Rocky had picked up her left arm as he spoke, gently touching her skin, following her nerve paths from her elbow to her wrist, gently massaging the base of her hand, then rubbing her fingers up to her fingertips, bringing the blood flow back to her chilly hand.
“I’ll let you do that all night, Rocky,” she said dreamily.
“Can’t do that,” he said, not even trying to hide his orneriness.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s morning,” he said, then brought her hand to his face and breathed in, stopping short of kissing it.
She had fallen asleep.
And there was no way he’d share a first kiss—even one on the hand—with an unconscious woman.
***
“What happened here? And where is my new rug?” Grandma called out.
“Oh, shoot,” Rocky said, and rolled out of bed and bounded to the door. “Stay put,” he called behind him, just in case X had been awakened, too.
“Couldn’t go anywhere if I tried,” she mumbled, then let her head loll to the other side, wishing she was asleep again and pain-free.
“There was an accident, Grandma. I took the rug out to the dumpster. And it wasn’t a new rug. You got that when I was in the first grade. I’ll buy you another one.”
“What kind of accident?” She sniffed the air. “It smells like a hospital in here. Did you kill someone?”
“What? No!” Rocky shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was eight o’clock. He’d only been asleep two hours.
“Grandma, I’ll have to replace that old glass float you kept in the yard, too. I told Alexandra she should bring it in the house if she wanted a closer look and she tripped. She cut her hand and her belly pretty bad.”
“You fixed her up, though, right?”
Rocky nodded, then looked around. Something wasn’t right. “Grandma, where’s your cane?”
“Oh, I let Joe borrow it. He said he’d use it as a pattern to build me another one.”
“Grandma, you and I both know that if he was going to carve you another cane, all he had to do was measure the length of that one.”
Grandma giggled behind her hand like a teenager. “Yup. He knows and I know and you know… It just gives me an excuse to go visit him again. I like him.”
“Sometimes I think you like Joe too much and other times...” He shook his head, frustrated. “You’re either fighting or loving on each other. You two need to either get married or call it quits.”
“I can’t marry him!” she said, her arm raised, ready to slam her walking stick into the floor. When she remembered she no longer had it, she planted her knuckles into her hips instead.
“Why can’t you marry Joe, Grandma?” Rocky asked, exasperated because he knew she had taunted him into asking her.
“Because we’re already married! He was my first and only husband!” she said, then laughed as she headed toward the kitchen.
She stopped in the archway and turned around. “Where’s your new girlfriend? I like her. She reminds me of me.”
“That’s what you keep saying. And she’s not my girlfriend. She’s the lady with lost luggage and a missing hotel reservation who’s here to help with the archaeological dig.”
“That’s what you keep saying,” she mocked, and continued into the kitchen. He heard a cabinet door shut, then the rest of them slam one after the other. “Who took my rheumatism medicine?”
“I did, and you don’t need it. She does. Why don’t you go back and see Joe?”
She looked into the living room, one hand holding the wall for support. “Good idea. He should be rested up by now. He’s not as young as he used to be, but I am! See you tomorrow. Maybe. Have fun with your ‘not my girlfriend!’”
X waited until she heard the door shut behind Grandma before calling out. “Come on back to bed. I promise I won’t bite. Or growl. I might snore, though.”
“So, you heard everything we said?” he asked when he walked in.
“Kind of hard not to.” She patted the bed next to her, her slight smile letting him know she wouldn’t bring up the topic of girlfriend/not my girlfriend.
He lay back down, but rest wouldn’t come for either of them. The awkward silence grew until X asked, “What you did with my hand, would it work on my belly?”
“Probably, why?”
“Duh! Because I want to feel good. I hurt all over and right now, if you could make my sliced and diced gut feel better, maybe I’d forget about my hand. I mean,” she toned down her frustration and started again. “I guess you could do it on my feet, but I’m ticklish and I’d hate to think either one of us had a foot fetish. I can’t roll over, so you can’t give me a back massage. And above my belly… Well, I don’t know you that well…”
Rocky reached up and touched the side of her neck, watching as the goosebumps raced down her body, disappearing under the shawl until they reappeared on her bared belly. “You mean here?”
“No, that’s not where I meant, but…”
He continued with his light touch, adding a gentle pressure when he felt her pulse quicken.
“That’ll do,” she gasped. “I owe you one. Or two.”
He squirmed, trying to get comfortable now that he had become aroused. He didn’t want to reach down and rearrange his bits and pieces and let her know what feeling her skin did to him.
“Or three or however much you want,” she sighed, her bottom rocking back and forth in pleasure.
“You need rest,” he whispered in her ear, letting her hair tickle his nose, welcoming the distraction from what she was doing to the rest of him without even trying.
“So do you,” she replied in the same lusty whisper. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing that I’m hurting or not, but your touch is driving me nuts. If I wasn’t all cut up and tied down, you wouldn’t have a chance…”
“That’s just the pain and alcohol talking. I won’t hold it against you later.”
X’s left hand reached around and pulled him close to her, the front of his corduroy jeans now snuggled up to the side of her hip. “Then hold it against me now. Just because I’m not ready doesn’t mean I’m not wanting.” She tugged him close, pulsing her one-armed hug three times. “And I can tell you’re wanting, too.”
Rocky let his hand drift down to her waist, away from the erogenous zones on her neck to a possible tickle zone below her ribs. She flinched, but then relaxed into him, her squirms continuing. “Another day, another time, perhaps,” he whispered.
“Another day, another time, for sure,” she whispered back, then fell asleep, at peace for the first time that she could remember.
***
The blare of the alert siren awakened both of them, X screeching in pain as soon as consciousness hit.
“I have to go,” Rocky said, as he jumped out of the bed, looking around, trying to orient himself with where he was.
He ran his fingers through his hair, still confused, then noticed X, her wounded hand still tied to the bedframe. “It’s an emergency,” he explained as he untied the knots. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t go anywhere. I mean, don’t leave the house.”
He ran to the door and slipped on his boots. “I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“But…but…” X called out after the shut door, “I don’t know where the bathroom is.”
As soon as she tried to sit up, she regretted it. X automatically reached for the tender belly with her wounded right hand and yowled. Frustration fueled her pain until she gave in to it and chanted, “Shit! Shit! Shit! No spilled food, but shit! Shit! Shit! Where’s a knight is shining armor when you need help getting to the bathroom. Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Um, do you need some help?”
X looked up and saw a familiar face. “Q?”
“Yup, that’s me. I came by to see Grandma. Are you all right?”
She waved her bandaged hand, pink-tinged with blood, at him. “Do I look all right to you?”
The scarf that had been draped across her chest for modesty started to slip. She grasped for it, clutching it close to her with her left hand.
“No, you look horrible. Sorry, but you do. I heard the siren, so I know Rocky’s gone, but where’s Grandma?”
“I’ll tell you if you let me know where the bathroom is around this place. I haven’t peed since yesterday afternoon and my eyes are floating.”
Q started to laugh at the old joke told by a young white woman sitting in his grandmother’s bed with nothing on but a qiviut shawl. “I’m sorry, but all we have here is the outhouse out back and the honey bucket. It’s over there in the corner,” he said, pointing to the five-gallon bucket with a lid on it and a roll of toilet paper on the dresser next to it. “Do you need a hand?” he asked, taking a step inside the bedroom, his eyes lighting up, hoping the shawl would slip and he’d get a peek at more bared skin.
She shook her head, and said, “No, thanks. I’ll manage. Grandma is at Joe’s house. I’d knock before entering, though. I think they’re rekindling their old flame…again.”
“It’s safer to walk in on them if they’re rekindling rather than re-feuding. Grandma tends to throw things when she gets mad. That’s why we don’t let her keep breakables inside.”
“Like glass globes?” X asked, raising her hand.
“Did you break Grandma’s Japanese float? She’s gonna be sooo mad…”
“She didn’t seem to mind this morning. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like a little time to myself…”
“Oh, yeah—the honey bucket. Sorry we don’t have the fancy accommodations the hotel does. Did you ever get your hotel reservations sorted out?”
“Q! Leave! Now! Before I wet Grandma’s bed!” X shouted, shooing him away with her good hand.
“Okay. Tell Grandma I have a question about potlatch,” he called out as he shut the door.
“Potluck? I didn’t know Natives had potlucks?”
After relieving herself in the clean but years’ old container, Alexandra Oppenheimer realized how stranded she was. Not only was she not wearing any clothes other than her socks and bikini briefs, she didn’t have any to put on! The kuspuk she had been loaned and the clothes she had been wearing since she left Logan International Airport in Boston on Friday morning—some 48 hours ago—were nowhere to be seen. Now it was Sunday. Rocky had said there was no way she’d get her lost luggage until Monday.
Her frustration was interrupted by an ‘aha’ moment. He had also said the brightly-colored kuspuks hanging on the hooks in the kitchen were his to reclaim. Well, if he wasn’t here to help her, she’d have to help herself. Even ripped and worn clothes were better than no clothes at all.
X pawed through the cotton garments until she found one that felt soft and didn’t have any obvious major tears. A few L-shaped tears were acceptable and wouldn’t affect her modesty. Leaving it on the hook, she scooted underneath it, using her left hand to guide her bandaged right hand into the sleeve. After that, dressing was a breeze. She still had her panties on, confirmation that Rocky really was a gentleman and hadn’t taken liberties. Her bra was another matter. By the scratches on her upper abdomen, it appeared her foam-filled bra had borne the brunt of some of the glass breakages. Undoubtedly, it was unwearable now that it was peppered with shards.
Her tummy grumbled, reminding her it had been a long time since a substantial meal. Her first thought was to walk to the convenience store and try out some canned meat. Unfortunately, with her hand all bungled up, she wouldn’t be able to open it. Besides, if Q had just dropped in, the store might not be open on Sundays. Plus, she had been told to stay put by Rocky.
The thought of Rocky gave her a warm flush all over that settled in her loins. What was it about this man? He was a stranger, had some crazy relatives, and lived in one of the most remote places on earth, even if he did claim he was from ‘the big city.’ He didn’t have any of the attributes of the guys she’d always been attracted to in the past. She chuckled. That was probably a good thing. Pretty boys, athletic types, high IQ nerds: they were all self-absorbed. Rocky? He’d drop everything to help someone, even someone who’d been marginally rude to him. And he’d run to help a body in distress, even if there was a good possibility he’d get laid if he just stayed where he was. In bed with a warm, very willing but slightly out of it woman.
And there it was. He was generous. Okay. That’s one point. But he wouldn’t take liberties with an incapacitated woman. Yes, she was awake when she felt his breath on her hand. She waited for the kiss that never came, then fell asleep. Was he gay? Not hardly. She giggled at the word, the mental image of him reluctant to press up against her body, even when she pulled him close.
He was respectful. Yup! That was it. Generous, respectful, and with a touch that drove her wild.
But he was reluctant. Hesitant. Unwilling? Why?
And then she fell for him hard all over again for the first time. He knew she wanted him out of lust. Sure, they could have had a good time, even before she was injured. They had fun at the bingo game, laughing, joking. It would have been easy to carry it over in the deserted house when they got back, but then what?
Even if they both would have enjoyed a fling, that’s not what he wanted. He wanted something lasting.
Red Raven. His friends Oscar and Lisa had asked if she was his Red Raven. He was holding out for ‘the one.’ Maybe she was attracted to him because he was so chaste in his search.
Or he could be just playing hard to get.
Nah.
He was the kind of man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, even if it meant using a bucket as a toilet.
Chapter 6
“Are you here?” Rocky called from the front door.
X answered from the bedroom, “Come see for yourself.” She rearranged her hand-me-down blue kuspuk for the umpteenth time, her bare feet crossed at the ankles seductively. Or at least at what she hoped looked appealing.
“Whoa! You look much better than last night or even an hour ago. Did you get anything to eat?”
X pointed to the empty bag of chips and the partial bottle of water beside it. “It’s the only food I recognized. By the way, Q came by and said something about the potluck.”
“You mean potlatch?”
“Yeah, that’s the word he used, but I thought he meant potluck. Are they the same thing?”
“A potlatch is like a potluck on steroids. Usually it’s in celebration of an event like a wedding or a funeral. Lots of good food, but gifts are often exchanged, too. We usually have at least one in the winter, but I think Grandma wants to have one ‘just because.’ Sometimes I don’t know about that woman.”
“Alzheimer’s?”
“No. Ornery-heimer’s. Or maybe she’s related to the Oppenheimers.” Rocky said, then smiled and winked, letting her know he remembered her last name. “Are you missing a grandmother? Or do you want one maybe? Not too many years on this one and she’s only been used—gently—by one grandchild: me.”
“I’d love to have your grandmother as mine. My mother and her mother stopped talking years ago. I’ve been forbidden to contact her. It’s too bad, too. I really loved my Grandma Lou.”
“How old are you?” Rocky asked, then sat down on the stool beside her, trying to ignore her obviously staged entreaty for him to join her in bed, and instead took her bandaged hand and examined it for excess seepage.
“I’m twenty-one. Why?”
“You’re legal in every state in the country and old enough to make your own decisions. If you want to talk to your grandmother, talk to her. Simple as that.”
“But you don’t know my mother. She’d make my life miserable.”
“Why? It’s your life. Only you can give someone permission to make you unhappy. She had her chance to be twenty-one; now it’s your turn.”
“I never thought of it that way. You’re right, though. She’s been dictating to me what to wear, study, even what hand lotion to use, since I can remember. She’s
a master at guilting people into doing what she wants. She gets all weepy if I want to do something other than what ‘proper people’ do.”
“She’d probably cry until she ran out of tears if she saw you now, lying in a bed in a one-bedroom house in an Alaskan village, wearing a hand-me-down kuspuk with a Native man at your side, tending to your every need.”
“Every need?” X asked and rubbed her elbow against his thigh, intentionally changing the mood from silly to, hopefully, romantic.
“I wasn’t gone that long,” he said, putting her elbow back at her side, setting her hand upright, “which means you’re still under the influence of Grandma’s berry happy juice. I would never take liberties with a woman who wasn’t fully aware of what she’s doing. Besides, you need to rest and so do I.”
X sighed, frustrated on more than one level. “Well, part of me is mad at you for not wanting me, and another part is glad you’re looking out for me, even if it isn’t your job.”
Rocky leaned forward, just inches from her face, and whispered, “Looking out for each other is everyone’s job. Or should be. Part of that means giving up what we want in order to do what’s right. Believe me, I’m doing what’s right, not what I want.”
X brought her left hand up and giggled into it. “That makes me feel better. I promise not to assault you if you lie down with me.” She frowned. “At least, I’ll try not to. You have my permission to stop me from doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. Or unhappy.”
In answer, Rocky picked up the disheveled afghan from the chair, refolded it into a pillow, then lay down on his side facing her, and stifled a yawn.
“What was that siren about?”
“Little Ben again. He’s only fourteen and taller than me. He was playing mumblety peg and stabbed his hand. This time, his father took the knife away from him. I told him it was a good thing he did because otherwise, I would have. I was running out of sutures!”
One Arctic Summer Page 6