A Love So Deep (11 page)

Graham gently guided her into the house, the moment of apprehension now behind him. He wanted Rita to be comfortable and made every effort to afford her just that.

Graham took Rita’s wrap and purse and set them in the coat closet. He was nervous, as well as she, and Graham excused himself to allow enough space for him to catch his breath.

Rita slowly pivoted on her toes taking in every inch of the warm surroundings in which she found herself. She could feel the love and warmth that permeated here.

Rita slowly walked to the fireplace and lifted Amanda’s picture from the mantel. She studied it a moment, curious about the woman that had been Graham’s wife. Rita looked into Amanda’s eyes trying to understand what she was trying to say. It was easy to understand, just by looking at the photo, why Graham loved this woman so. There were other pictures—two girls, obviously Graham’s daughters whose ages ranged at different intervals depending on which picture you were looking at. An old photo, probably taken in the early 1920s, was of a couple that had just gotten married. The couple might have been the grandparents of the children. It was hard to tell since the picture was somewhat faded.

Graham stood in the shadows watching Rita as she blazed a path across the mantel, acquainting herself with Graham’s past and some of his present. Feeling a presence in the room, Rita turned to find Graham staring at her.

“What was she like, Graham? Amanda, what was she like? I can tell she was a wonderful person, just by the smile on her face.”

Graham looked at Rita thoughtfully, scratching his head as he walked toward her, lifting the photo from her hand. He looked down at the picture and gave Amanda a hearty smile. “She was a wonderful woman, the love of my life for forty years. We adored each other. There wasn’t a day that went by that we wouldn’t say how much we loved one another. I was salt; she was pepper. I was bread; she was butter. I was a cold glass of milk; she was a chocolate-chip cookie. We had a love so deep that only Heaven or hell could separate us.” Graham paused a moment and let his head drop. “Heaven won…but I know Amanda is having a ball.”

A tear rolled down the side of Graham’s face. Rita took her index finger and wiped it away like the stroke of a painter’s brush.

“Can you imagine her having all that fun without me?”

Graham let the tears roll. Rita took him in her bosom and rubbed his well-manicured head until it was practically matted down. They swayed in the quiet of the room until Graham abruptly lifted his head, somewhat embarrassed by his display of emotion. Rita, sensing his uneasiness, kissed him lightly on the lips and stepped back.

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay to cry. Take as long as you need because your love was deep, and you just don’t stop loving because they’ve gone on to be with the Lord. I’ll be right here waiting.”

Graham looked at Rita longingly, pulled her ever so gently toward him, and kissed her with all the passion he had left in his body. They formed a lover’s embrace that lasted for what seemed like hours until they finally collapsed onto the beige overstuffed loveseat, exhausted from getting to know each other without committing their bodies for sexual pleasure.

T
hey
sat for more moments than they had kissed, examining each other as if each were the potter and in turn the clay. The soft light Graham had managed to turn on highlighted the soft lines in Rita’s face. Her supple skin gave no clue to her age, only the light banter that drew on experience of many years past, years that only one who had lived them could attest to. Like a great archeological find, Rita outlined the curvature of Graham’s face, unmasking ancient secrets held within.

All was silent but the purring and smacking of lips as they caressed each other like it was their last time. They weren’t sure where they’d go from here. Holding each other close, an occasional peck on the lips and cheek was the ultimate foreplay. And they were getting to know each other very well.

“How about a little something to drink? I have a real nice champagne or Zinfandel if you like.”

“Why don’t I have a glass of Zinfandel, Mr. Peters?”

“One glass of Zinfandel coming right up for the sweet lady. You just keep that pose for me, and I’ll be right back.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Graham appeared in the doorway with two flutes of Zinfandel on a round silver tray with a single red artificial rose that he plucked from one of Amanda’s flower arrangements. Rita was impressed and smiled widely. This man was special, and all her inhibitions and anxieties fell by the wayside.

They sipped and laughed. They sipped and pecked. They sipped and talked. They sipped the sweet drink until their glasses were empty and she fell asleep in his arms.

Rita and Graham lay together fully clothed on the overstuffed couch until dawn. Even the loveseat pillows that cushioned their bodies were submissive to their demands, which were…none. It was love in bloom, the beginning of a metamorphosis that seeks no boundary—a caterpillar’s cocoon that emits a beautiful butterfly in an array of dazzling colors that flits about the earth taking in all of God’s wonder.

Stale breath and eyes encrusted with what Grandma called
sleep,
did not alter how they saw each other upon opening their eyes. Rita and Graham basked in the afterglow of the newness of their love, relaxed and somewhat amazed at how easy they melded together. Their love seemed genuine, although it had been shy of a week since they met—a week that might have been spent deep in self-pity if Charlie hadn’t coaxed Graham to accompany him to The Water Hole.

They lay around touching and feeling until Rita announced she’d like to go to her hotel room to pick up a few things. Graham found it hard to pull away from Rita, and Rita found it hard to resist Graham’s arms that protected her from harm and danger. But they managed and were soon facing the world outside—a world that judged, a world that might judge their being together, a world that might judge her as an opportunist or a gold digger, and a world that perhaps would judge him unfaithful to his dead wife.

It was Sunday. Buicks, Fords, Toyotas, and Mercedes whizzed by with well-dressed worshippers on their way to Sunday services. Women in an array of well-designed hats, some of which were too large to fit in the interior of a car, made ready to make their entrance into the sanctuary. Folks toting the King James version of the Bible hugged them proudly as if that would keep them close to the Lord.

Graham thought back to last Sunday when he had entered the church on Market Street for the first time since Amanda’s death. He didn’t know how to feel, what he felt as he walked along the path where Amanda took her last ride. An image of Sister Mary Ross loomed in front of him. Graham shook his head to dislodge the vision that tried to trespass on his thoughts.

Graham was sure Liz, Deborah, and their families were at church. He’d go next Sunday. The church on Market Street had been his mainstay for the last forty years.

Graham continued forward to his destination, happy for the first time in two months.

“Sky’s kinda cloudy,” Rita uttered. She was a stickler for detail and was more than just a casual observer. Her mama told her once that the naked eye could capture more than a snapshot could.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Cloudy. Hmmm. It makes me kinda sad, you know.”

“Oh.” Graham wasn’t sure he got it all. He was trying to follow; he was so in love, he wasn’t sure what kind of day it was.

“Listen to me, Graham.”

“I am, baby.” Rita liked the sound of that; and so did Graham. She had the biggest smile on her face.

“A cloudy day because we’re going to have to part soon. I’ve got to go to Seattle.”

Graham had temporarily forgotten. He panicked and put his foot on the brake too fast, making a loud screeching sound that caused the Sunday drivers to stop and stare. “Tomorrow…you’re leaving tomorrow. What am I going to do?”

Almost as if Rita had been thinking about it for some time, she murmured, “Why don’t you come home with me?”

“Me, go home…with you? I don’t think I can do that right now.”

“You asked me to come home with you. And I did.”

“I know, but it’s different having to go several hundred miles away—away from your comfort zone. What will I tell my daughters? Charlie?”

“Charlie? So Charlie matters now?”

“It’s not that. Charlie and I confide in each other. Even though we haven’t been together for the past few days, he knows that I’m not far away. I’m not sure Charlie and the girls would understand.”

“Lighten up, Graham. I’m not judging you. It’s okay.
I really need to go home alone
. I’ve got a lot to take care of. Watch out! You’re going to miss your turn!”

Graham held the wheel tight and quickly turned it to the right. The wheels let out a squeal, leaving tire tracks for at least twenty yards. Both Graham and Rita shifted back and forth in their seats until Graham gained full control of the car. Rita’s hand was still latched onto the door handle when Graham spoke again and continued the conversation where they had left off.

“Please don’t think ill of me, Rita. It’s…such a giant step for me to take right now, but if you give me a raincheck, I promise I’ll cash it in the very near future.”

Rita released her hand from the handle and slowly turned toward Graham. She shook her head, then let out a chuckle. Before she could respond, Graham cut in.

“What’s so funny?”

“Graham, Graham,” Rita said, tapping his arm gently and still giggling. “Honey, what am I going to do with you? Do you realize that you nearly took a few months off my life going around that curve? You could have crashed.”

Graham looked puzzled.

“Never mind. But you should have seen your face when I asked you to go home with me. You’d of thought you saw a ghost.”

“I believe I did. Amanda’s ghost.” And they both laughed until they had popped every stitch.

Rita hurriedly changed her clothes. Wasting one moment of precious time would be bad for her health. She went to the closet and pulled out the dress she would wear at her last performance. She didn’t want it to end, but she’d be back.

Rita and Graham spent the morning leisurely riding up the coast and made a stop in Sausalito for a light lunch. Their day had been perfect. A cloudless sky spread as far as the eye could see. The view of the Golden Gate Bridge with its wings spread across the great expanse of bay left a lasting snapshot for Rita to remember, although she’d seen this bridge many times before. She was in love—in love with a man who gave life new meaning and who made her body quiver, although they had never given themselves to each other fully.

Graham was the embodiment of a real man—not that
men are from Mars
crap. He knew how to treat a woman, make her feel like fine china, and was always the perfect gentleman in every way. No doubt it was the reason Graham and Amanda’s love had stood the test of time.

A fleeting thought crossed Rita’s mind.
What would it be like to be Mrs. Graham Peters? Would Graham compare her constantly to Amanda or would he accept her as she was—a new challenge, a new face, a new life with substance of its own—with no hint of the previous, just the present
. Silly thoughts. She’d known him barely a week and already her wayward mind was running rampant with thoughts of marriage. But she could feel it deep down inside—way down into the heart of her soul, that she and Graham were meant to be.

Graham whistled jovially, finally arriving at Chester Street. He made a right turn and continued straight until his house was in view.

It was an old family neighborhood made up of single-dwelling homes—tract homes that were probably built in the early 1960s. Fences were affixed around the perimeters of most of them with small yards boasting healthy, thick St. Augustine grass. Rose bushes, chrysanthemums, and petunias in all variety of colors rested in gardens or flower boxes, adding a splash of color to many of the homes. Weeping willows that looked as if they belonged in some ancient animated fairy tale with branches burdened with heavy layers of moss lined the street in the yards of every other house. Young men who looked to be in their early teens gathered for a game of basketball. Other than that, the street remained rather quiet—the churchgoers not yet released from their awe-inspiring services.

Rita felt much more comfortable as she entered Graham’s house a second time. Their night together came back to her, and at that moment, she wished she had made love to him.

Graham escorted Rita into the house as if it were an ordinary occurrence, comfortable in the fact that Rita did not seem ill at ease. He placed Rita’s things in the hall closet while she stood by his side. He turned to face her. Rita stared back into Graham’s eyes, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it tight. Graham cupped Rita’s chin with his free hand and placed a tender kiss on her lips. When he tried to withdraw, they stuck together like sweet, sticky bubble gum.

“I love you, Rita.”

“I love you, too, Graham.”

They kissed again, backing into a wall that kept them from falling. Graham let his hands roll over Rita’s shoulders and down her arms, not quite sure where he should go next. He could feel his passion rise and moved quickly away from Rita lest she expose his secret.

“Let me get you some lemonade, my sweet. Pretty hot outside.”

Pretty hot inside
, Rita thought to herself. She fanned herself pretending to mock Graham’s sudden inference to being hot. If he felt like she did, he’d know that the throbbing between her legs would take more than a glass of lemonade to cool off.