Promise

by Trinidad West

"They did, when I was done crying." When she had finished the cake she said, "I still have them."

  "The letters?"

  Dennie nodded and put down the empty plate with a contented sigh and wondered briefly if there was any leftover cake.

  Kicking her feet in the water, she thought how nice it would have been to have had somebody to lean on when her father died and during the years of his decline. Right now she wanted nothing more than to lean against James' shoulder and forget about all the decisions she needed to make about her future, but she was determined not to indulge in that kind of weakness. Instead, she sat and enjoyed the companionable quiet. Summer evenings made her feel like she had all the time in the world.

  "Cake and kisses, Dennie," James said softly after a few minutes.

  The words floated down to her like a caress that woke her from a long hibernation. They terrified her and they pleased her, all at the same time. Her heart pounded, but she couldn't turn her head to look at him.

  "Dennie," he said, his mouth close to her ear. "Kiss me."

  He was leaning so close to her that the action of turning her head brought her lips into contact with his. Think fast, Dennie. Keep it chaste? Friendly with a hint of something else? Tongue? Ravenous assault?

  Then he sighed her name against her mouth and all thought abandoned her as she tilted her head and caressed his lower lip with hers. She thought she felt him tremble as she ran her tongue along his lip. His hands came up to her face and he coaxed her mouth wider open as their tongues met. Dennie moaned as his tongue explored her mouth.

  When James finally pulled back to look at her, she felt light-headed and she realized she was clutching the front of his shirt in her fists for support.

  "Jill and Henry are about to leave. Come say good-bye, James." Beverly's voice cut through the twilight.

  James straightened up and put his hands over Dennie's.

  "I'll be right there," he called over Dennie's head.

  Dennie slid her hands out from under his and hoped he didn't feel how they were shaking. She kept her eyes firmly on his chest, too cowardly to look at him.

  "Go," she said. "They're waiting."

  He paused, and Dennie was afraid she was going to kiss her again. Then he jumped to his feet and she was disappointed that he hadn't. She turned to admire him as he walked away from her, silhouetted by the light from the house. She almost allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to wake up next to such a fabulous bundle of energy. Instead she leaned over to plunge her hands into the pool and tried to cool off her face with the water. What she really needed was to plunge her entire self into the pool, but she doubted even that would undo the effects of that kiss. One kiss, and she could feel the moisture threatening to soak through her panties. An hour of sanding stair rails might cool her off if she could manage not to think about him while she worked.

  Fat chance! That kiss as was going to get her through the rest of the summer. She would hold it up as a shining hope that there just might be life after divorce and near financial ruin—but with somebody she had yet to meet, not with the boy she used to baby-sit. She had heard enough stories of middle-aged women making fools of themselves over younger men. She would take the kiss for what it was—something they had both apparently needed to get out of their systems—and nothing more. Not a manifestation of long-suppressed feelings. Not a declaration of anything deep and meaningful. Not even the opening scene of a summer fling.

  Dennie put on her sandals and her confident woman-with-much-to-do face and went back into the house, irritated that her limp detracted somewhat from the image she wanted to project. She retrieved her keys from the kitchen counter and followed the sound of Beverly's voice into the living room, where she and James were stuffing wrapping paper into a garbage bag.

  James looked up and smiled, but Dennie remained resolute. She did not let her brisk-woman face soften into a recently-kissed-woman face, let alone a woman-still-feeling-the-effects-of-a-kiss face.

  "Happy birthday, James. Thanks for inviting me, Beverly. I'm off."

  "You're not planning to walk home on that ankle, are you?" Beverly asked, sounding as though Dennie intended to walk home stark naked.

  "Sure. It'll be good for it." She meant to turn and walk away, but Beverly's maternal scowl pinned her where she stood.

  "Don't be ridiculous. James will drive you home."

  She should have seen that coming. "It's only five blocks, Beverly. I walked here. I can walk back. I'll call you when I get home if that'll make you feel any better."

  "James will drive you home," Beverly repeated. She turned to her son. "She hurt her ankle a few days ago. She probably shouldn't be walking on it at all."

  "Humor her, Dennie," James said. "I'll never hear the end of it you walk." He moved to stand beside her, took her arm, and turned her toward the door.

  Dennie tried to ignore the way James' light touch on her arm resonated through her whole body.

  "I won't wait up," Beverly said happily.

  Dennie glared at Beverly over her shoulder. What plan would she have conjured up if Dennie hadn't conveniently hurt her ankle?

  On the front porch, Dennie pulled her arm from James' hand. "She's throwing us together!"

  "Is that so bad?" James asked, heading down the porch steps.

  Dennie stopped and looked at his back. Of course, it's bad. "I don't like being told what to do."

  He turned to face her. "Yeah, I remember that about you. Will you just let me drive you home so I can avoid the wrath of my mother?"

  "Fine," Dennie answered. Oh, no, that sounded petulant. "Thanks, James," she added.

  By the time they got to his car, parked several houses down the street, Dennie's ankle was throbbing and she was glad she didn't have to walk home, but she wasn't about to admit it. She was grateful that James didn't attempt to chat on the short drive. She rolled the window down and watched the familiar neighborhood roll by. Being in a car on a summer night left her feeling pleasantly nostalgic. Maybe it had something to do with the absolute freedom that summer used to bring. Once upon a time, summer nights were long and full of promise and never sullied by thoughts of what had to be accomplished the next day.

  She didn't want to get out of the car when James pulled up in front of her house, but when he walked around and opened the door for her, she couldn't just keep sitting there. Her ankle had stiffened up again. She thought she managed to hide the limp as they walked away from the car, but going up the porch steps, she had to lean heavily on the railing. James offered his hand but she waved him away.

  "Determined not to let anyone help, aren't you?"

  "I'm fine."

  Undeterred, he ascended the steps beside her, ready to offer support should she need it. "I used to let you help me with my homework all the time," he reminded her.

  "That's because you never wanted to take the time to read the directions."

  A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. "I'd forgotten that. No wonder it drives me crazy when my students do it."

  Dennie unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Serves you right. Good night, James. Thanks for the ride."

  "Aren't you going to invite me in to see the house?"

  Didn't the man know a firm good night when he heard one? "My ankle really hurts," she admitted. "I just want to sit down."

  "Then sit down and I'll rub your ankle. It'll help. I promise." He raised his eyebrows in a silent plea.

  She looked away from him. How could she think straight when he used that look on her? It was the same look he used to use when he'd beg her to let him stay up an extra half hour when she baby-sat. It always worked back then, too.

  "Fine. Come in," she relented with a sigh. She'd let him visit for fifteen minutes, tops, then send him home.

  She held the door open for him, then locked it behind him and flipped a switch, illuminating the bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. Dennie watched him as he looked around the shambles of the entry hall and peered into the dark living room
, where the furniture was shrouded under drop cloths. Under their feet, the linoleum was half peeled up, revealing the wood beneath. On one wall of the entry, the wide strips of wood trim were painted a dingy cream color. On the other side, the trim was mostly naked wood, showing streaks of paint that still needed to be sanded away.

  "I thought I'd work from the front door in," Dennie explained, "but then I got distracted by the staircase."

  "Where are you living?"

  "Here, I'll show you," she offered without thinking. She led him through the dark, stuffy house to the kitchen and the back door, where she paused to stand on one foot for a few seconds to allow her ankle to stop throbbing.

  James came up behind her and put a hand on her waist. "Are you all right?" he asked.

  He was so close, she could have leaned back against him. She wanted to—sort of. She shook her head, clearing away the temptation. They were feeling the warm glow of nostalgia. That was all.

  Dennie unlocked the deadbolt and stepped into the screened-in sleeping porch. "It's been so miserable in the house the last few nights, I've been spending my evenings out here."

  At one end of the porch was a mattress, which she had wrestled down the stairs and through the house several nights before when she got fed up with tossing and turning in her airless bedroom. At the other end was an upholstered chair and a wrought iron floor lamp. One chair. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have pulled the covers off the living room furniture and put up with the smell of sawdust and paint remover.

  "Is it safe to sleep out here?" he asked.

  Dennie laughed. "Careful. You sound like your mother."

  She sat down in the chair and reached up to turn on the lamp, but then she remembered the spider webs that she kept forgetting to sweep off the ceiling and she decided the dark had its benefits. Besides, there was enough light spilling out from the kitchen.

  James sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of her and picked up her right foot.

  "This one?" he asked.

  Dennie nodded and tried to not tense up too much at his touch. She had forgotten he'd said something about rubbing her ankle. She watched the top of his head as he bent over her foot and slipped her sandal off. She held her breath. That felt a little too much like being undressed, but she didn't move. The warmth of his hands as they gently held her foot felt too good to pull away from. She stared out at the shadows of the overgrown back yard and tried to think while James began to massage the arch of her foot.

  Conversation. The situation called for conversation, but James didn't seem to realize that. He appeared to be concentrating on her foot.

  "High school English, huh?" Oh, God, could she have said anything more stupid?

  "Junior English, Senior English, and one remedial class," he answered without looking up.

  "You can't have been much older than your students when you started."

  He laughed and said, "Only five years older than the oldest of them. Winning their respect took some doing."

  "It must not have been easy, with all those nubile young things running around." Dennie wanted to pick up the lamp and hit herself over the head with it. She'd done it. She had thought of something even more stupid to say.

  James set her foot down on his knee and cupped his hands around her ankle. "I haven't been interested in teenage girls since I was a teenager." He looked up at her and added, "I like grown up women."

  The warmth of his hands seeped up her leg, and the warmth in his expression made her forget to breath. This wasn't going at all as planned.

  James returned his attention to her foot, gently rubbing it where it met her ankle. Dennie didn't know where to turn her attention. She certainly wasn't going to try conversation again.

  "Dennie?" he looked up at her again.

  "What?" she asked warily.

  "Could you possibly try to relax?"

  She almost shook her head, but she stopped herself. She doubted honesty would work any better than conversation. She didn't want to tell him she couldn't possibly relax because she was terrified of the way his hands were warming her entire body. "I'm not very good at relaxing," seemed like a safe response.

  "Maybe closing your eyes would help," James suggested.

  Dennie closed her eyes.

  "And lean your head back. You look like you're on guard duty."

  She leaned her head against the back of the chair, but she didn't feel any closer to relaxed.

  James' hands stopped moving on her foot. "Try to stop thinking, Dennie," he said. "I can see the thoughts racing across your face."

  Dennie opened her eyes. "Stop thinking?"

  "Yes. Stop planning. Stop anticipating. Just… be."

  Dennie looked down at him. Just be. Just be here in the dark with James. It sounded appealing. "I haven't tried that for a while," she confessed.

  "I can see that. Will you try now?"

  "All right."

  She closed her eyes and leaned back again and realized she was clutching the arms of the chair. She turned her palms up and concentrated on relaxing each finger. She was actually almost feeling a little bit relaxed when James put her foot down. Before she could decide whether or not to protest, he picked up her other foot and slipped off the sandal. Dennie felt herself sink into the chair when he started massaging the bottom of her foot with his thumbs. When his hands moved up to massage her calf, she realized she was more than just relaxed. She was aroused. She wanted him to touch her like that everywhere. She bit back a little moan as one of his hands moved up under her skirt and rested just above her knee while his other hand stroked up and down her other calf.

  How pathetic, being so turned on by such a simple touch. She clenched her jaw and tried to steel herself against the sensation. She didn't want him to know how much he affected her. She didn't want him to suspect how long it had been since even her ex-husband had touched her like this. She wanted to stand up and run way, but both his hands slid up her legs, pushing her skirt up with them.

  Good Lord, was James seducing her? She reminded herself to breathe. His hands stroked slowly back down her legs to her feet and back up again. She bit the inside of her lip when she felt his lips on the side of her knee.

  Definitely. If memory served, this was seduction, and he was pretty good at it.

  She opened her eyes and watched as James kissed one leg just above the knee, then the other leg a little higher up. He was on his knees in front of her now, leaning over her lap. She couldn't even remember now what her plan had been, but she was sure it had gone completely awry. This was altogether too intimate a position to be in with James. If he kissed any higher up her legs, he'd be sure to sense her arousal, and she'd be mortified. For crying out loud, this was James, whom she'd known since before he knew how to read. This couldn't be right.

  He sat back on his heels and rested his forehead on her knees, which she hadn't even realized she had clamped tight together. Maybe he was coming to his senses. Then he leaned back and picked up her foot and raised it to his mouth. He trailed kisses along the arch and gently kissed her bad ankle. It wasn't so easy to keep her knees together with one leg straight out in front of her. Except that it wasn't quite straight out. He had angled it out just a little bit as he kissed his way up the side of her calf. His lips seared the back of her knee. He put her foot down and turned his head to kiss her other knee while one hand slid up her leg to her hip.

  "Dennie."

  The tell-tale huskiness of his voice sent a reluctant tremor through Dennie.

  "Open your legs so I can touch more of you."

  Whoa! That wasn't the sort of thing James was supposed to say. She stood up so fast that she stumbled over him, but he was faster. He jumped up and caught her around the waist. She grabbed his arms to keep from falling, which wasn't any better. Her face was pressed against his shoulder and she was out of breath.

  He dropped his hands and said, "I'm sorry Dennie. I'd hoped you wanted this as much as I do."

  Dennie stepped back, but
she couldn't will her hands to let go of him. She focused on the seam of James' sleeve and thought hard to gather the right words together. "It's just that…I'm having a hard time thinking of you this way, James."

  James took her face in his hands and made her look at him. "Then stop thinking," he told her.

  She nodded. "Right. Easier said than done."

  James lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, tentatively at first, then deeper when her arms went up around his neck. With one hand firmly against the small of her back, he dropped his other hand to her bottom and pulled her closer to him. Dennie felt her knees go wobbly and she retreated a step, then another, determined to maintain some remnant of control over the situation. James continued to hold her, his mouth never leaving hers, and she realized that she wasn't so much retreating as pulling him along with her until she felt the wall against her back.

  She lowered her hands to his chest, but he was kissing her neck now, and if she'd had some vague thought of pushing him away, she couldn't imagine why on earth she would want to do such a thing. When James took her hands and raised them over her head, pressed against the wall, all thought fled except the one thought of keeping her body in contact with his as much as possible. He leaned against her, mashing her breasts against his chest. That was nice, but it wasn't enough. She wanted movement. She pushed against him, but he pulled his lower body back. The move brought her almost back to her senses. She tried to gather her thoughts together, but it was hard to concentrate with his tongue in her ear.

  "Still thinking?" he asked. He ran one hand down her arm and lightly over her breasts to her hip.

  "Sort of." Had she been thinking? She couldn't remember now.

  James looked down at her and smiled sexily, but Dennie thought she detected a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

  "What are you 'sort of' thinking?" he asked.

  "I'm thinking I want you to touch me like that again." Just saying it sent a wave of heat through her, and judging by the way his hand clenched on her hip, hearing it had the same effect on him.

  He kept his eyes locked on hers as he moved his hand slowly back up her body, brushing against her breasts, making her nipples pucker, and up to the V of her blouse, which he traced with his fingers. He dipped his head briefly to kiss her, then leaned back again to watch her face as he lowered his hand and rubbed his thumb across her nipple. She had just enough brainpower to spare to be thankful that he still held her hands over her head, giving her breasts, she thought, a not-so-middle-aged lift.