Sealed With a Kiss

by Gwynne Forster

  “There ought to be a law against suppressing compliments.”

  “Well, there isn’t,” she giggled. “Let’s count to ten and hang up.”

  Rufus laughed. “The last time I did anything like that, I was in junior high. See you tomorrow night. One…”

  Rufus left his desk, walked to the window, and looked out at the bare trees. There was something calming about winter scenes; nature was at rest, but you knew that new life would soon emerge. Would it happen to him? When Naomi had telephoned him, rather than talk with her then, he had elected to call her back, giving himself time to get his emotions under control. The sound of her voice had sent his heart racing. Bringing the material to her was a ploy; he could have told her what she needed to know by phone. But he had held his breath while he waited for her answer.

  He spent the better part of the next day prowling through his house, eager for the night when he would see Naomi. Around three o’clock, exasperated with himself, he packed the boys in the minivan and drove to Louella’s. Lou let them in the tradesman’s entrance at the back. He sat on a high stool and helped her clean string beans for the dinner crowd, while the boys watched Sesame Street.

  “What’s wrong, hon? Why aren’t you working?” He should have known that she wouldn’t let him escape her motherly interrogation, but he felt too raw for a discussion of his feelings.

  “I thought I’d bring my boys over to see you.”

  “Not in the middle of a workday. How’s Naomi?”

  He laughed. Trust her to cut to the chase. “You old fox. She’s fine, as far as I know, and she’s driving me crazy.” Louella sat down beside him and wiped her hands on her checkered apron.

  “If it doesn’t come easy, hon, just let it go.”

  He pulled at his chin and looked into the distance. “I can’t.

  Louella draped an arm loosely around his broad shoulders. “But from what you told me, she’s everything you don’t want. So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem, Lou, is that she is also everything I do want. Everything.”

  Louella sucked in her breath, got up and padded over to the sink. “Then you’ll just have to decide whether you’ll be more miserable with her or without her.” He stood and began putting on the boys’ coats.

  “I don’t have to decide. I know.”

  The camaraderie that Naomi and Rufus had shared by phone the previous evening didn’t seem to ease their discomfort when Naomi opened the door. It was like the first time. Excitement coursed through her when she looked at him. They stood there, caught up in unwelcome longing. The clock that had belonged to her mother chimed nine times; by the ninth, his face had formed what she recognized as a forced smile.

  “Usually, when someone opens a door to me, I’m told to come in, and that’s what I do. But every time I come here, I wonder if you’re going to let me in.” He walked in without waiting longer for an invitation, raised his free hand as if to caress her cheek, but quickly withdrew it.

  “Have a seat.” She put her trembling hands behind her. Why had she agreed to this meeting when she knew that being alone with him in her home might be a disastrous move? He remained standing, looking at her intently, the only sound the ticking of the clock.

  “Please, sit,” she repeated. His response was a half smile. “After you.” He gave her the folders, explained the registration procedure and how to get the best rooms, told her of the more interesting committee appointments, and cautioned her about the political maneuvering.

  After thirty minutes, he rose to leave, tired of the strain that being with her imposed on him. She had been careful not to dress provocatively, but his desire wouldn’t have been less feverish if she’d been wearing sackcloth. He didn’t have to see her in sexy clothes to desire her; he just did.

  “I’d better be going.” She didn’t respond, but her look of disappointment told him that she didn’t want him to leave. He looked at her mass of thick, curly hair hanging around her shoulders, and the way her navy slacks and mauve-pink sweater outlined her tall, slim body and shook his head.

  “Why couldn’t you be somebody else?” He hadn’t meant to say it, but she’d spoken simultaneously and hadn’t understood.

  “I wish you’d brought the boys; I’d love to see them. They’re really special.” She was trying to prolong his stay, and both of them knew it.

  Rufus wondered how much truth there was in her statement. If only he could… “They ask about you,” he heard himself say, though he hadn’t planned to tell her. “It’s odd, because they hardly ever ask about Jewel, and they know her so much better.” He shook his head slowly. “I can’t believe they’ll be four on Thursday.” He leaned against the wall, and his voice became softer, deeper, almost musical. “They want me to keep their birthday until Christmas and let Santa Claus bring it.”

  Naomi laughed that joyous liquid laugh that always made his spine tingle. “I’ll bet that was Preston’s idea.”

  He creased his forehead, wondering how she knew. “Yes, it was. I’m surprised at how well you understand their personalities and the interplay between them. My brother-in-law has such a problem with their identities that it’s their greatest pleasure to play tricks on him. Jewel’s the one who tells them about Santa Claus.” He straightened up, began to pace, and stopped right in front of her.

  “Don’t you?” she asked in a shaky voice, betraying to him her struggle not to lose her composure. She clasped her arms where they joined her shoulders and looked at him through half lowered lashes, but he reined in the desire that threatened to erupt. His gaze remained steady, probing, but he answered her as if there was no tension between them. As if he hadn’t jammed his hands into his pockets to keep them off her.

  “I don’t lie to my boys. Not ever. When they ask, I tell them, ‘that’s what people say.’” He hesitated. “Well, I’ve got to be going.” But he didn’t move. He stood still right in front of her, a breath away, looking deeply into her wide, revealing eyes. He knew she was in a turmoil that matched his own. Her eyes adored him, and he stared at her in wonder, mesmerized. Was she as soft and as sweet as she sometimes seemed? Like right now?

  “Naomi, I…Naomi!”

  “Rufus!” She was in his arms, sobbing his name. And she wilted when his lips found hers in a kiss that was almost feral in its consuming power. Drugging. Humbling. When he finally eased his lips from hers and looked into her dazed eyes, he knew there was a decision to be made, and made soon. Where were they going?

  “We can’t be platonic friends, Naomi. It isn’t possible.”

  “I know.”

  “So I guess I’ll see you in New Orleans.” He still held her to him.

  “Who’ll keep the children? Jewel?” He detected a hopefulness in her voice and wondered at it. Did she think he’d leave his boys with a casual friend? He smiled inwardly. Or did she think him a philanderer? He grazed her cheek softly with the knuckle of his right hand.

  “Yes. I know she’ll take good care of them.”

  Her pensive manner didn’t fit with her soft sexiness of moments earlier, and her next words told him why. “Do you mind if I see them for a few minutes Thanksgiving Day, since it’s their birthday?”

  Rufus released her, shrugging first his left shoulder and then his right, uncertain as to how he should respond. A glance at her face told him that a negative reply would crush her. “Of course. Just call first; we might be over at Jewel’s house.”

  Jewel Meade Lewis answered Rufus’s phone. “Happy Thanksgiving. Who’s calling?”

  A chill went through Naomi. He had told her that she was the only woman he was kissing, but maybe he’d been joking. If not, then maybe he had lied, though that seemed out of character. Well, what did she care? She didn’t doubt that Rufus wanted her, and wanted her badly. Let this woman, whoever she was, do the worrying. Nobody intimi
dated Judd Logan’s granddaughter.

  “This is Naomi Logan. I want to speak with Mr. Meade, please.” She made her voice sweet and seductive, almost a purr.

  “Naomi! How nice to speak with you. I’ve been wanting to meet you. The twins talk about you constantly, but my brother is too tight lipped to satisfy my curiosity. Come on over. We’ll wait for you, then we’re going over to my place. How long will it take you?”

  A steamroller—that’s what she was, Naomi thought. But she felt too relieved to resent it and agreed to get over to Rufus’s house in twenty minutes.

  Rufus opened the door, and the twins were right behind him. He looked at the two huge, gaily wrapped boxes and the single small one before glancing inquiringly at Naomi.

  “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt them.” The boys greeted her warmly, and she discovered a kindred soul in Jewel. Her gifts of giant pandas and a video game featuring them enchanted Preston and Sheldon.

  “Come and have dinner with us, Naomi. Can you stay?” His eyes beseeched her.

  “I’d love to,” she replied, attempting to hide the eagerness in her voice, “but it depends on what my grandpa is doing.” A call revealed that Judd was being fêted by the sisters of his church and had wanted her to join them. But when he learned that she would be with Rufus, he seemed happy to excuse her. She wondered whether his eagerness to pawn her off on a man hadn’t helped to cement her vow to remain unattached. His domineering behavior could also have been a factor. If Judd had been different—less obstinate, more loving and tender—would she be more willing to risk loving a man, to believe that a man’s love for her could be so powerful that he would trust her with his happiness? That he would overlook her liabilities?

  Naomi wouldn’t soon forget her dinner with the Lewises and the Meades. She liked Rufus’s sister. Jewel took her in hand immediately and effortlessly made her feel like a family member, as if she belonged. She looked around at the large Duncan Phyfe table laden with food, the country curtains, and the homey touches that gave the room its lived-in character. She noticed that although the table was formally set, neither Jewel, Jeff, nor Jeff’s parents had bothered to dress. Rufus, too, wore casual attire. The twins and their two cousins, aged six and four, each said a line of grace. The dinner was a traditional one of corn chowder, roast turkey, baked ham, stewed turnip greens, candied sweet potatoes, boiled tiny white onions, a dish of raw vegetables, buttermilk biscuits, and pumpkin pie.

  She entered eagerly into the camaraderie that flowed among them during the meal. Many different levels and kinds of love flowered in the small group, and the knowledge of it thrilled her. The children talked among themselves, the adults to each other, and above it all, a state-of-the-art sound system reproduced the voices of Marian Anderson and Paul Robeson singing spirituals, folk tunes, and operatic songs while at the peak of their vocal powers. Judd had always preached that you weren’t supposed to talk while eating; a mistake she concluded.

  Exclaiming that the meal was an example of the best in Southern cooking, Naomi asked Jewel, “Were you born in the South?”

  “No. We were born here, in the District. Our mother was born in North Carolina and our father was from Virginia. But Mom wasn’t much of a cook, Southern or otherwise.” Naomi detected a preference for another topic in Rufus’s change of expression. Jewel must have noticed it.

  “Come on, big bro,” she chided, “don’t be a stick in the mud.”

  “What’s a stick in the mud?” Preston asked.

  “It’s a real sweet man who gets his wires crossed,” Naomi answered, without giving the matter much thought.

  Jeff, Jewel’s husband hooted. “Looks to me like things have evened out. There’s another sharp-edged tongue at this table today.” The bantering continued through desert, and Rufus gradually rejoined the fun, but Naomi knew that her question had cast a temporary pall over the gathering: Rufus had seemed pained by the reference to his mother.

  Rufus left his children with Jewel while he drove Naomi back to his house to get her car. She was nervous and a little anxious about being alone with him; each time they were together, her attraction to him became stronger, less manageable. And she was weakening in her ability to focus on his certain reaction to the factors in her past that he would never accept. But I like being with him.

  At the expense of displeasing him, she risked mentioning his mother. “I’m sorry about your mother, Rufus. And I’m sorry for some of the things I said in those notes I wrote to you before we met. I…Rufus, what happened to your mother?”

  That she’d brought it up, knowing how he would react, sent a strong message to him: her action wasn’t motivated by curiosity. He looked straight ahead into the clear, starlit night, his mood deeply pensive. For a long while, he said nothing. But Naomi didn’t fidget or appear anxious. She simply waited, and her calm soothed him. Comforted him. A woman with enough patience to let a man weigh his words carefully before he uttered them was to be prized, he marveled, and wondered how she had developed it.

  He told himself not to resent her question, that she had spoken to him of his mother because she felt something for him and needed to know him. He pushed aside a rising annoyance; Naomi was asking of him what she refused to give.

  “Naomi, my mother was in a two-engine jet prop plane between Kumasi and Accra in Ghana, and it crashed.” He closed his eyes and his lips tightened. How could the pain be so severe after sixteen years?

  “At first, I got angry with her for risking her life to get some ridiculous chocolate recipes for a book on cocoa. And then I cried. I still can’t forget how I missed her when I was little, because she had to work to take care of our invalid father, Jewel, and me. And I missed her when I got my degree, when I was named Super Bowl MVP, when my children were born, and when my marriage broke up. I wanted Mama to share my glory, and when Etta Mae left, I needed Mama to help me understand why I didn’t hurt, why I couldn’t make myself care.”

  He glanced down at the woman beside him. “Well, you wanted to know. I won’t apologize for spilling it; once I started, I couldn’t stop.”

  Naomi moved closer to him and settled for a hand on his right arm. He let her console him that way, though she said nothing, and he was glad; words were not what he needed.

  After a while, he continued. “My memories of my father prior to his accident aren’t very clear. I do know that he became an invalid shortly before Jewel was born. I was seven then. Mama once said that when Papa was healthy, he was a man among men and that she would love him forever. As an adult, I understand why she was away so much, but as a child, it hurt and I resented it.”

  Naomi squeezed his hand and spoke softly. “Jewel seems to have come to terms with this.”

  It amazed him that Naomi could get such a keen understanding of people after having been around them only briefly. His sons. His sister. He wondered if she understood him, too. “You’re very perceptive.” He looked to his left, as a speed demon drove by. “None of this affected her as it did me, mostly because Jewel had me from birth. And I told myself when she was born that I would take care of her, protect her from loneliness. And I have. Still, Jewel makes certain that she doesn’t duplicate Mama’s life; she has an old-fashioned profession and old-fashioned attitudes about home. Even her house is old-fashioned. It’s Jeff who’s modern. He shares the housework and child care with her. They’re happy because they’re a team. They think of each other and of their children before they consider themselves. Jewel is a devoted wife and mother, and last year she received the PTA’s annual award as outstanding teacher. I’m proud of her.” Naomi moved closer to him so that their bodies touched and, deeply affected, he accepted the gesture for what it was.

  “Jewel is very likeable.” While he drove through the night, she searched his facial expression as though trying to gauge his mood.

  He shrugged. “Most people think so. She als
o likes to try to run my life, even though I’m seven years her senior.”

  “You shouldn’t begrudge her the effort; I’m sure she just tries out of habit.”

  “What does that mean?” He wasn’t certain of the implication.

  “I’m trying to think of the kind of person who could tell you what to do, and when and how to do it.” She explained. “Nobody comes to mind, except perhaps your football coach, and I’ll bet you gave him a hard time. Nope. I don’t think anybody could run your life; you wouldn’t stand for it, and Jewel knows it.”

  He relaxed his bruising grip on the steering wheel, relieved that she hadn’t reacted with one of witticisms. Why had it been so important to him that her comment not be flippant?

  “I’m not so difficult, Naomi, and I don’t think I’m overly sensitive. But I’ve had some experiences that I don’t intend to have again. And I’m going to do everything within my power to see that my boys are spared what I went through. I used to sit up until all hours and wait for Etta Mae to come home. I would have met her after work, but she never knew what time the crew would finish the shoot. If she got a coveted assignment, she was happy only until she heard that another model had gotten a better one. It was an obsession; nothing else and no one else mattered. In the end, it destroyed our marriage.” He eased up on the accelerator and took the car slowly up Hillandale Road on a meander through Little Falls Park and the beautiful surrounding neighborhood.

  She wanted to get still closer to him. It was the first time he’d spoken to her that way, and she felt a new kinship with him. Finally, unable to resist, she pressed herself against him, and, as if warmed by her gentle caring, he turned into Wellington Drive and stopped the car.

  “Why are you stopping?” She knew that if she commented on his disturbing revelations, he would withdraw and the mood would be destroyed.