Chapter 38

There were no maudlin looks over his shoulder as he left the Clark house for what he knew would be the last time. The previous afternoon, after calling Annie to tell her he would be arriving as planned, he had climbed to the balcony and pushed back in the recliner. He was not uncomfortable, but neither did the perch offer the accustomed release. He was merely there. His connection to the house, if there had ever been one, was broken. He manhandled the recliner past the French doors and completed the limited cleaning chores he set for himself.

His mind was in neutral throughout the return trip toward New Orleans. He did not search the roadside with his eyes or make side trips in St. Francisville as was his custom. Bowman merely made his way leisurely, no mental escapes, no depression, no anticipation. Surprisingly, he was not anxious. He did not even ask himself why.

When he arrived in Baton Rouge, he again visited the shopping mall where he made another purchase of the same perfume he'd selected for Miz Clara. Afterward, he found a locally owned restaurant and, almost as if by habit, he ordered the seafood dinner. Then, with little conscious thought, he checked into a small motel, switched the air conditioner on high, took a steamy shower, pulled the covers close to his chin and drifted at once into a deep sleep.

The sun warmed his face as he watched the jets through the large waiting area window taxi to and fro. When the glare became oppressive, he resisted taking a seat, preferring to lean against the concourse wall, observing the constantly changing flurry of passengers moving at their own speed. A young couple passed with arms interlocked, oblivious of the presence of others. Passengers struggling with ponderous carry on bags testing the limits of airline policies. A fortyish man, shoulders back, failing in his effort to appear cosmopolitan. A couple tried by the energy of a hyperactive five year old boy.

When the flight was called, he joined the others, like sheep in a queue, dispassionately, and slowly making his way to the assigned window seat in the rear of the plane. He was relieved that the seat next to him was occupied by a small teenage girl. He would not have to struggle for shoulder room.

He closed his eyes and returned his thoughts to Annie. Feelings of anticipation began. His mind drifted back to the day they met and their initial reactions to one another, so negative on her part, yet so quickly resolved.

He remembered a steamy Saturday afternoon. After parking in the rear lot of a Biloxi motel, he strolled past the pool area intent on meeting his friend, Roy Edwards, in the lounge. He made no effort to conceal his enjoyment of the view of bikini clad lovelies sunning and moving about the pool. His attention was not particularly drawn to Annie or the woman sitting beside her filling her lungs, throwing back her shoulders and staring intently. He ignored her. The woman he came to know only as Bunny, called out to him: "Hey ,do you work here?"

Bowman walked over to her in response and answered: "No, but I'd be pleased to be of service."

"I need another Tom Collins."

"Comin' right up and you ma'am?" directing his attention to Annie.

"Nothing, thank you."

"Are you sure? I've got to make the trip anyway."

"No, nothing right now." Ignoring him, she closed her eyes.

When he returned with a drink for Bunny, and one for himself, Bunny had left her things and gone to the room. Bowman sat the drink on the table next to Annie and warned her that her shoulders were turning red.

She answered that she was perfectly capable of making decisions for herself and otherwise ignored him. He finished his drink and left without further conversation. Roy was waiting. He gave no further thought to the two women at the time. At a nightclub, later that evening, Roy connected with good ole, aggressive, Bunny. He sought out Bowman to join him at a table with "two gorgeous women". Bunny didn't even remember him. He knew from her glare that Annie did. When Roy left to dance with Bunny, Bowman sucked it up and asked Annie. She answered, "Why not," and rose unenthused. As they danced the walls of resistance fell away. In the following weeks, she led him through the maze of her acceptance and their attraction grew from a mutual enjoyment to need. Both came to realize the other's inner core of gentleness, sincerity, and compassion.

She later told him that her first impression was that he was arrogant and that she almost declined a first date out of embarrassment over the way she had treated him. The relationship progressed smoothly, but not easily. They genuinely admired one another and enjoyed the other's company, but both were fighting their own demons. Each feared a long term relationship. They wanted the warmth and security, but each was aware there could be and, from the perspective of each, the prospect of eventual pain from the intrusion of a deep relationship. Each understood the inherent risk of allowing another inside their defenses. Both shied. Neither wanted to be exposed emotionally again. A struggle from self-protective distance had to be overcome.

Sitting in the moving airplane, surrounded by other passengers, Bowman was able to understand all that had eluded him during his seclusion on the balcony. He was sure he now understood why Annie elected to leave for an extended period of training. She wasn't running from him, she had come to terms with her feelings. She was giving me a chance to fly free, to come to terms on my on. I've been a prick!

The young girl seated next to him nudged his elbow. He opened his eyes and noticed the flight attendant addressing him. He saw the drink cart and moved his head from side to side. He turned to the young girl and thanked her with a smile and again closed his eyes, willing his thoughts back to Annie. Why didn't she discuss these feelings with me? Perhaps that would've defeated the whole purpose of the separation. Though Bowman had not been as far along the path of introspection, he now knew that his co-dependence with Annie was deepening. He also knew that eventually he would have to make the decision to commit or experience the deterioration of the relationship. He was painfully aware of the dull misery of existing within a relationship that had gone south. His earlier inclination had been to run from the problem. That was why he had sold his house and returned to the roots of his ex-wife. He was unconsciously, and it was unconscious, placing the heaviest possible odds against a decision for entering into a strong commitment with Annie. His defenses had not worked. His inner struggle became a pseudo-depression. He had not been beating up on himself, just fighting Annie. She had won and, he now knew, so had he.

Feeling he had resolved thoughts that had been forcing themselves from his subconscious, he left his seat and made his way to the lavatory where he splashed water on his face and studied the mirror. The young girl sitting next to him was asleep. He moved past her slowly, trying not to disturb her.

Once exposed, the train of his thoughts would not be contained and gushed through his consciousness. He thought of her without effort. Even after all this time, Annie was still very formal and restrained in public, but Bowman had learned to read her eyes. Her body language told lies, her eyes did not. The reserve she displayed in public disappeared in private. Not in terms of being forward, but in giving and in exposing her inner self. In company there was reserve, alone in public there was the playful verbal banter, in private she was close, demonstrative, open, affectionate and playful.

He smiled when he considered that lovemaking with Annie was never a contest for control. She was, in fact, most often in control, but it was very gentle and easy. Her's was not a striving to reach a destination, but the utter enjoyment of each step along the way. Each movement was a sensation in and of itself; each turn, each reaction, each throb, each sigh, each tremble sacred. Not a scratcher or a screamer - she could and did, but only irregularly. The thing which thrilled him the most were her sighs. The mews. Soft and low, from deep within her.

Clearly, she preferred to react to his moves, but she could be the aggressor when he moved too cautiously. She knew how to love John Bowman in a slow, tender and grateful way, so that his greatest thrills were in the pleasure he shared with her. She loved freely. She knew how to create a good thing and to make that good thing last. She made him feel like quite a man, though it was evident to him that it was she who was quite a woman.

Another thing about Annie, even after periods of separation - though there was often a moment of distance, this quickly passed. You always picked up where you left off. A quality Bowman found very relieving.