Ascent

by M. C. Zappitello

  When Mark and Gina walked me up to the Stuart's house, complete with suitcase, Melinda opened the door. "We're going to have so much fun, Cassie!" She grabbed my hand. "Come on!"

  Mark interceded. "Hey, Melinda, could we have her long enough for a hug?" he asked as he set my suitcase inside the door.

  "Oh, yeah. Sure," she responded, releasing my hand.

  "Have fun, Kiddo," Mark said as he hugged me good-bye.

  "Be good, Cassie. Love you." And Gina held me longer than Mark had.

  "She'll be fine, Gina," Mark reassured her as he took her arm and they started down the steps.

  I was thinking about waiting and waving good-bye as they drove off, but Melinda pushed me inside and shut the door. "You're all ours now," she announced, picking up my suitcase and heading toward the stairs.

  "Where's . . . ?" I started to ask, still standing in the entry way.

  "Will?" he finished, catching me from behind, turning me around, and picking me up in a very enthusiastic hug before I had time to even blink. I instinctively threw my arms around his neck and held on tight. "Would you mind very much if I do everything possible to monopolize you while you're here?" he whispered in my ear. I answered by depositing a kiss on his neck.

  "Cassie! Come on! You have to unpack! You can play with Will later!" yelled Melinda from upstairs.

  "Coming!" I called back. But Will didn't let go. "Are you going to put me down?" I asked him.

  "No. Hold on," he instructed, and pulled my legs up around his waist. Then both his arms were back around me. "I'm not finished hugging you yet."

  "Oh." I smiled to myself, tucking my head in over his shoulder. He walked us up the stairs to the guest bedroom where Melinda was waiting.

  "You two are impossible!" she exclaimed as Will walked in and sat down on the bed, still holding me.

  "I think I'm finished―for now," he said, helping me shift around to sit next to him. "Maybe not," he amended as his arms went around my shoulders. I slipped mine around his waist.

  "Would you guys stop for just one minute, please?" begged Melinda.

  "I think we might be able to manage for one minute. What do you think, Cassie?" asked Will, turning to me.

  "Probably," I answered, turning to him.

  Then we both turned and looked at Melinda, who rolled her eyes at us before speaking again. "You ought to be more cooperative, Will. I'm doing this for you."

  "You don’t say."

  "I do say." Addressing me, Melinda continued, "Cassie, look!" She stepped aside from where she had been standing in front of the dresser, using both hands to direct my attention to a beautiful arrangement of flowers. She took the card from among the flowers and handed it to me. Speaking to me again, "You don't even get one guess." To Will, "Remember, the movie has already started." To both of us, "'Bye." And, with a wave of the hand, she was gone, apparently having accomplished her self-appointed tasks.

  She was right. I didn't even have to guess because the envelope was addressed to "My Love." I glanced at Will's face and found him watching me intently, a slight smile on his lips and a definite twinkle in his eyes. I took the card out and read it:

  Always and forever yours,

  Will

  "Do you like them?"

  Sometimes words just weren't enough, and this was one of those times. So, instead of trying to find any, I climbed onto his lap, took his face in my hands, and pressed my lips against his―which welcomed mine quite warmly, thank you very much. Then I put my hands on his shoulders and leaned back to survey his face.

  It was time. "I have something for you, too," I offered. All of a sudden I felt a massive attack of nerves coming on. Breathe. Breathe. "Could we go to your room?" I had practiced there in my mind, and wanted to follow through on that preparation. It seemed more secure.

  He looked at me, questioningly. "Sure." He took me by the hand and led me down the hall. As we entered his room, I closed and locked the door with my free hand. This was only for him. No interruptions. "Is this a secret?" he asked.

  Did he really not know? "Sort of. At least, it has been from you. Until now." Oh, dear. A bout of babbling was coming on. I bit my lip to stop it.

  Whether he knew anything or not, he could obviously tell I was nervous and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "Whatever it is, I'm sure I'll love it."

  I hope so, I thought. Okay. Here goes. "Would you go sit on the sofa, please?" He obediently went and sat down, smiling encouragingly at me.

  "Don't laugh, okay?" I requested somewhat shakily.

  "Promise," he said, raising his right arm to the square as if he were taking an oath. He lowered his arm and settled in for whatever I had planned.

  Alright. Good posture. Take a deep breath. Now, go . . . .

  And I began to sing. It was a simple song, and the first few notes were a little shaky. But the grateful, absorbed look on Will's face steadied me. I put my whole heart and every shred of proficiency I had recently acquired into the brief song. Once thoroughly begun, the melody seemed to almost float out of me of its own accord. At least, that's how it felt.

  I was pleased that I remembered the notes and all the words. And I was relieved when it was over. In fact, I was so relieved that―of all the silly things―I started to cry. I was planning on looking to see what Will's countenance could tell me about his response to my offering. I figured I wouldn't be able to sense him well through my nerves, even if he were entirely open. But now I couldn't even see him clearly for the tears.

  I could feel him, though, as he came and drew me close. I buried my face in his shirt, saying quietly, "I've been practicing with Gina. I know it's important to you." Though I don't know why.

  "The ‘why’ will come." He kissed the top of my head, leaving his face in my hair for what seemed like a long time. He spoke softly, and I felt his breath against my scalp, "Nothing could be more beautiful to me." Then he lifted my chin with his hand. His eyes were teary as well. "Except you, of course."

  I let out a huge sigh of relief. "Thank you. You have no idea how nervous I was."

  "Oh, maybe I do." He put his hands on my shoulders, feeling the muscles. "Tight," he commented. "And now, I would like to do something for you. May I?"

  Why not? I wouldn't even ask what. "Sure."

  He took me at my word, lifting me up in his arms and carrying me to his bed. He placed me, sitting, on the side. Then he knelt down at my feet, and deftly removed my shoes, setting them neatly aside.

  "Alright. Now, would you lie down on your stomach, please?" Huh? I did as he requested, but what was he up to? Surely he hadn't changed his mind about . . . . No. Not possible. I looked at him doubtfully as I did what he requested.

  "Do you trust me?" he queried.

  "Mostly," I responded cautiously.

  He grinned, obviously not deterred in the least by my reticent response. "Scoot in toward the middle a little bit more. That’s good. Now just relax."

  He took one of the pillows from the pile at the head of the bed and, lifting my lower legs from underneath with his arm, put it under my ankles. He gently lifted my head, removing one then the other of my arms from underneath it and putting them at my sides. Then he lowered my head so I was facing away from him.

  "Okay. Are you comfortable?"

  Very. "Yes."

  He sat down next to my feet, and started massaging them.

  It felt so good! And he really seemed to know what he was doing. He worked from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head (deliberately skipping over the area between my thighs and waist). He spent a good deal of time on my shoulders and neck. "You are really tight through here," he commented, working on my shoulder muscles. Then he went back and concentrated on my spine. Then my shoulders and neck again.

  I didn't want to disrupt the experience by moving even my mouth to talk. Still, I had to ask: Where did this come from?

  He answered out loud instead of telepathically as he continued to knead a particularly stubborn knot in my left shoulder. I didn't min
d. I loved to hear his voice either way. I just loved him.

  "A few years ago, Mom found a lump in her breast. They did surgery and were pretty confident they got it all, but the oncologist thought it would be wise for her to undergo a course of chemotherapy, just to make sure. Especially since Grandma―her mother―died from breast cancer."

  His grandmother. Did I know her?

  "No. She died when I was little, before I met you. Anyway, during the chemo, Mom was so uncomfortable that she had a hard time getting the rest she needed. So Dad insisted on having a massage therapist come every day for her. Mom’s oncologist recommended some CMT’s who had started their own practice specializing in working with cancer patients. They knew how to make adjustments for the chemo, like only doing light massage with lots of lotion to avoid bruising. It sure helped Mom. But she still had trouble relaxing enough to go to sleep at night, when massage therapists weren’t really available. Dad was working a later schedule at the time because Paladin was starting an evening program for adults, so . . . .

  So you took it upon yourself to learn massage to help your Mom go to sleep at night.

  "Something like that. I learned enough to help Mom. Sheryl, one of the CMT’s, said I picked it up quickly. She said that I have 'good hands.'"

  Mm-hm. Those hands were in my hair at the moment, massaging my scalp. So I could readily vouch for the fact that they were, indeed, good. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so relaxed. It was a bit of a letdown when he stopped. But I had already decided that I would ask him to do it again. In fact, I would ask him to teach me so I could do it for him as well. He had already done―and continued to do―so much for me in so many ways, my desire to do more for him was growing daily. (Another reason for tackling the singing so soon.) Maybe being able to give him a massage would help fulfill that desire.

  "How is that?" Will asked when he had finished, leaning far enough over the bed and me so he could see my face. He had placed one hand on either side of me to support himself. "Anywhere still feel tight?"

  I rolled onto my back underneath him very carefully, so as not to bump him. Then I stretched luxuriously from head to toe while thinking about how to reply. I moved up enough to put my head on one of his pillows, then finally answered him by playfully pointing to my lips.

  Will didn't say anything, but his eyes were expressive beyond words as he moved onto the bed next to me and brought his smiling face very close to mine. He began relaxing my ostensibly tense lips by softly massaging them with his own. I reached up to touch him, but he intercepted my hands, tenderly interlacing our fingers. His arms against my arms, he gently forced them to the pillow, encircling my head, as his upper body pressed against mine.

  What is he doing? I inquired of myself. Well, whatever it was, I liked it . . . too much?

  Will's warmth and smell were alluring; the weight of his body on mine, provocative. The movements of his mouth against mine enticed me to respond in kind, moaning quietly with the pleasure of it. I urged him to keep on, and he did. If there were really such a thing as nirvana, I mused, this had to be it. I could stay like this forever, I thought.

  Unhappily―even if I could―I quickly realized that he couldn't.

  All at once, it seemed, the mood became appreciably more intense. His skin was flushed, his breathing heavy. His hand went into my hair, securely holding the back of my head as his lips deliberately felt every part of my face, over and over again. I sighed as his fingers lifted my hair to expose my ear and neck, and his lips went there to continue their determined caresses. His other fingers felt their way down my neck to my shoulder, went under my arm, and meandered tenaciously down to my hip. He moved to place his leg suggestively over mine.

  This was indeed new and different. And dangerous? My heart had sped up, and I now heard my own aroused breathing as the instincts of my body stirred in reaction to his.

  Should we stop now?

  His hand came back after a brief absence, slipping under my blouse to my waist, his warm fingers touching my skin. I gasped faintly, surprised at the pleasant intimacy of it.

  Did we have to stop at all?

  Yes, we did, part of me answered firmly. Now was not the time to be modifying resolutions, when I couldn’t be certain that I was thinking rationally. In fact, I was very nearly certain that I wasn’t. And I had promised to help him avoid precisely this. I promised him.

  "Will?"

  His response was to bring his lips back to mine, kissing them several times, individually. Then I felt his tongue touching them tentatively, wonderingly. He rolled with me so he was on his back and I was on top of him. I noticed that his shirt was open in front as it fell away from his chest.

  His hands went under my arms to pull me farther up on him, requiring me to hold myself up with my extended arms. They positioned me so that his mouth could reach my throat with stimulating caresses. Then his lips began trailing kisses down toward the buttons of my blouse, which he had already begun to unfasten.

  And I knew we would be doing everything we had committed not to do if I didn't act quickly. If I didn't stop us immediately, I might not even want to try any more. And it would be too late. I was very afraid of that―for him and for me. And for us.

  I rolled over onto the bed by his side. It took a moment or two to compose myself and rebutton my partially undone blouse. Then I sat up, cross-legged, my back against the pillows.

  What could I say? The truth. "I'm sorry, Will. I was too close to the edge."

  Nothing.

  "And you?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

  He was still lying on his back, breathing heavily. His eyes were covered with one arm. His other hand was at his side, clenched in a telltale fist, his knuckles white from the pressure. I moved closer to him. He let me pick it up, and I gently unclenched the fingers one by one. He left it resting on my one hand while I stroked his palm―soothingly, I hoped―with my other. I decided to try again.

  Will, I was afraid if I waited any longer I wouldn't even be able to think straight enough to stop.

  "I understand." His voice was clearly emotional. I looked more closely, and saw a tear slide down the side of his face. I longed to take him in my arms and comfort him, but instinctively knew that doing so now would only make things worse. Instead, I reached over and gently wiped the tear away.

  That seemed to open the floodgates for him. He struggled to keep his tears quiet, and it broke my heart to see it. I returned to stroking his hand.

  I'm so sorry, Will. Please forgive me.

  When there was no answer, I looked up. He had removed his arm from his wet eyes, and was looking at me. There was a strange mix of emotions on his face―guilt, anger, disbelief, and I wasn't sure what else. It was obvious to me that he was not just blaming himself―he was extremely angry with himself. And only himself. But I knew that wasn't right. I wished with all my soul that I hadn't been responsible for any part of it.

  "Forgive you for what, Cassie?" His voice was forceful, almost harsh. If I had ever heard him talk like that before, I didn't remember it. It required an effort to not shrink back from him. He continued, getting louder, "I knew what I was doing, and that I shouldn't be doing it, and I did it anyway. There's no excuse. Absolutely none!" He punctuated the last by making both of his hands into fists and pounding them on the bed on either side of him.

  That scared me. I jumped off the bed and backed up against the wall. Shock and fear and uncertainty all churned around inside me. A panic attack was beginning, and I didn't know if I could stop it this time. I closed my eyes to concentrate, and breathe. I can do this. I can do this. I have to do this. He needs me now. I can do this. I can do this . . . . I inhaled slowly, then exhaled. Inhaled. And exhaled.

  "You don't have to do it alone. You need me now, too."

  Strong arms wrapped gently around me, and I let my face rest against his still bare chest. I could hear his heart. Strong and steady. I figured he would disagree with me right then if I added that it was
like him. But it was. And it calmed me to hear it. I put my arms around him inside his shirt, and knew that it would be okay. The risk was over, for now. And the feel, the warmth of his skin was comforting.

  He rested his cheek on my head and sighed heavily, as if releasing a tremendous weight―or effort. "I have worked so hard to deserve you. There are times I wonder if I ever will." (Him not deserve me?! No―it was the other way around!) He loosened our embrace and watched my face intently as he spoke, tears in his eyes. "I used you. I frightened you. Can you ever trust me again? Can you ever forgive me, Cassie?"

  A tender sympathy filled me as I took a moment to carefully form my answer. "I don't feel used. Do you? You didn't hurt me, and didn't mean to frighten me. I can't trust you again because I didn't stop trusting you. And, if you will tell me exactly what you would like me to forgive you for, I most certainly can, and will." Then I added, "Though I'm not convinced that you have really done anything that needs my forgiveness."

  Will took my face in his hands, but didn't kiss me. He wasn't ready. And that was fine. I was just happy to see the beginnings of a smile on his lips. They didn't have to touch me―yet. "As I was saying . . . ," he inferred. He must mean the silly notion that somehow I was better than he. He continued, "No, I didn't feel used at all. I felt loved. Especially when you stopped us." His face turned sad again. "Please forgive me for not doing it myself."

  "Done," I said matter-of-factly. "Will, you knew it might happen. Was probably going to happen, even. You asked me to help you with it, and I promised I would. Seems to me your strategy worked.”

  Time to move on. "So, what now?"