He smiled against her lips. “Okay?”
Okay? She’d never been more okay in her life. Desperate for more but too embarrassed to open her eyes, she said, “Is it over?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Chris chuckled as his lips met hers again.
***
Chris’ lips brushed hers a final time, and he leaned his forehead against Rebecca’s. His heart drummed against his ribs. “Rebecca, I want to live with you.”
The sweet smile fell from her face, and her eyes widened. She misunderstood him.
He slid his hands down her arms to grasp her hands and looked down at their fingers entangled between them. “I don't mean I want to cohabit with you. I'm not expressing myself well.” He bit his lower lip in frustration. Translating his feelings for her into words had become more and more difficult.
“My brain doesn’t seem to fire on all cylinders when I’ve been kissing you. I think all the blood is rushing…” Geez. Did he almost say that out loud? It wouldn’t be a good idea to follow that line of thinking. He stopped, took a quick breath and tried to explain. “The best comparison I can make is when I converted, my family couldn't understand it—well, for a lot of reasons—but mostly they didn't get why I wanted to subject myself to all these rules. And I couldn't make them understand. But those rules, Rebecca, they make me feel free. Free to become the man I'm meant to be.” Her eyes weren’t so wide now, and they held a tender expression that made his heart ache.
“You make me feel free. I know now what it is to really be alive. So, when I say ‘I want to live with you,’ I mean it in the best way. I want to experience everything with you.”
Tears filled her eyes and threatened to overflow. She opened her mouth as if to say something and then closed it. Instead she reached up, slid her hands around his neck and pulled his head down to hers where she planted on his lips what was possibly the sweetest kiss he could imagine. After several seconds, she pulled away from him enough to breathe his name, his full name—Christopher. Could she possibly feel the same way he did?
His chest burned. The words pounded against his rib cage and his heart felt like a balloon filled to near capacity. “I love you,” threatened to burst out of him, the three little syllables sliding over his tongue and through his lips as he pressed them gently along her neck. He took a deep breath and bit back the words knowing somehow that like fruit ripening on the tree, he just needed to be patient. Those words would be sweeter to her ears if he let them mature.
Her gravelly voice murmured in his ear. “Do you want to come in? My dad said he wouldn’t be home until after midnight.”
As much as he didn’t like it, he knew what his answer had to be, but, man, that tempted him. She tempted him even if she didn’t mean to, and he knew she didn’t. If someday she did, well, heaven help him. Even now, that doe-eyed look she gave him weakened his resolve. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Oh.” Her disappointment passed quickly. “Are we still on for breakfast tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be back here at nine o’clock.” He kissed her one last time and left her there on the porch. He put on his helmet and started his motorcycle. Hearing and feeling it roar and rumble to life beneath him never failed to bring him satisfaction. Given the time, he ought to go home and straight to bed; then tomorrow would seem to arrive faster. He didn’t feel like sleeping though. His mind was too full of Rebecca.
A hazy moon hung above the houses and trees silhouetted in darkness. As the distance between houses grew and fenced-in yards morphed into fields of corn and soybeans, fireflies danced above roadside gullies. They flashed and drew his attention in every direction the way that ever-present thoughts of Rebecca flitted on the periphery of his imagination. Seduced by their alluring magic, he took the long way home.
11
Mercy
The rising sun broke through the clouds as Chris pulled up outside of Rebecca’s dad’s house. He killed the engine and checked his watch. Five minutes early. He sat looking blankly at the house and thinking about kissing Rebecca on that porch less than twelve hours ago. She had needed a little reassurance, but once she got going—wow. He hadn’t kissed a girl like that in a long time, but he knew somehow it had never been like that. So, so—explosive. Somewhere behind all that hesitancy was a passionate woman waiting to come out. He hoped he’d be on the receiving end of all that heat when she finally let loose.
Chris broke free of his daydream when a movement in the living room window caught his eye. The sheer curtain obstructed his view, but a figure moved across the room. By the ponytail he now saw in silhouette, he knew it was Rebecca. He heard her voice through the open window. It was muffled but raised and carried a strident tone he had never heard from her before. A second of silence followed, and then he heard her father, loud and clear.
“Damn you to hell. Out whoring around with that…that… lowlife last night. How dare you come back here, having done only God knows what with that boy and then run off with him again, not even sticking around here long enough to make me a decent breakfast. Get out!”
That wasn’t the end of it. The rest included several words that would’ve been bleeped out even in the most vulgar of reality shows. When the stream of profanity ended, Chris realized his jaw clenched and his fists tightened at his sides. He heard a clatter and then the sound of something shattering—something glass or ceramic maybe. If Rebecca were hurt, he didn’t know what he’d do.
He dismounted his bike, jammed his keys in his pocket, and tore the helmet from his head before he raced toward her dad’s door.
Just as he reached the point where the sidewalk met her dad’s walk, Rebecca burst through the front door. In less than two steps, she adopted a normal pace as she came down the stairs with her ponytail bouncing on her shoulders. As soon as she caught sight of him, she smiled and hurried her pace to meet him. Or keep him from going any further; he wasn’t sure which.
Without a word, he grabbed her arm and steered her toward her car. When they reached the driver’s side door, he stopped and bit out, “Give me your keys.”
The relaxed, happy demeanor she wore vanished, and a worried frown formed in its place as she fished her keys from her purse and handed them over.
“Chris, what’s the matter?” She sounded as if she didn’t know. Unreal.
He took her arm again and guided her to the passenger side. He waited as she slid into the front seat, then slammed the door behind her. He returned to the driver’s side, got in, and turned the key in the ignition.
“Chris, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
He was scaring her? He couldn’t fathom the complete disconnect between her behavior and what he had witnessed. He gave her a cursory once over and didn’t see any bruises, cuts, or other signs that she’d been manhandled. His shoulders relaxed in relief. “Not here. We’re going to talk, but not here.”
A tense silence filled the car for the next few minutes until Chris pulled into a restaurant parking lot. He could see Rebecca twisting the rings on her fingers and bouncing her knee in his peripheral vision. He finally jerked her car into park, turned the engine off and faced her.
She fidgeted with the drawstring on her shorts.
All the tension and irritation he felt moments before melted in an instant.
He took her soft, cool hand in his, and she stiffened.
“Are you okay?” He searched her face for some indication that she really was okay despite what he’d seen and heard.
“Sure.” She acted like she didn’t understand the reason for his question.
He stared at her, not knowing what to say. Finally realizing that she really didn’t know why he asked, he explained.
“I got to your dad’s a few minutes early and thought I’d wait.” Something flickered behind her eyes, but she said nothing. “The window was open. I heard your dad.”
Her eyes turned glassy, and she looked away.
Her fingers pulled away, and he grasped them
tighter. No way would he let her dodge this. Not after what he’d heard. “I take it that’s not the first time your dad has spoken to you that way.”
Her ponytail swung away from him as she turned from the passenger window and looked down into her lap. “No.”
“How often does that happen?”
She bit her lower lip and shook her head.
“Rebecca? How often?” He didn’t want to seem dispassionate about it, but right now that demeanor tempered all the anger and fear that was roiling inside of him, threatening to explode.
“Just when he’s stressed out about work or something sets him off. Maybe a couple times a month when I lived at home. I’m not around for it so much now.”
“Does he talk to Abby that way?”
She looked him in the eye for the first time since they’d gotten in the car. “Sometimes. She never stuck around long enough to hear all of it. She’d take off. She’s always been his favorite anyhow.”
Strange. How could her dad favor Abby, who rejected every one of his rules and principles and then be so hard on Rebecca, who bent over backward to please him?
He didn’t even want to think what he had to say next, but he had to know. “Has he ever hit you?”
“No. Of course not.” The way she rushed to answer, you’d think his question was absurd instead of the next logical assumption. “He may be a little rough some times, but he’s never hit me.”
“Define ‘rough’.”
“Grabbing me by the arm or something.”
“Does it leave a mark?”
“No. Never.”
“Has he hit Abby?”
“No.”
“Your mom?”
She paused for a few seconds. “I’m not sure. I’ve always kind of thought that was it—that’s why she finally left. I don’t know for sure.”
What kind of mother leaves her two daughters in a situation like that?
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay there. Ever. If something else comes up, I’m sure Abby could accommodate you somehow. If not, you’ll stay with me.”
“It’s okay, Chris. Really.” Her features softened, and she looked as if she felt sorry for him. Was she serious?
“No, it’s not.” He was about to lose his temper, something he wasn’t prone to, not unless pushed to his limit. “Nothing about that adds up to okay. No one deserves to be treated that way, especially you. And for a man to say those things to his own daughter…Rebecca, why?”
She shrugged. “He’s always had anger issues. It’s like he blows up, and it’s bad, but then he’s sorry. He really does feel bad about it. And he tries not to get upset.”
“Has he had counseling or anything?”
“My dad?” She laughed. “Uh, no. That’s not his thing.”
“It should be his thing. Rebecca, you are the sweetest, most innocent girl I’ve ever met. You are decent and modest and for the life of me I don’t know how he could call you a whore, of all things.”
The silence between them became uncomfortable, but he waited for her to respond. Finally, she pulled her hand out of his and laid it in her lap. “He saw us last night. He saw us kiss.”
“How? I thought he worked last night?”
“Apparently while we were out walking, he came home.”
“But you didn’t see his car.”
“No, he didn’t bring it home. He didn’t tell me how, but he injured his right leg, and he couldn’t drive. Someone brought him home. When he got there he took some painkillers and laid down in his easy chair to rest. He saw us through the window.”
It had been a heck of a kiss, but there wouldn’t have been much to see. No inappropriate touching. Nothing. And she was a grown woman living on her own for cripes sake. It started to make sense though. Her reluctance to kiss him had nothing to do with him. Or her for that matter. It had everything to do with her dad.
He shook his head and then let it fall on the headrest. “I had no idea. No idea. Or I would not have done that there, in front of his house.”
She refocused his attention with the gentle touch of her finger to his cheek. “Please don’t be sorry. I’m not. That kiss…I don’t regret it. I get breathless just thinking about it, so don’t you dare try to take it back.”
“Well, next time we’ll be more discreet. I won’t be the reason for him speaking to you like that. Not ever again.” He sat forward again and looked at her. “I want you to promise me something.”
She lifted her chin. “What?”
“Promise that if this happens again you’ll tell me.”
She nodded. “Okay, but you need to promise me something, too.”
“What’s that?”
“That you won’t go pussyfooting around me like I’m some kind of victim. I can’t bear it if you pity me. I’m the same person today as I was yesterday. I’m sorry about all this, and I’m embarrassed, and the last thing I want is for you to be mad at me.”
“You think I’m mad at you?” He had been short with her. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at your dad. I’m mad at myself. I’m frustrated with the situation, maybe a little irritated that you never told me about this, but mad at you? How could I be mad at you?” I love you.
For the first time since she’d practically skipped out of her father’s house her eyes welled up. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession, and she hiccupped.
“Why are you crying now when you didn’t so much as bat an eye at how your dad treated you?”
The tears ran over the rims of her lids and streaked her cheeks. “I stopped crying over my dad years ago.” She shrugged. “I guess I got used to it. I’m crying now because of you. Because you care.”
“Of course I care.”
She broke into a sob, and he tried to pull her into his arms, but the cup holder, a box of tissues, and the other stuff stored between the front seats blocked his way.
“Hold on.”
He shoved open the car door and came around to her side. When he yanked open her door, she stood and nearly fell into his arms.
She sobbed into his shoulder while he stroked her soft, smooth hair and tried to soothe her. After a few minutes, she pulled away and dried her eyes with her fingertips, trying to erase the smudged makeup.
“Are you hungry?”
She nodded and smiled.
“Let’s go eat.” He put his arm around her and walked her into the restaurant. He tried, but nothing about the meal seemed normal, and more silence hung over their waffles than talking or laughter. When they finished, he decided to take her home rather than finding some way to spend more of the day with her.
He parked her car around the corner from her dad’s house and walked her to the door.
“I’m coming in with you.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, and she didn’t argue. He wasn’t about to let her alone with her father. He waited in the entryway while she went upstairs to grab her things. Chris thanked God her dad didn’t show his face—if he was even there. Rebecca had begged him not to confront her dad, and although not certain it was the right decision, he had agreed.
He walked Rebecca to her car, kissed her forehead, and held her tight for as long as she let him. The whole morning left him drained and confused.
Once Rebecca’s car pulled safely away from the curb, he got back on his motorcycle and rode. He rode over two-lane country roads and four-lane highways. Miles of corn, now tall and green, but not yet tasseled, whizzed by him. The sun, the wind, the freedom of the open road all soothed his soul.
Two hours later, he pulled in at a beer distributor. In the cooler, he found a couple of chilled bottles of Gateway’s latest brew. He bought them, stowed them on his bike and found himself travelling the familiar roads to home—his parents’ home.
After a moment’s hesitation, Chris knocked on the front door and waited. His mom insisted that he and Alan walk right in, and while Alan did that, Chris disliked barging in on his parents. In less than a minute, his dad answered the door.
“Chris, I’m surprised to see you here. Nice day for a ride, isn’t it?”
He followed Dad down the hallway to the kitchen. “Yeah. I’ve been riding for a couple hours at least. Time for a break.”
With a glance, his dad assessed him and probably the reason for his visit. A sharp guy by nature, twenty-five years in sales had left him with people-reading skills any psychologist or police detective would envy.
The morning newspaper was spread over the kitchen island. His dad climbed onto the stool in front of it. His seat faced the recently-updated cooking area and new cherry wood cabinetry. To the right, a pair of French doors opened onto the deck that descended to his parents’ in-ground swimming pool and three acres of land. Chris raised the two bottles of beer he had brought and set them in the center of the counter.
“Brought you a beer.”
Lifting the bottle to eye level, his dad glanced at it and wrinkled his nose. He read the label aloud. “Bare Ass Ale. There weren’t any bare asses involved in the brewing, were there?”
“Not a one. It’s good, despite the name.” Chris pulled a bottle opener from the drawer in front of him, popped off the caps and passed a bottle to his dad.
“Thanks, then. So, how’s it going?”
“Good.”
His dad let his glasses slide down his nose and studied him. Now that Dad had turned sixty, Chris recognized the signs of aging. His salt and pepper hair had become nearly all salt. The lines in his face had deepened, but his eyes and demeanor still exuded the same strength and comfort Chris had found there his whole life.
“Where’s Mom?”
“Grocery store.”
Good. Chris hadn’t planned this visit, but right now he needed the calm assurance of his father not the emotional refuge of his mother.
“Are you still seeing Rebecca?”
“Yep.” He wanted the conversation to go in this direction, but letting his dad steer it in that way felt easier. Chris continued to look straight ahead.
Stay With Me Page 14