“COME BACK TO BED.” Rob pulled Grace under the covers. “Mmmm. I love the way you smell after sex.” He buried his face in her hair and kissed her neck. “Even if your new do makes you look like you’re ten years old.”
Grace ran her hand through her hair. Michael liked it short. Said it made her eyes sparkle. “Don’t.” Grace untangled her legs from Rob’s. “I’m going to be late.”
“For what? It’s Saturday. I thought we’d spend the day together. Do a little Christmas shopping for Abbie.”
“That’s what you get for thinking.” Grace smiled as she pushed his hand away, slid off the bed, and stepped into the shower. There was a time, years ago, when, after making love, she wouldn’t bathe for days, willing Rob’s musky scent to permeate her skin, marking her as his. But that was years ago, before waiting for him to notice her, hold her, or make love to her had turned everything sour. She tried to remember the last time he had told her he loved her and couldn’t.
Grace turned off the water. What was she doing? Just when she got what she wanted, she pushed it away like yesterday’s green beans. Her head was confused. One minute she wanted Michael; the next, she wanted Rob.
Wrapping her hair in a towel, Grace dove back into bed, surprised to find it empty. “Rob?” She looked around the room. “Rob?”
Slipping into her bathrobe, Grace padded down the stairs and found her husband at the kitchen table, drinking orange juice and buttering a piece of toast for Abbie, who was laughing at something he’d said.
“You’re up early.” Grace glanced at her daughter. Even with dark circles under her eyes and her hair looking like a rat’s nest, Abbie was pretty. In that moment, Grace hated her.
“Abbie and I are going shopping.” Rob winked at his daughter. “Too bad you’re so busy you can’t come along. We’re even talking about lunch at Rudy’s.”
Any desire Grace may have had for Rob at that moment disappeared. The last time she was at Rudy’s, she and Michael had snuggled in a booth. She shrugged away the piece of toast Rob offered. Good wife, bad wife, should she stay or should she go? Wanting some time alone so she could think about Michael, Grace settled on a shower and a new sweater. Pale pink, the cashmere made her feel pretty and feminine. She styled her hair, grateful she no longer had to spend an hour curling it. “There.” She blotted her lipstick. “You don’t look half bad.” As a matter of fact, she looked quite good. Better than her daughter with her unruly hair, even if she said so herself.
Grace hummed as she planned her day. First the massage, then a manicure. In the living room, she stood back to inspect her tree. Like the one at work, this one was perfect. So unlike the smaller tree she put up in Rob’s office, adorned with the rudimentary ornaments Abbie made in elementary school and with her grandmother—old candy canes supposed to look like reindeers; cardboard gingerbread houses held together with school glue; faded satin balls displaying each of their names. She adjusted the garland and admired the gold bow that cascaded to the floor.
Rob stepped into the room, buttoning his coat. “Sure you won’t join us?” Before she could answer, he called up the stairs. “Abbie, you ready?”
“Coming.” Abbie dashed down the stairs and into the coat her father held open for her, a sure reminder that if Grace had wanted to go along, she would just be in the way.
“Have fun.” She waved them out the door.
“Ho, Ho, Ho. Merry Christmas.” She picked up the extra boxes of crystal ornaments still sitting under the tree. She thought of Michael and tried to manufacture a reason to see him. The ornaments. As usual, she had too many for her tree. She’d give them to him as a house-warming present. After her massage, and after she dropped off the yarn she’d found on sale for her mother.
In spite of the wind and blustering snow, Grace smiled when her mother opened the door. “Hi, Mom.”
“Why, Grace?” Her mother peered out the door. “Are you lost?”
“Funny, Mother.” Grace closed the door and brushed the wet snow from her coat. “Brrrr. Can’t a daughter visit her mother without making an appointment?”
Maxine said. “It’s been a long time since you just dropped by.”
“I have a job now, you know.” Grace pulled off her gloves and stuck them into her coat pocket.
“Don’t I.”
Grace handed her mother the bag of yarn. “I didn’t come over to fight. I thought you’d like this.”
Maxine took the sack to the sofa. “Sit down. How about a cup of coffee?”
“No thanks. Where’s Daddy?”
“Where he always is on weekends.” Maxine nodded to the bedroom. “Can’t you hear him?”
Her father’s uneven snoring echoed down the hallway. Grace knew why he slept all weekend. She even understood his need to drink.
“What do you want me to do with this?” Maxine pulled out several variegated skeins of yarn. “Make something for Abbie? You realize Christmas is just two weeks away.”
“No, I don’t want you to make something for Abbie.” Grace tried, but she couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. “I thought you’d like it. If you don’t, take it to your Senior Center. Maybe someone there can use it.” She glanced around the room, at the hideous Christmas tree with its red and green lights, so old they were antiques. It stood in the same corner every year, draped with the same paper garland, pipe-cleaner reindeers, crocheted angels, and plastic canvas rocking horses. She wasn’t surprised to hear Elvis Presley crooning, “I’ll be home for Christmas.”
“I don’t know why you always have to turn your nose up at everything I do,” Maxine said. “I swear, Grace, there’s no satisfying you. No wonder Rob’s never home. Would you please sit down?”
“Can’t stay.” Grace walked over to the fish tank and peered in at the silver Bala sharks. “I see you still have Elvis and Priscilla.” She tapped at the two-inch hapless hostages until they swam over to the glass.
“Just a smidge.” Maxine handed Grace the fish food. “I already fed them once this morning.”
Grace lifted the lid to the aquarium and sprinkled flakes on the water. “Here fishy, fishy.”
“What did you do to your hair?”
Grace dropped the lid. “Cut it. Don’t you like it?”
“I do, unless you’re having a mid-life crisis.” Maxine lit a cigarette and went to the kitchen to refill her coffee.
“Why would you say that? You’re the one who said I needed to change.”
“I’m surprised you heard me,” Maxine said.
“I hear everything you say.”
“If that’s true, where’s the Christmas list I asked for last week?”
Mother and daughter stared at each other, each guarded and defensive. In less than ten minutes, Grace was thirteen again. She stood in the middle of the room considering the gurgle of the fish tank, the Elvis Presley music playing on the stereo, the ticking of the clock over the fireplace, and her father’s snoring in the other room. She was so glad this was no longer her home.
“Anything you give us is fine.” Grace pulled on her gloves. “I have to go. Tell Daddy ‘Hi’.” She was out the door and down the steps before her mother could thank her for the yarn.
Grace dashed through the snow and slammed her car door. So much for trying to do something nice. She backed out of her mother’s driveway without looking toward the window, without seeing her mother standing on the porch, waving goodbye.
Across town, Grace pulled into the driveway at the house on Cedar Lane. Tire tracks leading to the front door indicated the moving van had come and gone. She turned off the engine and stared at the house.
She smoothed her hair and gathered the boxes of ornaments. She would deliver them and leave. Unless he still wanted her help. Her hands shook like she was still in high school, waiting for her one true love.
He must have been watching from the window. Before she could ring the bell, Michael opened the door. “Ah, she comes bearing gifts.”
“I hope you like them.” Grace handed him the boxes.
“Come in. Come in.” He put the ornaments on an entryway table that hadn’t been there before and asked to take her coat. As she shrugged out of it, his hands lingered on her shoulders. She liked the way they felt—warm, confident. “Coffee?” He hung her coat in the closet.
“Sure.” Grace stepped past the foyer and boxes waiting to be unpacked. If these had been her moving boxes, there would have been twice as many, and each would be labeled. Kitchen. Bathroom. Bedroom. Pantry. But this was Michael, and his way seemed more fun. Opening each unmarked box would be a surprise, maybe even an adventure.
Sipping coffee, she said, “How can I help?”
“In here.” He led her to the sunken living room with a vaulted ceiling.
“Oh, my goodness.” Grace stared at the giant fir, so tall it touched the ceiling. She had no idea how he’d gotten the tree through the door, let alone into a stand.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.” Perfectly shaped and pine-scented, the tree all but filled the room. It must have taken him all night to attach the thousands of blinking lights. Scattered across the floor were boxes of decorations. Gold. Silver. Blue. She was glad she brought the ornaments. They would work nicely here.
She looked from the tree to the unopened boxes. She wanted to do both. “Can I help you unpack?”
“Nope.” He handed her an ornament. “You’re commissioned to decorate the tree.” She couldn’t see the radio, but Christmas carols transformed the room into a romantic refuge. All she needed was hot buttered rum and gingerbread to make it perfect.
“Well,” he said. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen, unpacking those boxes.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted him with a smile, not at all sorry she wasn’t ogling over presents with Rob and Abbie at the mall. This would be a lot more fun. “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” Grace sang along with the radio as she hung ornaments on the fragrant branches.
“Everywhere you go.” Michael sang behind her, and she jumped. He had opened an unmarked box and discovered tinsel, garland, and peacock feathers. “Look what I found.”
Funny how things appeared when she needed them without once having to ask. There was the ladder, right beside the tree. More coffee before her cup was empty. A welcomed change to soft rock music when she grew tired of the carols. Even as he worked in the kitchen putting dishes and utensils away, his thoughts seemed to be on her. Was she too warm? Was she too cold? Did she want him to hold the ladder?
Grace glanced over her shoulder to watch Michael rummage through the boxes. He was comical as he held up a mixer, a toaster and scratched his head as if he didn’t remember packing them. Arresting, he made her smile. Besides, he was easy to look at. Her heart felt lighter than it had in years.
“Break time.” He handed her a steaming cup; this time, not coffee.
“Hot buttered rum,” he said to her questioning gaze. “Old family recipe.”
Grace sipped. “Delicious.” Their eyes met; her face grew warm. Because there were no chairs, they sat on the floor in front of the tree. “To Christmas.” Grace clinked her cup against his.
“To Christmas,” Michael said. “The help’s not bad either.” She blushed.
When their cups were empty, Michael said, “Guess it’s back to work.” He stood and offered his hand. Tipsy from the rum, Grace swayed into him. There was an awkward moment of silence before he kissed her. She didn’t pull away. In fact, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him, too.
They kissed with eyes open, and she liked looking into his eyes, knowing he was thinking of her instead of work or a child.
“Do you want to stop?” he said.
“No.” She played with the buttons on his shirt. His chest was warm and strong. Hungry and starved for attention, there was no name for what Grace felt. Love or lust, it didn’t matter. She wanted the closeness of his body, the heat and his desire. She quivered as he touched her and closed her eyes, riding the waves of emotion like a carnival ride, higher, faster, again, don’t stop. Again. Again.
Afterwards, spent and sweaty, they lay in each other’s arms. He tipped her head and looked into her eyes. “Sorry?”
Grace snuggled against his shoulder. “No.”
By the time she fastened her bra and slipped into her clothes the sun was setting, making everything in the room rosy and enchanted. She didn’t want to leave, and she drove away from his house reluctantly, hoping her husband and daughter had stopped somewhere to eat. After such a lovely day, the last thing she wanted to do was to go home and cook. In fact, she didn’t want to go home at all.
***
All morning long, Maxine worried about Christmas. Less than two weeks away, she still hadn’t settled on gifts for Grace and Abbie. The sweaters she’d knitted and planned to give them were gone, sold at the Christmas bazaar.
She opened her purse and took out the envelope she hid from Herb. While he slept, she counted the money—three hundred dollars—enough to buy Grace a bottle of perfume with plenty left to get something nice for Abbie. But what? What did you buy a teenager who already had everything? She had asked Grace for a Christmas list, but didn’t get one. “Anything you give us is fine.” Maybe she should give them nothing. See how fine that was. Maxine sighed. No matter what she did, it was never good enough for Grace.
She poured a cup of coffee, settled in the sofa, and looked through the pile of mail-order gift catalogs. The Swiss Colony offered a nice assortment of holiday gift baskets, petit fours and chocolate covered nuts. A basket might make a nice present. It could take the place of the baking Maxine hadn’t had time to do.
Maxine pushed the catalog aside. Grace would never eat candy or cake, let alone keep the tempting desserts in the house. Maxine looked through the flyers she’d saved from Sunday’s paper. She spotted a nice dress shirt for Rob. It even had a tie. She looked at sweaters, purses, gloves and scarves. Some would look nice on Abbie, but others were downright ugly. Maxine flipped through the electronics ads, but the new gadgets confused her. She knew nothing about electronic notebooks or iPads. Nor could she afford them.
Maybe a CD.
She had no idea what kind of music Abbie listened to lately.
A new backpack.
No.
An easel.
Abbie already had two.
Who knew spending money could be so much work?
Frustrated, Maxine called Shirley. “Do you still want to go shopping?”
“Absolutely,” Shirley said. “Give me an hour, and I’ll be ready.”
Maxine looked down at her own clothes. A baggy pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that was clean but splotched with old paint and bleach. Her hair lay flat against her head. She could cover her hair with a hat. But she’d have to change her clothes.
Herb snored as she entered the bedroom. Mindful not to wake him, Maxine tiptoed to the closet, eased the door open, and took down a clean sweater. As she pulled the sweater over her head, she glanced at the bed. Good, he was still asleep. When she opened the dresser drawer to take out a clean pair of socks, the lamp tipped, and she scrambled to catch it before it fell to the floor. She closed the drawer as Herb rolled onto his side.
“’S time to eat?”
Shit.
“No,” Maxine said. “Go back to sleep.”
He made a congested gurgle in his throat like he was swallowing a cat. “Call me when dinners s’ready.” He rolled over and started snoring again. If she were lucky, he’d go back to sleep and stay that way for the rest of his life.
But she wasn’t so lucky. She had just opened the door for Shirley when Herb lumbered out of the bedroom, his rumpled undershorts hanging off his hips.
“Where’s my dinner?” He slurred his words.
“Go.” Maxine shoved Shirley out the door.
“Oh, Maxine,” Shirley said between laughing and trying to catch her breath. “I had no idea.” She was laughing so hard, she couldn’t get her key in the ignition. “You told us he drank a lot, but . . .” Shirley whooped. “Oh, my God, Maxine. You should take his picture.” Tears ran down her face, streaking her mascara.
“It isn’t funny,” Maxine said. She might laugh too if she wasn’t married to the sorry slob. “Go before he comes outside and shares all his glory with the neighbors.”
This brought another howl from Shirley, who was laughing so hard she couldn’t back out of the driveway. When her laughter subsided and she was more composed, she said, “It’s a good thing Helen didn’t see that. She’d drive you to divorce court today. What I wouldn’t give for a picture.”
What Maxine wouldn’t give if he would just go away.
The streets and sidewalks were busy with people scurrying to find perfect gifts. “Let’s go to Macy’s,” Shirley said as she parked the car. “I need a new purse.”
It had been a while since Maxine had been shopping in the mall. The number of bustling people overwhelmed her, but the Christmas carols streaming over the loud speaker put her in the Christmas spirit. She even stopped to watch a jovial Santa pose for pictures with hopeful children.
“If I sit on his lap, do you think he’ll grant my wish?” Maxine said.
“You never know,” Shirley laughed. “Give it a try.”
Maxine imagined herself on Santa’s lap, telling him she wanted Herb to die. She wondered if he could pull that one out of his gift bag.
On their way to look at purses, they passed a display of sunglasses. Who bought sunglasses in winter? Maxine wondered. But Shirley had stopped and was trying on several different frames. “What do you think?” She turned to model a blue pair trimmed in rhinestones. Maxine thought they looked like something Marilyn Monroe might have worn in one of her movies, but Shirley bought them anyway, saying they looked nice against her skin.
“Here we go.” Shirley led Maxine to the purses. “Oh, look. Isn’t this cute?” While Shirley checked out the purses—opening zippers and posing before a mirror—she asked Maxine, “Does Grace like perfume? Christian Dior’s on sale.”
“I’m sure she does,” Maxine said. “But I have no idea what she wears.”
Settling on a blue shoulder bag that matched her new sunglasses, Shirley pointed to the cosmetic counter. “Bet this nice girl can help us.” She selected a tester and sprayed her wrist. “What are your top sellers?”
The clerk slid a tray of perfumes toward them. “Chanel No. 5 is always a favorite.” She sprayed it on Shirley’s opposite wrist.
“What do you think?” Shirley held her wrist for Maxine to smell. Maxine wrinkled her nose. “Too strong and flowery.”
Shirley turned to the clerk. “What else do you have?”
“We sell a lot of Cinnabar for Christmas.”
Shirley offered Maxine’s wrist. It smelled like cinnamon, only spicier. “Ummm, I like that.” Shirley said. The perfume made Maxine sneeze.
“Or,” the clerk said, “Opium is still popular.” Maxine sniffed her wrist and tried to imagine the oriental fragrance on Grace.
“Do you think Abbie would like it?” Shirley said.
“Abbie’s too young for perfume,” Maxine said. “Isn’t she?”
“I wore my mother’s Tabu in junior high,” Shirley said.
“Pathetic,” the clerk said, and rolled her eyes. “Then you might be interested in these.” This time she didn’t spray their wrists, but set out a selection of pretty bottles. Shirley helped herself, trying one fragrance after another. By the time Maxine had sniffed six or seven more, the perfumes all smelled the same, and she had a pounding headache.
“Think I’ll wait,” she said.
“I’ll take this one.” Shirley pointed to a bottle of Cinnabar. “What the heck?” She handed the clerk a bottle of Opium. “I’ll take this one, too. After all, it’s Christmas.”
Maxine stared. The perfume purchases totaled more than one hundred and thirty dollars. Unlike Maxine, spending money wasn’t hard for Shirley.
Next, they went to JC Penney’s. While Shirley tried on sweaters and corduroy pants, Maxine walked the aisles, trying to find something for Grace or Abbie. But everything was too bright, too tight, or too sloppy. She found a top with beads worked in a circle around the neck and wondered what it would look like on Grace.
“Oh, that’s cute!” Carrying an arm full of clothes, Shirley fingered the beads. “Are you getting that for Abbie?”
“No.”
“Good.” Shirley snatched the top.
Before leaving the store, they stopped at the jewelry counter where Shirley tried on rings, watches, and bracelets. “What do you think?” She modeled a necklace with large gold links. “Would Grace like this?” Maxine shook her head. “How about this?” Shirley held a jeweled parrot pin bigger than a silver dollar.
“I don’t think so.”
While Shirley paid for her clothes, the beaded top, and the pin, Maxine said, “I have no idea what to get them.”
“There’s a cute teen boutique. Bet we can find something there for Abbie.”
By now, Maxine was done with shopping, but she followed Shirley into the store anyway, even though it was filled with giggling teenagers, and the music blaring in the shop made Maxine’s head hurt more. She looked at a short jacket Shirley thought would look good on Abbie. But when Maxine read the price, she shook her head. “Let’s go.” Her feet hurt, her head hurt. She wanted a cup of coffee and a cigarette.
As if reading her mind, Shirley said, “Let’s get something to drink. My treat.”
In the mall coffee shop, they shared a maple doughnut the size of a dinner plate. Shirley doctored her coffee with sugar and cream, but Maxine preferred hers black. It felt good to sit.
While Shirley watched people, or rather, the men, trying to guess who was still single, Maxine studied the teenagers. So many of the girls wore faded jeans that looked like they’d been washed in acid, or eye makeup so black, it made them look like vampire hookers. Many had tattoos and piercings. Thank God Grace didn’t let Abbie dress like that.
Maxine took another bite of the doughnut. She was a bad mother. She should be kinder to Grace.
She was watching a girl about Abbie’s age drape herself all over a boy when she noticed a sign in the window of an adjoining store. Senior Special. Book now for a once in a lifetime trip to Graceland.
Maxine was on her feet and in the travel agency before Shirley could ask where she was going. “How much?” she asked the travel agent.
“It’s a Christmas special,” the agent said. “Four hundred and fifty dollars.”
Maxine pulled out her envelope. She had three hundred dollars. But she knew where she could get the rest.
***
“What about this? Or this?” Abbie and her father were standing in front of the jewelry counter at JC Penney’s. Her father pointed to a tennis bracelet with small silver hearts jeweled with diamonds. The bracelet was marked fifty percent off, and one look was enough for Abbie to know it would never be good enough for her mother. Not compared to the other bracelets that were more delicate with larger diamonds.
She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so she lied. “Nice. I think Mom will like it.”
“All right, then.” Her father motioned to the bracelet. “We’ll take that one. Can we get it gift-wrapped?”
The cashier pointed to a table near the door where Girl Scouts wrapped presents. On their way, they passed a shelf of porcelain figurines. Her father picked up a Santa. “Do you think your mother would like this for her collection?”
“Nope,” Abbie said. “She already has one.”
“She does?” her father said. “I didn’t know that. What do you say we head over to Rudy’s and get something to eat after we get this present wrapped?”
“Hang on.” Abbie stopped to answer her cell. GOING 2 MALL, Heather texted. COME W ME.
ALREADY THERE, Abbie replied. SHOPPING W DAD. ALMOST DONE. COME MEET US? Ten minutes later, Heather appeared.
“Hi, Mr. Buchanan. Nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you, too. We were just talking about lunch. Care to join us?”
“No thanks. Abbie said she’d help me find a gift for my mom.”
Abbie turned to her father. “That okay?”
“Guess I know when I’ve been replaced,” her father teased.
“Aw, Dad. No one can replace you.”
“Butter me up.” He tapped his cheek with his finger.
Abbie gave him a kiss. “Thanks. Mom’s going to love her present.” He was always so happy. She loved the way he whistled as he walked away.
“Okay,” Abbie said to Heather. “Let’s do it so I can get something to eat. I’m starving.”
They were looking at scarves when Heather said, “Where’d you go last night?”
Abbie picked up a plaid scarf. “What about this one? It looks like Christmas.”
“Don’t change the subject. We looked for you, and you were gone.”
“Well,” Abbie hesitated. “You were busy.”
Heather didn’t blush, not like Abbie would have. “How’d you get home?”
“Jeremy.”
“Really?” Heather tied a green scarf around her neck. “’Bout time. What do you think?”
Abbie shrugged. “Nice.”
“What else did you do?”
“Nothing,” Abbie said. “Why are you so mad?”
“Who’s mad?” Heather said as she paid for the scarf. “Why would I be mad?” Before Abbie could answer, she added, “Thanks for telling me you were leaving. Next time I won’t waste my time looking for you.”
Minutes later, they were sitting at a table eating fries and drinking sodas. “He’s really nice, Heather. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you we were leaving. It just sort of happened.”
Heather smirked. “The next time it just sort of happens, I’m gone.”
“It won’t,” Abbie said. “I promise.”
“Better not.” Then she winked. “By the way, I’m glad you two finally connected.” They giggled.
“Did he kiss you?”
“Yes,” Abbie squealed.
“She kissed the boy, she kissed the boy,” Heather sang until her phone beeped. “Shit. Have to meet my dad. And his new girlfriend.” She made a face and Abbie laughed. “Want to come along?”
“No thanks.”
“Please. It should be a riot.” Heather dumped her empty cup in the garbage. “Need a ride?”
“Nope. I’ll walk. Have fun with your dad and his new squeeze.”
Heather rolled her eyes, and Abbie laughed.
She was less than a mile from home, and there was an eagle’s nest by the river she wanted to draw for her portfolio. She had to get it done by the first week of January if she wanted to win that scholarship. Even in the snow, it didn’t take her long to get home.
“Mom?” she called. The house was empty. Abbie collected her car keys, camera and sketchpad, and drove to the river. Settling at a picnic table near the nest, Abbie open her sketchpad. The low-angled winter light cast strange colored shadows on the snow she hoped to capture. It took a while to get started, and at first all she could do was doodle as she recalled last night’s events. Fries. Cokes. Jeremy’s hands. His kiss. She ripped the sheet of paper from her sketchpad and began again.
She started with the top of a tree and tucked the nest below the crown near the trunk where the branches were thick and strong. She worked until her pile of sticks, grasses and moss took shape, adding a few feathers and scavenged twine. As often happened once Abbie put pen to paper, she lost track of time. When she looked up from her drawing, the sun was lower in the sky, the air cooler. She stretched and put her drawing away. Where most would have expected black or charcoal, she liked red ink. She’d finish it later at home.
Walking back to her car, Abbie took a path that followed the partially frozen river gurgling under the ice. The snow crunched under her feet, and a sparrow bobbed out of her way. She kept walking but stopped abruptly when she saw him. He was standing on a log fallen precariously over the river. His sketchpad lay on the bank in the snow.
“Jeremy?”
She startled him, and he almost fell into the water. “Be careful.” She rushed closer and offered her hand.
He waved her away. “Move.”
She did, and he jumped. Slipping on the ice, he landed at her feet. An awkward grin filled his face. Abbie picked up the sketchpad, soppy with snow and ice. “It’s good.” She glanced at the drawing slowly turning into a blurry mess.
“I can do better.”
She gave him back his drawing. “Well, I wish I could. What were you doing out there on that log anyway, trying to kill yourself?”
He laughed. “Trying to get a better look at the water.”
“Well, you almost did,” she said, and they both laughed.
They sat down at the picnic table. Because his sketchpad was wet, he used hers. “It’s easy,” he said, taking out his pen. “It just takes concentration.”
Abbie sat beside him and watched the short, almost nonexistent dots become images. She took a piece of paper and started to draw, imitating him the best she could.
“No,” he corrected over her shoulder. “Hold your pen like this.” Amazing what a slight tilt to the hand could do. Soon, they had both drawn the same image, an empty teeter-totter half covered with snow, only his was blue and hers was red. With a few minor corrections, they were a perfectly matched pair. She even copied his insignia, the lopsided infinity he drew in the corner of the picture.
The sun was setting, leaving behind an icy stillness. It would be dark soon. When Abbie moved to stand, she brushed against his shoulder. One moment they were gazing into each other’s eyes; the next, he was brushing her hair from her face. Her once cold fingers tingled. Her breath caught in her throat as she closed her eyes and felt his lips, gentle and soft, touch her like butterfly wings. Behind her closed eyes, she was lost in an explosion of color. She felt his arms around her and leaned in closer, her heart hammering as she kissed him back. Shy, she pulled her head away, looked into his eyes, and kissed him again, wanting the moment to last forever.
Awkwardly, he ended the kiss and fished his car keys from his pocket. He held her hand as they walked toward the parking lot. She couldn’t feel her toes. Her nose was running. But there was no place she’d rather be.
Her phone beeped. “It’s my dad,” she said. “Wondering when I’m coming home.
“Yeah, my old man is probably having fits.” Jeremy tucked her into her car and kissed her again. Her head was fuzzy, her face flushed. With fingers resting lightly on her lips where he kissed her, Abbie watched him walk to his car. She waited until his taillights flashed before she backed away, thinking this is what it feels like to love someone who believes in infinities, in things that have no beginnings and no ends.