“She likes me a lot?” Dylan said, all the other words fading into the background. “Did she say that?”
“She doesn’t say much of anything about anything, but I think I can tell. If you live with someone long enough you pick up on things.”
Dylan said good-bye and bolted down the steps feeling bulletproof. She likes me a lot, she likes me a lot, she likes me a lot!
“What took you so long?” Seneca asked in mock exasperation. “I’m wasting away down here.”
Dylan handed Seneca her cane and cautiously ran her fingers along Seneca’s side. She could feel every rib and each tight sinew of the wiry muscles beneath her hand.
Seneca saw the touch coming and Dylan could feel her brace for the contact, but instead of continuing to stay tense, she relaxed and pressed her side into Dylan’s palm. She pulled away too quickly for Dylan’s liking, almost seeming to realize what she was doing, but that brief moment left Dylan’s fingertips tingling. Seneca was like a wild thing, and like all wild things, standing close to them electrified your soul.
“So where ya taking me?” Dylan asked.
“Don’t know. Thought we could stroll around, see what smells good.”
That would be you. “Lead the way.” Dylan followed Seneca as she descended the porch steps, noticing that the cane significantly diminished the limp. Although she leaned heavily on the wooden aid, it appeared to make walking easier for her.
As they made their way across campus, Dylan became aware of the curious stares and outright shock on peoples’ faces as they passed. Each one stared unabashedly at Seneca and continued to watch her even after they had passed. Dylan knew Seneca was quite the curiosity on campus, but she had never really noticed the gawking.
“If they don’t stop staring at you, I’m going to take your cane and smack someone with it,” Dylan said angrily, and not all that quietly as yet another passerby paused for a thorough inspection.
“They’re pity stares,” Seneca said as if that explained it. “Happens every time I use this damn thing.” She indicated the cane, but rushed to continue when she saw Dylan about to apologize for insisting she use it. “The problem is it helps so much I have a hard time not using it. When my leg feels okay, I leave it at home though. I get tired of their pity.”
“They’re pity stares? Why do they pity you? You are the strongest, most wonderful woman I know. Your leg is about the last thing they should notice about you.” Dylan flushed as the words tumbled out, but she held her ground. Someone had to tell Seneca how amazing she was.
“I…thank you.” She reached out and pulled Dylan’s smaller hand into her own, smiling when Dylan’s fingers entwined with hers. “There. Now it’ll be looks of jealousy, not pity, and I don’t mind those one bit.”
Dylan wanted to kiss Seneca so badly it took all her force of will to keep her lips to herself. The gesture was so tender and strong and was just the type of sweetness Dylan had come to expect from Seneca in their short time knowing each other. She was constantly opening doors, lifting heavy things in the machine shop, or trying to protect Dylan from the strange looks and rude comments that came her way because of her association with Seneca. Dylan was sure Seneca didn’t think she noticed, but she did.
“You know holding my hand is going to get you pulled into all the crap they say about me,” Seneca said.
Dylan felt Seneca’s fingers loosen their hold on her own and she fought the sting of disappointment. “Do you want your hand back?”
“No, not really,” Seneca said, sounding a little sad. “I just didn’t want you to—”
“I don’t give a hoot what they say about me,” Dylan said, gripping her hand tightly and rubbing her thumb lightly up and down the back. Maybe it was time Seneca didn’t have to face the gossip girls alone.
“Oh, that’s good then,” Seneca said, sounding a little shaky.
“Besides,” Dylan said, gently swinging their joined hands, “I always wanted to be the girlfriend of a pirate queen, or was it a mob boss, or an inner city gunrunner? I forget what the hottest rumor is this week. Either way, it sounds more fun than being the daughter of a stuck-up debutant.”
“Pirate queen?” Seneca said incredulously. “Do I look like I’ve ever been on a boat?”
Dylan laughed as she pictured Seneca at the helm of a vast, dark-sailed pirate ship with an eye patch and a parrot. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t heard pirate queen rumors, but it is kinda funny to think of you with a parrot.”
“Bob!” Seneca laughed too. “I couldn’t even stand on a rolling deck.”
“The other ones, though, pretty sure I’ve heard those.”
“Really?” Seneca sounded curious. “What else have you heard? No one says any of this to my face.”
Dylan was uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure if she should repeat some of the horrible rumors that had spread around campus.
“I won’t be upset. I’m just curious. It’s not like I don’t know people talk,” Seneca said gently.
“Well, there was the mob boss, although I think you might be a little young for that. There was the gunrunner, drug dealer, CIA agent, and I think I even heard mention of a female James Bond. People say you were in a car accident, that you were shot, that you killed someone and were in jail. That you slept with someone you shouldn’t have and her husband tried to kill you. Last week, someone in my house was insisting that you were a world-class dirt bike racer but had wrecked real bad. And of course, don’t forget pirate queen.”
She wanted the smile that had left Seneca’s eyes to return. Her hand was sweaty where their palms met, and her face was pale and taut, like the look someone had when they were trying to unstick a pickle jar, part futile struggle, part stress at your lack of real strength. Dylan watched the conflicting emotions rush through her eyes, which finally settled into resignation.
“I definitely don’t have a parrot,” Seneca said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. She looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. Dylan felt like they were on the brink of sharing things a lot lately, but they both always clammed up before anything slipped out.
Dylan desperately wanted to know what demons Seneca kept hidden so well and struggled with so deeply. She realized that was asking a lot, but she wanted, at least for an evening, to add her hands to the burden Seneca carried.
“So were they close with any of them?” Dylan asked. She was willing to let Seneca keep her past to herself, but she wanted her to know it wasn’t going to bother her, no matter what Seneca revealed.
“A couple, I guess,” Seneca mumbled before pulling Dylan into the local pizza joint. “How does this sound? Being a pirate queen is hungry work.”
They dropped the subject and returned to safer, more mundane topics during the meal, and Dylan was glad to see the relaxed happiness return to Seneca’s expression. After dinner, they walked hand in hand through downtown, enjoying each other’s company and the quiet evening. Neither seemed in a particular hurry to call it a night.
“Oh my God, that one absolutely takes the cake,” Dylan said, staring in disbelief at the back of the woman who had just passed. “What was her problem? I thought she might start weeping over your head or something.” On their walk, they had made a game of the inevitable pity stares directed at Seneca and her cane. There was a ranking system and points awarded based on the duration, transparency, and overall emotion behind the stare. Seneca had really warmed up to the game and Dylan was beginning to suspect she was cheating to win some extra points.
“I bet I could get a better one, if I just limped a little more when a cute old lady passes. Maybe I could lean on your arm and look all tired and worn.”
“Oh you are bad, very, very bad,” Dylan said, nudging her shoulder, carefully, so as not to startle her. “You have to get those pity stare scores fair and square, no playing anything up. If you want to act, sign up for the drama club.”
Dylan looked at Seneca and was surprised to see the tired and worn look that Seneca had just teasing
ly described. Suddenly, she saw how hard Seneca was trying to hide her fatigue. Her face was drawn and there was definite tension in her body. Dylan knew she must be in a great deal of pain. The expected rain had come just as predicted, but as was often the case in New England, the storm had been fast and left the air sticky with humidity.
Making a quick decision, Dylan navigated the busy street and led them to the ice cream shop on the next block. She didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that Seneca was hurting, but she couldn’t stand by and let her suffer needlessly. Besides, ice cream always helped everything, or so she had come to believe.
“Where are you taking me now?” Seneca asked as Dylan started off purposefully down one of the many side streets.
“Ice cream,” Dylan said, leading the way to the popular shop. “We’ve had enough pity stare contests for a while. It’s time to get down to some real important business.”
“And that would be ice cream?”
“Yup, but I have to warn you, don’t get in the way when I get my bowl. That was part of the sharing concept I never learned, and I’ll gladly take off someone’s hand if they try to jack my sundae.”
“I consider myself warned,” Seneca said. “But I do have an advantage.” She waved her cane slightly in front of her. “I’m armed.”
When they approached the small picturesque shop, it was overflowing with patrons. Even in the late fall, it was packed. The crowd parted as they saw Dylan and Seneca approaching and one man jumped out of his group of friends to hold the door.
Dylan felt Seneca tense next to her. She knew from dancing at the bar that Seneca could be a little jumpy in crowds. She wondered if this was a bad idea. Then the idiot holding the door opened his mouth, and she thought it was a bad idea for a whole new reason.
He pointed out the step and assured her he had the door as if talking to a special needs child. He spoke in a slow, exaggerated way and much more loudly than was necessary. Dylan had had enough for the evening. She put a reassuring hand on Seneca’s back and then turned on the man.
“She is not blind, deaf, or dumb, you asshole. She walks with a cane because of an injury, which did not affect her ability to make it up one step without an idiot like you making her a spectacle. You want to be a gentleman and hold the door, fine, but keep your condescending comments to yourself.”
The poor man looked like he had no idea what had just hit him. Dylan was a whirling dervish of anger and energy, and the rude man quickly retreated to get away from her seething rage and poking finger.
When Dylan turned around, Seneca looked like she was having a hard time deciding whether to laugh or cry. Just as Dylan thought they were safely out of harm’s way and ready to enjoy their ice cream, she pulled Seneca to a stop once again and confronted a middle-aged couple and their teenage son.
“Would you like us to pose so you can take a picture?” Dylan said, her voice dripping with venom. “It would last a lot longer. You could even take it home with you and stare at it more, later.”
The woman had the decency to blush crimson and her husband mumbled a quick apology. The teenager looked horrified to be with his parents, but Dylan thought he had looked that way before she confronted them.
When they finally got in line, Seneca rested her hand cautiously on Dylan’s shoulder.
“You okay?” Seneca asked.
“Me, of course, why?” Dylan asked.
“Well, because you just yelled at a guy back there and ripped a family to shreds. I’m not sure that teenager is going to go out with his parents again until his thirties. And everyone is kinda staring at us. I’m used to it, but this time they’re staring at you.”
“I just don’t like the way people have been treating you tonight, Seneca. I’ve been watching it all night and I’ve had it. He had no right. None of them do.”
“I don’t really know what to say,” Seneca said. She looked taken aback.
“May I hug you?” Dylan asked.
There was no answer. Instead, Seneca hooked her cane over her arm and pulled Dylan into a bone-crushing embrace.
“Thank you, Bob. No one has ever done that for me before,” Seneca whispered.
“That’s the most tragic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You clearly don’t know me very well,” Seneca said, then looked like she regretted it immediately.
Dylan stood on her tiptoes and gently placed a kiss on Seneca’s cheek. “Well, you deserve all that and more,” Dylan said, pleased when she felt Seneca shift and bring a hand to her cheek where Dylan had kissed it. She really had no idea how sweet she was.
Once they had their ice cream, Seneca left the cane on her arm and leaned on Dylan for support, although Dylan suspected it was an excuse to stay close to her. She wasn’t complaining. When they got to the table, they deposited their ice cream on the tabletop, but Seneca didn’t let go of Dylan’s arm. Dylan turned until she was in the circle of Seneca’s body and leaned into her. Seneca wrapped her in a hug and kissed the top of Dylan’s head.
“Dylan, I’ve really had a good time tonight,” Seneca said.
“Me too,” Dylan said, leaning back in Seneca’s arms, feeling like there wasn’t anywhere else she wanted to be at that moment.
Dylan gently kissed Seneca on the cheek and put both hands on Seneca’s shoulders. Ice cream was the last thing on her mind. She didn’t know what she had planned, they were in the middle of the ice cream parlor after all, but as she ran her hands down Seneca’s arms, the uneven pebbling of hard scar tissue distracted her. Everywhere her fingers traveled, she found it.
Seneca tensed and looked at the ceiling, but didn’t pull away, something Dylan considered a major victory. She flattened her palm against Seneca’s arms and traveled up to just under the sleeves of her T-shirt. When she came across a long, jagged, wide patch of scar tissue, she hesitated. She looked into Seneca’s expressionless face, her eyes shut tight against whatever emotions were boiling inside. Dylan slid her hands out from under the shirtsleeves, seeing how uncomfortable the exploration was making Seneca. She pulled Seneca into her arms and hugged her fiercely. Dylan heard a sob catch in Seneca’s throat, but when they pulled apart, her eyes were dry.
“Dylan, I, well, there are—”
“Hold on, not here,” Dylan said. She scooped up their ice cream and got them both moving toward the door. Seneca didn’t like crowds, and Dylan didn’t particularly want an audience right now either. This was between her and Seneca and no one else.
Once they were outside and sitting on the curb across the street, tucked away from streetlights and heavily trafficked areas, Dylan turned to Seneca, who hadn’t said a word.
“I want to know the memories that haunt you and I want to know what made those scars, but I don’t want to know because you feel like you have to tell me. If you want to tell me right now, then you should, but if you feel like you have to, because I happened to discover that you have scars, then wait. We’ll get there, okay? You’ll feel when the time is right. I don’t want to rush this.”
Almost subconsciously, Dylan’s hand started to move back toward Seneca’s shoulder, the one where the largest concentration of scar tissue was palpable. She stopped herself, but Seneca guided her hand the rest of the way. Dylan slowly lifted Seneca’s T-shirt sleeve to reveal a vicious five-inch long scar. Her heart caught as she realized the pain this injury must have caused, and she ran her lips tenderly over the puckered skin. No one deserved that much pain in her life, least of all a woman as wonderful as Seneca King.
“God. What did I do before you?” Seneca rested her hand on Dylan’s hip, her eyes closed.
“I don’t know, but I’m not sure what I did without you either,” Dylan answered sincerely. It felt like they had known each other forever.
“I totally said that out loud didn’t I?” Seneca said, rolling her eyes.
“Yep.” Dylan ran her fingers through Seneca’s hair before they got to work on their melting ice cream, allowing a moment for them to get their
bearings once more.
Dylan was amazed at how much things had changed between them. She never would have imagined getting the chance to touch Seneca as much as she had in the past few hours. Instead of pulling away, Seneca had seemed to enjoy, maybe even welcome, the interactions, and Dylan didn’t want to let her out of her sight or out of touching range. Now that she had felt Seneca’s skin, her hands burned with the memory and she wanted to continue her explorations.
“So,” Seneca said, looking at her hands, clearly a little embarrassed. “I don’t know that I can share everything tonight, certainly not here, but that part of me represents the landscape of my checkered past. It’s just one area, but it messes with me. Please don’t tell anyone else about this.”
“Seneca, you don’t really think I would, do you? Do the scars have something to do with why you don’t like to be touched? Why you left in the middle of our dance the night we met? Do they hurt?”
Seneca cocked her head and shook it slowly. “No, of course not. I know you wouldn’t tell anyone. I’m kinda embarrassed. I’m also afraid you’re going to think I’m too much of a lost cause to take a chance on. I think that sometimes, you know? The scars don’t hurt, but they do make me jumpy, as you’ve seen. That’s only the half of it. I didn’t want to date anyone because I’ve got issues, a whole mess of them, and I’m still not sure if I’m any good at it, but I’ve had a lot of fun tonight.”
Dylan took Seneca’s hand and intertwined their fingers once again. It still felt wonderful. “I don’t think you’re a lost cause, and if you’re willing to take a chance on another date with me, I’m willing too.”
Seneca looked relieved. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
Dylan raised her eyebrows at the change in subject but didn’t say anything. Instead, she shrugged and shoved a heaping spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. She tried to answer around the enormous bite, but everything came out muffled.
Finally swallowing, Dylan managed to answer coherently. “Probably head to the parents’. They always make enough food for a small army and invite over their friends to show off their home, their food, and their daughter.” Dylan indicated herself with a flourish and gave a mock bow. “What about you?”
Seneca Falls Page 9