He began to rebutton his shirt. "Well, I think we had better figure out how to prevent this from happening again," he answered. "That was too close."
I considered for a moment. "I think it's quite possible―given how we feel about each other―that something like this could start no matter where we are or what we're doing. But, as a preventive, maybe we ought to avoid the bed," I suggested.
"Good idea. No bed. Or anywhere near it." He paused. "Until ….
I understood and agreed, "Okay." Studying his face, I felt for him, trying to gauge his frame of mind. He needed a distraction. Dared I? "So, no bed. But what about," I prepared myself, "this?" I quickly bent over, lifted up his shirt, put my mouth against his bare stomach, and blew. I must have remembered something that I used to do to him―or, more likely, that we used to do to each other―because it worked.
He not only was distracted from his self-reproach, he chased after me as I hightailed it for the bathroom―like I had seen him do with Melinda. Only I didn't get there quickly enough. He caught me, put me on the floor and did to me what I had done to him. I couldn't seem to stop the giggly shriek that came out of me, and quickly rolled over onto my stomach so he couldn't do it again. But then he was tickling my neck. I put my hands up to stop him there, and he started tickling my undefended sides.
"Hey!" came a loud voice and knocking on the door. "What are you guys doing in there? I want to play, too." It was Melinda.
I managed, or Will allowed me, to make it to the door long enough to unlock it. "Help!" I gasped out as Will bodily picked me up and put me back on the floor for more tickling. It didn't last long, however, as Melinda came up behind him and, in true younger sister fashion, showed him no mercy. "AAAH!" he cried out, followed by, "Oh, no you don't!"
As he went after her and tried to catch her hands, I attacked from the other side, and vice versa, until we ended up in a stalemate―Will holding us each by one forearm, dancing away from our free arms when we tried to reach him with them.
"Well, at least you neutralized him," observed a laughing voice from the door. It was Dr. Stuart.
Mrs. Stuart stood next to him, also laughing. "It's a good thing you did, too. We were beginning to fear for the accommodations.” She paused, looking at Will, then me. And I could tell that “the accommodations” weren’t really her concern. “By the way, anybody want ice cream?"
"Oh, I do! I do!" cried Melinda, removing Will's hand from her arm and running to the door. Then, as an afterthought, "What kind?"
"I got several to choose from, including fudge brownie," replied her mother. That was apparently Melinda's favorite, because she tore out of the room calling, "It's all mine!" Mrs. Stuart smiled indulgently and followed her.
"Are you two coming?" asked Dr. Stuart.
"We'll be there in a minute, Dad," said Will.
"You'd better hurry if you want any," he jokingly warned as he left the room, making sure the door was wide open. Hmm. Will’s mom wasn’t alone in her concern.
And we were by ourselves again, Will still holding my arm from our tickling battle with Melinda.
He let go of my arm and stood there for a moment. He took a deep breath and let it out quickly. "Thank you―for everything. It won't happen again." He was once more looking remorseful.
"I hope you only mean it won't happen again until after we're married. Then I want to do it again―and more," I declared warmly. "But no bed until then."
"Or anywhere near it," he added.
"Or anywhere near it," I confirmed. "That doesn't mean you're not going to touch me at all for the duration, does it?" I asked, holding my hand out to him.
He half smiled. "No," he answered, taking my offered hand in his. "Shall we go see what other ice cream Mom bought? I doubt we'll get any of the fudge brownie."
"Yup," I concurred. And we headed downstairs.
For the rest of the evening, we stayed around Will's family and were very careful about how and how much we touched each other.
As before, Will greeted me from the chair in the guest room the next morning when I awoke. (The door was open, of course.) But he didn't move from it until I had finished in the bathroom and was ready to go down for breakfast. And we continued to watch ourselves very closely. It was tolerable for a while, but by afternoon it had become almost unbearable.
I could tell that Will had been reading me the whole time, monitoring my responses to him, conscientiously attempting to avoid another close call. And I had been doing the same with him, as far as his level of openness would permit. It soon became frustratingly clear that all the vigilance was making me hyperaware of him and much more sensitive to even his closeness, let alone his touch. And he was experiencing the same regarding me. But we managed to control ourselves physically, limiting ourselves to occasionally holding hands.
What I didn't manage was to control my thoughts. Recollections of our intimate moments from the previous night and images of what could have happened from there crowded in on me for no apparent reason. I kept fighting them back, replacing them with other thoughts, trying to pay attention to anything else: Chopping the onions and celery for Mrs. Stuart as she prepared the turkey's stuffing and explained that she cooked everything possible the day before, then reheated it on Thanksgiving to avoid unnecessary work that day; Melinda describing how they always watched the Macy's parade in the morning, then the original "Miracle on 34th Street" (in black and white, of course) before eating dinner in the afternoon; Dr. Stuart checking the forecast and wondering if there would be enough accumulation to warrant getting out the snow blower.
But it didn't work. And the urge . . . . Nope, not strong enough. The need? No. The fire inside of me kept growing and growing until I couldn't take it any longer. It was consuming me. I had to do something. Now.
Will was calmly mashing the potatoes he had just boiled and drained. At least he appeared calm on the outside. But I knew what was raging inside of him and that he was struggling as much as I. Probably more, because he was also exposed to all my inner turmoil while I only felt an inkling of his. I walked purposefully up to him and relieved him of the utensil he was using. Come with me, I insisted as I firmly grasped his hand and led him into the garage. As the door swung closed, I tried to let go of his hand, but he wouldn't allow it.
"I know," he said. "If we keep trying so hard not to mess up, we're going to ensure that we do. So, let's not try so hard." Apparently to demonstrate what he meant, Will took me carefully in his arms and kissed me, sweetly, simply. Quite contrarily―instead of blazing higher―the fire inside of me seemed to cool, evidently calmed by the lack of imperious resistance with which I had been unwittingly feeding it. Hmm, thought a small part of my brain (the only part not entirely occupied by Will's caress) just like physics. An equal and opposite reaction. Interesting.
"Quite," Will agreed. As he began to release me, the garage door opened.
"Well, finally!" Melinda exclaimed. We both turned to her, perplexed. "Oh, come on you guys. You've barely touched each other since last night. It was really weird and . . . unnatural. Lighten up, would ya?" She got a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator kept in the garage for kitchen overflow, and went back inside.
We looked at each other. It took all of about two seconds for us to burst out laughing. And we kept on laughing until our eyes became moist from it.
"Okay. Crisis over," Will announced. "I love you, Cassie," he said, drying his eyes.
"I love you, too," I answered, doing the same. We joined hands and went back inside.
Before we finished helping in the kitchen, Melinda was again complaining about our too frequent "PDA's"―with a mischievous glint in her eyes and a grin on her face. So, things were back to “normal.” Whatever that was.
. Chapter Fifteen
It was Thanksgiving morning, and Will was again sitting in the chair in the guest room, waiting for me to wake up.
"Just how early do you get up?" I queried, rubbing my eyes.
"Depends."
"On what?
"
"You."
I didn't get it. "Huh?"
He chuckled. "I'm not sure exactly how or why, but I seem to be tuned in to you while we sleep. About a half hour or so before you wake up, something about where you are in your sleep cycle seems to wake me up. It doesn't take long for me to shave and shower and dress, then I come on in and wait." He cocked his head and frowned slightly. "Curious, isn't it?"
"Yeah." And it kept getting more curious. "When did it start?"
"I'm not sure. It doesn't happen all the time. But it does seem to happen every time you spend the night. Must have something to do with proximity. Other than that, I'm not sure why it seems to happen some mornings and not others. And I'm not sure if that's actually the case because you're not always here so I can know when you wake up. But I'm keeping a record of when I think it does in my journal.
“You know, if we both keep a record of when we wake up―on our own, without an alarm or anything―then we could compare them and see if there's a pattern of some kind."
Interesting. A psychic investigation of sorts. I kept my therapy journal (as I called it) by my bed anyway. It would be simple to just jot down when I woke up. "I'm okay with that."
"Great." He looked at me appraisingly. "I'd like to know if you'd be okay with something else."
Probably. "What?"
He used the index finger of his right hand to indicate that he wanted me to come over to him. (He wasn't going to venture anywhere near the bed.) So I did. And stood in front of him. Fortunately, I had long since given up wearing the worn out pajamas I had found comfortable when I was younger and was wearing something decent (although not as modest as the flannel pajamas Will's mother had lent me before―a T-shirt and cotton pajama pants). I usually made a point of putting on a robe and at least combing my hair before letting anyone see me in the morning (even Mark and Gina), but I wasn't concerned about it with Will. Maybe I should have been. But I wasn't. Even when I noticed that he was looking me over carefully, head to toe.
"You were saying . . . ?" I prompted.
"Oh. Yeah." He paused, trying to remember. "I was going to ask if you would let me hold you for a few minutes." His eyes reverted to perusing . . . my apparel?
"So, are you asking me?"
"What?"
I crossed my arms in front of me, and tried to scowl at him. But it didn't work. He was preoccupied, true, but the nature of his preoccupation was rather flattering. So I gave up and helped myself to his lap. "Is this what you had in mind?"
"Among other things," he replied vaguely. "Which is how I, um . . . got distracted. Sorry, Cassie. That was rude."
"Yes. But flattering. So I'll forgive you."
He grinned. "Thank you." He gathered me close, resting his head against mine. "This feels wonderful."
I closed my eyes and settled into him. "Mm-hm."
"What do you like about it?"
I wasn't sure how to put it into words. You.
I felt him reading me, wanting to understand. He did. "Same here. No one else would do."
Exactly. Such a fulfilling wave of contentment washed over me that I might have drifted off to sleep again if I hadn't been so fascinated by the movements and sounds of Will's body. His chest expanded, drawing in the breath that was supporting his life; then contracted, preparing for more. Sometimes the breath would leave with a sigh of well-being that warmed my heart. The unvarying thumping of his heart spoke to me, suggesting the unwavering nature of his character and the constancy of his affection for me. When I put my hand on his chest over it, it acknowledged my touch by beating louder, and faster.
"May I kiss you?"
Please. I lifted my face to his. It was a very light, soft kiss this time. Then another. And one more, longer. Each one was every bit as delightful as every other one he had ever shared with me.
"Thank you."
Any time. And I meant it.
We didn't have to confer to know that it was now time for me to be about my business so we could join the family festivities. No close calls today. I hurried, so as not to be away from Will any longer than necessary.
I didn't realize how much food we had prepared until it was all assembled on the dining room table that afternoon. Turkey and stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, peas, candied yams, rolls and, of course, cranberry sauce. Dr. Stuart offered a lovely prayer of thanks, more for the intangibles of life than the material things. Then we ate, and talked. The latter more than the former, actually.
We took a break to clean up before dessert. Then Melinda proudly served us the pumpkin pie she had made, with the fresh cream her mom had whipped. It was at that point that the conversation took an unexpected turn. Well, unexpected to me, anyway. (Confirmation, I supposed, that my “curtains” were now in place as a matter of habit.)
"Hey, Cassie, you can swim, right?" Melinda asked abruptly.
Only when I had to. "Yes." Gina had made sure I took and passed all the classes. However, I hadn't taken to swimming very well. The pool always seemed so crowded. "But I haven't for a long time."
"We were thinking that maybe we'd all go swimming on Saturday," explained Mrs. Stuart. "Will particularly likes it, and he thought you might, too."
I looked at Will, whose expression was carefully neutral. I would have bet most anything that he was aware of the struggle inside me―wanting to say no for me; wanting to say yes for him―and didn't want to influence me.
"I think I'd like to try it again," I ventured. "But I don't have a swimsuit."
"Hear that, Mom? We get to go shopping tomorrow!" rejoiced Melinda, as if shopping were the most glorious pastime imaginable.
"She may be right, Cassie. I don't think either of us has a suit that would fit you."
Whew! Maybe this was an easy way out. "I didn't bring any money with me . . . ," I began.
"Oh, please don't worry about that. We'd be more than happy to get you anything you need," Mrs. Stuart responded. Well, that didn't work.
One more try. "Can we even find swimsuits this time of year?" Please say no.
"Actually, yes." Ah, shucks. "There are a couple of larger department stores at the mall that usually carry them all year. The selection is smaller, but we should be able to find something."
"So, what do you think?" Will asked out loud. Silently―to everyone but me, that is―he added, "Don't go for me."
Why not? "Let's go," I said.
Will squeezed my hand, but didn't say anything more.
"Hurray! We're going to the mall! We're going to the mall!" Melinda chanted as she literally skipped out of the room.
Hurray, indeed. The day after Thanksgiving. Busiest shopping day of the year. Lots and lots and lots of people.
Will?
"Yes, Dearest?" This was a new and lovely endearment. Sigh.
What was I going to say? Oh, yes. Would you please come with us? I was confident I didn't have to explain why.
"Absolutely. But if it even begins to become too much for you, I'm getting you out of there. Deal?"
Another sigh―of relief. Deal.
So, on the morrow, I found myself in the women's swimsuit section of a very large store at the mall. Breathe. Breathe. Fortunately, we appeared to be the only ones interested in swimsuits this time of year. It was relatively quiet in that small part of the store.
The whole Stuart family had come, including Dr. Stuart. (To see how well I would hold up?) He said he could use a new tie or two. "Will, are you staying with the girls or coming with me?"
"I think I'll stay for a while," he answered.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
"You are most welcome."
"Okay. I'll have my cell on if you want to find me."
"Got it. Thanks."
"See you all later. Good luck,"Dr. Stuart said as he walked away.
So there I was, facing a rack of women's swimsuits―all styles, all sizes, all kinds of colors and designs. And I had no idea how to even begin to look. Well, I might as well "dive in." (Ha,
ha.)
"Mrs. Stuart?"
"Yes?"
Go for it. "I really don't know what I'm doing here. Would you help me, please?" I asked, somewhat plaintively.
She looked at me sympathetically. "Sure, Cassie. Do you know what size you wear?"
"Not really. It depends."
"Okay. Do you have a favorite color?"
"No. I'm pretty flexible." Which was true, because I didn't really know any better. It was all too new for me.
"Do you want a one piece or two piece?"
This time I just shrugged. "Am I hopeless?"
She laughed. "Not in the least. That actually makes it easier in some ways." She looked through the different sizes on the rack until she came to the one she was looking for. "I think this will probably be your size. Let's pick some out and you can try them on."
"Okay." Oh, dear. Where was Will? I looked around and found him sitting on a chair by the entrance to the women's fitting rooms, just a few feet away. He was watching me. He smiled when I looked at him.
"So far, so good?"
So far, so good.
I turned back to the rack of swimsuits, which Mrs. Stuart and Melinda had already ransacked. Each was holding two swimsuits for me to try on. Mrs. Stuart had gone conservative with one piece suits, but Melinda thought I should definitely show off my figure with a two piece. Seemed kind of risky to me.
Doubt―if not outright fear―must have shown on my face. "You don't really have to try them, Cassie. I just thought you'd look good in them," explained Melinda. I probably should have taken her at her word, but it was so nice of her―and complimentary―that I decided to give it a try.
"May as well see how they fit."
So I took the first two piece suit she offered, and went in to put it on. It was more modest than most, with some width of material instead of just strings holding it together, I reassured myself. And the fabric was pretty―a deep purple with dark pink lines through it. After I had it on, I steeled myself to look in the mirror. When I did, I couldn't believe it. I looked pretty good. But was that just my opinion? Only one way to find out.
I took a deep breath and slowly opened the door to the little dressing room. Then I stepped just outside it where Melinda and her mom could see me.
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