Stay With Me

by Astfalk, Carolyn

  His dad took a swig and set the bottle on the counter with a clunk. “She’s a beautiful young woman, but I’m sure you noticed that.”

  Chris saw him grin from the corner of his eye.

  “Your mom and I haven’t gotten to spend much time with her, but from what we know, we like her.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I should talk to Mom about having her over for dinner or something.”

  “Your mom would be all over that.”

  Chris laughed. He took a sip of his beer and finally looked at his dad. “I’m falling in love with her.”

  Nodding slowly, his dad’s mouth stretched to a grin.

  Chris smiled, too. “I know it hasn’t been that long, but I can’t help myself.”

  “Does she feel the same way?”

  He pursed his lips together for a second, thinking. “She hasn’t said, but she hasn’t turned down a date or refused a kiss, so I’m hopeful.” He let a couple beats pass and then finally got to what he came to talk about. “I’m worried about her, Dad.”

  The newspaper rustled as his dad folded it and pushed it away. “Why?”

  “Her father’s abusive. She says he’s never hit her, but I overheard him yelling at her this morning.” He paused again, taking a deep breath before he continued. “Dad, he cursed, and he called her a whore. Something shattered, and she came out the door, got in her car, and tried to act like nothing happened. It breaks my heart. She’s the sweetest girl. She doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

  “Does she live with her parents?”

  “No. She has her own apartment in Harrisburg. At home, it’s just her dad. Her mom is dead, and she was gone long before that.” He sighed and continued. “It does explain some things though.”

  “Like what?”

  “I think she’s afraid of physical intimacy. The fact that I’m a man, and I desire her threatens her. Some women eat that up, they use it, and they manipulate you with it. It scares her to death.”

  His dad took a drink of his beer, set it down, and then took off his glasses and set them on the newspaper. “Chris, she’s probably never experienced the kind of love you can offer her. That doesn’t mean it isn’t what she wants or needs, but it’s going to require some patience on your part.”

  Chris folded both hands around his bottle and nodded. He was learning all about patience, but he and Rebecca hadn’t dated that long; there was no rush. Still, her reluctance made him feel like he dragged her along—not unwilling, but hesitant. His dad’s voice brought him out of his thoughts again.

  “For years I watched your brother bring home a different girl for every homecoming, every prom. Summer crushes. He must have fallen in and out of love a hundred times. And you were forever wandering through the woods out here or home with your nose in a book or your ear buds in, listening to music. I knew it would take a special young woman to turn your head.”

  “It’s not that I didn’t notice girls, believe me. The shyness paralyzed me.”

  “In retrospect, I don’t think that was such a bad thing. You were being shaped and molded for this young woman so that you could be what she needs to help her overcome her situation. Maybe to be the woman you need her to be.”

  Chris smirked as he raised his bottle a last time. “Careful, Dad, it almost sounds like you’re acknowledging a deity there.”

  “I never said I didn’t believe in God. I just don’t see the use for religion in my life.” He stood, but kept his gaze fixed on Chris. “But, you’ve given me a lot to think about in that regard the last couple of years.”

  Huh? Dad thought about God? Chris had been praying for a long time that his family would take an interest in God, but this was the first indication that the little seeds he’d been sowing may someday take root. Before he could say anything in response, the garage door opened and his mother called out.

  “A little help here?”

  “I’ll go get the groceries.” Chris ambled to the door off the kitchen that led to the two-car garage. He paused as he grabbed the doorknob. “Thanks, Dad, and if you like that ale, I’ll get you a case.” Then turning into the garage, he grabbed the plastic bags hanging from his mother’s wrists. “I’ll get this stuff, Mom.”

  “Thanks, honey.” She pushed her purse back up her shoulder and headed into the kitchen. Her hair, always cut in a simple, elegant style, looked a shade darker blonde than he had seen on her before. It looked good with her glasses.

  He slung the bags onto the floor next to the island. “Hey, Mom. Dad and I were talking, and we thought it might be good if I could bring Rebecca over so you could get to know her better.”

  “Well,” his mom huffed. “It’s about time.”

  12

  Joy Ride

  Chris specified what to wear: long pants, long sleeves, and sturdy shoes—no open toes. She tried coaxing the reason out of him, but he wouldn’t budge. Did his parents keep their house unusually cold or something?

  Her nerves jangled as she pulled into Chris’s parents’ driveway. She had only met them briefly at Alan and Jamie’s wedding. That being only their third date, she hadn’t been very concerned about the impression she made.

  They had a beautiful home, which his family had built. Its value had to be nearly double that of her dad’s place. Chris said his father sold medical devices, and apparently he excelled at it. His mom had only started working part time when Chris and Alan had gone to college.

  Chris’s motorcycle was parked in the driveway, and Rebecca thought back to the picture of him that sat on his bookshelf. She noticed the bike faced the road, which was unusual, but maybe he had been cleaning it again. The chrome shone.

  She exited the car and went around to the passenger side where she had laid the dessert on the floor in a small cardboard box. She lifted out the bowl and closed her door as Chris walked toward her from the open garage.

  “Hey, you’re here. What’s this?”

  “I offered to bring dessert.” She lifted the glass bowl filled with cubed cake, whipped cream, and fresh berries. “Berry trifle.”

  “It looks great.” He took it from her and walked with her to the garage. “Wait here while I put this inside.” He said something to his mom and then he returned.

  “So, let’s see how well you follow directions.” He stopped a few feet from her and crossed his arms in front of his chest while he looked over her attire. “Very good. Mom said we have at least an hour until dinner.”

  “Am I too early?” She could’ve sworn his mom had told her 4:30 p.m. when they talked on the phone.

  “Nope. I have something else planned for us first.”

  She slid her hands into her back pockets and shifted her weight from her heels to her toes and back again. “Okay. Care to tell me what?”

  “Despite the fact that I trounced you at Yahtzee—”

  She held up a hand. “Wait a minute, buddy, that was not a trouncing. That was a skin-of-your-teeth kind of win.”

  He smiled. “Okay. Despite the fact that I beat you at Yahtzee, I thought I’d make your wish come true and take you for a ride.”

  “Seriously?” She sounded overeager even to her own ears, but every time she laid eyes on that motorcycle, she became more enamored with the idea of riding on it.

  “Why not? To be honest, that’s the whole reason I challenged you to the game in the first place.” His cheeks pinked a little with his admission.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hang on.” Chris pulled his helmet off of the wooden shelf, grabbed a large plastic bag from the floor, and walked with Rebecca toward the bike. “I mean, I’ve wanted to get you out on this bike with me in the worst way for weeks, but I didn’t think you’d want to try it. So, I came up with that idea to force your hand.”

  “What made you think I didn’t want to go for a ride?” She circled to the other side of the motorcycle and waited on his answer.

  Raising his arm, he lifted his palm in uncertainty. “You don’t seem like the adventurous type, I
guess.”

  “Maybe not, but this thing has me hooked. I couldn’t figure out why you hadn’t offered to take me out on it. I thought you didn’t want to, and I had to force your hand.”

  “Well, since we’re both in agreement here, let’s do this.” He handed her the large plastic bag. “This is for you.”

  Accepting the bag, she reached inside. “A helmet? Chris, this was probably expensive. I can pay you for this.”

  “Get out of here. It’s a gift, and there’s no way I’m taking you out on this without a helmet.”

  She pulled out the helmet and turned it around, examining the pink trim decorating the sides. “Do you wear a helmet all the time?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Not all the time. I make exceptions for perfect weather conditions and the irrepressible desire to feel the wind in my hair, but not for you.” He flashed a grin. “Double standard, I know, but you’re going to have to live with it.” He gave her a minute more to look over the mostly-black helmet. “I’m not used to riding two-up, so we’re going to take it easy.”

  Chris spent the next ten minutes or so going over instructions with her—how to get on and off of the bike, where to keep her feet, which parts were hot and how to lean when they accelerated.

  “You need to sit close to me and hold onto either my waist or my hips. Don’t grab onto me any higher.” He pointed to her legs. “You’re going to want to squeeze your legs together as close around the bike as you can get. It’ll feel more stable.”

  “Will you be able to hear me if I say something to you?”

  “Maybe not. That’s a good point. If you need me to stop or slow down tap my right thigh. If you’re doing good or you want to go faster, tap my left thigh.” He gave her a roguish smile that made her cheeks heat. “Can you see now why I’ve wanted to get you out on this thing with me?”

  “Why do you think I’m so eager?”

  He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her towards him. “You know, I would kiss you right now, but my mom is watching. She doesn’t think I know she’s there, but I can see her rummaging through something in the garage. Spying.”

  Rebecca snuck a peak. His mom riffled through a cardboard box.

  “Hi, Mrs. Reynolds.” She made a move toward the garage, but Chris held her back.

  “Sorry, Mom, but time’s ticking. You can chat at dinner.” He helped Rebecca get her helmet on and tighten the strap. Then he straddled the motorcycle and steadied it. “Okay, get on.”

  Rebecca grabbed onto his arm and swung her leg over the seat behind him, putting her feet on the pegs the way he had instructed. She scooted closer to him, and when she wrapped her hands around his waist, her heart fluttered. Yes, she was going to enjoy this.

  “Okay. Hold on tight and lean with me. You ready?”

  “Ready.”

  He started the engine and with the first lurch forward Rebecca gripped him tighter, not easing up until he stopped at the end of the driveway.

  “I’ve got the perfect song.” He picked something out using his audio system, turned it up, and eased out onto the road. They coasted to the stop sign at the end of his parents’ street. By then the song’s chorus had repeated. If she had to guess, she’d say it was called, “Hold On.”

  “Is this the Dave Matthews Band?” She didn’t want to yell, but she realized now how important the nonverbal communication would be. Even sitting still, she thought he might not be able to hear her.

  “No. Alabama Shakes. And that’s a woman singing.”

  She didn’t get a chance to respond because he turned left onto the main road. If pressed on it, Rebecca would admit that the first ten minutes scared her to death, especially when they accelerated or turned. Poor Chris would probably have a bruised middle from the death grip she had on him at the beginning. After that, she loosened up and even tapped his left thigh a couple of times when they got out on the highway, signaling that she wanted to go faster.

  When they finally pulled back into the driveway nearly an hour later, Rebecca was exhilarated. Riding itself was a blast, but riding with Chris was over the top. He let her dismount and then swung his leg over the seat and stood beside her. She undid the strap, pulled her helmet off, and ran her fingers through her hair to get rid of any possible helmet-head.

  Chris took off his helmet, too, took hers from her, and set them both inside the garage. His cheeks were still red from the wind when he came back to her.

  “Well?”

  “Oh, my gosh. What a rush! It took me a little while to get used to the feel of it, but then I loved it.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that.” His eyes were all smoky looking, barely even blue anymore.

  Her heart started pounding faster, which said something because it already beat at a good clip from the ride. He stepped closer to her and used his fingers to comb through some of the tangles in her hair.

  “Would it be too soon to tell you I’ve fallen in love with you?”

  Rebecca didn’t breathe for a full three seconds. When she found her voice again, she said, “Kind of a moot question now, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so.” His chin dipped down, and his ears reddened, but his voice was steady. “I love you, Rebecca.”

  And before she had a chance to say those three lovely words back to him, he kissed her. She thought it was intentional—that he didn’t want her to feel pressure to reciprocate the feeling now if she wasn’t ready. She was grateful because as much as it thrilled her to hear him say it, she didn’t know if she could return his affection. At least not with those three words.

  ***

  Chris considered the meal a success. Of course, compared to dinner with Rebecca’s dad, anything short of a fistfight at the table could be considered an improvement. After dinner, dessert, coffee, and the requisite display of Chris’s childhood photos, he walked Rebecca out to her car. As they reached her door she stopped. “My trifle bowl. I forgot all about it.”

  “I’ll get it,” Chris offered and jogged back to the house. He slipped into the kitchen through the garage and scanned the countertops for the glass bowl. He could hear his parents in the living room. His dad spoke first.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “What’s not to like? She’s charming, wholesome, and pretty.”

  Peering around the corner, Chris saw his mom relaxing in her favorite overstuffed chair while his dad massaged her shoulders.

  “He loves her.”

  His mom made a waving motion with her hand. “It’s written all over his face. And hers.”

  That last statement pleased him. She thought Rebecca loved him, too.

  “There’s something I couldn’t put my finger on at first,” Mom said, “but I think she’s scared of something, and she’s skittish.”

  Agreed. She was skittish like a foal. Wobbly, unsteady, uneasy, quick to frighten. He wanted to see her steady, strong, galloping free.

  “She’s scared, and she’s going to bolt,” Mom said. “Mark my words.”

  Chris finally spotted the bowl next to the dish washer. He picked it up and stood still, curious to hear Dad’s response.

  “Could be. Could be he gives her a reason to stop being scared, too. Either way, he’s old enough to make up his own mind about it.”

  “It’s not his mind I’m worried about, it’s his heart. That boy has never done anything half way. I don’t expect him to be any different when it comes to loving a woman.”

  Taking the bowl, Chris closed the door without making a sound and slipped back out through the garage. His mom’s comment had hit a nerve. Yes, he could definitely see Rebecca’s skittishness, but she was neither fickle nor flighty. He hoped with all his heart his mom was wrong, because if she was right, he didn’t know what he’d do without Rebecca. He caught sight of her leaning against her car, thought of their ride this afternoon, and knew that he wanted her with him for the long haul.

  “Your bowl,” he said and handed it to her.

  “Thank you, kind si
r.”

  In the moonlight, her face glowed—irresistibly so.

  “Give me that bowl back.” It came out more a growl than a request. He opened her car door and thrust the bowl onto the seat inside. “Come here.” He took her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Mmm . . . you smell so good.”

  Rebecca laughed. “I probably smell like the barbecued pork your mom made.”

  “No, you smell like you.” He nuzzled her ear and whispered, “I love you.” He hadn’t realized that saying it out loud would be such a relief. He hadn’t planned on telling her today; he was waiting—for what he didn’t know, but it wasn’t supposed to be today. Yet, he had gotten off that motorcycle, and he couldn’t help himself. The words had bubbled right out of him.

  “You’re making it hard for me to leave.”

  He grinned. “Am I?”

  She nodded.

  “I wish I could take you home. Soon. I’m car shopping next weekend.” Then he remembered work. “Shoot. Not next weekend. The week after. I have to go to a craft beer festival at the shore in Delaware next weekend.”

  “All weekend?” She drew her lips up into a pout.

  “Friday night to Sunday night.”

  “Oh.”

  His mom called from the front door. “Chris, Alan’s on the phone. He wants to talk to you. Says your cell keeps rolling to voice mail.”

  Chris sighed. “Okay. Tell him to hang on a minute,” he called back to her. Once his mom had retreated into the house, he kissed Rebecca goodnight. If only Alan weren’t waiting on him.

  “Let me know when you want to go for another ride.”

  “I will. Thank you for taking me.”

  Once she got into her car, he jogged back to the house. Alan’s timing sucked.

  13

  Ants Marching

  The craft beer festival ran for two days at the convention center near one of the most popular beaches along the Delaware Coast. Manning Gateway Brewery’s booth left Chris with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it would probably be fun and give him a chance to learn more about the industry. On the other hand, it would be another weekend he couldn’t spend any time with Rebecca. By the end of the festival hours Saturday, Chris missed her. Every time booth traffic lulled, his mind wandered. He imagined running his hands through Rebecca’s hair and pulling it behind her so he could kiss her cheek, her ear, her neck….