Take My Hand

by Missouri Vaun

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Do you come from a big family? Do you have siblings?”

  “One brother, John. He’s four years older and still lives in the North Country.”

  “He’s not a city boy?”

  “Far from it. He hates the city. I think he’s only come to visit me a couple of times the entire time I’ve been there.” River sipped her wine. Her silverware lay at the side of her mostly empty plate. “His wife, Maggie, would probably love to visit more often, if for no other reason than to shop.”

  “Do you like his wife?”

  “Maggie’s great. And she’s perfect for John. She never pressures him to be anything other than who he is. She’s also a solid helpmate on the farm, which really is a group, family effort most days. They moved into my grandparents’ place after my grandfather passed away.”

  Helpmate was such an old-fashioned word. River’s use of it amused her.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Helpmate. That sounds like something from a Christian handbook about marriage.”

  “It probably is. The community I grew up in was super conservative. That’s partly why I left and, I recently discovered, that’s why my aunt left too.”

  River leaned forward. The position shift gave Clay an alluring view of cleavage. It required willpower not to lose the thread of the conversation and remain focused on River’s face. Too late. She was fairly sure River caught her staring.

  “See something interesting?”

  “No, I mean, yes…what do you mean?” Busted.

  Clay blushed and River decided to give her a break. River was flattered by the attention. She smiled and casually leaned back in the chair holding her wine glass in front of her. Finally, Clay smiled and laughed softly. River took a sip of her wine.

  “Did I tell you my aunt left me a letter?”

  “No, you didn’t mention it.”

  “In the letter my aunt basically said the same thing. That she left because she knew she was a lesbian and there was no place for her there. And I guess my dad had a problem with his sister being gay. I can kind of see it now because he always seemed to struggle with my sexuality.”

  “Are your parents still…” Clay didn’t finish the question.

  “No, it’s just my brother and me. I should probably call him. I don’t think he has any idea I’m down here. He’s not a big talker so we don’t speak that often.”

  Gwen seemed to appear out of nowhere. Or maybe River had been so focused on Clay that she just hadn’t noticed her surroundings for the past hour, or had it been two?

  “Are you all finished here? I can get rid of these plates.”

  Clay nodded. “Thanks.”

  Gwen returned quickly with dessert menus.

  Clay gave River a questioning look.

  “Oh, none for me, thanks.” River didn’t think she could eat one more bite.

  “Thanks, Gwen, we’ll just take the check.”

  They were quiet for a minute, then Clay broke the silence.

  “You were really a good passenger on the way over here, by the way. Not everyone is, you know.” Clay finished her wine. “Some people don’t know to lean into the curves.”

  “My brother had a dirt bike. I used to ride with him, and on rare occasions I’d sneak off and ride it by myself.”

  “Why did you have to sneak off to ride it?”

  “Because my father was very into gender specific roles for his kids.” River felt the familiar rise of frustration as she remembered her childhood and how she’d chafed at being forced into a role she didn’t always want to play. “Girls didn’t ride dirt bikes, in his opinion.”

  “Too bad. I’ll bet you were good at it.” Clay leaned forward with an earnest expression. “I’ll bet you’re good at anything you set your mind to.”

  Now River was sure she was blushing. Her cheeks warmed beneath the compliment.

  “So, why did Trip call you Paintball?” She wanted to shift the conversation away from herself.

  “Oh, geez…I can’t believe you remember that.” Clay laughed. “It’s a nickname from a long time ago, back when we were in junior high.”

  “Because you like to paint?”

  “No, not that kind of paint. I got trounced by a girl in a game of paintball. Massacred is more like it.”

  “She must have been cute.”

  “I thought so. She was my first crush, Suzan, with a z.”

  “Classy.” River loved teasing Clay. It was almost too easy.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  Clay paid the check and they rode back in the dark to Pine Cone. The moon lit the treetops on either side of the two-lane highway. They passed hardly any cars on the way home. Clay had obviously chosen a less-traveled, scenic route. River focused on taking in the journey.

  On a motorcycle, everything was more intense. They passed a pond and she noticed right away the microclimate, the cooled air near the water. And the night air smelled so good, of fresh cut grass, and a bonfire somewhere in the distance. Riding behind Clay, she was fully exposed to the nighttime world.

  Once again, the twenty-minute ride seemed shorter.

  Clay parked the bike and followed River to the front door. Before she put the key in the lock, River turned to face Clay. River wasn’t going to wait for Clay to make the first move; she’d wanted to kiss Clay all night. Every time Clay touched her tongue to her lips it was as if she were teasing River from across the table.

  River angled her head and pressed Clay’s mouth firmly against hers. She parted her lips and took Clay in. The swirling, dizzying contact carried just a hint of red wine. Clay stepped closer, until River’s back was pressed against the door. Clay’s hand was drifting precariously close to her breast, and she brushed it aside. She felt Clay smile against her mouth, breaking the kiss. Luckily, River had forgotten to leave the porch light on, so there wasn’t enough light on the scene for the neighborhood to witness their scandalous good night at the front door.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

  Clay swept her hand up the outside curve of River’s breast, and River held on to it this time, raising Clay’s palm to her lips for a light kiss.

  “Why?” Clay sounded a bit crestfallen.

  “I’m not going to invite you in on a first date.”

  “Second date…no wait, third date.” Clay brushed an errant strand of hair off River’s cheek with her fingertip. She’d put no space between them, and River could feel the warmth of Clay’s breath on her skin. “What about the other night? Pineapple casserole night?”

  “That was a social call, remember? You stopped by to check on my car.” River’s hand drifted down the front of Clay’s shirt.

  “What about last night?”

  “We bumped into each other at the downtown market. Officially, not a date.”

  “Even with a sunset, moonlight, and Elvis?”

  River shook her head.

  “Wow, I can see I have to up my game.”

  “A date is when you call a woman and take her out. Tonight was our first date.”

  Clay let her hands drop slowly to River’s hips where she applied pressure, drawing her closer. River closed her eyes and moaned softly.

  “I think you want to invite me in,” Clay whispered.

  River smiled and tipped her forehead against Clay’s soft lips.

  “Yes, I do.” She placed her hand in the center of Clay’s chest. It took every ounce of self-control she could muster to put space between them. “Which is why, Clay Cahill, you are not coming in this house with me.”

  Clay looked adorably incredulous standing in the moonlight. And for a split second, River considered breaking her cardinal rule: no sex on a first date. But that rule had saved her before and it might just be saving her now. She wanted more from Clay than hormones whipped into a frenzy after one dinner out. She wanted more time with Clay, and she was fairly sure this was one wa
y to get it.

  She closed the space between them, kissed Clay softly on the lips, and turned to unlock the door. She looked back one more time before she closed it.

  “Good night, Clay.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Clay sat slouched in the old rolling office chair with her eyes closed, basking in the warmth of the morning sun streaming through the dusty front window of the garage. She’d woken up feeling light and changed somehow. With her eyes closed, she could almost conjure the sensation of River’s lips on hers, the press of her body, the scent of her skin. Clay exhaled slowly.

  A shadow pulled her from the trance.

  River stood in the doorway, looking, as usual, like perfection itself in shorts and a simple cotton blouse. It was as if Clay had conjured her out of thin air. A slow smile spread across River’s face.

  “Hello.” The chair squeaked as Clay leaned forward. This was a very pleasant surprise.

  “Hi.” River walked to the desk as Clay stood up. “I brought you some coffee and something sweet.” She held the bag open for Clay. Three coffees were perched in a cardboard tray in her other hand.

  “You mean something sweet besides you?”

  “You’re good.”

  “I can turn on some charm when the occasion calls for it.” Clay peeked into the bag. “Cinnamon rolls, my favorite.”

  “MJ has ruined me. Ever since I had that giant cinnamon bun at the B and B I’ve had a craving for them.”

  “I’ve been having a craving for other things ever since last night.” Clay smiled around a mouthful of pastry and frosting.

  “Yeah, me too.” River leaned her shoulder into Clay playfully.

  “Wait, there are three coffees here. Are you trying to flirt with someone else here at Cahill Auto Repair?”

  “Hello there! Don’t let this one give you a hard time now.” Clay’s grandpa strode through the door from the repair shop to the office.

  “Grandpa, this is Eve’s niece, River.” Clay took a respectable step back, giving River some space.

  “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Cahill.” River extended her hand, and Clay’s grandpa took it in both of his, clasping with one and patting the back of her hand with the other.

  “What can we do for you on this fine day? I’m afraid we haven’t been able to salvage your car, but I heard the Clip ’n Curl is back on her feet and feeling fine since the bust up.”

  River laughed. “I’m glad to hear I didn’t cause any lasting damage.” She held one of the coffees out to him. “I took the liberty of bringing you a coffee and something to eat from the bakery.”

  “Well, now, I like this gal, Clay.” He accepted the bag containing the last pastry along with the coffee. “Any woman who’ll feed you is high on my list.”

  “And he has a refrigerator full of casserole dishes to prove it.”

  He gave her a playful scowl as she finished off the last bite of the cinnamon roll.

  “If you’re going to be here for a little while I’ll take a break outside with River.”

  “I’ll be here, enjoying my fancy coffee. You gals go take a walk. It’s a beautiful day. Someone ought to be out there enjoying it.” He dropped into the chair Clay had previously occupied.

  Clay held the door for River. Just as they crossed the threshold, Bo came out of nowhere rolling a tire toward the bay door.

  “Oh, sorry.” River stepped back out of his way bumping into Clay.

  “No problem.” He slowed and gave River a full body scan. Then he stopped completely and extended his hand.

  “Well, hello. The name is Bo.” That was the most charm Clay had ever seen him display and, at that moment, made him about as popular as a snake in a sleeping bag.

  “Hi, I’m—”

  “She’s just dropping off some coffee.”

  “None for me?”

  He was still holding his hand out, either in greeting or waiting for something else, Clay wasn’t sure. She’d never seen Bo so attentive, especially this early in the morning. River looked down at his palm, covered with black from the new tire. Clay stepped around River.

  “Any day now, Bo,” Eddie called from several feet way.

  Bo frowned, then looked back at River and smiled. “Another time.”

  Clay glared at him as she steered River by the elbow toward a weathered picnic table on the far side of the parking lot near an ancient payphone booth. An empty plastic cover dangled where a phone book used to reside.

  “Who was that?” River glanced back toward the garage once they were seated.

  “Bo Mathis, local asshole.”

  “And he works here?”

  “Not for long, I hope.”

  “Despite your subtlety, I take it you don’t like him.”

  “No.”

  “He doesn’t like you either.” It was a statement, rather than a question, as if River already knew the whole story just from one, brief encounter.

  “Perceptive.”

  “Why doesn’t he like you?”

  “It’s a long story that I’d rather not burden you with.” Clay reached across the table and teased River’s fingers with hers until River loosely entwined their fingers. “I’d rather talk about other things with you.”

  “Last night was really nice.”

  “It was hard to say good night. I considered sleeping on your doorstep just to be near you.” The truth was Clay thought of knocking on the door and talking her way into the house, into River’s bed. But they’d had a perfect evening, and Clay hadn’t wanted to spoil it by rushing something she wasn’t even sure she was ready for. They’d kissed and said good night at the door. That’s what happened on a date, right?

  “What a coincidence, because it was incredibly hard not to invite you in.”

  “Now you tell me.” Clay smiled and caressed the back of River’s hand with her thumb.

  River turned Clay’s hand over and traced the lines of her palm lightly with her fingertip. The faintest touch and yet it tingled all the way up her arm.

  “Do you enjoy working at a garage? Driving a tow truck?”

  Clay shrugged.

  “You’d really rather do this than paint?” River didn’t sound judgmental, simply curious.

  “Not much for small talk, are you?”

  “No, not really. Not if I really want to know someone.”

  “I’ve always liked cars.” Clay sipped her latte. “I used to hang out here a lot when I was a kid. This garage was like a second home.”

  “So, it’s a safe space for you?”

  “Well, it sounds kinda woo-woo and politically correct when you say it that way, but yes, it’s a safe space.”

  River laughed. “Sorry, I seriously didn’t mean to be politically correct.”

  They were quiet for a moment. A car drove past, braked, and turned at the corner. Country music blared through the open window as it passed.

  “Are you afraid to paint?” River spoke with tenderness in her voice.

  “Yeah, I’m afraid.” Exposing her inner self to the world again was not high on Clay’s list. Especially a world she’d recently discovered she couldn’t trust. The business of art seemed exploitive and hurtful, the opposite of what it should be, in her opinion. Maybe River was different, but Clay didn’t know her well enough to be sure of that. Not yet anyway. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like, but I would give anything to have the talent you have. To be able to make people feel something. Your images are so powerful. That’s a rare gift.”

  Clay wondered if River was overstating things, but she seemed genuinely serious about the assessment of Clay’s work. She held Clay with her eyes and squeezed her hand for emphasis.

  “Maybe I’ll feel it again.” Clay placed her palm over the center of her chest. “But this…this right here…isn’t ready to be hanging on some wall in some gallery. Not yet.”

  Clay considered inviting River to the cookout at Trip’s house later that day. W
as that too much? She was a little afraid to integrate River too soon into her “friend” circle, Clay’s other safe space. But there’d be lots of people around. Nothing could get too serious with a crowd around.

  “Hey, there’s a cookout at Trip’s house later today. Would you like to go?”

  “Trip mentioned it to me yesterday. I was considering it, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to show up by myself.” She paused. “I’d love to go with you.”

  “Oh, she already asked you.” Clay was a little surprised that Trip had invited River without checking with her. Was Trip trying to set her up again?

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t have gone without talking with you first. I know you and Trip are close and, well, I wouldn’t want to just show up at your friend’s house without discussing it with you.”

  River had boundaries. Good to know.

  “You should join me. I mean, you should come. I mean, I can give you a ride.” Clay was struggling. Every statement she made sounded like it had some sexual double meaning. She was sure she was blushing because her cheeks suddenly warmed as did other parts. “What I meant to say is I could come pick you up when I’m finished here. Would four thirty be okay for you?”

  “I think I know what you mean.” River was smiling, her eyes sparkled. Which part was she smiling about? “I’ll see you at four thirty.”

  Clay walked River to her old pickup and opened the door for her.

  “Thanks.” River cranked the truck. “I’ll look forward to seeing you later.”

  Clay sauntered backward toward the office. She dragged her foot every other step, not wanting to turn around until River was out of sight. Man, her stomach was in knots. Four thirty couldn’t get there soon enough.

  “That River is an attractive young woman.” Her grandpa didn’t lower the newspaper he was reading or look at her as he spoke.

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  “Nice too. And polite.”

  “Yeah, she is.” Clay leaned against the counter looking out the front window of the office.

  “You gonna see her again any time soon?” He noisily turned the page, which he obviously wasn’t reading.

  “I’m picking her up this afternoon. She’s going with me to a cookout at Trip’s house.”