Running Out of Rain

by Lori Leger

  “I accepted, didn’t I?” As though hammering his point home, he placed a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist.

  Oh. My. God.

  He looked up, checked his rearview mirror. Cynthia assumed he saw a vehicle approaching, but couldn’t say for certain since she couldn’t tear her gaze from his profile. He put on his right signal and looked both directions before turning east onto US 190. Once on the highway, he glanced in her direction and gave her his devilishly handsome grin.

  “You tell me when you’re ready and I’ll start making the plans to prove my case.”

  Ready? Hell, she was ready now. Like, right now. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this ready. And he’d done it with a single look, a simple gesture, and a few words. She found herself squirming in her seat. Good grief-a-mighty, was she ever ready.

  Suddenly, she imagined herself in that old cartoon with the two tiny figures, one on each shoulder.

  The little red devil screamed and gesticulated wildly at her. “Now Cyn! Tell him you want it now! Tell him to turn the truck around and drive straight to his house so you can get this challenge underway. Right. Damn. Now.”

  Of course, the tiny, angelic, white-garbed figure, complete with iridescent wings and glittery halo, spoke up in a calm voice. “This will wait. All good things come to those who wait. You don’t want him to think you’re easy, do you? There’s plenty of time to work out these feelings of yours. You’re an adult.”

  Cue the Devil: “Exactly! You’re both mature adults. Your husband sure had his fun, and at your expense, too. Come on Cyn, you know you want to. Cyn wants to do a little SIN-ning of her own. You deserve this.”

  Cue the Angel: “If he really cares for you, he’ll wait. Your first time together should be because you both love each other, not to retaliate against your dead husband’s act of betrayal.”

  “Uh, Cyn? Are you okay over there?” John Michael snapped his fingers in front of her face.

  She blinked, took a deep breath and faced the front. “I’ll let you know by the end of the night.”

  “It’ll take you until the end of the night to know if you’re okay?”

  She glanced in his direction. He rewarded her with another grin. “No. I’ll let you know when by the end of the night.”

  He nodded slowly. “Sounds good.”

  Good? Good was a trip to the movies and dinner. What she was hoping for was a little bit of awesomeness. Okay, a hell of a lot of awesomeness. She suspected it had nothing to do with her dead husband and everything to do with the wonderful man seated beside her.

  She squirmed in her seat again, at the moisture flooding her girl parts like back when she’d first met Gene. Slowly, she turned to face John Michael again. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached out, his palm up. She placed her left hand in his and squeezed.

  He pinned her with his heated gaze, winced slightly as he pulled his hand back to grasp the wheel. With his left hand, he made an adjustment to himself while performing his own rendition of the old bucket-seat-squirm-dance.

  He felt it too. Sweet, liquid warmth pooled at her core, adding to what already existed there. Amazing. “Good grief,” she groaned.

  “I know,” he countered. “It’s gonna be a long night.”

  “A hell of a long night,” she agreed. Cyn couldn’t find a bit of humor in the low growl he emitted. But she did get a clear image of her little red devil and her winged angel meeting in the middle, each conceding to the other. Maybe this wouldn’t happen tonight, but it was definitely due to happen. And maybe she was building herself up for a huge letdown, especially since she expected nothing less than spectacular.

  He turned to her then, his gaze smoldering with need. She groaned again before turning to stare out of her passenger window, strongly suspecting this man wouldn’t rest until he’d delivered.

  After all, today was the third of July … maybe she’d get her fireworks a day early.

  They pulled up at the theater with the brightly lit double marquis illuminating the street.

  Cynthia gaped through the truck’s windshield. “It’s a throwback to a scene from a fifties movie.”

  “Yep. Seems like it should be advertising “The Blob” or “Creature From the Black Lagoon” or something like that, doesn’t it?”

  She laughed. “It does. I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a nice experience.”

  John paid at a window built at an angle to the street, one of two on either side of the three glass doors. No touch-screen kiosks placed intermittently to buy tickets with a credit card. Other than the elderly man working the window, and a few other cars, there were no signs of other attendees yet.

  John Michael held the door open for her and she entered the theater lobby, hand in hand with him. She stopped, immediately transported back in time to her childhood.

  The lobby floors glistened, the light tan linoleum tiles brought back to life with buffers and tons of wax. She lifted her gaze, immediately drawn to the various pops of glass and chrome accents that designers of today loved calling “retro”. In this building, it looked more like they’d refurbished all original working parts. Wooden benches lined the walls, and she could practically see herself as a child sitting on one, digging into her popcorn as she waited impatiently for the movie to start.

  “It’s like taking a step back in time, isn’t it?” he commented.

  She faced him and nodded. “We’re coming back here.”

  He grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Definitely. I can hardly wait to see inside the theater.”

  After purchasing two small popcorns and drinks, they entered one of three separate theater areas. Cynthia uttered a gasp of appreciation. “They got this right too, didn’t they?”

  “Yep. It’s just like the old days.”

  They made themselves comfortable in the small theater, eventually joined by a couple dozen other people. They made small talk until the feature started then settled back to enjoy the show.

  Not once during the movie were they interrupted by someone talking, or a phone ringing, or a brightly lit screen of someone texting, or children running around, or anyone else who thought they were too special to follow the rules made for everyone.

  Two hours later, Cynthia exited the theater first and dumped their trash into the bin outside the door. “What a pleasant experience.”

  John Michael gave her a wholehearted nod of agreement. “I’m all for making this our theater of choice. How about you?”

  “I agree. I’ll be sure and thank Hannah for suggesting it when I see her Monday. She’ll be pleased we love it so much. The owners are friends of her family.” She stepped through the heavy glass exit door John Michael held open for her, and slammed into a wall of heat that was heavy and dense with moisture. “Good grief, I hate this humidity. It’s about the only thing I didn’t miss all those years in Oklahoma.”

  “Your husband never considered moving down here?”

  She frowned. “Oh, no. His mother would have had a conniption fit.”

  “It was totally acceptable in her eyes for you to be separated from your family though?”

  Cynthia pictured her motherin-law; strong, sturdy, salt of the earth, and firm, but always loving. “She didn’t have daughters, so she probably couldn’t see it from my parents’ point of view. She decided long ago having daughter-in-laws around was her reward for raising all those rowdy boys.”

  His hand on the small of her back, he reached for the passenger door of his truck to open it for her. “Were your in-laws good to you?”

  “Oh, absolutely. I never had a cross word with either of his parents, and they stayed out of our business for the most part. I’m so glad they’d both passed on before Gene. The entire mess, his infidelity, it would have devastated them. I doubt either of them could have accepted that kind of behavior from their son.”

  “I don’t know how anyone could.” He crossed around to the driver’s side and settled in beside her. After buckling h
is seat belt, he faced her again. “Has your daughter’s attitude toward you softened any? I know you said she was having difficulty blaming her dad for anything.”

  “I’ve called her dozens of times since I’ve been here. I try to get her to skype or some kind of video chat call. She keeps making excuses, then finds a way to end the call quickly. Truth be told, it’s been that way since Gene died, even when I was still in Oklahoma. I don’t know what to do about it. I saw my sons over the Easter holidays, but Trini bowed out of seeing the rest of us.” Her chest tightened at the thought of her sweet granddaughter, Zoe. “I miss my granddaughter so much. She’s almost two years old and she’s growing up not knowing me.” She blinked back the sudden onslaught of tears.

  John started the truck and pulled out onto the street. “Maybe it’s time for a visit.”

  “I agree, but when I broach the subject, she always says it’s a bad time.” Her tears finally won out as she fumbled around in her purse for tissues. His hand came into view holding a crisp, white handkerchief. “Thank you. I’m sorry, I don’t normally do this.”

  “Don’t apologize, Cyn. I know I promised a movie and a good meal after, but are you still up for the restaurant?”

  She dabbed at her eyes. “Well, I’m hungry, but I’m afraid I don’t feel like being out in public right now.”

  He reached out to grab her hand and squeezed it tightly. “How about we order a pizza for pick-up and head over to my place to talk or watch a movie?”

  She swiveled in her seat to face him. “Really? You wouldn’t mind? I’m sure you had something much nicer planned for tonight.”

  “We’re together, Cyn. I can’t think of anything nicer.” He handed her his smart phone. “Pizza Palace is already in my phone list. Order a large, one-half loaded and the other half with whatever you want on yours. We’ll have to pass the place on the way home, anyway. By the time we get there it should be ready.”

  He held the door open for Cyn to walk into his home. She looked around and nodded, seeming somewhat surprised at its extraordinary neat condition. “Were you expecting company?”

  John Michael shrugged. “One can always hope.” She didn’t need to know he’d spent most of the day cleaning in case they ended up here tonight.

  Her smile reached her eyes. Eyes still a little reddened from the short bout of tears she’d allowed herself earlier. His breath hitched when she caught her lower lip in her teeth, giving her a vulnerable look. He wanted to kiss away any sadness, any heartbreak caused by her cheating dead spouse and selfish daughter. Trini must have inherited that trait from her father’s DNA.

  She looked around, fidgeting. “At least you didn’t say expect.”

  He set the pizza and his phone on the counter, grabbed a couple of plates from the cabinet. “I never expected a thing and I still don’t.” He headed for the fridge and peered inside. “I’ve got Coke, canned tea, and bottled water. Or maybe you’d like a beer with your pizz …” Her hands wrapped gently around his waist, cutting off his question. Cynthia pressed her body against his back, laid her face softly between his shoulder blades. He grabbed her hands, pulled her arms tighter around him and let his head fall back to rest against hers.

  His eyelids drifted shut. The simple act of closeness, of the companionship sorely lacking in his life, had him releasing a long, slow sigh of satisfaction. Her next words had his eyes snapping open again.

  “Maybe you should.”

  “I should what?” he asked, slightly confused.

  “Expect it. Maybe you should expect it.”

  “I’m—” He swallowed. “I’m not quite sure what to say.”

  “Why?”

  He sucked in his breath. “It sounds a little like one of those loaded questions. You know, like “Have you stopped beating your wife?” Seems like anything I say could get my ass in a crack. Until you give me the word, the best I can manage is to hope.” He held his breath throughout her prolonged pause.

  “Word.”

  He released his breath slowly and turned in her arms to face her. Cyn’s green eyes showed no hint of teasing. “Spell it out for me, please, so there’s no chance of miscommunication.” Her smile had him sucking in his breath again as he tightened with need below the belt.

  “I want you, John Michael. Here, now, before we fill up on pizza and beer. I’m starving. For you.”

  “Well, all right, then.” He kicked the fridge door closed with his booted foot and dipped his head to capture her mouth with his own. She unbuttoned his shirt, scraped her nails gently over his chest.

  He sucked in his breath sharply. Cyn emitted something similar to a low growl in the base of her throat and his groin tightened painfully. “Oh. God.” He looked around. No way would this happen in his kitchen. He grabbed her hand, pulled her down the hallway into his bedroom.

  Cynthia jerked open the button of his jeans and pulled his shirt out and off of him in one, smooth move. She turned her back to him. Wordlessly, he pulled down the zipper of her dress, baring her back to him. He slowly eased the dress from her shoulders, baring them to his touch. She moaned as he dipped his mouth to her neck, placed a trail of kisses along her collar bone.

  Cyn turned slowly to face him, let the front of her dress fall forward. The swell of her breasts drew his hands to the delicate lace bra covering them. He cupped them both, his palms filled with the soft weightiness. It was her turn to suck in as his thumbs made slow circles through the silky material, causing her nipples to pebble.

  How long had it been? Too damn long. He couldn’t believe it. This was happening. Tonight. Here in his home. The next thought burst forth, unheeded, and sure as hell unwanted.

  In the home you shared with Beth.

  He pushed it aside. This had nothing to do with his wife. Absolutely nothing. He dipped his mouth to the creamy smoothness of Cyn’s neck.

  She’d want me to find someone.

  He knew that in his heart. Regardless, his gaze landed on their wedding picture. It gravitated to the first family picture they’d taken when Zach was a baby. It landed on the last, taken many years later, a few months before she’d been taken from them.

  Guilt washed over him like oversized waves from a Category 5 hurricane attacking the Cameron Parish coastline. He lifted his head, eyes clenched to shut out his surroundings, dipped his head to Cyn’s neck again, trying to get back to the moment, for her sake if nothing else.

  “John Michael … stop.”

  Her words brought him to an abrupt halt. He pulled back, but kept his head lowered. He couldn’t look at her, ashamed that he couldn’t follow through with this.

  She placed her hand gently on the side of his face. “I understand. You have nothing to apologize for.”

  He met her gaze, expecting to see sympathy, or sorrow, both of which he didn’t want or need from her. What he saw was an acute awareness of what he was feeling. She understood.

  “Not here,” she said. “I should have realized before.”

  John wiped his face with one hand before pulling her dress up to cover her shoulders. He turned her slowly to zip it up then turned her back around. He started to apologize, but Cynthia placed her finger on his lips.

  “Don’t bother. I couldn’t have, either.”

  His expression must have conveyed his doubt.

  “You’re looking at someone who had to cross three state lines to escape her baggage, remember?”

  He leaned in to place a light kiss upon her lips. “I guess you’re right.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I suspect we’ll both know when it’s time.”

  He wrapped her tightly in his arms for a hug. “Thanks for giving me a little leeway.”

  “We’ve only been dating for a month, John Michael. Besides, something tells me you’re going to make it worth the wait.”

  He released her, and then cupped her face gently in both hands, wanting her to leave here tonight with something to look forward to. He kissed her thoroughly, ending it with several nips to her lowe
r lip. He graduated to her earlobe, gently scraping with his teeth, and thrilled as she shivered noticeably. More determined than ever to prove her right, he spoke, his voice raspy with genuine need.

  “Something tells me you’re right on the money.”

  It had been a week since the bedroom “incident”. She’d had to work the next day, on July 4th, but she and her mom had joined him and Mr. J.D. to watch the fireworks display out on the lake that evening. The next Friday John Michael called her, begging for help.

  “I’ve got stuff in my walk-in closet from before Beth passed away, Cyn. I really don’t know what to do with everything, but I want a fresh start around here. I’m willing to pay you in grilled T-bones for your time if you’re willing to help.”

  The seriousness of a “fresh start” and all its implications was enough to have her jumping at the chance to help.

  So far, the opportunity had been eye opening, giving her the chance to get to know his “Bethie” on a somewhat intimate level.

  “What about this, John Michael? This looks like something extremely important.” Cynthia handed him the sealed box from a side shelf, deep in his walk-in closet.

  He studied it, his face blank. “I have no idea what that is.” He took out his pocket knife to slit the taped edges of the box. “Let’s see.”

  She leaned forward as he lifted the lid, gasped as he pulled back fragile white tissue paper. “Oh, how beautiful.”

  John Michael sat back on his heels and stared at the contents of the box.

  Cynthia lifted a framed photo on the dresser and studied it before turning back to the box. “It’s Beth’s wedding dress, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’d forgotten it was in there somewhere. She hoped we’d have a daughter to wear it one day, but we only had Zachary.” His brows rose quizzically as he stared at her. “If I donate it to Goodwill, maybe someone will get some use out of it.”

  She didn’t even attempt to disguise her horror at the suggestion. “This is a family heirloom, John. You can’t get rid of it.”

  “But we didn’t have a daughter and the only son is married already.”