By the time they got to the truck, they were rain soaked and splattered with mud. Kathleen started the engine, put the heater on, and pulled old blankets from the storage area.
Kathleen said, “At least they don’t smell like fish.”
They laughed at how they looked, but the laughter soon faded and they became serious and stared at each other as if time and hearts had stopped.
Claire touched Kathleen’s face and moved closer until their lips met, touching gently, exploring slowly. She put her hands on Kathleen’s shoulders, drawing her closer, hungry for new feelings that were rushing through her body.
Kathleen got lost in the intensity of the kiss. Her hands drifted under Claire’s shirt and rested on the curve of her back. She pulled Claire closer, then stopped suddenly and moved away.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let this happen.” She was shaking again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. She put the truck into gear and started to drive home.
Claire’s hand reached out and covered Kathleen’s. “Wait.” When Kathleen continued to drive, Claire pleaded, “Please, wait.”
Kathleen pulled onto the shoulder of the road, resting her head against the seat.
Claire’s voice quivered. “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad we kissed. I’ve wanted you to touch me and I don’t want us to stop.”
Kathleen spoke tersely. “This is new for you. You have no idea what this kind of relationship can be like… I don’t get it. How can you be straight one minute and lesbian the next?”
“Do I have to put a label on it? Jesus, Kathleen, I’ve never felt this way before and I can’t explain it.” Claire spoke hesitantly. “I only know when I’m near you… I have all these feelings. When I’m near you, I want us to make love.”
Kathleen reached over and drew Claire close. Kathleen stroked Claire’s head and spoke softly. “I want to… believe me, I’ve wanted to for so long. I think about making love with you during the day and I dream about it at night. I have to tell you… there are things about me…” Kathleen stopped, looked at her and spoke abruptly. “I’m damaged goods, Claire.”
She drove home and parked on the gravel driveway. The windows began to fog up until the only world that existed was inside the truck. The storm that had plagued them changed direction and weakened. The passion that had been denied replaced the weakening storm and intensified. Dormant feelings came to life as they kissed.
Kathleen leaned back. “I’ve kept this part of my life a secret. I’ve lived in the shadows ever since I knew I was lesbian. You may not be able to understand, but it’s the only way I feel safe.”
Claire reached over and touched Kathleen. “You said you’re damaged. Help me to understand. I want to know you.” Claire stopped and looked down. “I want to be alone with you… I want to feel you next to me.”
Claire took the blanket, folded it neatly and put it back in the storage area. “We haven’t done anything wrong.” She opened the truck door and waited for Kathleen. They walked, in silence, side by side toward the house.
Helen was in the kitchen putting pots in the cupboard. “Hi,” she called out enthusiastically. “Well, it looks as if you two got caught.” Kathleen and Claire exchanged a quick glance and a knowing smile.
Helen was very proud of her culinary skills and informed them, “Shepherd’s pie for dinner. One of my specialties and slap-your-mama delicious, if I do say so.” She artfully opened the oven door and took out a casserole. “Salad’s in a bowl in the fridge. Hope you’ve worked up an appetite.”
She looked at them appraisingly. “You both need to get out of those wet clothes. I don’t want to be taking care of two sick ones. I’ll be leaving in a couple of minutes, so off you go, and make sure you leave those muddy shoes by the door.”
Helen’s concerns became an opportunity for them to leave together. As they began to go upstairs, they heard Helen say, “Kathleen, I started a fire in your room. Get warm.”
Claire and Kathleen couldn’t keep from tittering, but their laughter quickly faded when they reached the landing. They climbed the rest of the stairs slowly, silently. They stopped as they approached their bedrooms.
Kathleen held Claire. “I want you to listen to me carefully. Before you enter my world, you have to understand how I live. I’m only out to Gayle and Robert. A couple of other people too, whom you haven’t met. I can’t let this leak out. There are things about me, about my life, that I haven’t shared with anyone. I repeat, not anyone, and I can’t promise you that I ever will. Can you live with that?”
Claire could smell the scent of the woods on Kathleen and touched the smudges of mud on her arms. “I can’t promise that I won’t be curious and ask, and you know I’m a nag. I promise, if I ask and you say no, I’ll drop it. Can you live with that?”
Kathleen pulled Claire closer and, as they kissed, opened the door to her bedroom.
They stood near the fire, hands and mouths moving slowly, savoring every touch, letting time move at its own pace. Kathleen took off Claire’s shirt, gazing, caressing newly exposed places.
Claire unbuttoned Kathleen’s blouse and slipped it from her shoulders. She removed the band that held Kathleen’s hair in a ponytail and stared as her hair fell loosely around her shoulders. Claire stepped back, keeping her eyes fixed on Kathleen.
Kathleen cast her eyes down. “I’m sorry about the scar. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“Disappointed? I don’t think you realize how beautiful you are.” Claire touched Kathleen’s face, tracing her fingertips downward to her neck and shoulders, lightly following her scar, continuing until her hand rested on her breast.
They lay down, breast touching breast, bodies merging into one. The fire cast a glow as flames danced the dance of recently discovered love. Hands and mouths that had been strangers found their way to hidden places, searching and exploring, bringing new and forgotten feelings to life.
They lay in front of the fireplace until the fire began to die. Claire put another log on the embers. The flames leaped again as they continued to discover hidden sensations. They fit.
Kathleen was lying on her back, her hand touching Claire’s shoulder as she lay on her side. “You’re staring.”
“I love to look at you, you’re so beautiful.” Claire leaned over and brushed her lips against Kathleen’s. “You’re not nearly as shy as I imagined.”
Kathleen blushed. “I’ve been thinking about you for a while.”
“Me too.” Claire ran her hand lightly over Kathleen’s face and neck. “Your skin is like silk.” Her fingers moved downwards until she touched Kathleen’s scar.
Kathleen flinched and Claire moved her hand away. “Does it hurt?”
“Not always.”
“Does it hurt right now?”
“No, I winced because your hands feel hot.”
“It happens sometimes, but it’s nothing to worry about. Kathleen, how did you get hurt?”
“I got injured in Iraq.”
“But how?”
Kathleen shook her head. “I can’t talk about it.”
She shifted onto her side to face her lover. She relaxed and a heavy weariness crept over her. She took Claire’s hand and placed it over her scar.
Claire kissed her eyelids. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep. Why don’t you close your eyes and later tonight, I’ll tell you the story about why my hands get so warm.”
“Promise?
“Uh-huh.”
Kathleen curled up next to Claire with her head resting against Claire’s breast. As she drifted off to sleep, she heard Claire’s heartbeat and felt the comfort of her hand against her scar.
The summer light was beginning to fade when Kathleen yawned and reached for the water on the nightstand. She turned toward Claire with eyes half-open and spoke sleepily. “What time is it?”
“Almost six.”
“P.M.?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought I slept the night away.” Kathleen
reached for Claire, lightly circling her breast with her hand. “God, you feel wonderful. I hate to get up, but I’m really hungry, are you?”
Claire nodded. “Starving. Let’s go down to the kitchen and bring something up. The fire is still going.”
“You owe me a story.”
“I haven’t forgotten. You know, all stories are supposed to be told at bedtime, preferably in bed. That’s the story rule.”
They went downstairs, brushing against each other as they bustled about in the kitchen, stopping for a minute to kiss, to reconnect, and feeling their bodies coming to life again.
Kathleen heated the pie while Claire got the salad out of the refrigerator. Claire chuckled and Kathleen looked at her curiously.
Claire said, “You may not want to hear this, but I think Helen has been acting as Cupid and plotting this all along.”
Kathleen became alarmed. “How would Helen have a clue?”
“I don’t think Gayle and Robert are the only ones who know your secret.” She held up a plate of heart-shaped brownies.
Kathleen, who was usually so serious, walked over, took a bite and smiled. “Hmm, they’re good. Taste?”
They ate in front of the fire, sharing their meal, sharing their passion. They showered before getting into bed. Kathleen was finally making good use of her multi-head, extra large shower. Claire was certain it was the most interesting shower she had ever had.
It was still early when they got into bed. Kathleen snuggled next to Claire. “I like it when you hold me,” she murmured.
“You feel soft, so soft.”
“It comes with being a woman.”
“I’ve just never felt it before.”
“Is it okay?”
“It’s wonderful.”
Kathleen nestled in further. “I’m ready for story time. I didn’t get bedtime stories when I was growing up. My foster mother wasn’t the storytelling kind of person. What about you?”
“Oh, yes, my bubba always told me a bedtime story. Sadly, some were about concentration camps, so I would call them more nightmare stories.”
“Is that why you have the numbers on your arm?”
Claire hesitated. “You want to know all about me, don’t you?”
Kathleen nodded.
“Hmm… what a coincidence, because I want to know everything about you, too. You can hide from me for a while, Dr. Moore, but not forever. At some point, you’re going to have to stop being a woman of mystery and trust me with your stories.”
Kathleen sat up, hugging her knees against her chest. “I do trust you. If I talk about some things, I’m afraid I’ll fall apart and…”
“And no one will be able to put you back together again.” Claire became serious. “Relationships have a hard time surviving when they’re built on secrets. I made a promise and I’ll keep it. I’m curious as a cat and snoopy, and I’ll probably ask too often. All you have to say is you don’t want to talk about it, and I’ll stop. I promise.”
Claire was quiet for a moment. “I’ll make a deal with you. How about for every story I tell you, you tell me one?”
“But I don’t know any.”
“Sure you do, because the stories I want are about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s say, I tell you a story and when I’m done, I get to ask you a question, something about yourself. Then, you answer by telling me a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Kathleen demurred.
“How would it be if you try to answer it in some way? If you feel uncomfortable we’ll stop.”
In spite of a mind that was churning with doubts, Kathleen whispered, “Okay.”
“So, which story do you want tonight?”
“Can I have two?”
Claire chuckled. “You’re already bargaining?”
“Just this once? I want to know about the tattoos on your arm, and I want to know why your hands are so warm.”
“Okay, two stories for the price of one.” Claire spoke tenderly. “You’re a hard bargainer, Dr. Moore. So, how did I get this tattoo? I got these numbers after I visited the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. Have you seen it?”
Kathleen shook her head.
“There’s a holocaust museum in Los Angeles—I’d like us to go sometime.”
Kathleen noticed that Claire spoke about them being a couple as if they were the same as any two people in love. She felt safe in Claire’s arms, and the anxiety that was part of her fabric began to disappear.
“Anyway,” Claire went on, “I was walking through the holocaust museum and when I got to the section about the concentration camps I sat for a long time, thinking about the people who died and wondering how I could honor them. There were lists of victims; names, ages, where they were from, and then the identification numbers that were tattooed on their left forearm. It was record keeping at its evilest. I looked down the list and saw a little girl’s name, Rachel Sarah Weiss, thirteen years old.”
Claire held out her arm and showed Kathleen the numbers. “These are Rachel’s and for as long as I’m alive, she will be remembered every day.”
Kathleen leaned over and kissed the numbers on Claire’s arm.
They lay in bed, Claire holding Kathleen, feeling the silky softness of her skin, and the quiet rhythm of her breathing. Kathleen curled up closer and said, “I want to know why your hands are so warm.”
“Time for story number two?”
Kathleen nodded.
“This is a true, once upon a time story.
“Many years ago, my great-great-grandmother Deborah, and her family lived in a shtetl, somewhere in Russia.”
Kathleen interrupted. “What’s a shtetl?”
“Did you see Fiddler on the Roof?”
“Years ago with Mrs. Roth.”
“Picture that; small dirt streets, tiny homes, and lots of poverty, but no singing. It doesn’t mean they were sad or miserable, it just means life was hard.
“Deborah at sixteen was about to be married to an older man whom she didn’t love. There was a part of Deborah that longed to be free and discover what life was like outside her shtetl.
“One day a traveling carnival came to the small town near Deborah’s shtetl, sort of a bit of a circus with fortunetellers and fire-eaters and lots of storytelling. The allure of the carnival was too powerful for Deborah to resist and she snuck off to the carnival.
“A young girl, about Deborah’s age, was on the stage dancing. She was wearing a long flowing dress and shaking a tambourine as she swayed to the hypnotic sounds of the violins and guitars. While Deborah was watching the dancer, she became spellbound by the sensuous sounds of the music and, at the same time, happened to notice a very handsome young man who smiled at her. He was tall and olive-skinned, with wavy black hair and eyes as black as onyx. He was buying a new horse and after he mounted, he rode over to Deborah tipped his hat, smiled, and said hello in a deep, mellifluous voice.
“Before he rode off he smiled again and after that second smile she was in love. A little later, he came over to Deborah, told her his name was Ferka, and asked her if she wanted her fortune told.”
Kathleen said, “Ferka?”
“Yes, that was his name and it means free… Okay, back to the story.
“Deborah didn’t have any money, but Ferka took her into the tent and spoke to the fortuneteller in a foreign language. Deborah sat down at a creaky, wobbly table and the fortuneteller took hold of her hands. As soon as she touched Deborah’s hands, a strange expression fell over her face. She spoke to the young man, again in a different language, but from their expressions Deborah could tell it was an intense conversation.
“Now, the sun was beginning to set and soon it would be very dark because that night there would be no moon and Deborah would have to go home alone through the forest.”
Kathleen’s hand dampened and she moved tightly against Claire.
Claire said, “Are
you getting scared?”
Kathleen whispered, “It’s getting a little spooky.”
“Snuggle up then; I won’t let the boogeyman get you.”
Claire continued. “So, Deborah left the carnival, but not before promising to meet Ferka the next day. She ran home through the darkening forest as fast as she could. She was very frightened. Frightened by the shadows that looked like wild animals waiting to gobble her up, and even more frightened about having to face her parents.
“When Deborah got home she lied to her mother and father. She told them she had fallen asleep under a tree and they believed her because Deborah was a good girl and had never lied before.
“The next morning she got up early and began her chores with a gusto her parents had not seen before. She finished early and told her mother that she wanted to pick some wild berries and left to meet Ferka. He helped fill her basket with the succulent berries and one thing led to another, and they made love. Now, even more terrified of what she might face at home, and under the spell of passion, she ran off with Ferka. It was just as well, because unknowingly she had become pregnant.”
“What happened next?” Kathleen said in hushed tones.
Claire kissed Kathleen on the top of her head. “I can tell you’re liking this story.”
Kathleen, bewitched by Claire’s tale, began to twirl a strand of her hair.
“Now, remember the fortuneteller who held Deborah’s hands? Her name was Lala, and she was Ferka’s mother. The night of the carnival, as soon as she touched Deborah’s hands, she knew Deborah was a healer and needed to be taught how to use her gift, because a gift like that should never, ever be wasted. Lala treated Deborah as one of her own daughters and taught her everything she knew about healing. How to collect wild herbs and bark from trees to make medicine, and most of all how to take the energy from the earth and heavens and transfer it to help others.
“The months went by and Deborah had a beautiful baby girl. They named her Lyuba, which means love. As Lyuba grew into a toddler, something changed in Deborah and she began to long for her own home and family. Were they all right? Did they miss her? Would they forgive her?
Flowers from Iraq (The Storyteller and the Healer Book 1) Page 19