Learning to Live Again

by Marie Kinneer

  Dottie sidled out from behind the cosmetics counter and walked to where the youngest Michelson brother stood reading the back of a Metamucil container. “You needin’ fiber, son?” she asked him.

  “Just lookin’ around, ma’am,” he said.

  “We just come by to visit our friend Peter here,” Billy, the older brother piped.

  Peter gave Dottie a look that said these boys were no friends of his and be wary, which was why she had left her customer and was accosting them. “Mr. Smith,” Dottie called in a loud voice, “Did you remember to call your wife?”

  “I’ll do it right now,” the old man replied. “Thanks, Dottie, for the reminder.” Peter breathed relief. That was the signal to push the alarm button under the computer terminal in the pharmacy. Beside the button, Smith kept a revolver which he put in the pocket of his trousers along with his hand. Eddie Polanski or a deputy would be at the store within minutes. In the meantime, Smith, behind a bullet proof glass sliding window, would keep his hand in his pocket unless he needed it, of course.

  The boys looked at one another, looked at the silent staff, and with obvious recognition of threat, turned in unison and left the store.

  “Those boys aren’t as stupid as they look,” Smith said with a humph and went back to his work seemingly unfrazzled.

  Dottie started chatting to the customer frozen in silence in front of cosmetics. “Well, Betty, have you decided on which brand to try? For the money, I think the Olay offers …”

  Peter stole a look at Mr. Smith who he found was eyeing him. Smith gave him a smile and a wink, then turned again to fill the bottle in his hand. Peter guessed that Smith’s nerves of steel had not been easily earned. Peter had heard stories of Smith’s whiskey running exploits in a younger life and didn’t doubt them at all.

  ******

  Call it déjà vu, a spiritual awakening, or a revelation—but in that very moment in time, aloft in his arms, their eyes locked, Margie knew this man was the one. There would be no other for her. This is a once in a lifetime, this is divine.

  Nestled in the cradle of his arms, she closed her eyes and buried her face in his neck. He smelled of wood smoke from the potbelly stove. She felt him ascend the steps and wondered if she had the right to pray that he would love her too.

  He laid her gently on the bed, shrugged off his coat and pulled his sweatshirt over his head. “You’re gorgeous,” she whispered breathless as he bared a strong chest of curly, golden fleece.

  “Don’t go all shy on me,” he said with a smile, “It’s your turn.” He nodded his head.

  “Your mom isn’t coming home any time soon?” Only her shoes and socks were off.

  “She’s at my aunt’s in Rutland. She’ll probably stay over night rather than drive in this weather.” He unlaced and removed his shoes, then unbuckled his belt. “She said she’d be late, though, and not to wait supper.” Zip “Hey, you have a lot of catching up to do.” He dropped his jeans to the floor and pounced on the bed beside her.

  “You want help?”

  Margie nodded and smiled. She felt her eyes well up and batted them hoping to keep tears from spilling while Sam concentrated on the buttons down her uniform. He looked up at her as he slid the top down over her shoulders. “Oh, baby, you’re not crying, are you?”

  She shook her head, smiled bravely, and pulled her arms up out of the dress.

  “We don’t have to do this, you know, you just tell me.”

  “Kiss me, Sam, like you did in the car.”

  Sam gathered her in his arms and brought her mouth to his with a gentle hand while he rolled onto his side bringing her with him. Margie wrapped her arms around his chest. The kiss grew from lips to tongues and breathlessness. Sam moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, “We can’t make love with your clothes on, darlin’, and I can’t take them off with you wrapped around me so tight.” Margie loosened her grip.

  They removed her clothes together with kisses and touches. Then Sam jerked up suddenly and hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I don’t have a condom. Jeez. Never needed the things. You can believe me, I had every test in the book while in the hospital and no sex since.”

  Margie put her hands on his broad shoulders and pulled him back to her. “We’re both safe. I haven’t had sex in fifteen years.”

  “Tell me you’re on the pill then.” He raised himself on an elbow and twirled his finger around a strand of her hair.

  “It’s the wrong time of month for me to get pregnant.”

  Sam chuckled while he nibbled her ear. “Didn’t know there was a wrong time, but I’m mighty thankful to hear it.”

  He gathered her in his arms and rolled on his back putting her on top of him. “Take me,” he whispered in her mouth.

  Margie lifted herself up on her knees and took him gently in her hand. She eased down slowly while looking into his eyes. He smiled at her and gently moved her hips back and forth. “Like that,” he mouthed the words.

  His gentleness, his giving her the lead, wiped away the fear that had lived with her for fifteen years. She would have loved him for that alone if she hadn’t been in love with him already. “I didn’t know it could be like this,” she whispered, her mouth at his ear.

  She felt him inside her, and, although the intimacy was titillating and caused her heart to pound with furious expectation, she was ill prepared for the ecstasy still to come.

  He nuzzled her neck then gently bit her ear lobe all the while gyrating his hips ever so slightly up and down. His mouth found hers again and while their tongues met and their breathing became labored moans, he turned her over on her back.

  “You are so tight, little girl, you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he groaned.

  Not knowing what he meant, she had no idea whether it was a good or a bad thing, but she suspected the latter. “I’m sorry, am I hurting you?” she asked raggedly.

  “Oh yeah,” he breathed, “and it feels so damn good.”

  They came together, in sweat and tears. They lay quiet, wrapped together in a package of contentment, until the sounds from their world started seeping back into the present. Sam rose up on an elbow and wiped her tear stained cheeks with his hand.

  “You’re pretty gorgeous yourself,” he said moving his eyes down the length of her body. “I never guessed what you had hidden under that uniform and apron. When we went out the other night, that blue knit dress about knocked my eyes out.” He buried his face between her breasts and murmured, “But, baby, look at you now. Wow.”

  ******

  The snow was falling in sheets at six when Smith decided to close the store. The phone rang as the three were heading for the door. Smith answered. He talked a minute told Peter to hold up and went back to the pharmacy. He locked the door to the pharmacy and walked to Peter carrying a brown paper bag. “Mavis Piccolo’s drugs. Take them to Joe at school tomorrow morning. Make sure he locks them in his locker. He says his dad will pick them up there. They can’t get here in this storm and besides I’m closing.”

  Peter was about to voice a “but,” but decided against it. Joe Piccolo was up to something. Mavis Piccolo had left for her sister’s place in Oregon two days ago. Peter knew because he found Angela Piccolo crying in the school yard this morning. After making him promise to keep a secret she told him her mother was gone.

  “Better call your mom.” Smith told Peter. “Brownie’s picking us up at the back door. It’s safer that way because there aren’t any stairs to the alley.

  ******

  Margie stroked the pale blonde head and wished she could freeze this moment in time, because this was heaven. And she knew it couldn’t last. Prickling responsibility had already begun to invade her conscience—she must call the drug store to see if Peter had dressed for the weather that morning and if he had a ride home. As she was dreading having to break the spell of the moment, the phone rang.

  “It’s Mom, I bet, calling to say she’s staying the night at Aunt Lily’s.”

 
; Sam bounded down the stairs, his briefs in his hand, swearing about the foolishness of not having an extension upstairs. “Hey,” he said into the receiver, breathless.

  “Mr. Gear, I guess you noticed it’s snowing outside. You suppose we’re going to get enough to go snowmobiling? How much snow we going to need anyway?”

  “Peter.”

  “Yeah, it’s me. I didn’t call at a bad time, did I? I mean if you’re eating supper or something, I can call back.”

  “How are you getting home in this?” Sam looked out the kitchen window. It was mighty dark out there for six o’clock. He turned on the floodlight, stretching the phone cord across the length of the kitchen. “It looks like a blizzard out there.”

  “Brownie’s taking me and Smith home when he finishes plowing Main Street. In about an hour, he said. The diner’s closing early too, he said. I called there but Mom’s already gone home. They told me she went home sick, but she doesn’t answer the phone. Hey, you haven’t seen her, have you?”

  “As a matter of fact, she stopped by here on her way home. Hold on, I’m sure she wants to talk to you.”

  Margie had hastily put her clothes on and followed Sam down the stairs. Sam put his hand over the receiver and told her what Peter said. She grabbed the phone, took a deep breath, and spoke, “Peter, I was just going to call up there.” Sam motioned to her to look out the window. “It really looks bad outside. I’m glad Brownie is bringing you home. Do you suppose he’d mind picking me up here on his way up the hill?”

  The phone rang as soon as Margie hung up. Allison was spending the night at Aunt Lilly’s, so who was on the phone? “Peter wants to know if there’s enough snow to go snowmobiling yet,” Sam told her, chuckling.

  ******

  Silence invaded and stood a sentinel watching and listening. Sam looked down at his briefs and then at Margie fully dressed. “I’m cold,” he said barely above a whisper, “You suppose we have time to warm me up before they get here?”

  Margie’s insides quivered with desire, but responsibility wouldn’t let go. She smiled and shook her head. “I’ll take a rain check, though.”

  “You want to come upstairs while I get dressed?” he asked with the devil peeking through his eyes and an erection growing in his underwear.

  Margie turned her back to him, shook her head again and laughed. “Your body is telling me what you’re thinking.”

  A half hour later the phone rang. “Brownie can’t make it up the hill, Mom. Says it’s just too dangerous. You’ll have to camp out with the Gears tonight. I’ll stay at his place.”

  Sam held the receiver out from Margie’s ear so he could listen. A smile grew across his face from ear to ear.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sleepy,” Sam said as he hung up the phone, “I know, let’s go to bed early.” He rested his hands on Margie’s shoulders, pressed his forehead against hers, and stared into her eyes, still smiling.

  “Sam, we haven’t even had supper. Aren’t you hungry? Never mind.” She started for the refrigerator. “Any leftovers in here we could heat up?”

  Sam joined her at the fridge, draped his arm across her shoulder, and pressed his face cheek to cheek with her. “We could go upstairs, work up an appetite, then come down and have a late night snack.”

  She wasn’t sure why she felt she had to resist when her body was crying out to give in to him. Respectability, or playing hard to get? Somehow she felt the need to get her bearings, to decipher what she had allowed to happen. And did men respect women who were too easy? There was that double standard no amount of women’s lib erased, wasn’t there? On the other hand, she didn’t want him to consider her reluctance as a sign of immaturity. She wanted to believe that if the two of them were meant to be, she had only to be herself, but she wasn’t sure who herself was. Her adult life had been spent trying to be a good mother to Peter and keeping a roof over their heads.

  “Let me try another tack.” Sam closed the refrigerator door and gently turned her around to look at him. “We’re wasting a golden opportunity here. We may never find ourselves in quite this unique set of circumstances again. I mean, we can eat anytime, anywhere. But how often, do you suppose, we can manage to be completely alone, in a house, with a bed and a shower, and no one the wiser. Hmmmm?” Sam wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. “Can’t we start with dessert?”

  He sounded so serious that Margie had to laugh even as she pushed his face away and twisted out of his embrace. “Dance with me,” she said and all but ran to the living room.

  “Do what?” He shook his head and followed.

  She stood in the middle of the room—waiting—for what she wasn’t sure.

  “Do you suppose we need music, or are you singing?” he asked as he approached in his cut off sweat pants and tee shirt.

  “Don’t you have a stereo or something? A radio’s okay. You do dance, don’t you?” She made the question a challenge and stood with her hands on her hips. The twinkle in his eyes made her warm in spite of the chill in the room. Such a powerfully built man, she thought, watching his muscular legs flex with each step. And yet, so gentle.

  “I won’t win a talent contest, but I can manage a two step and stay off the lady’s toes at the same time. Usually.”

  He padded on bare feet across the hardwood floor to the cherry wood entertainment center nestled in a corner. He had to unload a few plants: two purple flowered African violets, a crown of thorns, and a wandering Jew, so he could open the lid to the box that housed the turntable. He checked to see that the vintage ring still spun and the arm held a needle. “A little dusty, but working. Mom’s got some LP’s down there,” he said pointing to a row of cardboard jackets on a shelf behind glass sliding doors.

  Margie flipped through the music of a different era and pulled out a familiar face remembered from the oldie-but-goodie movie channel. A very young Doris Day greeted her with a girl-next-door smile from an album named “Sentimental Journey.” She handed up the LP. “How about this?”

  “One of my mom’s favorite albums. It has “Again,” my mom and dad’s song. It’s been a long time since I’ve listened to this.”

  “Sentimental Journey” brought a smile to Sam’s face and a sway to his hips. With an outstretched arm he grabbed onto Margie’s hand and pulled her to him into a slow, swing dance step. Raising his arm, obviously expecting her to twirl in step with the rule of the dance, his face registered surprise when she lost her balance and fell into him.

  “My grandmother taught me to waltz. That’s all I know,” she said, her eyes holding his in brown, doe-like innocence.

  “But you dance like … like you know what you’re doing. Like you were born to it.”

  “Thanks. But I have no idea what I’m doing. I just dance what I feel.” She let go of his hand and performed a pirouette on the tiptoes of a bare foot.

  Sam swallowed, visibly moved by her display of effortless grace. “You’re wonderful at that, you know. I think you’ve missed your calling, little girl.” His hands circled her small waist and pulled her into an embrace.

  “Teach me?” she asked as she pushed away and placed her hands in his.

  “I’m not sure I can do it if I have to think about it.” Sam said with a knitted brow. “Swing is kind of a shuffle-your-feet, two-step and twirl. At least, that’s what it is when I do it.” He let go of her hands, shuffled and twirled in time with the music, and shrugged his shoulders. “Something like that. It gets me by, but I have to warn you, I polka and waltz pretty much the same way. Just change the tempo.” He held out his hands. “Wanna’ try?”

  They padded around the hard wood floor, swinging and shuffling to “My Dreams Are Getting Better All The Time”, “Love Somebody” and “Shanghai,” but “It’s Magic” and “Again” had them wrapped in each other’s arms charmed by the words, the music and each other. Margie let go of her resolve and her heart.

  ******

  She woke up dreaming, kept her eyes cl
osed tight and tried to recapture the fading picture. Wrapped tight in an embrace, for real she realized, and sighed remembering last night. He was behind her, her back against his torso. She could feel his breathing in the up and down of his chest and his breath on her neck. A light snore filled her ear with the sound of him. How could this so unnatural state of being feel so absolutely right. Not new, but like it has always been here. Where have you been hiding, Sam, and why have you taken so long to find me?

  She looked at the large hand at rest on the sheet in front of her, and put to memory the shape of the nails, the wide half moons, the swirl of fingerprints. His breathing changed. He moaned, a soft, low sound.

  “Mmmmm, I could get used to this,” Sam whispered and nuzzled her ear.

  “Me too,” Margie agreed in a voice too low to hear.

  Enveloped in the circle of his body, she was at once cocooned in his protectiveness, shielded from a world of hard work, hard decisions, and loneliness. She understood, suddenly, the joy of sharing responsibility for life. She loved this man, this Sam, and she knew she must share with him the new feelings exploding within.

  “I love you …” she began.

  Sam turned her body around to face him in one quick move, and put a finger to her lips stopping her speech. “No you don’t. I’m not your Prince Charming, little one. For one thing, I’m too old for you. For another, I have a bad ticker. This was supposed to be a ‘getting each other out of our systems’ thing. Nothing serious. He stared as if the intensity of his eye contact would force her to agree.