She swallowed hard. Had he just said he desired her? She tried to refocus on the second half of what he had said. She had thought a lot about why she had reacted the way she did on Saturday. She had emotional baggage stored in compartments Chris didn’t even know existed. He didn’t deserve her lack of trust. On the contrary, he’d done about everything he could to earn it, including having this awkward conversation.
“If you win, and that’s a big if, I can abide by my so-called ‘punishment.’” She said it with a smile that hid the twinge of anxiety she still felt. In truth, kissing Chris was no hardship, but she had made something out of nothing.
Rebecca won the first two games by a wide margin, but Chris rolled double Yahtzees in the next two. Then he edged her out in the final game by using sixes in his four-of-a-kind.
They compared their tallies, and Chris pumped his fist in the air. “Victory!”
Rebecca slumped back against his couch. She didn’t consider herself very competitive, but the final game had been intense. Well, for Yahtzee anyway.
“You won fair and square.” She straightened her legs out and crossed them at the ankles now that Chris had cleared the game pieces away.
“That I did,” Chris said. He closed the box and slid it toward the book case before he positioned himself next to her against the couch.
She already missed that motorcycle ride. So much so that she might challenge him to a rematch.
He rested his arm on the back of her shoulders, and she turned into him. His eyes were all light and heat. She lowered her lids and savored the sweet anticipation of feeling his lips, but they never materialized, and she reopened her eyes.
“It doesn’t have to be tonight. I don’t want it to feel forced.”
Rebecca pushed away a smattering of disappointment and rested her head against him. She had never known the contentment she felt in Chris’s arms. He was her Teflon-proofing for life. None of the bad stuff stuck when his arms encircled her.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
“A glass of water would be great. Thanks.”
Slipping his arms from around her, he stood and went to the kitchen. The cupboard clicked open, then the freezer. Ice cubes rattled, and water ran from the faucet.
Again the picture of Chris on his motorcycle captivated her. She needed to get one to put on her desk at work. Her gaze strayed down the bookcase to the bottom two shelves. She shifted onto her knees and studied the titles.
It looked like these shelves were all religious books—Bibles, books about saints and theology. He said he’d read his way into the Catholic Church, and the evidence in front of her confirmed it. She had to admit it intimidated her. Her dad had a Bible, and that was it. She continued to peruse the titles until the ones on the right side of the bottom shelf made her stop and examine them more closely. Some of the titles were loftier than others, but they all looked to be books about sex.
“Here you go.” Chris handed down her water. He had a bottle of beer for himself in his other hand.
“See anything that interests you?”
“Well, I’m kind of curious about these books down here.” She waved her index finger towards the books she had been looking at. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen books about sex and religion before.”
Crouching alongside her, he reached forward and ran his finger along the spines until he found the one he searched for. He slid the slim purple book from the shelf and handed it to her. “Most of these books have to do with the Theology of the Body. This one’s an easy read—all Q & A. Why don’t you take it home and check it out? You might find it interesting.”
She loathed saying goodnight, and if they didn’t have to work the next day, she could have envisioned them staying up all night talking. It was well after midnight already, and they would both be tired in the morning. It took three kisses until she got out the door and into her car. She piled a couple of pieces of leftover pie on the seat beside her along with the purple book Chris had loaned her and two others. He watched her pull out and remained standing on his stoop until her car turned out of view.
She was amazed that Chris never found fault with her and never made her feel stupid, despite her naiveté or ignorance. They had spent a lot of time flipping through his books and talking about “Catholic stuff” without him ever pushing her or belittling her. One of the books he loaned her was about Mary, the mother of God. She would have thought that book would have made her uneasy, even more than what he called the Theology of the Body books, but it didn’t. Chris had talked about Mary being a mother to everyone, and since she had few memories of her own mother, that idea appealed to her.
Out of nowhere, tears came. Thank you, Lord, for sending Chris into my life. Please let me be worthy of his—dare she even think it?—his love.
***
Whistling as he went, Chris walked through his apartment gathering dirty socks, unopened mail, and other debris that had accumulated since Rebecca’s visit a couple of nights earlier. Father John had called while Chris was on his way home from work, offering to bring a pizza. Father John didn’t have a free night often, and he said he wanted to spend it watching a Pirates baseball game over beer and a meat-lover’s deluxe.
Particles of food dotted the kitchen table and counters. Chris wiped the surfaces with a damp cloth and took a big sniff as he shook the crumbs into the trash can. Something stank. He yanked the plastic bag out by the straps, tightened, and took it to the door where he nearly bumped into Father John. He’d raised his hand to knock below the screen.
“Hey, come on in. I’m just taking this out.” Chris went out, and Father John went in. In a couple minutes, he returned to find Father John slinging large slices of greasy pizza onto paper plates. The aroma of oregano and sausage filled the air. Chris washed his hands and grabbed a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge and removed their caps.
“What time does the game start?”
Father John glanced at his watch. “Five minutes. Let’s say grace here, and then we can take this in the other room.”
After they prayed, they headed back to the living room, and Chris turned on the game while Father John took a seat on the sofa. “How are things with Rebecca?”
“Good.” He spared Father John a big smile before he bit into his pizza.
“It still blows my mind that you two even met, let alone that you’re dating.”
“She left here Tuesday night with two Theology of the Body books and one about Mary.”
“Really?” Father John stopped mid-chew to assess Chris’s veracity.
Chris nodded while he downed the pizza. He recalled the flicker of excitement he felt when she had accepted his offer to lend her the books.
“I’m not pushing. If she takes an interest in it I want it to be genuine and not something she does to please me. She noticed the books and asked me some questions, and I answered them the best I could. When I said she could borrow them, she said she would.”
“Hmmm.”
He had expected a more encouraging response than the noncommittal noise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m a little surprised is all, but I only knew her for a short time a long time ago.”
“Why does it surprise you?”
“Let’s just say the Bible camp wasn’t the most Catholic-friendly thing I ever attended.”
Chris was momentarily distracted by a line drive over second base. Once the runners slid safely into second and third bases he spoke. “How so?”
Father John interlocked his fingers behind his head. “I think six people informed me I wasn’t saved.”
“Was Rebecca one of them?”
“No.” His hands dropped back to his lap. “She heard someone say it though and told them only God knows our hearts.”
Taking the final bite of his crust, Chris chewed and swallowed. “Sounds like her. I’m praying she keeps an open mind and heart about it.”
“I’ll join you in that prayer, then.”
After using a paper napkin to wipe the grease from his fingers, Chris set aside his plate and took a sip of his beer. “I’m anxious to see what she thinks of the Theology of the Body ones.”
“Why’s that?”
He let out a sigh. How much of this did he want to share? His thoughts were based only on his impressions, not something Rebecca had actually said, but Father John would be his best sounding board on something like this. Having this conversation with Alan would be like trying to discuss wine pairings with a teetotaler. Except in reverse. Whatever. Alan wasn’t the one to talk to about this. “We haven’t spoken about it directly, but I suspect her thinking’s kind of messed up when it comes to sex.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, we agree about sex being for marriage, but I’m coming at it from ‘sex is such a great thing we’ve got to save it for marriage,’ and I think she’s more like, ‘sex is so unholy we’ve got to confine it to marriage.’”
Father John nodded in understanding as if he’d heard that a couple dozen times before. “Did you ever talk to her about what kind of sex ed she had? Did she get it from her dad or church or what?”
The thought of her dad talking to Rebecca about the joys of marital intimacy made him laugh. “Somehow I can’t imagine her dad delicately explaining the birds and bees to her. How the man single-handedly raised two daughters, I have no idea. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man I’ve liked less.”
“That doesn’t bode well, Chris.”
“No, it doesn’t, but I can’t see breaking things off with Rebecca because of it.”
Father John had finished both his pizza and beer and leaned back on the couch and stretched his legs out. He folded his hands behind his head. “I’m not saying you should, just that you ought to think long and hard about what it would be like to have him as your father-in-law.”
A shudder rippled through him. “He called me a papist over dinner.”
Father John laughed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Oh, man. You must have really lost your heart to put up with that garbage.”
The blunt truth of that statement struck him. It looked more and more like his heart was a goner as far as Rebecca was concerned. “Maybe his bark is worse than his bite. I guess time will tell.”
He thought back to their game of Yahtzee the other night. “You know, I thought I had her all figured out.”
Laughing, Father John shook his head. “Never. I may be celibate, but I have five sisters. Just when you think you’ve figured them out, you realize you don’t know a thing.”
“I guess so. I’ve wanted to take her for a ride on my motorcycle, but I thought for sure she’d resist and claim it was unsafe and all that crap I have to hear from my mother all the time. So, I thought of a way to get her out there.”
“Oh yeah?” Father John glanced at the TV screen before turning his attention back to Chris. The Bucs had a man in scoring position with no outs.
“How?”
“I thought I was so clever. I challenged her to best of five in Yahtzee. Winner gets to choose the loser’s punishment. So, if I won, I’d make her ride with me, but I let her go first, and she said—get this—‘if you lose, you have to take me for a ride on your motorcycle.’ I couldn’t believe it. I had to scramble to come up with something else in case she lost.”
“Who won?”
“I did. I almost threw the game, but now that I know she wants to go, I guess I can just ask her.”
“What did you come up with for her to do instead?”
Darn it. He’d walked into that one. “There are some things a man doesn’t share, even with his closest friends.” Chris’s lips twitched as he crumpled his napkin, laid it on his plate, and set it on the end table.
“How about with his confessor?” Father John smirked.
“No need for confession.”
“Good.”
“So what’s up with you? All we’ve talked about is me and Rebecca.”
Father John leaned back into the couch again and rubbed his hands over his eyes and face then gave an audible sigh. “You know, I used to think everything was black and white. Now that I see all these shades of gray, it’s not so simple anymore.”
“Care to be a little less cryptic?”
“I’m not talking about sin or anything, just that even with prayer and trying to discern God’s will, sometimes it’s hard to decide on the most prudent course of action. I’m drowning in freedom.” He stood and started pacing Chris’s small room, betraying his Italian heritage by waving his hands this way and that as he spoke. “I mean, freedom is being free to do the right thing, right? But what if you’re not sure what the right thing is, or maybe there’s more than one right thing? Maybe there isn’t any right thing—only different choices with different consequences.”
Something sure had him worked up. Usually Chris came to Father John with his dilemmas, but it seemed the tables had turned, and Chris wanted to offer his friend some kind of wisdom. Too bad he didn’t have much to offer.
“Well, you’ve studied a lot more philosophy and theology than me, but in homage to the great Stan Lee, I would say, ‘with great power comes great responsibility.’ Whatever this is you’re talking about, your free will, your ability to choose the good, is your power. Whatever you choose, you need to own what happens as a result. I guarantee no matter what you choose, it won’t be perfect, but God will work with that, right? It’s all raw material for him.”
Father John stopped pacing and stared at the television. He was looking through the screen more than at it while he digested the wisdom Chris had gleaned from his childhood obsession with Marvel superheroes.
“Maybe I’m overanalyzing or making the decision too personal.”
Chris scratched his cheek. “Hard to say. Do you want to tell me any more about it?”
Father John shook his head and reclaimed his place on the couch. “Not yet. Pizza, beer, and baseball with a friend. That’s what I came over here for.”
***
“So, explain to me again why you’re staying with your dad tonight,” Chris said.
“The girls that live in the other apartment claim they have bed bugs. So, the landlord is having the whole building sprayed or bombed or whatever it is they do. I would stay with Abby and Joel and the kids, but Joel’s mom is coming in from New York City for a visit. It’s been on the calendar for months, and I don’t want to intrude or disrupt their plans.”
Rebecca didn’t mention that it wasn’t mandatory that she leave or that in spite of her mother-in-law’s visit, Abby offered her Emma’s bed. While she didn’t relish staying with her dad, she did still have a bed made up there, and it was only one night. Her dad’s proximity to Chris was the real draw. Harrisburg to Gettysburg didn’t constitute a long distance relationship, but a forty-five-minute drive each way on weeknights was plenty.
“So, I can thank the bed bugs for the pleasure of your company tonight.”
“I guess you could say that.”
Chris had taken her to Mister G’s for homemade ice cream so good it made waiting alongside a crush of summer tourists worth it. Afterwards, they had walked hand-in-hand around her old neighborhood. Their pace had slowed considerably as they got closer to her dad’s house. She didn’t want their evening to end, and she guessed Chris didn’t either.
“If I didn’t tell you earlier, you look great tonight.” His glance flitted up and down her new ensemble, courtesy of Abby.
Rebecca ducked her head but couldn’t stop the smile spreading on her face. She tugged the lacy shrug across her chest with her free hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re a babe, Rebecca. I’m a lucky guy.”
She stopped moving and peered up at him. “What did you say?”
“I’m a lucky guy.”
“No, before that.” It couldn’t be a coincidence. He had used the same word as Abby.
“You’re a babe?” His eyes shone as he studied her face and then her shoul
ders and on down her body.
A chill pricked her forearms and ran up her spine. “Have you spoken to my sister?”
He wrinkled his brow, puzzled. “No. I wouldn’t even know how to get in touch with Abby. Why?”
She started walking again and shook her head. “I thought maybe she put you up to saying that, but I guess not.”
“Nope. I came to the conclusion you’re a babe all on my own.”
As the sky turned a dusky pink in the west, they mounted the steps to her dad’s porch. It was hot, but the humidity seemed to be dropping. The fragrance of the neighbor’s rose bushes wafted on a light breeze, and she also caught a whiff of someone grilling—probably hamburgers. “Do you smell that?”
Chris stopped and sniffed. “What?”
She smiled. “Summer.”
“So that’s what summer smells like to you, beef and flowers?”
Rebecca laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.”
He stopped, and so did she, and he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. He stepped closer. “And what does summer sound like to you?”
“Hmm.” She took a couple seconds to listen and think. “Kids playing outside, water splashing, and cicadas humming—but that’s later in the summer.”
“So, screaming, water and bugs?”
She laughed again. “Yep. So, tell me, what does summer feel like to you, Chris?”
He inched closer so that their bodies nearly touched. “It feels like the wind in my hair when I ride on my Harley. It feels like soft, warm skin coated in sunscreen.” He rubbed his hands over the sides of her shoulders where her tanned skin was exposed at the edge of the shrug, and her arms tingled beneath his touch. Then his voice went down a notch and turned languid. His eyes were almost imperceptibly darker. “It feels like kissing a beautiful girl on her daddy’s porch.”
“Beautiful?” She smiled, but then it faded as she remembered her lost bet. Her heart pounded in her chest when she realized what came next.
As if reading her mind, he gently rubbed her shoulders saying, “Relax. It’s a kiss. Nothing more.”
She accepted his reassurance with a nod and leaned into him. She had expected to feel uncomfortable, maybe even to dislike it despite her attraction to Chris. What she didn’t count on was the longing that ripped through her like a brush fire on a windy day. She wrapped her arms around Chris’s neck and drew him closer.
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