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It was several minutes before they found their rhythm, progressing from clumsy to mechanical before at last attaining synchronicity, Dana below him once again as familiar to Del as the streetlight shining through the broken slat in the blinds above his childhood bed. She was the only girl he’d ever slept with, though she’d been with one other boy, the summer before she began dating Del. She’d been thinner then, but never thin, always a little round in the face and thighs. Her first fall at Central she packed on the proverbial freshman fifteen and never lost it, despite the diet-and-exercise campaigns that seemed to reappear on her list of resolutions each New Year’s. His hands recalled every curve as if it had been only last week and not two months already since her visit over July Fourth weekend, the only break she’d been granted from her internship at Stearns and Rychuk, a public relations firm downtown.
“God, I missed you,” he said, after collapsing on top of her. He lay with his nose buried in her sandy blonde hair, rising with each breath that filled Dana’s chest like a light craft on a gentle tide. When his softness was no longer deniable, he pulled his hips back and rolled onto his side, wrapping his right arm across her ribs just under her breasts. “You’re staying tonight, right?”
Her head nodded against his chin.
“What time do you have to be at work?”
“Nine.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the clock on his dresser. It wasn’t quite eleven yet.
“What about you?” Dana asked. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Laundry. Everything I own is dirty. Might go to lunch with Gwen if she’s up.”
“Tell her I said hey.”
“I will. She’ll ask about you. She always does.”
“Really?”
“She doesn’t like to talk about baseball. You’re the only other thing she knows to ask about.”
Del extended his thumb up to Dana’s breast and teased the back of his nail against her nipple to gauge her interest in a second go-round. When it firmed under his touch, he nestled tighter against her. She turned her grinning face toward his and rolled so they were once again chest to chest.
“That was quick.” Her pale-blue eyes danced as she traced her hand lightly over his groin. “Oh, not quite there yet.”
“I’m getting there.” He kissed her forehead, which was where his mouth lined up when they aligned themselves in bed. “What’s your rush?”
“No hurry,” she giggled. “I’m just glad to—” She flinched at the hum of the garage door opener.
“It’s all right,” Del whispered. “She’s not going to hear us.”
Dana lifted her head off the pillow and listened. The squeal of Gwen’s brakes as she turned into the driveway was soon drowned out by a thumping bass beat that grew into a whirling mix of keyboards, drum machines, and shrieking vocals. The noise pulsated up through the floor, seemingly through the bed they lay on, so loud they could feel it. When at last it ceased, the silence filled the room around them until it was broken by the grinding motor of the garage door. Dana’s shoulders tensed against Del’s forearm.
“Should we get dressed?” she asked.
“What? Why?”
“My bag’s still downstairs. I need it before I can get ready for bed.”
“I can just go grab it for you.”
“That’s awkward, though, isn’t it? Seems like we should go talk to her.”
“Why?”
“Just get up.”
Del rolled away from her and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. By the time he’d pushed himself into a seated position Dana was scurrying around the room on a scavenger hunt for her clothes. Her bra turned up on the book shelf, her nylon stockings were barely distinguishable against the dark carpet, and her panties had landed in Del’s yet open suitcase. She pulled each item on as it was located, wriggled back into her dress, motioned for him to fasten the buttons in back with a nod of her head, and slipped out the door down the hall into the bathroom. Del, opting for sweat pants and a fleece pullover, padded barefoot down the stairs and into the kitchen, where his mother was tapping a box of wine on the knife-scarred butcher-block counter.
The kitchen had changed little since they moved in the week after Del’s fifth birthday. As much as Gwen had grumbled about the olive-green electric stove and the mismatched harvest-gold refrigerator, both appliances were still there and would be until they quit running. The double-bowl cast-iron sink was likely original to the house, constructed in the 1950s, as was the linoleum, its faded orange and seafoam green diamonds interspersed among white octagons. Even the wire dish drainer had been stationed on the countertop between the sink and oven as far back as Del could remember. Tonight it held the plates and pans from Milo’s dinner.
“Hey, I was hoping for some company.” Gwen dialed the wine tap closed and hoisted her glass in his direction, causing her oversized denim jacket to slide off her right shoulder, bare but for a shower of kinked copper hair. Her high, round cheeks had been polished like chestnuts by the Seattle wind and rain in a parade of previous jobs from crossing guard to landscaper to road-crew flagger. Though she had stopped counting birthdays several years back when she passed her forty-ninth, Gwen Tanner still caught second glances, holding some with mischief-laden emerald eyes while others never made it north of the tattooed butterflies fluttering out of her low-cut blouses. Tonight she wore a sequined satin tank top, tight in the places it needed to be to ensure generous tipping, as were her jeans. Her high-heeled sandals had been discarded on the woven mat by the door to the garage. “So nice to have you back home.”
Del bowed down and kissed her cheek. He lifted the Merlot by its handle, guesstimated it held less than three glasses, and opted instead for a beer from the refrigerator.
“Thought you had late shift tonight?”
“No, Angie’s on. I was in at three. I close tomorrow. And Friday. Where’s Dana?”
“Upstairs. She’ll be down in a minute.”
“Ahh.” A wink deepened the crow’s feet around Gwen’s eye. “I miss having her around here. I missed you, too. Milo’s never up when I get home. Some nights I stay at the bar after my shift just to put off the quiet.”
She picked a Netflix envelope off the kitchen table and passed on through the dining room toward the living room. Hearing Dana’s footfall on the stairs, Del lingered behind.
“Wine?” he asked, when she entered.
She glanced at the clock on the stove and shook her head. “I better not. I’ve got to be up by seven.”
“You’re so diligent.” Del pulled the refrigerator door open. “We’ve got ginger ale, fizzy water, and milk.”
“Water’s fine.”
They found Gwen kneeling in front of the fifty-inch plasma television that dwarfed the cherry cabinet beneath it. “Fifty First Dates,” she said, sliding a DVD out of the envelope. “Drew Barrymore. You guys seen it already?”
Del shook his head and sank into the crushed-velvet sofa, leaning his elbow on the arm rest. Dana dropped in next to him. He reached behind her and pulled his grandmother’s afghan off the back cushion and spread it over their laps. Gwen took the opposite end of the couch, holding her wine glass in one hand and the remote in the other. After navigating the menu she tossed the control aside and gave Dana’s exposed calf a quick squeeze.
“How’ve you been, girl?”
“Busy. Crazy busy. I start on my MBA in two weeks. That’s on top of Stearns and Rychuk. I think I can still make the office three days a week when school starts.”
“God bless you, makes my head spin just to think of it all. I never made it through a year of college myself. Of course, I majored in cocktails. That didn’t help.”
“It’s been insane all summer. Nice to be back on this side of the mountains, but it’s a lot to get used to being downtown every day.”
“Isn’t it, though? I worked down on Capitol Hill flagging for a summer back four or five years ago. Remember? It was horrible getting in every morning. That was just about the end of me on day work.”
“I’m taking the bus.”
Gwen waved dismissively. “God bless you, I never could stand it. The waiting mostly. Damn thing was always late. Oh, hey, I saw your mom last month down at the Safeway. Did she mention it?”
“No. Don’t think so. I don’t see her every day, though. She probably forgot.”
Even without turning his head, Del could picture the pained look on Gwen’s face. Add another slight to her catalog of offenses committed by Dana’s parents. Elitist a-hole Skoogs, she called them, at least when Dana wasn’t around.
“Probably, dear,” Gwen replied. “Oh, Del, speaking of run-intos, Steve was in last week. Friday, I think it was. He asked about you.”
“Steve?”
“Landerson. Blows in every so often to play darts. Wanted to know if you were interested in working again this Christmas.”
Steve Landerson was his depraved boss at UPS the previous winter. While loading trucks on the overnight, Del had endured two months of gay jokes cruder than anything he’d ever heard in a locker room, most referring, in gory detail, to infiltration of the “shit shoot.” He was almost relieved to be let go once the holiday rush subsided.
“I’d rather find something that starts sooner and runs through February,” Del said. “But if nothing turns up, maybe.”
“So you’re not still thinking of taking some classes this fall?” Dana asked.
“Nah.”
“What about those two we talked about? I think you could do them over the net.”
“I just ...” Returning to school to finish off his last five classes held no appeal. He’d only gone to college in the first place to play ball. “I can’t do it now. I need to earn enough to get me through the season. I was broke by June. It’d be nice to eat something other than PB and J next summer.”
“I still think you should get that degree.” Dana’s voice rose slightly. “You’re so close. It wouldn’t take long to peck out those last few credits. You’ve got to think of the future.”
“I am.”
“No, I’m being serious. You never know when you’ll need it.”
Without turning his head, Del cast her a subtle, corner-of-the-eye glare. Hadn’t she gotten the message last spring when he’d resisted her badgering to contact his advisor about distance-learning courses he could take over the summer? “Thanks for your confidence.”
“That’s not what I meant. Guys get hurt, though. Anything can happen. Back me up, Gwen.”
“Sweetheart, I’m staying out of this one. He’s been dreaming this dream since he was six years old. I ain’t never heard him mention a Plan B. Until Milo tells him he needs one you’re preaching to a brick wall.”