by Susanne Beck
Carefully concealing the joy in my small victory, I turned to Ruby and gave what I hoped was a gracious nod—graciousness having been pretty much pounded out of me during my stay in prison to the point where I wasn’t even sure if I could act gracious, let alone look that way. "If you’re sure it won’t be too much trouble, Ruby, we’d be happy to accept your invitation."
"Good. Then it’s settled. Gather your things and follow me."
PART 2
THE INSIDE OF Ruby’s home was exactly as I’d remembered; warm, comforting, smelling of cedar and freshly burned wood. I sighed happily, my tension melting like the snow on my clothes as she led us over to the massive stone fireplace that dominated one wall of the living room.
Smells have always had the power to relax or invigorate me, even as a small child. I can remember, on cold winter mornings, going into the bathroom and uncapping a bottle of suntan oil, fingering the sand that still clung to the neck, and taking in the scent, my mind instantly transported back to a sunny day at the beach and swearing that if I could just listen hard enough, I’d be able to hear the crashing of the waves and the high-pitched screech of the seagulls as they wheeled over the sand, looking for a handout through beady brown eyes.
Just as a certain song might bring back memories of a sadly ended love affair, or the sight of the sunlight slanting through the trees a certain way might cause you to remember a wonderful day, the smell of Ruby’s home, with its merrily blazing fire, made me feel happy and young and free in a way nothing else ever could.
"Warm yourselves by the fire while I get you some dry clothes. You’ll fit nicely into one of my robes, Tyler. You," Ruby paused, looking at my tall companion, "I think I have one of Jack’s old robes stored away somewhere. Stay right here. I’ll be back in a flash."
As she strode away with that brisk walk that had always been hers, I looked over at Ice, who was warming her hands in the fire’s friendly heat and rubbing them briskly. "Sorry," I offered softly, not particularly sorry at all, but needing to say something to break the tension I felt between us.
She returned my look, her eyes shadowed with secrets, and shrugged. "’s alright." Then she turned her gaze back to the fire, seemingly absorbed in its flickering images.
Meaning, I could tell, that it wasn’t ‘alright’ at all. Meaning that I’d stepped over yet another invisible boundary that she put up to protect herself from the outside world. Meaning that as well as I thought I knew her, I came to find, yet again, that I didn’t really know her at all.
Oh, Corinne, I wish you were here right now. I sure could use some of your advice.
Though I missed the friends I’d made in the Bog, and thought of them often, there was no one I missed as much as Corinne, whose motherly affection, gentle flirtation, and sage, if sarcastic, advice had never failed to put me at ease, almost always giving me the answers I sought.
Corinne, however, was still safely ensconced in the Bog, and probably would be until the day she breathed her last. That thought twisted my guts inside me into a painful knot, the feeling at jarring odds with the warmth and security surrounding me.
Plus, there was still Ice to deal with.
That particular problem would have to wait, however, because the sounds of Ruby’s staccato footsteps resonated on the wood floors of the hallway, coming closer at a brisk pace.
Ruby Anderson did everything quickly. Reading. Eating. Talking. I remember spending wondrous rainy day hours watching her knit, the needles flying so fast that I swore I could see sparks when they struck together. Scarves fit for giants would flow, like multi-colored waterfalls, from those needles in what seemed to be a matter of seconds.
She was a wonder to behold.
She came into the room, smiling and bearing two plush robes. Handing one to each of us, she placed a hand on my shoulder. "You remember where the bathroom is, Tyler. Take Morgan with you and get out of those wet clothes. Bring them back with you and we’ll put them up on these quilt racks by the fire. I’ll go make us some coffee."
With that, she was gone, rapidly retreating into the kitchen as I stared after her dumbly. After a moment, I turned back to Ice. "C’mon. Let’s go get dry."
She followed after me without hesitation or complaint, and for that, I was profoundly relieved.
Ruby’s bathroom was a typical example of genus grandmotherus. Little soaps you didn’t dare use lest you ruin their cunningly crafted shapes, the tastefully disguised denture cup (and for this, I was grateful. My own grandmother used to store her dentures in the tissue box. Great for avoiding looking at someone’s teeth sitting in a Polydent bath. Bad if you had allergies.). Tiny little washcloths that matched tiny little hand towels that matched bath towels, rugs, toilet tank covers, and the shower curtain, all done up in that "Antique Rose" color that, it seems, only women over the age of sixty five are moved to buy.
I stripped down to my birthday suit in no time flat, and was briskly rubbing my cold-numbed body with a thick, fluffy—not to mention rose—bath towel when I noticed Ice uncharacteristically fumble with the buttons on her cotton shirt.
While I had had the relative luxury of a thick down jacket to protect me somewhat from the elements, Ice had made due with her denim jacket and little else. She was soaked to the skin, and while the vision of her standing so close to me, her shirt plastered against her magnificent body, caused my hormones to jump up and start clapping, the more rational and clinical part of my mind worried about the pneumonia my dark lover was sure to catch if she didn’t divest herself of her clothing immediately.
"Let me help you with that," I urged softly, dropping my towel and reaching for her shirt.
Scowling, she stepped back so quickly that she almost backed into the tub as she turned a shoulder away from me, not relinquishing the fumbling hold she had on her shirt. "I’ll take care of it."
As I may have told you before, one of the most unwelcome gifts my father ever gave me was his penchant for sarcasm. It was a lesson of his that I learned well, and often, and, as his was wont to do, it came out at the worst times imaginable.
Like now.
"Sure you’ll take care of it, Ice," I replied, my voice positively dripping with ridicule. "At the rate you’re going, it’ll be summer before you even get half of your buttons undone. Just let me help you, alright?"
Her teeth flashed, but it wasn’t a smile she was offering me. Or maybe it was. Just not the kind you associate with the happier emotions. "I said I’d handle it."
I blinked, then backed up a step in unconscious reaction.
Sometimes, with Ice, it’s so easy to forget exactly who I’m dealing with. Her absolute devotion, her utter tenderness with me causes me to sometimes overlook the dangerous, wild woman that lay beneath the trappings of civility she’d learned to pull on, like a coat, in order to survive in what we call society.
But then there are times, like this one, where it all comes back to me, with the rushing speed of a southbound freight, just who, and what, this woman I love with all my heart truly is.
A cold blooded killer.
A hot blooded lover.
An icy reserve.
A loving tenderness.
Ice is all of those things and so many more. A contradiction wrapped up in an enigma, as someone somewhere has been known to say.
I finally let out a long held breath and forced myself to meet her icy gaze, pushing my fear down deep where she couldn’t sense it. "I’m sorry I pushed you," I began softly. "I’m sorry I made this decision for both of us."
Frustrated by the lack of emotion in her eyes, I clenched my fists and slammed them down on my thighs. "Damnit, Ice! I’m cold, wet, tired and hungry. And I really wasn’t wanting to face the prospect of spending a cold, wet, tired and hungry night outside. Not when the answer to all of those problems was standing not three feet from me and being kind enough to offer up her home to us."
I sighed, still not able to break through the thick wall thrown up in my path. "Look. I know how much you ha
te charity. I also know that Ruby can be a bit of a martinet at times. But she’s a good woman with a good heart and I couldn’t see any reason to turn down what she was so generously offering."
Bending down, I gathered up my wet clothing, clutching it to my chest and wincing at the chill of the fabric against my naked skin. "I can understand how uncomfortable this makes you. If you really want to spend the night in our tent, then let’s go. I’ll think up some excuse to tell her."
My peace said, I spun from her and took a step toward the door, not even caring that I was still completely naked save for my clothes pressed up against the front of my body.
"Wait."
I stopped, but didn’t turn, knowing instinctively that whatever my partner had to say, she would be more comfortable expressing it without having to look at me directly.
"This ...really means a lot to you, doesn’t it."
The hesitation in her voice drew me back around and I took in the almost lost expression on her face, my heart breaking, just a little. "Yes. It does."
She closed her eyes for a long moment, and when they reopened, the stone wall was gone and in its place stood the woman I loved. "Alright, then. If it’s what you want, we’ll stay."
I nodded, unable to keep the smile from overspreading my face. "Thank you."
Saying nothing, she returned my nod. Her fingers had apparently warmed up enough during our small argument, because she removed her shirt without much trouble, her other clothes following quickly. Taking the towel I offered her, she dried her body thoroughly, then put on the old robe and belted it securely, hiding her wonderful body from my appreciative gaze once again.
Then, reaching out, she gently removed the wet clothes from my hand and replaced them with a thick, terrycloth robe, which I gratefully slid over my shoulders and belted closed. Then I simply stood there, arms loose at my sides, still unsure where we stood after all this.
As if reading my mind, she reached out and clasped my right hand, squeezing it tightly and bestowing upon me the tiniest hint of a smile. "G’wan now. Let’s get you warmed up, hmm?"
Tugging, I brought Ice’s hand up to my lips, a smile in my eyes. "I love you too, Ice."
Maybe we were ok, after all.
* * *
I rolled in the bed once again, kicking at the covers which wound themselves around my legs like some earthbound octopus, and punched the pillow lying complacently beneath my head. The sigh that gusted from my lungs would have been nominated for an Academy Award, had anyone but the walls been around to hear it.
Flipping to my back again, I put one arm up across my forehead and stared at the ceiling with morose eyes.
I wasn’t having fun.
Oh, the visit had gone well enough, with Ruby and I catching up on old times while she filled me full of the local gossip. Or as much gossip as a town this size could have, anyway.
Which wasn’t much.
For her part, Ice seemed content to sit silently, sipping her coffee, and taking in the sights of the tastefully decorated den in which we were sitting. When Ruby saw her gaze land upon some of the trophies that decorated the large fireplace mantel, she launched into the story of her husband, Jack, dead many years, and how they had met and married.
I didn’t remember much about her husband, but what I did remember, I liked. Jack Anderson had been a golf pro way back when. No one of special note, really, but he won enough tournaments to, as Ruby was prone to say, ‘pay the rent in style’.
They had met when he competed in a tournament which her company was sponsoring. Her knowledge of golf was nil; she likened it to watching the grass grow or the chickens molt. But the big, strapping man with the easy grin and the handsome face assured her interest in the sport for good.
Theirs was a whirlwind courtship, played out on the shores of Nantucket, her home. And when he asked her to marry him, she said yes without a second thought, and made her life with him in the very house in which we were sitting; a house he had built with his own hands.
Having heard that particular tale a time or ten in my life, I allowed my thoughts to wander, and before I realized it, was being shaken awake by a warm hand and looked upon by Ruby’s twinkling eyes.
After a suitable period of utter mortification, my small, if unintentional, bit of rudeness was brushed off as just being one of those things, and Ice and I were led to our rooms.
And therein lay the problem.
Rooms.
Plural.
That was most definitely something I hadn’t thought about during my quest to make Ice see the wisdom of choosing a warm house over a cold tent. And believe me when I tell you that when I realized that particular blunder, words which would scorch the paper this is being written on screamed through my head, though thankfully, they refrained from passing my lips and giving our gracious host a stroke.
You see, while in the Bog, one of my deepest regrets--only one of many, but still--was that I couldn’t spend even one night sleeping in the arms of the person I loved. Yes, there was that wonderful, exhilarating night in the trailer, a night that even now arouses me just thinking about it, but aside from that, nighttime in prison meant battling your personal demons alone.
I swore to myself that if we were ever able to make it out of that particular hell, I would never spend another night apart from her again.
Yet here I was, not a month into freedom, sleeping without her. And trapped by my own cunning, no less!
"Congratulations, Angel. You’ve just won the Idiot of the Year award. Where are you going to celebrate?"
Not Disneyland.
I sighed again, my rebellious mind gleefully providing me a fantasy in which Ice and I had done things her way and we were, right this very moment, sleeping in that tent I had, up until an hour ago, so despised. Wound together like mummies in a single sleeping bag to conserve body heat.
Maybe doing a little something else to generate body heat.
I groaned and turned again, punching a pillow that, if it hadn’t been a mere ball of feathers, would surely have punched me back in payment for the abuse I was heaping on it.
Great. Just great.
It was then that I heard the faintest scraping of my door easing open. A fractured beam of low light played through the crack, illuminating the edge of the curtain covering the window to my right.
The light was cut off almost immediately as the door silently closed, leaving me in darkness once again.
But not alone.
With instincts well honed by years in prison, I could feel another’s presence in the room with me. I tensed automatically, my hands gripping at the blankets which covered my body.
My ears strained for any sound at all, even the slightest breath, but silence held its reign over the small room. I could feel my heart picking up its pace even though the more rational part of my mind assured me that there was nothing to fear. This wasn’t the Bog. This wasn’t Pittsburgh. This was just a simple country home in the middle of the backwoods, miles from anyone who would want to do me harm.
Or so I hoped.
"Show yourself. I know you’re in here." My voice surprised me with its absolute steadiness.
Silence, still. The pregnant kind, where you could literally hear the hairs on the back of your neck come to attention.
I opened my eyes wider, trying to take in any light there might have been, and almost fainted when a low rumble bathed over my heightened senses from mere inches away.
"Move over. You’re hoggin’ the bed."
It was the most wonderful-terrible scare I’ve ever had and I grinned like a kid as I scrambled back against the wall, making room for the larger body of my partner, then snuggling into her open arms with a joy that is reserved for well-answered prayers.
"You have absolutely no idea how happy I am to see you," I murmured into the flesh of her gloriously naked chest. Then I stopped. "Well, not see you exactly. Mmm. But feel you. And smell you. And taste you. Definitely taste you."
A cleared throat
stopped my effusive utterings. I turned my head up to where I knew her face would be. "Yes?"
"It’s probably best if we don’t go down this particular road right now."
"Why not?" I asked, knowing that I sounded like a petulant child being denied her favorite toy.
"Give ya a hint." There was a smile in her voice. "She’s about your height, gray hair, and ears she probably fine tunes every night before bed so she’ll have something new to tell the sewing circle in the morning."
"Oh."
Drat. Outmaneuvered.
"Well," I tried, "we could be really quiet."
A soft snort. "That would be great. If it were possible. Which we know it isn’t."
"Hey!" I didn’t know whether to be indignant or embarrassed.
She hugged me close briefly before loosening her arms. "You could be quiet as a churchmouse, Angel, and we’d still have a problem."
"Oh yeah? And what might that be?"
I felt her stomach muscles clench beneath my thigh, then she bounced several times on the mattress.
The room was filled with the sounds of protesting bedsprings squeaking their displeasure.
"Oh," I said again, feeling my face heat. "That’s not a good thing."
"Well," she replied, sounding as if she were reconsidering the offer, "I wouldn’t have a problem with it. It is your room, after all."
She bounced again, slowly, rhythmically, then steadily picking up speed until I was ready to just fall through floor in embarrassment.
I put a hand on her firm belly and pushed down. "Stop. Just stop."
Squeak. Squeak.
"Please?"
Squeak-squeak-squeak.
"Ice!"
Silence.
Absolute, total and blessed silence.
Groaning, I plopped my head back down on her chest. "You’re an evil woman, Morgan Steele. Truly, heartlessly, evil."
Her long body stretched beneath me before settling back once again. "That’s what they tell me." She sounded quite, quite pleased with herself.