In His Arms

by Yasmin Sullivan

“But you don’t follow sports.”

  Michelle shook her head as they were getting into the car.

  “I’m an advertising student, and I want to be able to do original artwork for my advertising. We have to have a portfolio before we graduate, so now’s the time to learn. What about you? Why are you in the class?”

  “I finished a few years ago, and I work as a graphic designer for a web design firm in downtown D.C.”

  “Really?” Michelle said. “That sounds impressive. Congratulations.”

  Rashad took his eyes off the road for a couple seconds and glanced over to see if she was serious. She seemed sincere, and that felt good.

  “It’s not that impressive, but thank you. Anyway, I like being able to do my own thing rather than cutting and pasting all the time. I figure the more I know about drawing and the better I am at it, the more I can do and the better my work will be. My goal is to do more computer-based drawing, but you have to start with the fundamentals.”

  “They have all of that at the Corcoran College of Art and Design. I wanted to take Digital Design I, but their prices are incredible, even to audit.”

  The excitement in Michelle’s voice seemed to light up the car with energy. Rashad liked that.

  “I checked there, too,” Rashad said. “It’s only more expensive because they offer regular college courses at regular college prices. The Art League offers some range, as well. We’ll have to see what’s listed for next semester. Why aren’t you taking this at Howard? It could be part of your regular tuition.”

  Michelle sighed heavily. “I wish I could. I might be able to take a class or two later on, but now I can’t. I just started back at school, and they only took some of my credits. So to get out in the time I want, I have a full part-time load. I’ll see as I go on.”

  “Hey, do you know where we are?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Both of them laughed again.

  “I might have to meet you before our next class so you can follow me in.”

  Michelle held her hand up. “No need. I have a zillion D.C. area street maps. I can’t thank you enough for the ride home. Not everyone would have offered.”

  “It’s no problem, really. I’m not that far from you, and it’s my pleasure.”

  “Still, thank you.”

  Rashad heard the earnestness in Michelle’s voice and acquiesced.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Then he had a thought. “If you ever need a ride again, or if you ever want to carpool and save on gas, let me know.” It would be great to ride with her on a regular basis, get to know her better. He had to stop and remind himself that she was married.

  “Okay, I will. But for now, I just want my car back. I’m lost without it, and I didn’t want to miss our first class, so I’m learning even more about the Metro.”

  “And you already know that pretty well.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I take it you haven’t been in D.C. long. Did you come for school? How long have you been here?”

  “You know,” she said, “you don’t have to make small talk. I’d appreciate the ride home regardless.”

  “I want to know. You seem very nice, and it’s good to know someone in our class—just in case I need to get a homework assignment or something.”

  That wasn’t all that Rashad was thinking, but it was all that he could say without the risk of offending her. He couldn’t let on that he was taken with her smile and her laughter and... What was he doing? The woman was married.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her peering at him, trying to determine whether he was actually interested or just chatting.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “I’ve been in the D.C. area for two years.”

  The laughter started low in Rashad’s throat and bubbled up to the surface, getting louder along the way until it finally broke free.

  She gave his shoulder a light swat, but she was laughing, as well.

  “I’m sorry. Two years, and you only know the Metro?”

  “Well, I didn’t have a car the whole time. And I have work and—”

  “You mean you haven’t gotten out very much.”

  “Okay, no. I haven’t.”

  Rashad wanted to say that he would make sure she got out more, but he didn’t know how to say that without implying what he really meant—that he wanted to take her out. He shook his head, pondering it.

  “Street maps, I told you. I have street maps.”

  Both chuckled again.

  “And I do know where we are now.”

  “That’s because we’re in Greenbelt now—we’re almost at your door.”

  “Well, yes.”

  She smiled, and he loved her smile.

  “What’s your address?”

  When she said the number and street, Rashad realized that they really were almost at her door. He got a rather let-down feeling. Strange.

  He drove through the maze of buildings in the apartment complex until he found hers; then he pulled up to the walk to let her out.

  “Again,” Michelle said, “I can’t thank you enough. Really.”

  “De nada. I’ll see you in class next week—homework in hand.”

  “Yes, you will. It was nice meeting you, and I’m glad to know someone else in the class. Let me grab my portfolio from the backseat so I can go get to my son.”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  He shouldn’t have said that; he should have simply said goodbye. But somehow this woman made him think of just that—sweet dreams. Now he had to figure out why.

  “Good night,” she said.

  On the way home, Rashad was aware of the quiet in the car, the absence of the energy that Michelle had brought to it. He pulled into his garage, turned off the engine and followed the walkway to his front door, still wondering what kind of spell had come over him.

  He picked up his mail from behind the mail slot in the door and turned on the living room light. He looked around the room with new eyes and saw that he would be pleased to have her in it. His Ralph Lauren leather living room set had a high shine, and the Amish wood pieces matched it perfectly. Nothing in the room was frilly or feminine, but that was to be expected.

  Unfortunately, nothing in the room was child-friendly, either. For the first time, he noticed the beveled edges of the glass coffee table, the sharp corners of the end tables and the points protruding from the wrought iron magazine rack. Ouch. There were also breakable things everywhere—the sculpture on one of the end tables, the glass he’d left on the coffee table that morning, the picture frames on the other end table.

  But how old was Michelle’s son? She barely seemed old enough to be married with a child, so he couldn’t be that old.

  Rashad whistled, and Shaka Zulu, his Yorkshire terrier, came bounding in from the kitchen.

  “Hey, fella. Were you eating this late? Why didn’t you come when I got home? You mad at me for being out so late?” He scratched the dog under the chin. “You’re a child-friendly little one, aren’t you? Okay, I’m talking to the dog now.” What was it about that woman?

  Actually, she seemed about his age, mid-twenties. Maybe early twenties. According to his brothers, that was more than old enough to be married with responsibilities, but Rashad put his brothers and their ribbing out of his mind.

  Shaka followed him upstairs to his bedroom, where Rashad began changing from the long day. He loved that art class, but Wednesdays would be hell from here on—at least for eight more weeks. It also meant that he couldn’t stay at work late on hump day anymore.

  Actually, he’d be glad to start leaving work on time if he could show Michelle some of the city. And there she was again—on his mind.

  Rashad had dated during and after college, but not seriously. He was
used to meeting women, going out, having a good time. He wasn’t used to liking a woman so much immediately, especially one who was off the market anyway.

  And this one wasn’t really his type. It stumped him. But maybe that meant they were destined to be friends. He could live with that—or so he thought. But as he climbed into bed, he thought of Michelle’s ample curves and sighed.

  Chapter 3

  Michelle pulled her satchel from under her chair and starting dropping in her supplies.

  “I’m glad to see that you made it here all right,” Rashad said from the seat next to her.

  “Yes, I did. Thank you very much. Hey,” Michelle said to Rashad. They were both packing up after their second class at the Art League.

  “Yep?”

  “Is it okay if we exchange numbers? Only in case we ever have to miss a class or need a ride or something like that. I wouldn’t pester you.”

  “You could never pester me,” Rashad said. He wrote his numbers on Michelle’s page of notes. “That one’s my cell phone. This is my landline. Call me for anything. And this is my email. I check it all the time. Put yours here—if you’re sure it’s okay.” He held out his notes.

  “Yes, it’s fine. I trust you not to go crazy with my number, but if I catch you putting it on a restroom wall, we’ll fight.”

  He chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  Rashad turned back to his portfolio and opened to a page. “Look at this. With all the design classes I’ve taken, I’ve never learned this trick.”

  Michelle looked at the abstract of an apple running.

  “That’s wonderful. You’re already an artist.”

  “Not yet, love. Let’s just say I’m working in my field. Let’s see one of yours.”

  Michelle was hesitant but opened her portfolio to one of their assignments. It was a cubist form of a female nude against a brick wall.

  “Wow. You’re already an artist, too.”

  “Not yet, but I’m trying. I think this one will look good with color. I’m going to paint it over the weekend and see if I can link it to a women’s organization or something. Maybe they’ll want it, and that way I might be able to put it in my portfolio.”

  “I’m sure they will want it. It’s beautiful, and I can already see it with color.”

  “I want to use various shades on the body—like a representation of multicultural women uniting or something like that. And— Never mind. I’m just yammering on.”

  “No, don’t stop. I like it when you’re excited about something,” Rashad said. “I want to hear more, but everyone’s leaving. Hey, do you have half an hour? We can stow supplies in my car and walk along the waterfront so that we can talk a little more. If not, I understand. Your son’s waiting.”

  “No, I can stay for a while. Let me just check on the little one and update them that I’ll be running late. I’ll be back here in two minutes.”

  Michelle headed to the restroom to make her phone call and found that she was as excited about the prospect of walking along the waterfront with Rashad as she was about finishing her piece and, she hoped, getting it accepted somewhere.

  “Hey, honey. It’s Mommy....I know. I’ll be on my way soon....You let Mrs. Miller put you to sleep now, and I’ll carry you home when I get there. And brush your teeth well, young man....Let me talk to Mrs. Miller.”

  Mrs. Miller was fine keeping Andre for an extra half hour, so the night was set. Michelle found herself checking her hair in the mirror and applying more lipstick. Yes, she was excited about being out somewhere—and out with him. But that wouldn’t do, would it? He hadn’t actually shown any interest, at least not that kind of interest. She took a breath and went back to the classroom to collect her things.

  “Do you know whether we have to turn in our portfolios at any point?” Rashad asked.

  “Yes, we do. Three times. That’s why we’re supposed to number the assignments.”

  “You’re right. I remember that now from last week. That didn’t make it into my notes. How’s the little one? Do you have time now, or do you need to get home?”

  Rashad’s voice dropped on the last question, as though he’d be disappointed if she had to leave. It was just a hint, but it made Michelle smile.

  “I have time,” she said, gathering her things. They started toward the elevators. “I bought an extra half hour, which is actually an extra hour, as I already gave myself half an hour of leeway—just in case.”

  “Excellent. My car is in the lot across the street again, and you can follow me to Greenbelt instead of using a street map, so you’ll get home quickly.”

  Rashad chuckled after he said it, and so did Michelle, but she also rapped his arm with the back of her hand.

  “No teasing the directionally challenged art student.”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. But I can lead you home.”

  “You don’t have to, but it would be nice of you. My car’s in this lot, too. I’m the used Ford Fiesta over there. I’ll be right back.”

  While Rashad went over to his Kompressor, a Mercedes-Benz, Michelle headed to her Fiesta. It reminded her of the differences between them. Their ages were close, but he was finished with school and obviously doing well. She had gotten off track and was just starting over. He was where she wanted to be. No, he was where she would be one day—her and her son.

  After storing their supplies, they recrossed the street and joined the groups sauntering along the Potomac. Michelle looked down at herself. She had on her usual bargain casual clothes—this time it was a green chiffon tank top with a green sweater, jeans and her usual flats. If she’d known they were going to hang out, she’d have dressed up a bit.

  It was late September and a bit cool, so Rashad had put on his blazer when he’d dropped things off at his car. His tie was probably still in the car, but even without it, she could tell from the cut of his suit that he wore good quality to work. His black wing tip dress shoes gleamed. Again—the differences between them.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Rashad stirred her from thoughts she didn’t want to express, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  She took a breath. “I was thinking that you’ve made it, and I haven’t as yet—as yet being the operative words. I wanted to be finished with school by now, to be in my career. I guess I’m a little jealous.”

  “Don’t be. You’ll get there soon. And you have something to show for your time that I don’t. A son, a family.”

  “That’s true. And that’s part of the reason I’m not finished as yet. But I’ll get there. I have to.”

  It was just after ten and had gotten dark. The lights from the promenade were reflected on the water, and boats moored along the harbor bobbed slightly in the flow of the Potomac. There were fewer families out now and more couples. Michelle and Rashad walked close together in the quiet that had sprung up between them.

  Rashad broke their silent interlude. “What were you saying before about the piece that you’re going to paint this weekend?”

  “I was thinking that I’d check with a few women’s shelters and places like that—Women’s Space, Agatha’s House, that kind of thing.”

  “I think it would fit perfectly. It will be in your real portfolio sooner than you know.”

  “Thank you for the confidence.”

  “Don’t forget I’ve seen it. Hey, I can help with the graphics if you need it.”

  “No.” Michelle chuckled. “I wouldn’t be able to add it to my portfolio then, could I?”

  “I see your point. Do you know how to import photographs and stuff like that?”

  “Enough to do a project, and I have some classmates to call when I need help with directions for things like that.”

  “Count me in, as well.”

  “Okay. Thank you.
”

  They had passed several boats anchored along the waterfront and had now gotten to the Chart House, which was still open, at least for the next twenty minutes, so they decided to get a seat on the upper terrace overlooking the Potomac and have virgin daiquiris, as both were driving.

  “How old is your son?”

  The thought of her son made Michelle smile. “Andre is four. He’s my whole heart.”

  “Aw. But four? You seem too young to have a four-year-old son.”

  “I’ve just gone back to school, but I’m twenty-five.”

  “I thought women weren’t supposed to tell their ages and that men weren’t supposed to ask.”

  “I know, but I never understood why. How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-seven,” Rashad answered. “So this is your second time in school?”

  “Yes, I started, but then came Andre, and there was just too much going on in my life.”

  “Andre’s father?”

  Michelle felt herself tense up, but she forced her shoulders to relax.

  “I married right out of high school. Andre came a few years later.”

  “Wow. Right out of high school? I don’t think I was mature enough to even think about marriage then.”

  “Well, I might not have been, either, but I did. I was a little wild in my younger days.”

  “Were you? I couldn’t tell that from knowing you now.”

  “Hmm.” Michelle thought briefly about her marriage and the toll it had taken on her. Maybe she had lost a bit of her spark, but she had spent the past two years trying to get some of it back. “I was. I partied. I went for the bad boy. I did whatever my parents said not to do. But I don’t like to talk about the past. I want to focus on the future.”

  “And you guys have been in D.C. for two years?”

  “Don’t start with me now.”

  “I wasn’t starting. I was just asking.”

  “Yes, we’ve been here for two years. I manage a coffeehouse downtown—Dupont Circle. I started out as a regular employee just after I came here. It’s actually worked out. They let me do early morning and weekend hours, so that I can work full-time, go to school and be with my son in the evenings.”