Rayanne said.

  “I’m sorry for Henry,” Grandpa said, doing his best to act cheerful. “Lost his big chance to join us.”

  “There will be another time,” Henry said. “When we get the center moved to the new building, we’ll have a place for you.”

  That was her line. Rayanne would have laughed if she weren’t so worried about her grandfather.

  “That would be nice,” Grandpa said. “I’m just tired. I haven’t gone dotty on you.”

  “I know,” Rayanne said. She kissed his cheek. “We’ll get out of here. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, sweetie,” Grandpa said. They left him sitting at the table.

  23

  The drive back to her place went more quickly than Rayanne wanted it to. Henry parked in front of her building. Rayanne didn’t want to invite him in, but she wasn’t ready to be alone.

  “Would you mind sitting with me for a while?”

  “Of course not,” Henry said.

  Her apartment complex liked to advertise its park-like setting. A concrete path snaked through green grass. Pale yellow light from an outdoor lamp illuminated a bench under a tree. They made their way over to it.

  “That made me sad,” she said as she sat down. When Henry sat next to her, she held out her hand until he grabbed it, the warm contact calming.

  “Me too,” he said.

  “I’m glad you were there. If I was by myself, I would have missed the call.”

  “He wasn’t in huge danger.”

  “I know. I can’t help it. I worry about him by himself. I don’t want him to be unhappy.” But even as she said it, she understood old age was its own kind of journey where inevitably someone remained alone. All the elder programs in the world wouldn’t make that go away.

  The night was quiet except for the distant garble of a television in one of the apartments. The air was cool enough for a jacket. She wouldn’t last long out there in her sweater. From where they sat, the garden path was almost a straight line to the stairway that led to her front door.

  Sitting next to her, Henry was less like an improbable colleague and more like a person who could understand what was racing through her mind. She could confess her shortcomings and be honest about her flaws and he wouldn’t judge or mock. She could ask for comfort and he would be there for her. She let herself imagine what it would be lik
e to indulge in such an ill-considered diversion. He was nice. He would probably come upstairs if she asked. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about things.

  He kept his eyes on the ground but his thumb slid back and forth across her skin where he held her hand, a lazy, absent motion. That point soon consumed all of her attention. He came across as a model of calm and capability. A fire could break out across the way and he would know what to do.

  “I’ll walk you up to the staircase.” Henry used both hands to bring her to her feet but let go so they could walk side by side. A light clicked off in a lower floor apartment. She almost reached for his hand again. She wanted some of that calm strength to carry over to her.

  They paused at the foot of the stairs. She could tell he was searching for something to say. She almost talked herself out of it but she turned and gazed up at his face. One of her hands reached up to press against the firm muscle of his chest. She anticipated how his lips would feel against hers as she hooked a finger into a gap between his shirt buttons and tugged him toward her.

  His eyes widened and he leaned back.

  Oops.

  “Sorry,” Rayanne said. She whipped her hand out and took a moment to regain her balance before stepping back. “Sorry,” she repeated.

  What was I thinking?

  She shook her head, willing the moment to disappear. She retreated to the stairs, trying to appear natural. She forced her voice to be merry. “Sorry, Henry. Thanks. Thanks for coming with me tonight. See you at work. Or something.”

  She cringed so hard it was physically painful. She launched up the stairs and fumbled for her keys, afraid to look back and see what Henry was doing. She couldn’t block out the expression he’d had on his face. What was that called? Appalled? What was the word when you were mortally embarrassed for another person?

  She bolted into her apartment and shut the door behind her, banging her forehead against it. How many times had she told him to back off? Of course he would have had enough.

  She couldn’t stop seeing it in her mind, a terrible movie that she couldn’t forget. What she wouldn’t give to be able to have that moment back. This was more than embarrassment. She’d invented a whole new state of extreme humiliation. That would be her contribution to humanity. Now she had another awkward transition at work to face on Monday. They’d already managed to smooth over an actual kiss and some other weird moments. Maybe this wasn’t insurmountable.

  She forced a laugh but it sounded pitiful even to her ears. She didn’t even wash her face. She changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed. She scrolled through items on her phone without seeing what was on the screen.

  She turned out the light and flipped back and forth, the sheet tangling around her legs.

  Sometime later, there were footsteps on the stairs and a tap at the door. She got up and checked the peephole. It was Henry. She opened the door a crack. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, good. You’re up.” Henry smiled as if there were nothing unusual about this late night visit. “Do you think I could have that kiss now?”

  Rayanne’s heart pounded a few extra beats. “I guess.”

  She opened the door wide enough for Henry to lean in. He kept it soft and sweet. It was more like a promise than anything else but it still shook loose a shiver of lust. He backed up.

  Rayanne opened the door wider. “What was that earlier?”

  “Oh. I wanted to kiss you, too, but after our conversations I wasn’t sure. But I thought about it and I was nervous so I’d been rehearsing it in my head. Before I was ready, you moved toward me, which was fine. Great, even. But I wasn’t expecting it and you misinterpreted my reaction. Then while I was trying to figure out what to say, you disappeared.”

  “That was forty-five minutes ago,” Rayanne said.

  “Yeah,” Henry agreed with an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say but I realized I would never get to sleep if I didn’t fix it tonight. Can I do it again?”

  “You’d better.”

  Henry put his hand on the side of her face this time and pulled her toward him, taking his time kissing her and running his tongue across her lower lip. Her knees trembled and threatened to give way. She wanted to grab a handful of shirt and drag him inside but he had freaked out over an unexpected kiss, so who knows what would happen if she tried something like that. Instead, she took her time backing away, their gazes locked.

  “Worth it. Thanks for coming back.”

  “Me too,” Henry said. “Or, I’m glad I did. Whatever sounds best.” He stayed in the doorway. She was unsure what he thought might happen.

  She didn’t want to wait until Monday to see him again. “You want to have breakfast tomorrow?”

  Henry’s eyes flicked to the apartment behind her and then to her again.

  “You mean go and come back?”

  Rayanne swallowed. “Yes.”

  “I would. Make our own or go out?”

  “I’m not a breakfast cook unless you like oatmeal.”

  “Don’t worry, I am,” Henry said. “I make a mean breakfast hash.”

  “I don’t like mean food,” Rayanne said. She couldn’t stop staring at his lips and the magical way he formed words. It was bad how lost she was with this guy.

  “You’ll like this. Do you have eggs, potatoes, and odds and ends?”

  “I have eggs and hummus.”

  “I’ve heard about you hummus-eating Indians but I’ve never seen one myself,” Henry said. He reached out to touch her cheek. “I’ll stop and pick up a few things on my way.” He kissed her one more time.

  She enjoyed the sight of him walking down the stairs before closing the door.

  24

  She spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing her shower products, thinking too much about what her hair should smell like when Henry returned. She tidied the kitchen, trying to guess what sort of implements his breakfast dish would require.

  He showed up right at ten.

  “What a surprise meeting you here,” Rayanne said, doing her best to sound breezy. He had on the sexy-fitting jeans and a Beat Braves T-shirt that fit snugly across his chest. How many panties had threatened to drop for those jeans?

  She held up a spatula. He had a bag of groceries in one hand and flowers in the other.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Henry asked, eyeing the spatula with daring in his eyes.

  Rayanne raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure yet. What do you do with the flowers?”

  “Give them to a gorgeous girl.” Henry traded with her for the spatula. He leaned down to kiss her. He was fresh shaven and smelled like clean laundry. Her eyes slid shut and she melted a little inside. She was glad she asked him back. There was the easy intimacy of the morning while wisely steering clear of the sweaty gymnastics the night before. And if she changed her mind, there was no reason to assume that opportunity had expired.

  “We have to stay out of trouble,” she blurted.

  Henry held his hands up to plead his innocence. “I mean no trouble.”

  “Good. I got the kitchen ready for you.” She’d put the cast iron pan on the stove, and set out a knife and cutting board. A carton of eggs and a chipped plate with a cube of butter sat on the counter.

  “I also had a yellow onion,” she said, pointing to it on the counter.

  “I’m impressed,” Henry said, sounding anything but. “I picked up potatoes and bacon. If you don’t mind, I’m going to search your fridge.”

  “Search away.” She swept her hands, indicating the room was his. She pretended to busy herself searching for something to put the flowers in. Instead, she watched Henry from behind as he went through her refrigerator.

  “Boy, you weren’t kidding. How does such an insanely competent career woman, especially one who bring dinner to elders, get by with a foodless refrigerator?”

  “It’s not easy,” Rayanne said. She stuck the flowers in a wide-mouth jar and put them on the kitchen table.

&n
bsp; “I don’t know what you’ve been told but olives can go bad.” He set a vaguely familiar container on the counter next to the sink.

  “Maybe I like them that way.”

  “Shall I put them back?”

  She shrugged and he dumped them in the trash. He washed his hands and then helped himself to a cup of coffee. He held up the pot and gestured to her with his chin.

  Rayanne nodded back and he found her cup and refilled it.

  Henry tossed some bacon into the pan and, while it cooked, he got to work on the potatoes. “You want to chop the vegetables I found?”

  “You found vegetables?” She went around to work next to him in the small kitchen.

  Rayanne couldn’t ignore the tension building up in her body. This moment belonged to them. No business. No family drama. No one around to catch them or watch them. No responsibilities until Monday morning.

  “What’s your Indian astrological sign?” Henry asked.

  “Hang on,” Rayanne said. “I want to put the plates in the oven to warm. Can you move for a sec?”

  Henry moved aside to let her get in the oven. When she got back to her chopping, she said, “I have an Indian astrological sign?”

  “Sure, everyone does. I’m buck.” He stood up straight and moved to exaggerate the width of his chest. “They have antlers, sorta regal. They’re strong but not obnoxious about it. They’re smart. It’s more than a deer, it’s a buck.”

  “Lots of handy rhymes with that too.”

  Henry cleared his throat. “Gentle reminder that you are the one who made the statement about staying out of trouble.”

  Rayanne held her hands up in mock protest. “Duck, truck, cluck, schmuck. What were you thinking?”

  “Answer the question. Indian astrology. What’s your sign?”

  “Does it have to be a mammal?”

  “It can be whatever kind of creature you want.”

  “Then my sign is eagle.”

  “Every Indian’s sign is eagle,” he said in an exasperated voice. “You need to pick something else. How about beaver?”