Holding Her Hand

by Tammy Falkner

  “I want to hold you tight, even if we don’t watch a scary movie.” With my thighs. But I keep that part to myself.

  Ryan

  On a normal day, Lark is beautiful. But today…today she’s glowing. Her arms are uncovered for what I think is probably the first time ever, or at least the first time since she discovered gloves could shield her from the past.

  She tells her dad goodbye and he says something in her ear. Her face flushes and she points a finger at him. She’s warning him about something. Then she starts to talk to Friday about her new ink, showing her the images.

  Emilio walks over to me. “I like you, Ryan,” he says.

  “Thank you,” I say. What are you supposed to say to that?

  “But…”

  I hold my breath.

  He points to Lark. “That’s my little girl.”

  “I understand,” I rush to say. But he shakes a finger at me and cuts me off.

  “That’s my little girl,” he says again. “And I would do just about anything to protect my daughters.”

  I gulp. “Would that include having to hide a dead body?” I ask him.

  “Oh, no.” He waves a dismissive hand in the air. “If you hurt my daughter, no one will be able to find enough of you to bury.”

  “I understand.”

  “You know those dads they write songs about? The ones who sit on the porch cleaning guns and waiting for their daughters’ dates to arrive, and then they scare the everliving fuck”—he spells this out with his fingers, and I have never been exposed to a word like “ever-living”, but I get the idea of it—“out of the dates by making them think they’d shoot them?”

  “I don’t listen to much music.” I point to my ear.

  He grins. “Oh, so you don’t know about it. I’ll explain it for you. Some dads will sit on the porch with a big shotgun and they’ll warn a man off without saying a word, just by letting the man know Dad’s armed. But I’ll never do that.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” I let out my breath.

  “You know why I won’t do that?”

  “No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.” I rock back on my heels.

  “Well, since you asked so nicely, I don’t do that because I raised five brilliant daughters. They’re tough when they need to be, and soft as cotton when that’s what’s necessary. They smell good and they look pretty, but they kick ass. And Marta and I taught them how to treat people right. They’re kind, respectful, and they sometimes make my heart stop when they walk into the room, just because I’m so damn proud to be their dad.”

  “That’s good.” The clench around my heart eases some.

  “I never worry about their choices, because they typically make good ones. That’s the beauty of having brilliant kids. I would bet men that have sons worry about where they’re going to stick their—” His face scrunches up and he yells over his shoulder at Paul Reed. Paul grimaces and shows him the sign for “penis.” It’s the letter P pointed at his nose. And all I can think to myself is oh holy hell, he’s about to talk about my penis.

  “Thank you,” Emilio says to Paul. Then he turns back to me. “I bet a parent that has a son has to worry about where that son’s going to stick his penis. But lucky for them, they only have to worry about that one penis.” He holds up a single finger.

  I choke, coughing into my fist. He stops long enough to whack me on the back.

  “So the way I see it is this: Dads with sons have to worry about that one single penis. Dads with daughters have to worry about all the penises.” He glares at me. “Do I have to worry about your penis?”

  My penis will probably never get hard again. In fact, I think my balls have shriveled up inside me. “No sir, you don’t have to worry about my penis.”

  He slaps me on the shoulder again. “Well, that’s good. I don’t even want to think about your penis, you see.”

  “I’ll be sure you never have a reason to think about my penis.”

  He smiles. “Good. Then we’re all done here.” He kisses Lark on the cheek, says goodbye to the Reeds, and he leaves.

  “What did he say to you?” Lark asks.

  “He pretty much made sure I’d never, ever get to have sex with you.”

  A tiny V appears between her eyebrows. “What?”

  “My dick is now too afraid to ever come out of hiding, I think.” I look down toward my waist. “And he and I had a really good relationship before all this.” I shake my head. “Now he hates me.”

  “My dad hates you?”

  “No.” I look south again. “My dick. He hates me. He’ll never forgive me for subjecting him to that.”

  Her face suddenly looks warm. “Well, I’d offer to give him a kiss and make it better, but that would be really inappropriate.”

  My dick apparently accepts the apology. He’s a forgiving bastard. In fact, I think he’d like to come out and bask in the glow of her saying she’s sorry. I pull my shirt down to cover the growing bulge. “You ready to get out of here?” While I can still walk?

  The sun is setting as we leave the shop, but we’re in the heart of the city. Despite the hustle and bustle, the people bumping into my shoulder, and the way Lark has to move side to side to dodge people and potholes, when she slips her hand into mine and threads our fingers together, I never felt quite so complete. She holds my hand, and the feel of her trusting me sinks straight to the very center of me, and the only thing that matters is that she’s close to me. I could go on holding her hand forever and be perfectly content. But suddenly Lark stops and looks behind us. Her brow furrows and she looks up at me.

  I wanted to have a quiet evening with my girl, and now I’m stuck in the middle of the city with my girl…and my ex-girlfriend, who is not very happy to see us. Particularly not holding hands. She’s like a bad penny, and I can’t help but wonder why she keeps showing up where I am.

  Samantha glares at our clasped fingers. Lark tries to pull her fingers from mine, but I hold tighter and look only at her, trying to tell her with my eyes not to worry, that this is not going to be an issue. But it is going to be an issue. I’m aware of it. Lark is aware of it too.

  Suddenly, two men in suits walk up on each side of us. They say something to Lark and she looks relieved. She tugs my hand and points to a dark vehicle that’s parked at the curb. A uniformed man holds the door open.

  “For us?” I ask her.

  She smiles. “For us.”

  Samantha tugs on my sleeve. “Are you dating her?” she asks.

  I watch Lark slide into the car and then I get in behind her. I look out the open door and say, “Yes. I’m dating her.”

  “Your mother is going to be so angry!”

  I heave a sigh. My mother is a problem I’ll worry about tomorrow. Right now, I just want to worry about Lark. Right now, I just want to know if she likes me as much as I like her. I want to know if she thinks about me as much as I think about her. If she thinks we could make this real and normal. If a deaf guy can love a hearing girl, I want to give it a shot. I just hope that’s what she wants too, because I kind of need her now. Like air. Like water. Like food. Like knowledge. Like art. She’s become so much more than a cap thief.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and go to my contacts list. I change her name in my phone from Lark McCapsnatcher to Lark McMine.

  She leans her head on my shoulder and looks at what I type. Then she blushes and buries her face in my shoulder. I press a kiss against her hair. She squeezes my knee and I slip my hand under hers so I can hold it. I could hold this girl’s hand forever.

  Lark

  “You want to go to my apartment?” he asks me.

  “Now?”

  He nods. “I can make dinner.”

  “You cook?”

  “Are you kidding? I make a banging grilled cheese.”

  “I love grilled cheese.” I lean my head on his shoulder and close my eyes, breathing in the clean, manly scent of him.

  Gently cupping my face with his hand, he tilts
my head up. “Was that a yes?” he asks with his voice.

  “Yes,” I say. He nods and spells out his address for me. I give it to the driver, who looks a second too long at me in the rearview mirror.

  Ryan’s brow furrows. “Would you rather go to your apartment?”

  “No,” I rush to reassure him. “I want to go to yours.”

  He smiles and kisses me quickly. The car pulls up outside his building and my driver hops out to open the door. “I won’t need you for the rest of the night,” I tell him.

  “I’ll wait for you,” he says. He looks everywhere but at me.

  “I said I won’t need you.”

  “I’ll wait just the same.” He pretends to pick a fleck of lint from his jacket.

  “Suit yourself,” I toss out.

  He glowers at me and goes to park the vehicle.

  “Is he coming with us?” Ryan asks.

  “Probably.”

  His brow shoots up. “Into the apartment?”

  “No, he’ll probably stay in the hallway.”

  “He can come inside if you need for him to.”

  “No,” I tell him. “I want you all to myself.”

  He grimaces. “That might be difficult.”

  We go up the elevator and I can’t figure out what he means by that, until we open the door.

  There’s a poker table in the middle of the room. “Poker night,” Ryan tells me.

  There are four men sitting around the table, and each of them has a small pile of chips in front of him. They don’t look up when we walk in, and then I realize they’re all deaf.

  I tug Ryan’s sleeve. “Are you sure you want me to be here right now?”

  He nods and smiles at me. “I’m positive. You can meet my friends.”

  “Really?” My heart feels like it has grown wings inside my chest.

  We walk closer to the table and someone finally sees us.

  “Where have you been?” the blond one asks. He points to the empty chair at the table.

  “I’m not playing tonight,” Ryan says. He points to me. “This is L-A-R-K.” Every last one of them lays their cards down on the table and I suddenly feel like I’m on display. I step closer to Ryan.

  I wave at them and say, “Hi.”

  Ryan points to them each in turn, telling me their names, but his fingers move so fast and I’m so damn nervous that I miss most of it. “Nice to meet you,” one of them says.

  I make a Y shape with my hand and move it back and forth between them and me. “You too.”

  “You want to play poker?” one of them asks. He points to the empty chair.

  “Oh, no.” I wave my hand in the air.

  “Dude,” the dark-haired one says, “she has a vagina. She can’t play poker.” He shoves the other one’s shoulder.

  My face must be flaming red by now, but I work through it. “I do play poker,” I say. “Despite having a vagina. I know, I know,” I rush to say, trying to act flippant, but I’m so nervous my hands are shaking as I sign. “Having a vagina affects your brain, I’ve heard, which makes you unable to add and subtract. Or hold cards. Or place responsible bets.” I look down toward my waist. “Damn vaginas. Who knew they held that kind of power?”

  The room is completely silent and I fear that I have messed up entirely.

  But then Ryan grabs me and hugs me tightly, his chest shaking with laughter. His friends bark out laughter too, and one of them gets up and pulls out a chair for me. He rolls his arm like he’s inviting me to sit on a throne.

  “No, I can’t. I don’t want to interrupt your game.”

  “Are you any good?” the one who referred to my vagina asks.

  “Maybe. Since I have a vagina, you’ll never find out.” I rock back and forth on my heels.

  Ryan motions for me to sit and he stands behind me.

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  Ryan nods and winks at me. I shrug and wait for them to deal the cards.

  Two hours later, I’m sitting with a stack of chips in front of me and I have four new friends. They were a quiet bunch while we played, since their hands were full of cards, so all I had to do was try to be a good opponent. Apparently I was too good, because they’re all sulky.

  I win the last hand and pull the chips over to my side of the table.

  “You kicked ass,” Ryan says. He’s been standing behind me on and off the whole time, except for when he left to go make a grilled cheese sandwich for me. He even took a sandwich and chips out to my driver, who has been waiting in the hallway all this time.

  “Are they mad?” I ask him.

  “No. I think they want to study your vagina to find out how you beat them.” He laughs.

  The four men nod in unison, their heads bobbling like exaggerated dashboard dolls. “We like vaginas,” one of them says. He points to the sandy-haired one. “Well, except for him.”

  “I wouldn’t mind looking at a vagina,” that one rushes to say. “I just don’t want to put my dick in one.”

  I laugh. Because gay men telling jokes about vaginas is funny.

  They get up and start to put their coats on. I push the money from cashing in the chips back toward them. “Here. I can’t keep it.”

  They look at me like I just tried to murder their grandmothers. Or kill their cats. Or chop off their balls. “You won. You keep it. But you have to come back next week to give us a chance to win it back.”

  I look at Ryan and he nods his head slowly, smiling at me. He looks happy. “Maybe,” I tell them. I feel kind of bad for sitting myself down in the middle of the group and then taking all their money.

  One by one, they tell me goodbye, and then Ryan and I are completely alone. “Did I do that wrong?” I ask Ryan.

  “Do what wrong?” he asks.

  “Should I have let them win?” I stare at him, looking for clues.

  He tosses his head back and laughs.

  There’s one thing I have learned tonight. Deaf people are loud. These guys made a ton of noise with laughing squeaks and wonderful guffaws. But it was a good thing to experience, just like Ryan’s laughter is.

  “I love it when you laugh like that,” I tell him.

  He stalks slowly toward me. “You do?”

  I grin and step back, but he comes quicker for me. I turn and run, because he looks like he wants to play, and he hooks an arm around my waist and lifts me from the floor. I kick and bat at his hand until he sits down on the couch and pulls me into his lap. He turns me sideways so I can face him.

  “Where did you learn to play poker?” he asks.

  “Emilio.” I wiggle in his lap and he adjusts me so that more leg than bottom is on him, and he leans me back against the armrest so that he’s partially over me.

  “Emilio’s a good dad.”

  “Really good. So different from my real dad, but so good at the same time.” I can’t even explain it to him. They’re like night and day, but they do have a lot in common, mainly that they both loved me to distraction. With Emilio, I have never felt like a sad adopted girl. I feel like a daughter. His daughter.

  “I like seeing you without gloves,” Ryan says, and he lifts my arm so he can press a quick kiss against my tender wrist. My arms are a little sore, but in a good way. “It’ll feel like a sunburn tomorrow,” he says.

  “Really?”

  He nods. “Probably.”

  “Should I wear gloves when I meet your parents?” I watch his face closely.

  He rocks his head back and forth like he’s thinking about it, and my heart clenches. Then he says, “No. Mom doesn’t mind tattoos.” He points to his own full sleeves. “Have you seen me lately?” He grins. “She’ll be fine with it.” He points to his lip. “She hates the piercings, though.”

  “I like your friends.”

  He kisses my lips. “They like you too. Jackson wanted to know if he could ask you out.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That you don’t date losers.”

  I laugh. “Who did
you tell them I am?” He had spoken to them occasionally, but I was so busy watching my cards and their faces that I missed most of their responses.

  “My girlfriend,” he signs. He looks wary, though. “Is that all right?”

  I nod. “Yes. It’s all right.”

  He grins. “Good.” He jostles me so I look at him. “Can you stay for a while?”

  I nod and scoot off his lap, my heart thundering in my chest. “I can stay all night.”

  He jerks a thumb toward the door. “What about your man?”

  “What about him?”

  “Is he just going to sit out there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes.” I laugh. “That’s his job. If he gets tired, someone will come and relieve him.”

  “Seriously?”

  I laugh at the stricken look on his face. “Seriously. What’s wrong?” I ask.

  His brow furrows. “Kind of makes it awkward putting the moves on you while he’s outside. That’s all.”

  “His job is to notice nothing,” I try to explain.

  “Can you send him home?”

  “For how long?” I ask.

  “All night, I hope.” This time he blushes, and it’s something I didn’t expect. I love that he’s unsure. I love that he’s wondering how far we can go.

  I get out of his lap and go to the door. I open it and lean out. The security guy is at the end of the hall, staring out the window. “I think you can call it quits tonight,” I call to him. He turns around. “I’m going to spend the night.”

  “Is the apartment secure?” he asks.

  “You can come and check it.” I motion him inside, where he checks the locks. “Go home. Get some sleep.”

  He nods and says, “I’ll wait until you lock the door.”

  I close the door and bolt it, and wait until I hear his footsteps retreat. “I’m all yours,” I say to Ryan.

  Suddenly, he backs me up against the door and lifts me off my feet, pressing me hard against the wall. My legs lift and wrap around his waist, and I lock my feet behind his back. “All mine,” he says against my lips. It’s more like a rush of full wind than words, but I get it. “All night?”