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Cameron
When I was carrying Hattie’s bags into her Lawnside house yesterday, she broached the topic of Chase again. She recommended I reach out to him, so this morning, I begin to consider the implications of doing that. I can’t tell him about Shirlene. I definitely can’t have him anywhere near Arlene.
So how do I do this without him becoming involved with what I now consider my family? First, I may not be able to find him. Second, he’s likely using, and I need to get a handle on that.
I consider talking to Shirlene about this, but since Hattie left, you can cut the tension between us with a knife. Adding my family baggage to the equation will likely cause additional strain. First, I’ll try to find Chase and determine what shape he’s in and if he’s willing to meet me up in Philly. Otherwise, I don’t see the point of stressing her.
I dig up his old cell phone number and briefly text him that I’ll be up from the shore three days from now on Thursday morning for a school meeting with my department. I ask if he could meet me for lunch. It’s unlikely he’s in the Philly area, but this gives him a few days to pull it together if he is around and does want to meet up.
Then I head down to my first breakfast with only Shirlene and the baby. The quiet at the table is deafening. Shirlene says nothing, so I can hear every crunch of my cereal. I decide to take a run to blow off some steam. I jog past the incomplete labyrinth and hit my stride on the hard, wet sand by the surf.
After covering about a mile, I run home. When I jog into the backyard, orchestral music is playing through the open windows. Shirlene must have turned on my grandmother’s home stereo system. While taking a quick shower outside, I recognized the piece as Appalachian Spring. I begin humming along. Maybe my relationship with Aimee and her tutelage in classical music were preparing me for a life with Shirlene.
I dry off and wrap the towel around my waist then enter the laundry room through the back door. When I tried to slip past in just a towel yesterday, I got a kick of Shirlene’s clear embarrassment, which I hope was attraction to me being half naked. Today, it’s a good idea to throw on clean briefs, shorts, and a T-shirt from the dryer. Humming along with the Copland piece, I hurry through the kitchen.
From the doorway, I see her. Shirlene faces away from me and conducts an imaginary orchestra. Chills run up my spine as the timpani pounds in response to her gesture. We’re nearing the end, and I wish I’d finished my run sooner. Her right hand indicates to the flute to play that heartbreakingly tender phrase. The first violins reply. Each string section layers and builds. The last few notes are added like raindrops on the xylophone. She holds the orchestra until the sounds fade. I’ve seen Shirlene transported at the piano, but conducting is complete ascension.
She lowers her hands. Applause comes from the speakers. A commentator begins talking about this particular live performance, but I pay no attention to the details. This woman must go back to school. She has returned for more than Arlene and—hopefully—me.
Shirlene turns off the stereo and seems to sense me in the room. Our eyes meet. My grandma’s clock ticks from the wall. My inner voice urges me on: Don’t be a fool. Why are you waiting? I open my arms, and a miracle occurs. She comes to me. Her fingers thread through my hair on the back of my head as she guides my face to her lips. I am overwhelmed by a desire to completely inhale her, but I purposely slow down.
Even so, she suddenly draws back. “What am I doing?” She strides to the porch door.
“Don’t go.” I wait for her reaction.
“I’m sorry, Cam. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“No harm done. We weren’t struck by lightning.” From her expression, I immediately regret my words. “I didn’t mean that.”
She starts for the stairs.
I’m dealing with a caged animal. “I hope we can talk this through.”
She pauses on the second step. “About what exactly? The kiss? This insane situation?” Her hand rests on the railing.
I take a chance by going to her and putting my hand on hers. She blinks. Her eyes soften.
“You feel it too,” I whisper.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m a big boy.”
“It’s better if we keep this simple.”
“We are way past simple, Shirlene.”
She takes a deep breath. “Less complicated. If we get involved, it becomes more muddled than it already is.”
“You’re right, but I’m willing to take the chance.”
She sits on the steps and wraps her arms around her knees, almost in a fetal position.
I crouch down in front of her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She releases her graceful hands and gently shoves at my shoulders. At first, I sense she’s pushing me away. But as I roll back onto the floor, she crawls on top of me, kissing me. Her fingers are in my hair again. My hands travel down her back. Her full weight is on me, and she must feel my reaction against her pelvis. I am consumed by her mouth. Our tongues communicate the longing we have for one another, but she needs to guide this voyage. She has to be the one making the decisions, or I’ll lose her.
“Upstairs,” she mutters against my mouth and keeps kissing me.
“Are you sure?” I whisper.
“Hmm.”
I gently roll her to the side of me, scoop her up, and stand.
“I want to go on my own two feet,” she says.
I set her down. She takes my hand and leads me up to my bedroom.