Stay With Me (14 page)

“Hmm.” She took a couple seconds to listen and
think. “Kids playing outside, water splashing, and cicadas humming—but that’s
later in the summer.”

“So, screaming, water and bugs?”

She laughed again. “Yep. So, tell me, what does
summer
feel
like to you, Chris?”

He inched closer so that their bodies nearly
touched. “It feels like the wind in my hair when I ride on my Harley. It feels
like soft, warm skin coated in sunscreen.” He rubbed his hands over the sides
of her shoulders where her tanned skin was exposed at the edge of the shrug,
and her arms tingled beneath his touch. Then his voice went down a notch and
turned languid. His eyes were almost imperceptibly darker. “It feels like
kissing a beautiful girl on her daddy’s porch.”

“Beautiful?” She smiled, but then it faded as she
remembered her lost bet. Her heart pounded in her chest when she realized what
came next.

As if reading her mind, he gently rubbed her
shoulders saying, “Relax. It’s a kiss. Nothing more.”

She accepted his reassurance with a nod and leaned
into him. She had expected to feel uncomfortable, maybe even to dislike it
despite her attraction to Chris. What she didn’t count on was the longing that
ripped through her like a brush fire on a windy day. She wrapped her arms
around Chris’s neck and drew him closer.

He smiled against her lips. “Okay?”

Okay? She’d never been more okay in her life.
Desperate for more but too embarrassed to open her eyes, she said, “Is it
over?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Chris chuckled as his lips
met hers again.

***

Chris’ lips brushed hers a final time, and he
leaned his forehead against Rebecca’s. His heart drummed against his ribs.
“Rebecca, I want to live with you.”

The sweet smile fell from her face, and her eyes
widened. She misunderstood him.

He slid his hands down her arms to grasp her hands
and looked down at their fingers entangled between them. “I don't mean I want
to cohabit with you. I'm not expressing myself well.” He bit his lower lip in
frustration. Translating his feelings for her into words had become more and
more difficult.

“My brain doesn’t seem to fire on all cylinders
when I’ve been kissing you. I think all the blood is rushing…” Geez. Did he
almost say that out loud? It wouldn’t be a good idea to follow that line of
thinking. He stopped, took a quick breath and tried to explain. “The best
comparison I can make is when I converted, my family couldn't understand
it—well, for a lot of reasons—but mostly they didn't get why I wanted to
subject myself to all these rules. And I couldn't make them understand. But
those rules, Rebecca, they make me feel free. Free to become the man I'm meant
to be.” Her eyes weren’t so wide now, and they held a tender expression that
made his heart ache.

“You make me feel free. I know now what it is to
really be alive. So, when I say ‘I want to live with you,’ I mean it in the
best way. I want to experience everything with you.”

Tears filled her eyes and threatened to overflow.
She opened her mouth as if to say something and then closed it. Instead she
reached up, slid her hands around his neck and pulled his head down to hers
where she planted on his lips what was possibly the sweetest kiss he could
imagine. After several seconds, she pulled away from him enough to breathe his
name, his full name—Christopher. Could she possibly feel the same way he did?

His chest burned. The words pounded against his rib
cage and his heart felt like a balloon filled to near capacity. “I love you,”
threatened to burst out of him, the three little syllables sliding over his
tongue and through his lips as he pressed them gently along her neck. He took a
deep breath and bit back the words knowing somehow that like fruit ripening on
the tree, he just needed to be patient. Those words would be sweeter to her
ears if he let them mature.

Her gravelly voice murmured in his ear. “Do you
want to come in? My dad said he wouldn’t be home until after midnight.”

As much as he didn’t like it, he knew what his
answer had to be, but, man, that tempted him. She tempted him even if she
didn’t mean to, and he knew she didn’t. If someday she did, well, heaven help
him. Even now, that doe-eyed look she gave him weakened his resolve. “I don’t
think that would be wise.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment passed quickly. “Are we
still on for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be back here at nine o’clock.” He
kissed her one last time and left her there on the porch. He put on his helmet
and started his motorcycle. Hearing and feeling it roar and rumble to life
beneath him never failed to bring him satisfaction. Given the time, he ought to
go home and straight to bed; then tomorrow would seem to arrive faster. He
didn’t feel like sleeping though. His mind was too full of Rebecca.

A hazy moon hung above the houses and trees
silhouetted in darkness. As the distance between houses grew and fenced-in
yards morphed into fields of corn and soybeans, fireflies danced above roadside
gullies. They flashed and drew his attention in every direction the way that
ever-present thoughts of Rebecca flitted on the periphery of his imagination.
Seduced by their alluring magic, he took the long way home.

11

Mercy

The rising sun broke through the clouds as Chris
pulled up outside of Rebecca’s dad’s house. He killed the engine and checked
his watch. Five minutes early. He sat looking blankly at the house and thinking
about kissing Rebecca on that porch less than twelve hours ago. She had needed
a little reassurance, but once she got going—wow. He hadn’t kissed a girl like
that in a long time, but he knew somehow it had never been like that. So,
so—explosive. Somewhere behind all that hesitancy was a passionate woman waiting
to come out. He hoped he’d be on the receiving end of all that heat when she
finally let loose.

Chris broke free of his daydream when a movement in
the living room window caught his eye. The sheer curtain obstructed his view,
but a figure moved across the room. By the ponytail he now saw in silhouette,
he knew it was Rebecca. He heard her voice through the open window. It was
muffled but raised and carried a strident tone he had never heard from her
before. A second of silence followed, and then he heard her father, loud and
clear.

“Damn you to hell. Out whoring around with
that…that… lowlife last night. How dare you come back here, having done only
God knows what with that boy and then run off with him again, not even sticking
around here long enough to make me a decent breakfast. Get out!”

That wasn’t the end of it. The rest included
several words that would’ve been bleeped out even in the most vulgar of reality
shows. When the stream of profanity ended, Chris realized his jaw clenched and
his fists tightened at his sides. He heard a clatter and then the sound of
something shattering—something glass or ceramic maybe. If Rebecca were hurt, he
didn’t know what he’d do.

He dismounted his bike, jammed his keys in his
pocket, and tore the helmet from his head before he raced toward her dad’s
door.

Just as he reached the point where the sidewalk met
her dad’s walk, Rebecca burst through the front door. In less than two steps,
she adopted a normal pace as she came down the stairs with her ponytail
bouncing on her shoulders. As soon as she caught sight of him, she smiled and
hurried her pace to meet him. Or keep him from going any further; he wasn’t
sure which.

Without a word, he grabbed her arm and steered her
toward her car. When they reached the driver’s side door, he stopped and bit
out, “Give me your keys.”

The relaxed, happy demeanor she wore vanished, and
a worried frown formed in its place as she fished her keys from her purse and
handed them over.

“Chris, what’s the matter?” She sounded as if she
didn’t know. Unreal.

He took her arm again and guided her to the
passenger side. He waited as she slid into the front seat, then slammed the
door behind her.  He returned to the driver’s side, got in, and turned the key
in the ignition.

“Chris, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

He
was scaring
her?
He
couldn’t fathom the complete disconnect between her behavior and what he had
witnessed. He gave her a cursory once over and didn’t see any bruises, cuts, or
other signs that she’d been manhandled. His shoulders relaxed in relief. “Not
here. We’re going to talk, but not here.”

A tense silence filled the car for the next few
minutes until Chris pulled into a restaurant parking lot. He could see Rebecca
twisting the rings on her fingers and bouncing her knee in his peripheral
vision. He finally jerked her car into park, turned the engine off and faced
her. 

She fidgeted with the drawstring on her shorts.

All the tension and irritation he felt moments
before melted in an instant.

He took her soft, cool hand in his, and she
stiffened.

“Are you okay?” He searched her face for some
indication that she really was okay despite what he’d seen and heard.

“Sure.”  She acted like she didn’t understand the
reason for his question.

He stared at her, not knowing what to say. Finally realizing
that she really didn’t know why he asked, he explained.

“I got to your dad’s a few minutes early and
thought I’d wait.” Something flickered behind her eyes, but she said nothing.
“The window was open. I heard your dad.”

Her eyes turned glassy, and she looked away.

Her fingers pulled away, and he grasped them
tighter. No way would he let her dodge this. Not after what he’d heard. “I take
it that’s not the first time your dad has spoken to you that way.”

Her ponytail swung away from him as she turned from
the passenger window and looked down into her lap. “No.”

“How often does that happen?”

She bit her lower lip and shook her head.

“Rebecca? How often?” He didn’t want to seem
dispassionate about it, but right now that demeanor tempered all the anger and
fear that was roiling inside of him, threatening to explode.

“Just when he’s stressed out about work or
something sets him off.  Maybe a couple times a month when I lived at home. I’m
not around for it so much now.”

“Does he talk to Abby that way?”

She looked him in the eye for the first time since
they’d gotten in the car. “Sometimes. She never stuck around long enough to
hear all of it. She’d take off. She’s always been his favorite anyhow.”

Strange. How could her dad favor Abby, who rejected
every one of his rules and principles and then be so hard on Rebecca, who bent
over backward to please him?

He didn’t even want to think what he had to say
next, but he had to know. “Has he ever hit you?”

“No. Of course not.” The way she rushed to answer,
you’d think his question was absurd instead of the next logical assumption. “He
may be a little rough some times, but he’s never hit me.”

“Define ‘rough’.”

“Grabbing me by the arm or something.”

“Does it leave a mark?”

“No. Never.”

“Has he hit Abby?”

“No.”

“Your mom?”

She paused for a few seconds. “I’m not sure. I’ve
always kind of thought that was it—that’s why she finally left. I don’t know
for sure.”

What kind of mother leaves her two daughters in a
situation like that?

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay
there. Ever. If something else comes up, I’m sure Abby could accommodate you
somehow. If not, you’ll stay with me.”

“It’s okay, Chris. Really.” Her features softened,
and she looked as if
she
felt sorry for
him
. Was she serious?

“No, it’s not.” He was about to lose his temper,
something he wasn’t prone to, not unless pushed to his limit. “Nothing about
that adds up to okay. No one deserves to be treated that way, especially you.
And for a man to say those things to his own daughter…Rebecca, why?”

She shrugged. “He’s always had anger issues. It’s
like he blows up, and it’s bad, but then he’s sorry. He really does feel bad
about it. And he tries not to get upset.”

“Has he had counseling or anything?”

“My dad?” She laughed. “Uh, no. That’s not his thing.”

“It should be his thing.  Rebecca, you are the
sweetest, most innocent girl I’ve ever met. You are decent and modest and for
the life of me I don’t know how he could call you a whore, of all things.”

The silence between them became uncomfortable, but
he waited for her to respond. Finally, she pulled her hand out of his and laid
it in her lap. “He saw us last night. He saw us kiss.”

“How? I thought he worked last night?”

“Apparently while we were out walking, he came
home.”

“But you didn’t see his car.”

“No, he didn’t bring it home. He didn’t tell me
how, but he injured his right leg, and he couldn’t drive. Someone brought him
home. When he got there he took some painkillers and laid down in his easy
chair to rest. He saw us through the window.”

It had been a heck of a kiss, but there wouldn’t
have been much to see. No inappropriate touching. Nothing. And she was a grown
woman living on her own for cripes sake. It started to make sense though. Her
reluctance to kiss him had nothing to do with him. Or her for that matter. It
had everything to do with her dad.

He shook his head and then let it fall on the
headrest. “I had no idea. No idea. Or I would not have done that there, in
front of his house.”

She refocused his attention with the gentle touch
of her finger to his cheek. “Please don’t be sorry. I’m not. That kiss…I don’t
regret it. I get breathless just thinking about it, so don’t you dare try to
take it back.”

“Well, next time we’ll be more discreet. I won’t be
the reason for him speaking to you like that. Not ever again.” He sat forward
again and looked at her. “I want you to promise me something.”

She lifted her chin. “What?”

“Promise that if this happens again you’ll tell
me.”

She nodded. “Okay, but you need to promise me
something, too.”

“What’s that?”

“That you won’t go pussyfooting around me like I’m
some kind of victim. I can’t bear it if you pity me. I’m the same person today
as I was yesterday. I’m sorry about all this, and I’m embarrassed, and the last
thing I want is for you to be mad at me.”

“You think I’m mad at you?” He
had
been
short with her. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at your dad. I’m mad at myself.
I’m frustrated with the situation, maybe a little irritated that you never told
me about this, but mad at you? How could I be mad at you?” 
I love you
.

For the first time since she’d practically skipped
out of her father’s house her eyes welled up. Her chest rose and fell in quick
succession, and she hiccupped.

“Why are you crying now when you didn’t so much as
bat an eye at how your dad treated you?”

The tears ran over the rims of her lids and
streaked her cheeks. “I stopped crying over my dad years ago.” She shrugged. “I
guess I got used to it. I’m crying now because of you. Because you care.”

“Of course I care.”

She broke into a sob, and he tried to pull her into
his arms, but the cup holder, a box of tissues, and the other stuff stored
between the front seats blocked his way.

“Hold on.”

He shoved open the car door and came around to her
side. When he yanked open her door, she stood and nearly fell into his arms.

She sobbed into his shoulder while he stroked her
soft, smooth hair and tried to soothe her. After a few minutes, she pulled away
and dried her eyes with her fingertips, trying to erase the smudged makeup.

“Are you hungry?”

She nodded and smiled.

“Let’s go eat.” He put his arm around her and
walked her into the restaurant. He tried, but nothing about the meal seemed
normal, and more silence hung over their waffles than talking or laughter. When
they finished, he decided to take her home rather than finding some way to
spend more of the day with her.

He parked her car around the corner from her dad’s
house and walked her to the door.

“I’m coming in with you.” He didn’t phrase it as a
question, and she didn’t argue. He wasn’t about to let her alone with her
father. He waited in the entryway while she went upstairs to grab her things.
Chris thanked God her dad didn’t show his face—if he was even there. Rebecca
had begged him not to confront her dad, and although not certain it was the right
decision, he had agreed.

He walked Rebecca to her car, kissed her forehead,
and held her tight for as long as she let him. The whole morning left him
drained and confused.

Once Rebecca’s car pulled safely away from the
curb, he got back on his motorcycle and rode. He rode over two-lane country
roads and four-lane highways. Miles of corn, now tall and green, but not yet
tasseled, whizzed by him. The sun, the wind, the freedom of the open road all
soothed his soul.

Two hours later, he pulled in at a beer distributor.
In the cooler, he found a couple of chilled bottles of Gateway’s latest brew.
He bought them, stowed them on his bike and found himself travelling the
familiar roads to home—his parents’ home.

After a moment’s hesitation, Chris knocked on the front
door and waited. His mom insisted that he and Alan walk right in, and while
Alan did that, Chris disliked barging in on his parents. In less than a minute,
his dad answered the door.

“Chris, I’m surprised to see you here. Nice day for
a ride, isn’t it?”

He followed Dad down the hallway to the kitchen.
“Yeah. I’ve been riding for a couple hours at least. Time for a break.”

With a glance, his dad assessed him and probably
the reason for his visit. A sharp guy by nature, twenty-five years in sales had
left him with people-reading skills any psychologist or police detective would
envy.

The morning newspaper was spread over the kitchen
island. His dad climbed onto the stool in front of it. His seat faced the
recently-updated cooking area and new cherry wood cabinetry. To the right, a
pair of French doors opened onto the deck that descended to his parents’
in-ground swimming pool and three acres of land. Chris raised the two bottles
of beer he had brought and set them in the center of the counter.