Ruth and Mercy were both sleeping when Noah came home from work.
“Oh, hey, Corinne,” Noah said, when he walked into the living room holding a bag of groceries.
Corinne was sitting in the rocking chair with the baby. She smiled and waved.
Noah walked over and peered down at his daughter. His voice dropped: “Knocked out, huh?”
Corinne hummed.
“Do you mind staying while I get dinner started?”
Corinne curved her hand over the baby’s head and ear. “Go ahead.”
She could see into the kitchen from the rocking chair. She watched Noah put away the groceries and start dinner. He looked like their dad—short and dark, with wavy, nearly black hair. She wondered if Noah ever talked to their dad. Corinne still talked to him. He was the same as he ever was. In and out. Here and there. Never really there when you needed him. He lived in California now. They talked on the phone.
Her dad blamed the church for his marriage failing—which was ironic because the church was the reason Corinne’s mom had stuck it out with him for so long. At least, her mom always said that was the reason.
He also blamed the church for turning his kids against him. “You know how they are,” he’d say to Corinne. And then she’d feel like she had to defend them—even though she did know how they were. They’d cut her off, too.
Corinne could never fully take her dad’s side against the church. She had too much to lose. This, for example. This tenuous welcome. This baby asleep in her arms. This chance to get to know her brother a little bit better.
“You’re the only one who treats me like a father,” her dad would say. And you’re not even my daughter, she could hear him think.
Maybe she should be angrier with him. For all the years of recklessness and neglect. She was certain he’d cheated on her mom. Copiously. But he was laid-back and gentle, and Corinne was pretty sure there was nothing she could ever do to alienate him. She wasn’t willing to lose that, either.
She watched Noah make dinner.
He wouldn’t remember that Corinne used to rock him like this. That he was her responsibility more often than not. You didn’t get any credit with babies.
Ruth woke up and started to fuss. Corinne let her suck on her index finger. She got up and walked the baby into the kitchen, where Noah was boiling water for spaghetti and heating up red sauce.
“Don’t judge me,” he said. “I can do this or sandwiches.”
“You can do sandwiches?” Corinne said. “You’ve got me beat.”
“I should probably wake up Mercy. We’ve got church tonight.” He glanced at Corinne, sheepishly, like maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned it. Like the word “church” might burn her skin like holy water.
“Go ahead,” she said. “I’ve got half a bottle left if Ruth starts crying.”
“Thanks.” He turned the fire down under the sauce and under a pan of frozen broccoli.
Ruth got tired of Corinne’s finger. Corinne figured she should probably change her, even though she’d rather do just about anything other than change diapers. When Noah was finally potty-trained, Corinne had sworn to herself that she wasn’t changing any more diapers until and unless she had kids of her own.
“I guess you’re the exception,” she said to Ruth. She changed her on the living room floor, and when Mercy and Noah still didn’t come down, she gave the baby the rest of her bottle.
Corinne didn’t have to call Enoch; they already had plans to meet at his house after church.
Mercy and Noah were in their church clothes when they came down. Mercy looked exhausted and apologetic. She took the baby and immediately nursed her. She looked so worn out that Corinne couldn’t quite leave. She picked up the living room and did some dishes that were in the sink. She helped Noah finish making dinner. Corinne ended up leaving when they did, walking out with them like they were all headed for church together.
They’d be there. And Enoch would be there. And Corinne would be at his house waiting for him.
Enoch almost always had ice cream after church. He was digging in his freezer, still wearing his navy suit and a pink tie that Corinne had given him. “I need to get groceries,” he said. “All I’ve got is mint chip.”
“Why’d you buy mint chip if you don’t like it?”
“I always think I’m going to be in the mood for it…”
“I love it.”
“There you go, apparently that’s why I buy it. Cone or dish?”
Corinne was over being surprised that Enoch kept things like ice cream cones on hand. “Cone.”
“I was thinking about you tonight at church,” he said cheerfully, getting out a very fancy ice cream scoop. “There was a part about Timothy and his relationship with Paul—did you know Timothy was biracial? Well, sort of biracial. His dad was Greek, a nonbeliever.”
“I did know that. Your dad told me.”
“My dad told you?” Enoch handed her a very generous ice cream cone.
“I think he was trying to make me feel better about my situation.” She covered her teeth with her lips and took a bite.
Enoch got out another cone. “I always thought that Paul let Timothy serve at such a young age because he was so faithful—that Timothy was. But tonight I was thinking that youth probably made Timothy easier to control. There’s that scripture where Paul is like, ‘I want you all to imitate me, that’s why I sent Timothy. He’s got it down.’” Enoch finished scooping his cone and licked it, looking up at Corinne. “Oh…” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Is this weird?”
She shrugged.
“Do you not want me to talk to you about the Bible?”
“It’s okay,” Corinne said. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Well … I don’t want to be recruited. Or slowly seduced.”
“You think I’d seduce you with Saul of Tarsus?”
Corinne smiled tightly. “You could seduce me by saying, ‘Hey, Corinne, check it out—I also think Paul was a jerk. Look how free-thinking and critical I can be.’ As a way to get me talking and thinking about Jesus again.”
Enoch frowned and licked his ice cream. “Hmm. That’s not my intention.”
“Is it your hope?”
He licked his cone again. “I mean, I have hopes.”
“Do you have hopes about me and Jesus?”
“I feel entitled to my hopes, Corinne. They’re not an agenda. Honestly I was just telling you because it was interesting, and I like talking to you.”
She supposed Enoch didn’t have anyone else to talk to about the Bible.
He took hold of her wrist and licked her ice cream a few times; she’d forgotten about it, and it was melting down the side of the cone. Enoch’s tongue was wide and thick and bumpier than hers. His hair slid into his face. He flicked it back and stood up straight. “I need a haircut.”
“No, you don’t.” Corinne stood on tiptoe to kiss him while his mouth was still cold and sweet.
He caught on and licked her tongue, sharing the ice cream. Corinne leaned on his chest, still on tiptoe, and he bent his head down low, tonguing at her.
When he finally pulled away, both their ice cream cones were melting. Enoch made a disapproving sound in his throat and quickly licked Corinne’s cone.
His own cone was dripping onto his hand—Corinne took his wrist and licked ice cream off the crook of his thumb and index finger.
He groaned her name and said, “You’re very bad at eating ice cream.”
She kept licking him. She got her tongue under his flat-topped thumb and sucked it into her mouth.
“Corinne…”
She looked up at him. Still holding his forearm and sucking on his thumb. There wasn’t any more ice cream to lick off; she was just being filthy.
Enoch frowned at her. He was being very somber. He pushed down on her tongue with his thumb and moved it slowly out of her mouth … Then slowly back in … His ice cream cone hit her cheek.
Corinne’s eyes were round. Playful. But also … not. She stuck her tongue out of her mouth and dragged it up his thumb. She was getting ice cream in her hair.
Enoch shook his head, like he was dismayed with her. He took a bite of her ice cream cone, then dropped it in the sink. Then he pulled his hand out of her mouth, dumped that ice cream cone, too, and pushed Corinne against the sink, kissing her sloppily. Corinne grinned. Some ice cream ran out of her mouth. Enoch licked it. With his wide tongue. Thick and bumpy.
She reached for him, but he caught her wrists. “Don’t touch my suit. You’re a mess.”
“Then take off your suit.”
He shook his head again, like she was a real piece of work. He wriggled out of his jacket, dropping it on the floor. Corinne wrapped her arms around his neck. He held on to her hips and ground himself against her. She kissed him hungrily. Because she could. Because he was right there. And he was hers. (For now.) And he liked it—he liked this. The more wanton she was, the happier he seemed.
Enoch kissed her mouth. He kissed her face. He kissed the spots of ice cream on her forehead and her cheek. “Come on,” he said. “Bed.”
Corinne shook her head. She brought her hands down to his waist, trying to keep them on his shirt. (The shirt was machine-washable.) She started to sink to her knees. “Here is good.”
Enoch caught her under her arms and pulled her back up. “Bed.”
Corinne leaned into him and reached her mouth up to his ear. “I’m still kind of … unavailable.”
He pulled his head away and looked in her eyes. “Unavailable?”
She screwed up her face. Damn it. This wasn’t sexy. She’d been letting herself be sexy, and it seemed like it was actually working, and now she had to say—“I started my period yesterday.”
Enoch seemed impressed. “That was predictable.”
Corinne raised her eyebrows, resigned. “Like clockwork.”
He cocked his head and thoughtful-frowned. “And that means … unavailable?”
She bit her lips for a second. “Doesn’t it?”
He shrugged one of his big shoulders. “Does it?”
Careful: “I mean … it’s messy.”
Enoch leaned down to her ear. “Corinne,” he said softly. “I should show you the basement. I put a shower down there myself.”
Corinne felt like she was being pranked. She took hold of Enoch’s head with both her (still sticky) hands and made him look in her eyes. “Are you being serious? That wouldn’t gross you out?”
He shrugged his one shoulder again. That must be his sheepish shoulder. “Conceptually, no.” He closed one eye. “Am I grossing you out?”
“It doesn’t gross me out,” she said. “I spend a fifth of my life bleeding.”
Enoch snorted. “That’s a lot.”
“I’m aware.”
“I mean,” he said, cautiously, “if you want to be unavailable and put out a Closed sign twenty percent of the time…”
“I didn’t think I had another option.”
One side of Enoch’s mouth twitched up. “I’m all about giving you options, honey.”
“There’s got to be a rule about this…”
“Not in the New Testament…”
Corinne was pretty sure she was blushing. Her face was hot. “Let’s see this basement of yours.”
Enoch had a small, finished basement. There was a laundry station at one end and a work-out area in the other, with a rowing machine and a weight bench. There were shallow windows at the top of the walls, so it wasn’t as gloomy as it could have been. And the whole thing was drywalled and painted.
“The bathroom’s just here,” Enoch said gently, leading her to the far side. “I redid it and added the shower last year. Your brother helped me.” He opened the door and switched on the light. It was a large, clean bathroom. With cobalt-blue and white tiles. The shower was much roomier than Corinne was expecting—but that made sense, for Enoch.
“You built this?”
“Shawn helped.”
“It’s so nice.”
“Thanks. I had a lot of time on my hands.”
“Do you even use the tub upstairs?”
He made a face like he wasn’t very impressed with his (objectively outstanding) bathtub and shook his head. “I’ve wanted a shower since we moved in.”
Corinne put an arm around him. She laid her head on his chest, with her face turned down. “Are you still into this idea?” she asked softly. “Now that you’ve had a chance to walk it off a little bit?”
“Walk it off? We just walked down the stairs.”
Corinne smiled.
“Worst-case scenario,” Enoch said, “I get to take a shower with you.”
“I can conceive of multiple worse-case scenarios.”
“That seems to be your specialty.”
She looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest. “We could still have ice cream.”
“We can still have ice cream later, unless…” He looked down at her, his chin tucked into his neck. “You’re driving, Corinne. Whatever you want.”
What she wanted was Enoch Miller, all the time, however she could get him.
“Let me go in first?” she asked.
Enoch’s lips were parted. He nodded and backed away from her—and then, without her asking, he stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door.
Corinne looked around … There was a clothes hamper. And a stack of clean blue towels. She wished the light in here wasn’t so stark. She got undressed quickly, tucking her underwear, with its dirty maxi pad, into her jeans. That was gross. This was gross—wasn’t it gross? Marc had always thought so. They’d had sex once when Corinne had thought her period was over, but when it turned out it wasn’t, Marc had been truly disturbed—“I felt like I was in a slasher movie.” Corinne had been embarrassed—“It’s just blood, it was on its way out, anyway.” And then Marc had said, “I’d think you’d be happy that I’m not turned on by blood,” and she guessed that he had a point. But she didn’t like feeling unclean. She didn’t like having to disclose it and watch him lose interest. It didn’t seem fair—gross stuff came out of his body, too, and Corinne dealt with it.
Corinne tucked her underwear deeper into her jeans and started the shower. She’d rinse off first. Get most of the blood out of the way. Evacuate the immediate area. But it was only day two; there was no way Enoch wouldn’t see some blood. This was so weird. This was gross—wasn’t it gross?
“Corinne?” Enoch had cracked the door. “Can I come in?”
She opened the shower door a bit. “Could you turn off the light?”
He paused, then flicked the light off. “Now?”
“Yeah,” she said.
Enoch came into the room, leaving the door partway open, to let in some light. “This okay?”
“Close it a little.”
He did.
The shower wall was pebbled blue glass. Enoch was a blurry figure on the other side of it. He took off his glasses and his tie. His white shirt. His dress pants and boxer shorts. He stepped closer to the shower door and touched the glass. Corinne touched it from the other side.
“Can I come in?” he asked again.
Corinne pushed the door open. Enoch stepped inside, and she made room for him. He seemed taller and wider than ever. The water was hitting Corinne’s back. She held a hand out to Enoch. When he took it, she stepped back, so the water would fall over her shoulder.
“Whoa—that’s hot.” He stepped away.
“Sorry.” Corinne blocked the water.
Enoch reached around her to adjust it. The stream cooled. “This all right?”
She nodded. He was standing close to her. Her breasts would touch him if she took a deep breath. She shifted to let the water hit his chest for a few seconds. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Corinne whispered.
“You look…” His eyes were wide and dark. His voice trailed off.
She touched his chest. It was slick, the muscle there twitched. She felt herself grinning. She slid herself from side to side against him. Almost like she was dancing.
Enoch laughed, his chest shaking.
Corinne moved again to let more water between them. Enoch leaned into the stream to kiss her. Water ran down her face and between their lips. It changed the taste of the kiss. She snaked her arms up around his neck and kept nuzzling her whole body against him. He groaned deep and reached behind Corinne for something. Oh—a bar of soap. She hadn’t been thinking they’d actually shower. Enoch brought the bar up to her chest. It smelled like a Christmas tree. He soaped up her breasts, then her stomach. Oh. Corinne slid her breasts against his. She watched herself do it. Oh, oh, oh. Enoch rumbled out a long groan. His cock was hard between them. Corinne thought again about getting on her knees.
“Corinne,” Enoch said. His eyes were mostly closed. There was water dripping from his eyelashes and his long nose. He hugged her tight. He set the soap somewhere behind her and rubbed slick hands over her ass. “You look so good. You feel…” He groaned again, rubbing his cock into her hip.
Corinne used to take showers with Marc. In a converted bathtub with a rickety curtain and a window. She was young, and it was wonderful.
This was different. It was Enoch. He was taller. Thicker. The room was darker. Marc had never been this surprised by her. Or delighted by her. Marc had liked Corinne an awful lot—maybe he’d even loved her—but he’d never looked like this. Stricken. Lust-dumb. Awed.
“Honey,” Enoch said, hunching over, arms on her, hands on her, trying to get as much of Corinne on as much of him as he could.
“Enoch,” Corinne said, arching against him. “I love you. Everything you do turns me on.”
He laughed, like she was lying. She wasn’t. If he could live inside her head, he’d get sick of hearing his own name.
Corinne pushed her hands through his hair. Her hands were wet, but his hair was mostly dry. He kissed her, pressing his big nose into her cheek and her eye. “I brought a condom,” he said, “but I don’t know if it’ll—”
“It’s fine,” she said.
“What is?”
“Everything.” She kissed him. “I’m very not fertile at the moment, and I don’t want to worry about it.”
He didn’t need to know how out of character this was for her. Corinne had never not used birth control. With Marc and Jeremy, she’d doubled up—condoms and gel—and had still been paranoid if her period was even an hour late. Now, suddenly, she was the queen of “just pull out” and “it’s all fine.”
(Was she being more or less rational about the odds now? Did she feel like she could be less worried because the worst-case scenario was something she might want anyway? That was irresponsible. That might even be manipulative.) (Oh, for fuck’s sake, she wasn’t going to get pregnant on the second day of her period. She might not even be able to get pregnant at all; she was thirty-two, and she never had.) (Enoch was thirty-two, too. Old enough to make his own decisions about risk. He had access to the internet. He watched Oprah.) (She wanted him to come in her.) (None of this made sense. Nothing did.)
He was kissing her neck. The water was hitting his face. She pushed his hair back. “You can pull out if you want.”
He looked up at her. “Do you want me to?”
She shook her head.
Enoch growled and kissed her. Her neck bent back. Her mouth was slack. (Wanton.) He pulled his head away and pushed on her hips. “Turn around.” Corinne did. The hot water hit her sternum. Enoch cupped her breasts. He rubbed his cock into her bottom. God, he was so much taller than Marc …
“Is this going to work?” Corinne said.
“Yep,” Enoch said.
“You’re so tall.”
“Can you bend over?”
Corinne could. She moved her legs apart and leaned forward, pressing her palms against the shower wall. “Like this?”
“Like that,” Enoch said lowly. He was holding on to her left hip. She couldn’t see him. She felt his right hand moving down her ass and between her legs. He rubbed at her lips, opening her. Corinne lifted her hips to be more accessible. Enoch pushed his cock in—it felt good, immediately—then he took hold of her other hip and pushed deeper. God, it felt good. It always felt better like this. From behind. Corinne whined.
Enoch slid out, then back in—firmly. The impact pushed Corinne onto the balls of her feet. It was even better that way. “Yes,” Enoch groaned. He pumped into her again more smoothly, and she cried out.
“Okay?” he asked, stalling inside her.
“Good,” Corinne panted. “I’m good.”
“You steady?”
“Yeah.”
He held her hips high. She moved her palms down on the wall. Thank God the floor in here was some sort of gritty nonslip tile. Enoch fucked into her again, and she shrieked.
“Corinne?”
“It’s just really good like this,” she said tightly.
“Yeah?” He kept going. In and in and in.
“Yes,” Corinne said with every thrust. “Yes. Yes, Enoch. Oh my God.” He was bouncing her feet off the floor. She braced her arms and moaned, she practically howled.
“Corinne!” Enoch swore.
Why was it so good like this? It was like he was tapping straight into her spinal column and shooting sparks straight up to her head. It was some sort of lizard-brain chicanery. She wanted it to keep going forever.
“I need a second,” Enoch said, sliding out.
Corinne rested on her heels. She hung forward, panting, touching the floor of the shower. Enoch was saying her name and kissing her lower back and her ass. The water was running lukewarm down her spine, down her scalp, down her hair, onto the shower floor.
“You good?” Enoch asked, his voice so low.
“Uh-huh,” Corinne said.
He pushed his fingers into her, and she whimpered.
“I love you,” he said.
Corinne laughed. She was still hanging upside down. “I love you, too.”
He shoved his cock in again, and she yelped. “Wait. Let me up.”
Enoch hauled her up with his arms around her stomach, and she braced her hands against the wall. He held her hips and pushed back in. Corinne shook her head hard. The pleasure was almost unbearable. “Enoch, that’s so good.”
“I wish you could see yourself like this.”
“I wish I could see you.”
He was going fast. Corinne was grunting every time he landed. It felt so good, it hurt. “Enoch,” she said. “Fuck. Oh my God. Fuck.”
“Corinne,” he said. “Corinne.”
The water had gone cold. Enoch squeezed her hips and bent over her, his head falling onto her spine. Corinne panted. She held still. She felt his body go tight—he was so quiet.
After a few seconds, he started breathing again. He kissed her shoulder. Corinne relaxed into a forward fold, her hands limp on the floor, and Enoch pulled out.
“Come on, honey, come on up—let’s get you out of the cold.” He pulled at her waist, and Corinne crawled up the shower wall, feeling weak, all of her blood in her head. Enoch put his arms around her and turned them, so he was taking the brunt of the cold water. His chest felt hot against her back; she was freezing all of a sudden. She leaned against him, letting him have most of her weight. He reached behind himself to unhook the shower head. “Give me a little space to rinse off, okay?”
Corinne stumbled forward.
Enoch hissed. “Dang, that’s cold.”
“Is it a mess?” she whispered.
“Mostly my mess—you want me to rinse you off?”
“Yeah.” She widened her stance.
“Brace yourself.” He held the shower head between her legs.
“Fuck.”
Enoch laughed. He was spraying her, and sweeping the water against her with his fingers.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “Enough.”
He stopped and held her close again while he turned off the water. Then he opened the shower door and reached for a towel, one of those giant sheet towels they have at hotels. Corinne liked that he surrounded himself with big things. That he’d made this room for himself. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get you warmed up.”
Enoch offered to build her a fire, but Corinne just wanted to go to bed. She used the bathroom upstairs. Changed her maxi pad. Put on the flannel pajamas she’d brought. Normally, Corinne would hide the used pad in her purse and throw it away at home. But she felt bold—she wrapped it up and dropped it in Enoch’s bathroom trash, on top of his used dental floss and tissues.
When she walked into the bedroom, Enoch was lying on the comforter, eating mint chip ice cream out of the carton. He was wearing cotton pajama pants and his glasses. His eyes lit up when he saw her. He peeled the comforter back next to him. Corinne climbed onto his bed and got under the covers.
“You want some?” he asked. “It’s almost gone.”
She shook her head and laid it on his bare shoulder. Enoch kissed her forehead. “You good?”
“I’m good. Are you good?”
“Am I good?” he asked. “Look at me. I think I’m probably glowing.”
Corinne laughed. She looked at him. He was kinda glowing. “So, it was okay?” she said anyway.
He pushed his lips out, concerned. “Corinne. That was amazing. Every time we’re together, it’s a new kind of amazing.”
“But it wasn’t … gross? You can tell me if it was.”
Enoch laughed, breathily—then looked like he felt bad about laughing. He set the ice cream carton on his bedside table and took off his glasses. He put his arms around her. “I’m gonna be real honest with you, and hopefully you won’t think I’m gross…”
She held her bottom lip in her mouth, waiting.
“I pretty much forgot about your period,” he said. “You looked so good, bent over like that, and the sounds you were making … And then, when I noticed, I was so far gone, it just seemed hot. Like, dirty-hot. And I liked it.”
Corinne looked up into his eyes. “You can talk to me about the Bible,” she said.
Enoch barked out a laugh. “That’s an interesting tit for tat.”
“It’s a separate thought,” she said. “Sort of. Maybe it isn’t. The thought is—I love you. Completely.”
His smile faded. His eyes went soft and serious.
“Nothing is off-limits with you,” she said. “I just don’t want you to recruit me. Or, like, run scenarios on me.”
“I wouldn’t.” Enoch shook his head. “I would never. I mean—largely because it would be the worst way to reach your heart.”
“So you’re being strategic?”
He looked in her eyes, thinking. “I don’t think it’s my job to save you, Corinne. I’ve prayed about it a lot. I don’t think that’s what my role is here.”
“What’s your role?”
“To love you,” he said immediately. Like he was sure of it.
Corinne wanted to kiss him, right then, but she waited. “I won’t try to recruit you either,” she said. “Or stumble you on your path.”
He touched her cheek. “Thank you.”
Corinne held out her hand.
Enoch huffed a soft laugh. He shook it.