But more than being nervous, I was excited to be spending my first holiday with the man I loved. The first big holiday of my life as part of a couple. He was holding my hand, and I was grinning just because life felt so good.
And . . . his mother was going to be there. I hadn’t seen her since Halloween.
“Does your mom know I’m coming?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And she doesn’t mind?”
“No. She likes you.”
I wanted to believe him. But no matter what Tim said, his mother had to think I was a bad influence on her youngest son. I kept him out until 5:00 AM. And had been in his bedroom so late the night of the Halloween party that she’d had to kick me out.
I didn’t see her when we first arrived at Mike and Jane’s, either. She wasn’t there yet.
But the house was full. Mike and Jane and their kids. Jane’s parents. And siblings. Their spouses. Kids. In-laws and their kids. The kitchen was a flurry of activity. Noise and great smells and life. Nothing like the quiet Thanksgiving that I was used to, the one highlighted by naps in front of the football game—the one going on back at my house in Huber Heights.
Nothing about the day remotely resembled any Thanksgiving I’d ever had. Tim’s mom arrived with a lot of food that she’d cooked at home. Jane announced when it was time to eat—but there was no table set. No seats designated. Just a long row of dishes filled with vegetable casseroles and potatoes and gravy and turkey and dressing and more food than I’d ever seen in one home at one time. People grabbed plates, went through the line, and sat anyplace that was available. A couch. A chair. A seat at the dining room table.
At my house there was one conversation at a time and you had to be polite and listen and speak only when you weren’t covering up what someone else was saying. Tim’s family dinner was filled with bustling conversations. Many of them. All over the house. All the time. And anyone could jump into any of the conversations any time.
I was mesmerized. Holding on to Tim for all I was worth. And in love.
I looked around, noticing Mike’s wife in the middle of it all, and knew, then and there, that more than writing for Harlequin, more than anything else I’d ever wanted in my life, I wanted to be just like her—a Barney wife.
“Mom said to ask you in for dessert,” Tara said when Tim took her home on Thanksgiving night. He was tired but accepted her invitation immediately, glad that the day wasn’t ending yet. Maybe they’d have some time alone before he had to head back to Eaton.
Her dad was asleep on the couch in front of the television when they got there just a little past 9:00 PM.
“Walter,” Mrs. Gumser said, “come and have some dessert with the kids.”
Tara’s dad grunted, but he got up and came over. He didn’t seem nearly as intimidating with his hair sticking up on end. He was wearing an old-looking pair of brown slacks and a white T-shirt.
“What kind of pie do you want?” Mrs. Gumser asked Tim.
“Pumpkin,” he said, though he really wasn’t that hungry.
Tara chose pumpkin, too. And Pepsi. That girl and her Pepsi.
They all sat down to eat, and Mrs. Gumser asked about dinner. And seemed to really care as Tara described the day—and Tim’s family—as though Tara really had loved it all. Tim hadn’t been sure.
“Let me guess what you all did,” Tara said when she’d finished describing his family to a T. “Watched football, right?”
“Of course.”
“They had the game on there, too, but you almost didn’t know it. Everyone moved around and talked and ate all day long.”
Tara’s dad hadn’t said a word. His plate, filled with a strange concoction of apple pie and gravy topped with ice cream, was almost empty.
“Did the Lions win?” Tim asked him. He’d left his brother’s house before the game ended.
“Bears. 31–14.”
Whoops. Tara’s dad was a Lions fan.
Before Tim could stick his foot any further down his throat, the front door opened and a tall, dark-haired guy wearing jeans and a brown shirt walked in.
Tim watched as his girlfriend jumped up out of her chair and threw her arms around the guy’s neck. He squeezed her back.
And then she turned to him. “Tim, this is Chum. Chum, this is Tim.”
He nodded. Said something that was probably okay, and waited for Tara to sit back down next to him. She did. And touched him, too.
“How was dinner, Sis?” Chum asked.
And Tara described the day a second time. Exactly as she had the first time. She must’ve really meant what she’d said to get it exactly the same both times. She made his ordinary family sound like something really special.
And then, still looking at her brother, she said, “Hey, get your guitar.”
“Yeah,” Mrs. Gumser added. “Go get your guitar.”
Back with his guitar, Chum pulled out a chair and sat. “What do you want to hear?” he asked, looking straight at Tim, who had a feeling this sort of thing wasn’t unusual in this house.
“What do you know?”
“Neil Diamond,” Tara said.
“Neil Diamond.” Her brother nodded, and with a few warm-up strums he started singing. Tim knew the song. “Hot August Night.” Chum’s voice was strong, and Tara hadn’t exaggerated her brother’s talent. But there was more than just ability at play here. Even an amateur like Tim could see how much the guy enjoyed music. He sat in the chair with his guitar perched on his knee and his head slightly tilted back, his eyes fully shut as he sang, and Tim would swear, if he closed his own eyes, that Neil Diamond was singing live right in front of him.
And the distance between him and Tara struck him in the gut. He was having a once-in-a-lifetime experience, at a concert that people should be paying money to hear, and Tara was sitting at home with her brother. Her life was so completely different from anything he’d ever known.
Tim and I made more dates. We were going hiking. And to movies. We made it to the state park to hike, once. But didn’t make it to the trail. We were too busy touching and had to get back to his car. We didn’t make it to any of the movies, either.
We made it into each other’s arms and stayed that way. But he kept his word to me. He didn’t ask me to make love with him.
He also didn’t mention the future. I couldn’t think of anything else. We were a walking time bomb. He might not ask for sex again, but I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t. And I knew if I did, he sure as heck wasn’t going to say no.
Even though I knew it was stupid, I hoped that with Christmas coming I might get a ring. One that fit my finger. And had a little white stone on top.
And I bought him another card. One that told him how I felt without sounding too forward. After a week of angst, of worrying about whether I’d be pushing him away if I actually sent the card, I finally put it in the mail. It would be in the mailbox on Maple Street by the next day, and I thought about him reading it.
When we count our blessings at Christmas time we think of you. Except I crossed out “we” and wrote “I.”
Beneath the printed message I wrote my own.
Tim, I hope you have a super Christmas,
and that we can share many more. You have indeed
been a blessing to me. Thank you.
Lots of Love, Tara
My love was all over it if he wanted it. And if not, he knew that he had a friend who valued him hugely.
I didn’t hear whether or not he got the card. What I did get, at school the next day, was an invitation to the Christmas party at Tim’s work. It was an adult party being held at the Eaton Country Club.
He wanted to have me by his side at his party. Obviously, Tim liked me a lot.
He’d made it through his first semester of college. And the grades he had were actually decent, considering how much energy he’d spent on falling in love. The time off from class was great, but Tim was working more. And driving to Huber Heights more, too, now that he couldn’t see
Tara in class. On the Friday night before his Saturday night Christmas party he told himself he’d make it home at a decent time, to rest up for the next day and night. But Tara’s arms had held him so tightly, the warmth of her body so comforting, he’d actually fallen asleep with her and barely made it home in time to shower before work. He’d clocked in late—for the third time. The girl was going to get him fired.
But in spite of the lack of sleep, he was raring to go when he clocked out at three that afternoon. He showered again. Took time with his hair and shaving, put on a brown leisure suit. the only suit he owned, He wore a white shirt with an oversize collar but no tie, and platform shoes. He’d borrowed Mike’s brown beads and tied them around his neck, anticipating the night ahead.
Tara was upstairs when he got to her house and her mother called her down. She came bouncing down in a light blue dress that hung to just below her knees, and all he could think about was what was underneath it. She was smiling and had on Jontue perfume, her scent. It turned him on every time he caught a whiff of it.
She was so sexy. And with him. He felt lucky, as rich as anyone as he walked her into Eaton’s country club an hour later.
“Hi, Tim. Who’s this?” the greeter at the door of the party asked, writing with a red marker on Santa Claus and bunny name tag stickers. The woman already had his name written.
“This is Tara,” he said, but everyone knew who she was. He talked about her nonstop. He could see all his coworkers checking her out.
He was a proud man as he moved around the room introducing Tara, and once he was certain everyone he knew had met his woman, he chose a small round table that was close to the bar and helped her to a seat.
“What do you think?”
She was grinning and beautiful and his heart was full of her. “They’re nice,” she said. “I’m glad we’re here.”
She glowed—nothing like the shy girl who’d trailed quietly beside him at the Halloween party.
“I am, too,” he said, meaning it. “What do you want to drink?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had anything but my dad’s scotch, and some wine.”
“And beer,” he said. “October Daze.”
“Right. I didn’t finish the one glass I had. I didn’t like it.”
“Come with me then.”
They stepped up to the bar and ordered their first alcoholic drink together. Tom Collins. She loved it.
And he loved her.
Tim and I danced—something else I’d never done. We ate finger foods. And drank a couple of Tom Collinses. We stayed for a long time, and I had a blast.
Still, I was ready to be alone with him when we left to head back to Huber Heights. Maybe tonight we could talk. About us. Our future. Love.
We got to my house, sat in the beanbag chair, and Tim’s hand started to slide up my leg. I was wearing panty hose. And the eroticism of his manly hand gliding on the nylon took me by surprise.
“I crave this,” he whispered, his mouth at my neck. “I think about it—and you—all the time.”
I started to shake. I’d had an “almost” avowal of love.
“I think about you all the time, too.”
I loved him so much.
He kissed me then, and I kissed him back with all of my passion. He was finally starting to open up.
Tim worked on New Year’s Eve day, but got home in time to shower and put on his best jeans and sweater before heading out to Huber Heights. He’d been there the night before, too. And had been late to work again that morning.
He didn’t care. He and Tara were bringing in the New Year together.
When he got to Huber Heights, he couldn’t make it anywhere near her house. Cars, expensive ones, were parked in every available space along both sides of the road and in her driveway. He pulled the Le Mans into the closest spot he found. It was almost a block away.
Every window in the house on Drywood was lit up. He could hear voices and laughing from halfway up the drive. And music, too.
“Hi, Babe.” Tara swung the door open as he walked up. Had she been watching for him? She looked as good as always, her blonde hair curled under at the ends, bangs feathered, and just a little bit of eye makeup on.
Her mom was there, too. “Tim,” Mrs. Gumser said, smiling at him. “Please, come in. How was your drive over?”
“Fine. Long,” he said and laughed, and she laughed with him.
And then she sobered. “You make sure you’re careful tonight. There’ll be crazies out on the road.”
“I know,” he assured her. “I will be.”
She didn’t look worried. She just looked like she cared. About him, too, maybe. Just a little bit.
But the best part was when Tara linked her arm through his and introduced him around to all of her parent’s friends.
“This is my boyfriend, Tim,” she said. Over and over. He could have listened to the words all night.
Even Mr. Gumser was friendly. He came walking up with a shot glass hanging on a chain around his neck, and Tim had to reassess his opinion of the man once again.
A guy couldn’t be too uptight when he wore shot-glass jewelry.
They didn’t stay long. They were stopping in at a party at his brother’s house, too. But he hoped they wouldn’t be there for long, either. The house on Maple Street was empty tonight. He wanted to bring in the New Year alone with Tara.
“You look great tonight, Babe,” he said, holding Tara’s hand as they drove.
“Thanks. You do, too.”
“Your folks really know how to throw a party.”
“They should. They have a million of them. Six this holiday season.”
Why hadn’t he known that?
“Does your dad always walk around with that shot glass?”
“No. Just sometimes. Mostly he plays the organ or piano all night.”
He’d started just before they left. The man had been offered a job playing full time in a nightclub in Chicago or New York or someplace, and Tim could see why.
“People keep getting drinks for him, but I don’t think he drinks them all. I’ve actually never seen him drunk.”
“Listen, we can stay at Mike’s if you want, but Mom and Jeff are both gone for the night, which means we’d have the whole house to ourselves all night long and I was thinking . . .”
“You want to go to Maple Street.”
“Yeah.” He wanted to be naked with her in the worst way. To start the New Year naked with her.
“Okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled at him, and the world was good.
Nine
IT WAS FREEZING OUTSIDE, AND AS WE RAN FROM TIM’S car to the house on Maple Street later that night, I had a brief flash of our lives ahead—Tim and I married, going to family parties, and ending up at home alone.
I ached for that future.
And for him.
He did something with my coat when we got in the door and then came to stand toe-to-toe with me, pulling me into him, and opened his mouth over mine.
I’d worried about this night. Had even thought about calling Tim and canceling. He hadn’t said another word about us or his feelings for me since the night of the Christmas party, and I needed to make love with him.
I was in serious danger of becoming a woman I wouldn’t be able to live with.
And when he kissed me, I couldn’t deny the love I felt for him. We were eighteen. Adults.
Consenting adults.
With his lips still touching mine, moving on mine, he walked me backward until my legs came up against a mattress. We were in the first bedroom we’d come to. Tim pulled down the covers. I was so on fire for him, I didn’t really care.
He nudged me, and I went down, holding my arms up as he came to me. My lower belly was on fire, I was wet between my legs, and I throbbed in places I didn’t know a woman throbbed.
I wasn’t going to make love with him. I knew he wouldn’t ask. But beyond that, I
might not say no. I wanted to have limits. To say no.
Sort of.
I knew I should want to.
I wanted to be a good girl. A decent woman. A Harlequin heroine.
I wanted to let my emotions go with him. Like I almost had that night in his car. I wanted him to let go, too.
Tim kissed me, or I kissed him. I didn’t recognize the woman in his arms. She pushed up his sweater and ran her hands along his chest. And as she touched him, as I touched him, I felt another pool of heat between my legs. I was empty there. I needed to be filled.
Tim pulled at my sweater and I sat up, letting him take it off me.
“You’re sure we’ll be alone all night?”
“Positive.” He was unbuttoning my blouse. I wanted his sweater off him.
It joined my blouse wherever he let them go. He undid my bra, too. I lay back in the bed, the sheets cool, soft, against my bare skin—in direct contrast to Tim’s heat as his bare chest met my bare chest for the first time.
I almost couldn’t stand the pleasure. My hips came up off the bed, seeking—I wasn’t really sure what. There was so much I didn’t know. But my body knew. And it was pushing me toward a new world. One it had to have.
Tim unbuttoned my jeans. Unzipped them. He’d done that before. Many times. But that night, instead of sliding his hand down inside, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down. All the way down. I laid there in my panties and watched as he unfastened his own jeans and pushed them down, too.
His underwear still covered him, and they emphasized the huge bulge that I had to know more about it. I had to see it. Touch it. I had to know its power or die. Not because it was a male body, but because it was the essence of Tim.
I had to be a good girl. I had to go home to my father’s house.
My conscience was at war with my heart, and I was going to be a casualty whichever way it went.
Up on his knees, Tim positioned himself between my thighs, between my pulled-down pants and my crotch. Bending toward me, he put his hands down on the bed on either side of my shoulders and lowered his hips to my crotch.
It Happened on Maple Street Page 8