Seventy-Two Hours

by Stringham, C. P.

  “Are you coming to bed?”

  Later, I shook myself out of my reading reverie and noted I’d read to page 64; carried away on the outlaw trail with Milo Talon. Chris was up, his laptop closed and setting on a footstool, and the gas fire extinguished.

  A yawn escaped before I could respond with, “Sure.”

  He switched off the last light as I made my way up the open stairs and headed for bed. It wasn’t until I closed my door that I heard him swear from the other side and then a bang as he must have pounded his fist against the wall. It was wrong of me to smile at his consternation, but there it was. I did. Made my impromptu dip in the lake a little more bearable. Only a little.

  The tiny second floor bedroom reminded me that heat rises as I pulled the lightweight blanket and sheet down on the bed. The room did have a ceiling fan and a single window. After turning the fan on, I went over to the closed window to see what was what. I unlocked the inner window and shoved it up. It slowly slid down and that would be why there was a ten or so inch long piece of 1”X4” wood lying inside between the window and the outer storm window. I braced it under the sash to hold it open and then went to work disengaging the latches on the storm window while lifting it up and locking it in place. I felt for a screen to pull down in its place, but was unsuccessful. There was a noticeable temperature difference with the window open so I made the decision to risk a mosquito invasion versus heat stroke.

  Climbing into bed, I was happy with my decision as the sounds of nature filled my room. I switched off the bedside lamp and got comfortable. I felt sleep tugging away at my consciousness not long after my head hit the pillow.

  I don’t know which woke me first; the fluttering or the high-pitched squeaks. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter. The important fact was something woke me at the perfect time. I was a bit fuzzy on my location at first, but as that memory came back to me, I sat up and turned on the lamp and blinked madly as my eyes adjusted. That was when it buzzed by my head in a fly-by. As my sleepy brain began processing the facts--fluttering, squeaks, and fly-bys--panic struck and I rolled out of bed and onto the floor. There was a bat in my room. Bats carried rabies. That would be why I was on the floor and screamed like a scared schoolgirl.

  The door banged into my barefoot as Chris came scrambling in saying, “What the hell’s wrong?!?”

  “Get it out! Get it out!” I shrieked sounding more like an extra from a horror film than a mild-mannered history teacher.

  “Get what out?”

  “There’s a goddamn bat in here!”

  “Where?”

  I decided to stop being a coward and stood up slowly while keeping my eyes peeled for the whereabouts of the little rodent with wings. I sort of used Chris as a shield while I jerkily scanned the ceiling, walls, and curtains.

  And then it swooped by from out of nowhere.

  Chris closed the door to keep it from going out into the rest of the cottage and said, “He’s fast!”

  “No shit!”

  We both lost track of him. I didn’t have a good feeling about getting any sleep for the rest of the night. Surely not in that room. The entire event left me with the heebie-jeebies.

  “Look, we’ll leave the window open like so. He’ll probably let himself out. He can’t really see with the light on in here,” Chris suggested.

  “I can’t sleep in here,” I said frankly.

  “Not my problem,” he said as he reached for the doorknob. “The master bedroom has a room air conditioner.” I watched as he stepped out into the hall and turned to pull the door closed. And before he actually closed it, the bastard winked at me and said, “Good night, Jen.”

  My fear wore off and I felt my cheeks go warm as my blood pressure rose. The bat’s location temporarily forgotten when I opened the door and stalked off after him. He was already in his room with the door closed. Enjoying my predicament and his damn air conditioning. I was met by a wall of cooler air as I went inside his room without knocking. He pointed at the door and firmly told me to close it as he sat down and swung his bare legs up into bed. It was the first time I’d noticed he was only wearing his boxers.

  Pushing the door closed I said, “You’re just going to leave that…that thing in my room with me?”

  “Did you remember to close your door before coming after me?”

  I thought for a moment. “Well, no.”

  “Who’s to say he’s still in your room. He could be anywhere in the cottage at this point. You gave him an engraved invitation,” he said as he laid back and covered himself up to his waist. The contrast of his tanned skin and sprinkling of dark chest hair stood out in my mind as my eyes took it all in.

  I made myself focus on what he’d said and my heart began to beat rapidly in my chest. “Oh, my God! I can’t sleep out there. I could wake up and it could be on me,” I said in a rush of loosely controlled panic. “Tangled in my hair,” I murmured with revulsion as I ran my hands over my shoulder length hair protectively.

  He laced his fingers together and then raised his arms up and placed his hands behind his head while watching me. “I don’t know what else to tell you and I’m not giving up my room,” he told me. “Now, if you would have mentioned to me ahead of time that you wanted separate rooms, I would have suggested you take this room with its air conditioning, but you didn’t and now I’m settled and comfortable.”

  I glared at him and considered my options. Sleeping in his SUV was one of them. Completely unappealing. I huffed and then asked, “May I sleep in here?”

  He took his time as if he really needed to think it over before finally saying, “Sure. But stay over on your side of the bed.”

  “I’ll try to control myself,” I muttered as he switched off the light and I climbed into his bed.

  I awoke on my left side with morning sunlight streaming into the room and Chris’ hand cupping my breast. He was subconsciously spooning me and I’d subconsciously allowed it. I squirmed a bit in an attempt to get him to move without waking him. And any other time it would have worked. Not that time.

  I sighed with frustration. Lifting his hand off me by the wrist and tossing it back seemed to be my only option. So I did. He grunted in his sleep after the toss and then his hand ended up at my waist. I rolled my eyes at my luck. All I wanted to do was get out of the damn bed. I wiggled again.

  “You do know if you keep doing that, I’ll be done before we even get started, right?” Chris murmured in a tired voice and I realized what he thought I was doing. More like I felt what he thought as his morning erection pressed against my backside.

  No longer having to be concerned with waking him, I pushed his hand off and rolled out of bed. “That is the last thing I want to do with you this morning,” I scoffed.

  “You haven’t always felt that way,” he replied as I opened the door.

  I stopped and, with my back to him, replied, “But I do now. Here’s an idea. Why don’t you let your work bring you morning comfort and pleasure? It’s been sustaining you for so long, why not now.”

  “So that’s what this is all about. You’re feeling neglected.”

  I closed my eyes while taking a deep breath. I opened them and turned to him answering with, “What a chauvinistic conclusion. You assume my dalliance occurred because you haven’t been ‘servicing the little woman’.” I even made the air quotes with my hands. “Chris, at this point, I truly don’t believe you’ll ever understand. You have such a brilliant mind, but are utterly lacking in commonsense and compassion.”

  “It works both ways, sweetheart, and I can’t recall the last time you were particularly attentive in our marriage.”

  “Not really a marriage when only one is attending, is it?” I spat back at him.

  “What’s happened to us, Jen? To you? Where has the woman gone that I fell in love with?”

  I was a bit taken aback by his questions. Finally, I replied, “She’s tired of carrying the marriage, Chris. She’s checked out of the relationship.”r />
  “But I’m not ready to check out. Not on us. Not on you.” His response was forlorn and startling to hear.

  “I think it’s too late to matter.” And I walked away.

  Chapter Four

  July 4, 1987 - East Smithfield, PA

  “Are you sure you want to wait for Chris?” my mother asked as she closed the car trunk on lawn chairs, a cooler, and blankets for the evening’s community fireworks show at the VFW.

  I nodded. “He said he would be here after work.”

  “It’s getting late, sweetie. What if he gets held up for even longer? Are you going to drive over by yourself or miss them?” she asked as I took in her look of motherly concern.

  “I told him I’d wait and I guess, if he doesn’t make it, I’ll stay home.” I was newly graduated from high school and ready for some independence.

  She cupped my cheek and with a knowing smile said, “It was hard having him away at college, wasn’t it? You’ve missed him.”

  My face broke into a huge smile and I felt my cheeks go warm. “Maybe.”

  “And now that he’s working at the farm, you have him home and yet he’s busy.”

  “They’re still trying to get haying done and it’s been so hot and dry.”

  “Perfect weather for haying,” Mom stated the obvious.

  “Which means bad weather for girlfriends.”

  She looked past me as my father came outside with my brother. Jake was four years younger than me and a total pain (as only little brothers could be.) Now that his baseball season was over, annoying me had become his summer vacation hobby. It made me look forward to leaving for college in the fall.

  My parents owned a large New Holland dealership selling farm tractors, equipment, and parts. While my father spent six days a week at the dealership, my mother focused on family, home, and church. She did spend at least one morning a week at the dealership just to “stay on top of things.” Needless to say, my mother was most welcomed by the sales and service teams on those mornings since she always came in with some scrumptious treat she’d baked for them. Her treats would be the reason my father had grown soft in the middle over the years.

  She explained to my father what she and I had discussed and he offered me use of his truck to drive myself if Chris didn’t make it. That offer also came with a short lecture about how congested traffic would be and that I needed to drive carefully. I promised him I would and said we’d try to find them when we got there even though I had no intentions of attending the fireworks. I had something else in mind.

  I wanted to be alone with Chris. Between his farm job that seemed to take up most of his time and my weekday babysitting job, our free time was very limited. And unintentionally chaperoned.

  As soon as the dust plume from my mother’s car disappeared down the road, I went inside and began packing a picnic dinner for the two of us. Not unlike any other year, my parents invited a few friends and relatives back to our house after the parade for a Fourth of July BBQ with lots and lots of picnic foods. I had plenty of leftovers to choose from including Mom’s blueberry pie. Chris’ favorite.

  When he finally arrived at 8:30, he was fresh from the shower smelling of soap and Stetson. His short brown hair still wet. “Sorry I’m so late. The baler was acting up,” he offered as he stood outside the open door of his truck. “Are you ready?”

  I’d chosen wisely. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of my outfit. Or near lack of. I had on a blue floral halter top style dress that tied behind my neck. It was fitted and the hem fell a good six inches above my knees. Of course, I’d changed after my parents left.

  I walked up to him, placing my hands flat against his chest, and looked up at him. I cocked my head sideways a bit and said, “I thought we could watch the fireworks from here.”

  “We won’t be able to see them as well.”

  “Not up close, but if we go up to the pond and sit on the backside, we’ll be able to see into the valley better,” I said while snaking my arms around his neck. “C’mon. It’ll be nice. Just you and me.”

  A playful smile formed on his tired, young face. “Jenny.”

  “I was hoping we could be alone. I even packed a picnic for us. We could sit together on the dock or you could drive your truck over and we could sit in the back like at the drive-in,” I cajoled until he gave in.

  He decided to drive over using the lane my father made for a boat launch and then backed in facing the pond and the valley. Although the pond was on our property, locals often asked permission to fish out of it since it covered over eight acres of land. It was six feet deep at its deepest spot and always fresh and cool due to the numerous springs feeding into it. We didn’t have the need for a swimming pool. Not with a pond like ours. It’s where I’d learned to swim.

  We sat on the tailgate and ate with the food sitting between us. I’d slipped my sandals off and sat Indian style so I could face Chris. He was quiet at first, but I could tell he was exhausted, so I did most of the talking. I filled him in about the picnic he’d missed and how my grandmother’s dog got into the flag cake my aunt made and then how my aunt cried and blamed my grandmother for the ruined cake.

  “It was actually funny to listen to. According to Aunt Susie, Gram let Sammy get the cake because Gram’s jealous she makes it better than her.”

  “I hate when I miss a family spat,” Chris joked as he balled up his napkin.

  “They made up by the end of the afternoon, but Gram did whisper to Mom that Sammy probably saved us all from another of Aunt Susie’s dry cakes,” I said with a laugh.

  Chris helped himself to more lemonade, drinking greedily from the cup. Haying in the heat did that to a person. It was back-breaking work with the sun beating down on you the whole time while you loaded and stacked the sixty pound bales. When the wagon was full, you took the bales back to the barn, unloaded them onto the elevator, and then stacked them in the haymow before heading back out to the fields and doing it all over again.

  I cleaned up from our picnic. Leaving only a wedge of blueberry pie on a paper plate with a plastic fork for Chris. Instead of giving it to him, I decided to tease him.

  “Is that your mom’s blueberry pie?” he asked as I dug the fork into it.

  “Yep, and it’s the last piece,” I replied.

  “Are you going to share that with me or am I going to have to take it from you?” Chris leaned forward and looked fully prepared to follow through with his threat. He was twice my size after his first full year of college; tall, broad shouldered, and muscular.

  I looked at him slyly and then held the forkful out for him to bite. He opened his mouth, I inserted the fork, he closed his lips on it, and I pulled it away. I continued to feed him that way until it was gone. We went quiet and stared at each other. The only sounds coming from nature and the early revelers letting off a few fireworks somewhere in the distance. I moved towards him first. Closing the space between us as my heart beat madly in my chest. When our lips met, it was pure bliss. His tasted of blueberries.

  So much had changed between us over the past year. Changed with me in particular. With Chris away so much, I’d learned to appreciate him more when he was home. He was polite and generous and always attentive. And when we were together, I found myself feeling the same strange way every time. It was only stronger when we were alone. I was pretty sure it was the same way for him since he was fairly concerned about us not “getting carried away” all the time. At first, I agreed with his restraint. But now, I wanted more. I wanted to share something with him that I’d never shared with anyone else. Something my body seemed pretty certain of was that he would be the one capable of taking the constant ache of longing away. Nothing was worse than being with him and kissing and feeling his hands all over me and then ending it. Ending it didn’t even sound like an appropriate word choice for what happened. Ending it would imply an outcome was reached when, in fact, it was cut off beforehand. And that sucked. Breathing fast, heart beating as if it were about to come
out of my chest, and this hot, tingling feeling between my legs. It was like a sickness that kept getting worse the longer it was ignored.

  Chris lowered me down onto the truck bed against the blankets we had set out to watch the fireworks. As he lay on his side and propped his head in his hand, his eyes searched mine. He put the brakes on again and reminded me about the fireworks. But I didn’t care about fireworks anymore. I untied the bow at the back of my neck and peeled the halter-style bodice down in the front exposing my bare breasts to the warm night air.

  It wasn’t the first time Chris had seen them and yet he seemed to understand what I had in mind. “Jenny, do you know what would happen if your daddy came home and found us out here?” he reasoned softly.

  “They won’t be home for at least an hour or more.”

  “And if they leave early?”

  “Chris, I’m ready. Aren’t you ready?”

  He ran his free hand over his face and chuckled. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Apparently I’m a lot more afraid of your daddy than you are.”

  “I want to be with you in the closest way possible. I think about it all the time,” I told him candidly. “I don’t want to wait. I’m 18. You’re 19. We’re old enough.”