"You told me I had my head buried," I said, pretending like I was embarrassed and shy.
"You did have your head buried," he said with an amused grin. "I couldn’t even see you back there," he said. "It felt like I had a koala bear latched onto me."
I laughed and pushed at his shoulder for teasing me. "You told me to hold on tight," I said.
"I'm not saying I minded," he said. "I'm just saying, you're strong. You were hangin' on tight."
I wanted to say how I couldn't wait to have my arms around him again, or something even crazier like I love you, you're the man of my dreams, but I knew I'd regret saying it, so I just stood there with a goofy smile.
I tossed my head toward the house. "Come on, I want you to meet Maw-maw."
My grandma's dog, a black poodle named Duke, met us at the door with his tail wagging. He was so overweight you could barely recognize that he was a poodle. He looked like a fuzzy black barrel with sticks for legs.
"I'll warn you about Duke," I said, leaning over to pat the dog's head. "He's mostly blind."
Michael put his fingertips out for the dog to sniff. "Hey Duke," Michael said.
"And he passes a lot of gas," I added. "So if you smell something offensive while you're over here, it's not me."
Michael stooped over to speak to the dog. "Ivy's trying to tell me you stink," he cooed.
"He does stink," I said.
"Who's there?" I heard my grandma yell from the kitchen.
"Ivy," I called with a hand cupped to my mouth. "And my friend."
"Did you bring those tomatoes?" she asked.
"Not yet," I said. "Jacob stopped to get 'em. I rode over here with Michael. He's eating with us."
She was quiet for a second, and Michael's eyes widened as he pretended he was scared about what she might say. I giggled at his silliness, and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the kitchen so he could meet her.
Chapter 11
Maw-maw didn't end up making squash casserole like I thought she had. The menu was stuffed chicken and fried eggplant, and she was patiently waiting over the frying pan, watching one batch of eggplant when we came into the kitchen.
My grandpa had passed away when I was younger, and my grandma never remarried. She had always been really independent. On the days when we ate lunch at her house, she would leave church a little early so she could get home and begin heating everything up, she was in the middle of doing just that.
Maw-maw took to Michael right away. She had no idea he had just brought me over there on a motorcycle—let alone one that he built. She didn't ask him what it was he did for a living, and neither of us brought it up. We laughed and talked to her, and she fed Michael samples, which he gladly accepted. He went on and on about how much he liked the eggplant.
We were there for about ten minutes before Alice showed up with my brother and two other young people from church. There was also another older couple that my parents had invited, and this brought the grand total of guests at lunch to nine. Maw-maw fried five batches of eggplant, and there wasn't a single, solitary morsel of it left by the time we all finished eating.
Michael was a gentleman. He didn't know all of the ways and customs of people in the south, but he was adaptable, and he had no problem getting along with everyone and pretending he didn’t notice my dad's appraising stares. My grandma had a batch of bread pudding with caramel sauce, and we made a big deal about Michael trying it since it was his first experience with bread pudding of any sort.
He ate it and reacted the way any grandmother would love, with a look of genuine amazement at how good it tasted. My grandma was as charmed as I was.
My dad was cordial to Michael.
That was the most accurate way I could describe his behavior. He was cordial. He wasn't overly friendly, but he also wasn't cold—maybe somewhere in the mid-to-cold section. I honestly didn’t even pay attention to my dad. I just did my thing and let him act how he wanted to act.
Michael answered a few questions about motorcycles, but they came later, after we had already eaten lunch and talked about lots of other things. It was my little brother who finally asked Michael about his motorcycles, and Michael ended up answering several questions about it from Jacob and others. My dad didn't say anything. He just sat there and listened.
"Aww, awwww, goodness Maw-mawww, what do you feed him? Awwww." Jacob held his hand over his face, looking down at Duke like he should be ashamed of himself. He fanned the air in front of him. "You need to go outside, boy."
"Don't fan it over here," my mom said, causing us all to laugh.
Maw-maw clapped her hands. "Duke, go outside and do your business!" The dog was extremely lazy, but he knew by my grandmother's tone that she was serious. He moaned and groaned as he got up and headed for the door.
"Do I need to let him out?" Dad asked.
My grandma shook her head. "He'll push the door."
I, for one, was happy about the distraction that came by way of the dog's bellyache. Michael didn't seem to mind all the questions, but I was relieved for the change of subject.
"We're gonna take off," I said.
I glanced around at everyone. My statement had come out of nowhere, and I found them all looking at me with confused expressions.
"Who?" my dad asked.
"Michael said he'd give me a ride home," I said. "I’m gonna stop by and see his shop on my way."
This whole plan was news to Michael, but he didn't say anything to contradict me.
"I'm glad y'all came over, sweetheart," Maw-maw said. "And it was very nice meeting you, Michael. You're a nice young man."
"It was my pleasure Mrs. Lewis, and lunch was…" he hesitated as if searching for the right words. "Amazing. Memorable. It was so good, I'll remember it and probably wish I was eating it again."
"There's plenty of chicken left, sweetie. You should make a plate lunch to take home with you."
"Thank you," he said. "I wish I could, but I doubt I can carry it on my motorcycle."
"A motorcycle?" she asked.
"That's what we've been talking about, Mom," Dad said. "He sells motorcycles."
She looked back and forth from me to Michael. "You're not leaving on a motorcycle right now, are you?" she asked with a serious expression.
"Yes, Mom, it's parked in your driveway. They rode it over here."
"Well, I'll be!" she said. "It must be a two-seater."
"It is," Michael said.
"Is it the kind in a little bucket off to the side?"
Michael smiled. "A sidecar? No, ma'am, she just sits on the seat with me."
"I'll be!" Maw-maw said again.
I leaned over to hug my grandmother and she reached out for me and then leaned over to touch Michael after we embraced. He gave her a quick, sideways hug.
"Thanks again for lunch," he said.
"Yeah, thanks Maw-maw. That was so good."
She patted Michael's arm. "You're welcome to come over next Sunday, too. I was thinking about making fried chicken."
"That's very nice of you," Michael said. "I really appreciate it."
I hugged my friends and family and said goodbye to them all, promising Alice that I would call her later that evening. Everyone was still sitting around my grandma's living room and dining room when we walked out.
"I'm sorry I included you in plans we hadn't discussed." I said as we headed toward his motorcycle.
He seemed like he was going to say something and then changed his mind. We walked a few more paces in silence before approaching his motorcycle, and right before he got on, he reached out and took my hand. "Ivy?"
"Yeah?" I asked, feeling like I couldn’t breathe.
"I want to be included in your plans."
I smiled. "Good. I have one."
"One what? A plan?"
"Yep," I said. "Do you have enough gas to get us like five or ten miles down the road and back?"
"Yes."
"Could we go by my house first so I can change into some pan
ts?"
***
Michael waited in my parent's living room while I changed. I put on some floral fitted pants and a short-sleeve white cotton blouse. I checked myself in the mirror before going out to meet him again. I stopped in the hallway and dug in the closet where I found a lightweight patchwork quilt. I was holding it under my arm when I went into the living room.
Michael stood, looking at me and shaking his head. I had tied a scarf around my neck just in case I needed it later for my hair. I realized it was the first time I had worn pants in front of Michael, and he looked me over, shaking his head with an irresistible grin that said he approved of my attire.
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I wish I would have brought a helmet with me."
"A helmet?"
"Yes. If I had one with me I make you put it on."
"You don't wear a helmet," I said.
"Yeah, but I'm not worried about something happening to me," he said.
He was so sweet and handsome and I stared at him, feeling swept away.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing at the object I was holding.
"A blanket," I said. "I know of a place we can go if you want."
Michael took a deep breath and took a step toward me. I expected him to kiss me passionately, but instead he sighed regretfully. "Ivy, I already feel like we're pushing it with your dad. Are you sure he wants us, uh, taking one of his blankets?"
"I'm not trying to be inappropriate with you," I assured him.
"I didn't say you were, I just know he's already cautious of me as it is. I just don't know how he'd feel about you carrying off a blanket, you know?"
"He won't feel anything because he won't even know. I'm only taking it out there with us because I thought we might want to sit down and talk for a little while. I didn't want to get chiggers, that's all."
"I don't guess I want to get chiggers, either," Michael said. "That sounds bad."
"They are bad. Did you ever have them?"
He shook his head. "How do you get them?"
"By sitting in the grass without a quilt."
"That sounds terrible. We should definitely take the quilt," he said.
I wrinkled my nose at him because I knew he was teasing me. I started to turn and walk away, but he caught me by the arm. His grip was extremely gentle, but it was his bare hand on my bare arm, flesh to flesh, and I felt that electricity over again.
"Ivy," he said.
"What?"
He could tell I was a little embarrassed, I knew it by the way he smiled patiently at me.
"Don't think for a second that me not wanting to take the blanket is me rejecting you in any way."
"I know," I said.
I was taken off guard by him saying the R word, and I found myself dissecting his statement to make sure I shouldn't feel just that. I glanced away, and Michael used his fingertip to tilt up my chin. I made eye contact with him again, smiling shyly.
"Look at me, Ivy."
I did, and he gave me a sweet, concerned expression. "Why are you clamming up like this?"
"Because, it's just silly that my dad or his quilt even has to be a factor. I'm used to not having to answer to my dad when I'm at school, and it makes me feel embarrassed to have to sneak around." I let out a little sigh. "I'm sorry he's cautious of you. I hate that."
"It's not a big deal," he said. "I just think it's smart if we try not to give him anything to be mad about—at least not right away."
He still had his hand on my arm, and he moved his fingers, causing my heart to race. I looked right into his pale blue eyes, and my chest rose and fell as I took a deep breath.
"Does this mean you're never going to kiss me again?" I asked with a little huff.
Michael's face broke into a slow smile. "No, it does not mean that, Ivy. It does not mean that at all."
Chapter 12
I had almost worn sandals. I had a pair that matched my outfit, but I knew Michael was concerned with me getting burned, so I put on a pair of white tennis shoes instead. I stood in my parents' living room with Michael, feeling thankful that I had made that choice because my toes were completely curled up, leaving the tips of these tennis shoes completely vacant. I was happy he couldn't see the indication of my nerves, and I just stayed still, trying to remember to breathe.
He had just mentioned that we should be smart when it came to my dad, and for some unfathomable reason, I asked him if that meant he wasn't going to kiss me.
He assured me this wasn't the case, but he didn't do what I thought he would do, which was kiss me right then. I stared long and hard at Michael while we were standing in my living room, and he didn't kiss me. I looked at his mouth, tracing the curves of it and thinking maybe I should take matters into my own hands—and he looked at mine like he really did want to do it, but he didn't. Maybe he thought the minute he did my family would walk through the door.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked.
"You're taking me," I said.
I ran into the kitchen. There was a pencil and pad near the telephone, and I wrote the words, "Will be back around dark," and sighed it with a heart and my name. I left it on the counter in a place my parents wouldn't miss before crossing to the living room again.
Michael was standing with his hands in his pockets waiting for me, and instead of crossing to him, I just went for the door and motioned for him to follow me.
I told him I wanted to take this one specific highway out of town and that I would give him further directions once we were on the road. Michael folded the quilt tightly and stashed it in a small, leather pouch that was attached to the side of his motorcycle.
I straddled the motorcycle with slightly more elegance now that I wasn't wearing a dress. I had just ridden it a few minutes before, but the unsteadiness of being balanced on two wheels still came as a surprise. I squeezed tightly and buried my face in his back for the first couple of minutes before I felt steady enough to straighten up and check out our surroundings.
I looked up to find that we were at a traffic light in a busy neighborhood, and there were several people visible either in cars or out on the sidewalk. I made eye contact with a young girl in the car that was next to us. She waved, and I wanted to wave back to her, but I was too afraid to take my arms from around Michael, so I just smiled really big and gave her a long blink like you'd do to a baby. It was a silly gesture to make at a twelve-year-old, but I wanted to assure her that I got her wave and returned it.
Michael's hand came over my arms, giving me a squeeze as if to make sure that they were firmly in place before he took off. I smiled again at the girl as we drove away, and she smiled back at me.
I took Michael to a waterfall.
It wasn't the most impressive waterfall I'd ever seen, but it was close to town, and it was on private property, so there was never anyone else there.
I led Michael to the trailhead, and we hiked about a third of a mile from the road to the small clearing in the woods. It was a warm day, but we were so surrounded by forest that the area near the waterfall felt cool.
I found a dry, grassy area nearby where there was a gap in the trees and some filtered sunlight, and with one quick motion, I spread out the quilt and then sat right in the middle of it. Somehow, I managed to also kick off my shoes as I was in motion, and within seconds, I was completely settled and comfortable in the middle of the quilt.
I stared up at Michael with a smile, and he shook his head as he smiled at me. I let out a little laugh at the sight of him, and the way it made my stomach flip. He held his palms up and looked around, checking out our surroundings. "What is this place?" he asked.
"One of the deacons at my dad's church owns all this land, and he said he doesn't mind if we come out here. He's got a big swimming hole, too. Jacob and his friends like to go over there. More people know about that place, so it's busier. There's hardly ever anyone out here at the waterfall."
Michael kicked off his shoes at the edge of the blanket, stooping t
o his knees and crawling toward me. He swiveled and sat down, positioning himself right next to me—so close that our sides were touching. The small waterfall was roughly twenty feet from us, and we stared at it, listening to the sounds of rushing water. We sat there for a full minute.
"It's heaven out here," Michael said dazedly. "If I had this thing on my property, I'd build my house right over it."
I looked at the side of his face when he said that, and he smiled.
"I'd have waterfall floors," he said.
"Would the waterfall still work if you built a house over it?" I asked sincerely. I studied the ground around the waterfall, trying to consider the logistics of it. "Is it possible?" I asked, now feeling genuinely curious. "Would a waterfall still work if someone built a house over it? You know, if you built it just right. Could you do that?"
I looked at Michael who grinned and shrugged. "You really would have to build the house just right. And you would have to not care that you were kind of living outside. You'd basically be letting critters into your house on a continual basis."
"I don't care for critters in my house," I said.
He continued to smile. "You probably aren't a good candidate for a waterfall house."
"Are you having a waterfall house?" I asked.
He shook his head with a serious expression. "I don't have any land with a waterfall on it."
"Me neither," I said.
"You have some you can borrow, though," he said referring to the fact that we were currently enjoying the benefits of having such land.
He stretched out, crossing his legs and resting his head on his folded arms. I stretched out next to him, letting the sides of our bodies barely brush as I got settled into place. We stared upward at the canopy of trees, watching them sway in the wind.
Michael asked me about my brother, and this led to me telling him the whole history of my family—the way my mom died when I was a toddler, and my step-mom had raised me ever since. He asked me questions, and the answers I gave him were the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
He told me the truth about things, too. He told me about his childhood. He had grown up in Detroit in a less-than-picturesque family situation where both of his parents drank heavily. He was often unsupervised, and would sneak into businesses just to see what they were doing. This meandering was where he discovered his love for designing transportation.
Summer of '65 (Bishop Family Book 1) Page 8