Stay With Me (15 page)

“Brought you a beer.”

Lifting the bottle to eye level, his dad glanced at
it and wrinkled his nose. He read the label aloud. “Bare Ass Ale. There weren’t
any bare asses involved in the brewing, were there?”

“Not a one. It’s good, despite the name.” Chris
pulled a bottle opener from the drawer in front of him, popped off the caps and
passed a bottle to his dad.

“Thanks, then. So, how’s it going?”

“Good.”

His dad let his glasses slide down his nose and
studied him. Now that Dad had turned sixty, Chris recognized the signs of
aging. His salt and pepper hair had become nearly all salt. The lines in his
face had deepened, but his eyes and demeanor still exuded the same strength and
comfort Chris had found there his whole life.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Grocery store.”

Good. Chris hadn’t planned this visit, but right
now he needed the calm assurance of his father not the emotional refuge of his
mother.

“Are you still seeing Rebecca?”

“Yep.” He wanted the conversation to go in this
direction, but letting his dad steer it in that way felt easier. Chris
continued to look straight ahead.

His dad took a swig and set the bottle on the
counter with a clunk. “She’s a beautiful young woman, but I’m sure you noticed
that.”

Chris saw him grin from the corner of his eye.

“Your mom and I haven’t gotten to spend much time
with her, but from what we know, we like her.”

“Yeah. Maybe I should talk to Mom about having her
over for dinner or something.”

“Your mom would be all over that.”

Chris laughed. He took a sip of his beer and
finally looked at his dad. “I’m falling in love with her.”

Nodding slowly, his dad’s mouth stretched to a
grin.

Chris smiled, too. “I know it hasn’t been that
long, but I can’t help myself.”

“Does she feel the same way?”

He pursed his lips together for a second, thinking.
“She hasn’t said, but she hasn’t turned down a date or refused a kiss, so I’m
hopeful.” He let a couple beats pass and then finally got to what he came to
talk about. “I’m worried about her, Dad.”

The newspaper rustled as his dad folded it and
pushed it away. “Why?”

“Her father’s abusive. She says he’s never hit her,
but I overheard him yelling at her this morning.” He paused again, taking a
deep breath before he continued. “Dad, he cursed, and he called her a whore.
Something shattered, and she came out the door, got in her car, and tried to
act like nothing happened. It breaks my heart. She’s the sweetest girl. She
doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“Does she live with her parents?”

“No. She has her own apartment in Harrisburg. At
home, it’s just her dad. Her mom is dead, and she was gone long before that.”
He sighed and continued. “It does explain some things though.”

“Like what?”

“I think she’s afraid of physical intimacy. The
fact that I’m a man, and I desire her threatens her. Some women eat that up, they
use it, and they manipulate you with it. It scares her to death.”

His dad took a drink of his beer, set it down, and
then took off his glasses and set them on the newspaper. “Chris, she’s probably
never experienced the kind of love you can offer her. That doesn’t mean it
isn’t what she wants or needs, but it’s going to require some patience on your
part.”

Chris folded both hands around his bottle and
nodded. He was learning all about patience, but he and Rebecca hadn’t dated
that long; there was no rush. Still, her reluctance made him feel like he
dragged her along—not unwilling, but hesitant. His dad’s voice brought him out
of his thoughts again.

“For years I watched your brother bring home a
different girl for every homecoming, every prom. Summer crushes. He must have
fallen in and out of love a hundred times. And you were forever wandering
through the woods out here or home with your nose in a book or your ear buds
in, listening to music. I knew it would take a special young woman to turn your
head.”

“It’s not that I didn’t notice girls, believe me.
The shyness paralyzed me.”

“In retrospect, I don’t think that was such a bad
thing. You were being shaped and molded for this young woman so that you could
be what she needs to help her overcome her situation. Maybe to be the woman you
need
her
to be.”

Chris smirked as he raised his bottle a last time.
“Careful, Dad, it almost sounds like you’re acknowledging a deity there.”

“I never said I didn’t believe in God. I just don’t
see the use for religion in my life.” He stood, but kept his gaze fixed on
Chris. “But, you’ve given me a lot to think about in that regard the last
couple of years.”

Huh? Dad thought about God? Chris had been praying
for a long time that his family would take an interest in God, but this was the
first indication that the little seeds he’d been sowing may someday take root.
Before he could say anything in response, the garage door opened and his mother
called out.

“A little help here?”

“I’ll go get the groceries.” Chris ambled to the
door off the kitchen that led to the two-car garage. He paused as he grabbed
the doorknob. “Thanks, Dad, and if you like that ale, I’ll get you a case.”
Then turning into the garage, he grabbed the plastic bags hanging from his
mother’s wrists. “I’ll get this stuff, Mom.”

“Thanks, honey.” She pushed her purse back up her
shoulder and headed into the kitchen. Her hair, always cut in a simple, elegant
style, looked a shade darker blonde than he had seen on her before. It looked
good with her glasses.

He slung the bags onto the floor next to the
island. “Hey, Mom. Dad and I were talking, and we thought it might be good if I
could bring Rebecca over so you could get to know her better.”

“Well,” his mom huffed. “It’s about time.”

12

Joy Ride

Chris specified what to wear: long pants, long
sleeves, and sturdy shoes—no open toes. She tried coaxing the reason out of
him, but he wouldn’t budge. Did his parents keep their house unusually cold or
something?

Her nerves jangled as she pulled into Chris’s
parents’ driveway. She had only met them briefly at Alan and Jamie’s wedding.
That being only their third date, she hadn’t been very concerned about the
impression she made.

They had a beautiful home, which his family had
built. Its value had to be nearly double that of her dad’s place. Chris said
his father sold medical devices, and apparently he excelled at it. His mom had
only started working part time when Chris and Alan had gone to college.

Chris’s motorcycle was parked in the driveway, and
Rebecca thought back to the picture of him that sat on his bookshelf. She
noticed the bike faced the road, which was unusual, but maybe he had been
cleaning it again. The chrome shone.

She exited the car and went around to the passenger
side where she had laid the dessert on the floor in a small cardboard box. She
lifted out the bowl and closed her door as Chris walked toward her from the
open garage.

“Hey, you’re here. What’s this?”

“I offered to bring dessert.” She lifted the glass
bowl filled with cubed cake, whipped cream, and fresh berries. “Berry trifle.”

“It looks great.” He took it from her and walked
with her to the garage. “Wait here while I put this inside.” He said something
to his mom and then he returned.

“So, let’s see how well you follow directions.” He
stopped a few feet from her and crossed his arms in front of his chest while he
looked over her attire. “Very good. Mom said we have at least an hour until
dinner.”

“Am I too early?” She could’ve sworn his mom had
told her 4:30 p.m. when they talked on the phone.

“Nope. I have something else planned for us first.”

She slid her hands into her back pockets and
shifted her weight from her heels to her toes and back again. “Okay. Care to
tell me what?”

“Despite the fact that I trounced you at Yahtzee—”

She held up a hand. “Wait a minute, buddy, that was
not a trouncing. That was a skin-of-your-teeth kind of win.”

He smiled. “Okay. Despite the fact that I beat you
at Yahtzee, I thought I’d make your wish come true and take you for a ride.”

“Seriously?” She sounded overeager even to her own
ears, but every time she laid eyes on that motorcycle, she became more enamored
with the idea of riding on it.

“Why not? To be honest, that’s the whole reason I
challenged you to the game in the first place.” His cheeks pinked a little with
his admission.

“What do you mean?”

“Hang on.” Chris pulled his helmet off of the
wooden shelf, grabbed a large plastic bag from the floor, and walked with
Rebecca toward the bike. “I mean, I’ve wanted to get you out on this bike with
me in the worst way for weeks, but I didn’t think you’d want to try it. So, I
came up with that idea to force your hand.”

“What made you think I didn’t want to go for a
ride?” She circled to the other side of the motorcycle and waited on his
answer.

Raising his arm, he lifted his palm in uncertainty.
“You don’t seem like the adventurous type, I guess.”

“Maybe not, but this thing has me hooked. I
couldn’t figure out why you hadn’t offered to take me out on it. I thought you
didn’t want to, and I had to force
your
hand.”

“Well, since we’re both in agreement here, let’s do
this.” He handed her the large plastic bag. “This is for you.”

Accepting the bag, she reached inside. “A helmet?
Chris, this was probably expensive. I can pay you for this.”

“Get out of here. It’s a gift, and there’s no way
I’m taking you out on this without a helmet.”

She pulled out the helmet and turned it around,
examining the pink trim decorating the sides. “Do you wear a helmet all the
time?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Not all the time. I make
exceptions for perfect weather conditions and the irrepressible desire to feel
the wind in my hair, but not for you.” He flashed a grin. “Double standard, I
know, but you’re going to have to live with it.” He gave her a minute more to
look over the mostly-black helmet. “I’m not used to riding two-up, so we’re
going to take it easy.”

Chris spent the next ten minutes or so going over
instructions with her—how to get on and off of the bike, where to keep her
feet, which parts were hot and how to lean when they accelerated.

“You need to sit close to me and hold onto either
my waist or my hips. Don’t grab onto me any higher.” He pointed to her legs.
“You’re going to want to squeeze your legs together as close around the bike as
you can get. It’ll feel more stable.”

“Will you be able to hear me if I say something to
you?”

“Maybe not. That’s a good point. If you need me to
stop or slow down tap my right thigh. If you’re doing good or you want to go
faster, tap my left thigh.” He gave her a roguish smile that made her cheeks
heat. “Can you see now why I’ve wanted to get you out on this thing with me?”

“Why do you think I’m so eager?”

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her
towards him. “You know, I would kiss you right now, but my mom is watching. She
doesn’t think I know she’s there, but I can see her rummaging through something
in the garage. Spying.”

Rebecca snuck a peak. His mom riffled through a
cardboard box.

“Hi, Mrs. Reynolds.” She made a move toward the
garage, but Chris held her back.

“Sorry, Mom, but time’s ticking. You can chat at
dinner.” He helped Rebecca get her helmet on and tighten the strap. Then he
straddled the motorcycle and steadied it. “Okay, get on.”

Rebecca grabbed onto his arm and swung her leg over
the seat behind him, putting her feet on the pegs the way he had instructed.
She scooted closer to him, and when she wrapped her hands around his waist, her
heart fluttered. Yes, she was going to enjoy this.

“Okay. Hold on tight and lean with me. You ready?”

“Ready.”

He started the engine and with the first lurch forward
Rebecca gripped him tighter, not easing up until he stopped at the end of the
driveway.

“I’ve got the perfect song.” He picked something
out using his audio system, turned it up, and eased out onto the road. They
coasted to the stop sign at the end of his parents’ street. By then the song’s
chorus had repeated. If she had to guess, she’d say it was called, “Hold On.”

“Is this the Dave Matthews Band?” She didn’t want
to yell, but she realized now how important the nonverbal communication would
be. Even sitting still, she thought he might not be able to hear her.

“No. Alabama Shakes. And that’s a woman singing.”

She didn’t get a chance to respond because he
turned left onto the main road. If pressed on it, Rebecca would admit that the
first ten minutes scared her to death, especially when they accelerated or
turned. Poor Chris would probably have a bruised middle from the death grip she
had on him at the beginning. After that, she loosened up and even tapped his
left thigh a couple of times when they got out on the highway, signaling that
she wanted to go faster.

When they finally pulled back into the driveway
nearly an hour later, Rebecca was exhilarated. Riding itself was a blast, but
riding with Chris was over the top. He let her dismount and then swung his leg
over the seat and stood beside her. She undid the strap, pulled her helmet off,
and ran her fingers through her hair to get rid of any possible helmet-head.

Chris took off his helmet, too, took hers from her,
and set them both inside the garage. His cheeks were still red from the wind
when he came back to her.

“Well?”

“Oh, my gosh. What a rush! It took me a little
while to get used to the feel of it, but then I loved it.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” His eyes were all
smoky looking, barely even blue anymore.

 Her heart started pounding faster, which said
something because it already beat at a good clip from the ride. He stepped
closer to her and used his fingers to comb through some of the tangles in her
hair.

“Would it be too soon to tell you I’ve fallen in
love with you?”

Rebecca didn’t breathe for a full three seconds.
When she found her voice again, she said, “Kind of a moot question now, isn’t
it?”

“I guess so.” His chin dipped down, and his ears
reddened, but his voice was steady. “I love you, Rebecca.”

And before she had a chance to say those three
lovely words back to him, he kissed her. She thought it was intentional—that he
didn’t want her to feel pressure to reciprocate the feeling now if she wasn’t
ready.  She was grateful because as much as it thrilled her to hear him say it,
she didn’t know if she could return his affection. At least not with those
three words.

***

Chris considered the meal a success. Of course,
compared to dinner with Rebecca’s dad, anything short of a fistfight at the
table could be considered an improvement. After dinner, dessert, coffee, and
the requisite display of Chris’s childhood photos, he walked Rebecca out to her
car. As they reached her door she stopped. “My trifle bowl. I forgot all about
it.”

“I’ll get it,” Chris offered and jogged back to the
house. He slipped into the kitchen through the garage and scanned the
countertops for the glass bowl. He could hear his parents in the living room.
His dad spoke first.

“Well, what do you think?”

“What’s not to like? She’s charming, wholesome, and
pretty.”

Peering around the corner, Chris saw his mom
relaxing in her favorite overstuffed chair while his dad massaged her
shoulders.

“He loves her.”

His mom made a waving motion with her hand. “It’s
written all over his face. And hers.”

That last statement pleased him. She thought
Rebecca loved him, too.

“There’s something I couldn’t put my finger on at
first,” Mom said, “but I think she’s scared of something, and she’s skittish.”

Agreed. She was skittish like a foal. Wobbly,
unsteady, uneasy, quick to frighten. He wanted to see her steady, strong,
galloping free.

“She’s scared, and she’s going to bolt,” Mom said.
“Mark my words.”

Chris finally spotted the bowl next to the dish
washer. He picked it up and stood still, curious to hear Dad’s response.

“Could be. Could be he gives her a reason to stop
being scared, too. Either way, he’s old enough to make up his own mind about
it.”

“It’s not his mind I’m worried about, it’s his
heart. That boy has never done anything half way. I don’t expect him to be any
different when it comes to loving a woman.”

Taking the bowl, Chris closed the door without
making a sound and slipped back out through the garage. His mom’s comment had
hit a nerve. Yes, he could definitely see Rebecca’s skittishness, but she was
neither fickle nor flighty. He hoped with all his heart his mom was wrong,
because if she was right, he didn’t know what he’d do without Rebecca. He
caught sight of her leaning against her car, thought of their ride this
afternoon, and knew that he wanted her with him for the long haul.

“Your bowl,” he said and handed it to her.

“Thank you, kind sir.”

In the moonlight, her face glowed—irresistibly so.

“Give me that bowl back.” It came out more a growl
than a request. He opened her car door and thrust the bowl onto the seat
inside. “Come here.” He took her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her hair.
“Mmm . . . you smell so good.”

Rebecca laughed. “I probably smell like the
barbecued pork your mom made.”

“No, you smell like you.” He nuzzled her ear and
whispered, “I love you.” He hadn’t realized that saying it out loud would be
such a relief. He hadn’t planned on telling her today; he was waiting—for what
he didn’t know, but it wasn’t supposed to be today. Yet, he had gotten off that
motorcycle, and he couldn’t help himself. The words had bubbled right out of
him.

“You’re making it hard for me to leave.”

He grinned.  “Am I?”

She nodded.

“I wish I could take you home. Soon. I’m car
shopping next weekend.” Then he remembered work. “Shoot. Not next weekend. The
week after. I have to go to a craft beer festival at the shore in Delaware next weekend.”

“All weekend?” She drew her lips up into a pout.

“Friday night to Sunday night.”

“Oh.”

His mom called from the front door. “Chris, Alan’s
on the phone. He wants to talk to you. Says your cell keeps rolling to voice
mail.”

Chris sighed. “Okay. Tell him to hang on a minute,”
he called back to her. Once his mom had retreated into the house, he kissed
Rebecca goodnight. If only Alan weren’t waiting on him.