Summer's Freedom (12 page)

“Don’t you get heartburn?”

“Not yet.” She looked at him. “You don’t like sloppy food?”

He shook his head. “I was one of those kids who divided his plate into sections. I ate all the peas, then all the roast, then the carrots—like that.”

“Did you have a system, or did you just start with whatever looked good at the time?”

“Color coded. Lightest to darkest.”

Maggie swallowed. “Really?”

He concentrated for a moment on cutting his food, then swept his glittering blue eyes open to meet hers. “No.” He smiled.

“Oh, you.” Maggie tsked and bit into her lasagna. “You were the kind of boy I wanted to drown in a water fountain when I was in junior high.”

“Probably. And I would have put frogs in your locker because I knew it.”

After their dinner, Joel said, “I’ve got dessert in the truck.”

“In the truck?”

He grinned, picking up the check. “Don’t give me that suspicious look—I promised, didn’t I?” He stood up and held out a hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

She hesitated a moment more, then shook her head with a smile and let him help her up. As she followed him out, she thought she liked the boyishness of his personality. He was mature, even serious where it concerned matters of the world and his career, but the unquenchable boy within allowed him to wring every drop of pleasure from a good moment.

He drove to a hilly park located in the middle of one of the most frantic areas of the city. As he drove past houses built at the edges of the wooded park, heading for the summit of a hill, he remarked, “When I was a kid, there was nothing out here at all.”

“I never came out this far. My grandmother’s always lived on the west side.”

“I’m told,” he said with a wicked smile, “that a great many children were conceived under the shelter of these trees.”

Maggie raised her eyebrows and refused to acknowledge the gambit.

“Did you ever park in high school?” he asked.

“I’m not telling,” she said with a laugh. “Did you?”

“I’d lie and say I did, even if I hadn’t, wouldn’t I?”

“I guess men do have an image to uphold.”

“Better believe it.”

He turned the truck into a level parking area that overlooked the expanding eastern edge of the city. “Do you want a beer?” he asked, turning off the engine.

“Sure.”

“Let’s sit outside. It’s beautiful tonight.”

He fished two bottles of beer out of a cooler in the back of the truck and spread a blanket on the ground for them to sit on.

“What about dessert?” Maggie asked, teasing.

“Oh.” He held up one finger and scrambled in the glove compartment, bringing out two Hershey’s bars.

“Beer and chocolate?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” He handed her one of the candy bars, then settled down next to her on the blanket, cross-legged and comfortable.

“Did you come here with your wife?” Maggie asked. As soon as the words left her lips, she wanted to call them back.

But Joel didn’t seem to mind. “Only with her. We met in ninth grade.” He held up his bottle to the shimmering glow of red and green and white lights from below, seeming to measure them through the golden beer. “How about you?”

“I was too afraid of my father to do any of that. If I had shown up with a hickey on my neck or something, he would have killed me.”

“A hard core.” Joel nodded. “Where is he now?”

Maggie lifted one shoulder. “I have no idea. My mother divorced him when I was seventeen, and we never heard a word from him again.”

“I’m sorry, Maggie.”

“Don’t be.” She lifted her head. “All he ever did was make us miserable, anyway.” She looked at him, at the disbelief in his eyes. “Really.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “You need to forgive him, Maggie.”

“For what? I think he did the best he could,” she said lightly. But in contrast to her words, in her memory her father hacked away hunks of her brother’s hair as Galen screamed. She looked at Joel. “I really don’t like to talk about my father.”

“Okay,” he answered easily.

“How are your birds?” Maggie asked, lifting her beer.

“We got a bald eagle today—gunshot in the wing.”

“A bald eagle? Isn’t that against the law?”

Wryly, he said, “So is burglary.”

“I know, but although I don’t approve of burglary, I can understand the profit motive behind it. Why would anyone shoot an eagle?”

“The feathers alone will bring in a fortune, not to mention the trophies of heads and feet.” He sighed. “People are responsible for almost all the injuries we see. The birds get stuck in traps, are poisoned by pesticides or shot.”

“All because of the feathers?” Maggie asked incredulously.

“No, not at all. That’s mainly eagle feathers—the hawks and falcons and vultures are shot because people don’t really understand them. Farmers think hawks will carry off their baby animals.” He used his hands to draw on the air. “Most of the other kinds of problems are accidental.”

“Will they carry off babies?” She thought she could understand a shooting based on protecting baby animals.

“Maybe, once in a while. But killing the birds isn’t the answer. It’s like killing coyotes because they steal a few chickens—pretty soon you’re overrun with rodents of all kinds.”

“The big birds keep the rodents under control?”

“Are you just humoring me, or do you really find this interesting?”

“I’m playing with the idea of doing a feature on your career for the end-of-summer issue,” Maggie said with a grin. “It’s exactly the kind of profession I like to highlight. Intriguing, different, something most teens wouldn’t have heard anything about.”

“That’s great. I’d love to see you do it.”

“You’re a good candidate because you so obviously love what you’re doing.”

He smiled. “Thanks.”

“Now, finish with the rodents.”

Joel shifted, sipped his beer. “One pair of mice can spawn a million descendants in a year.”

“A million?” she echoed.

“A million. One red-tailed hawk eats about fifteen hundred to two thousand mice a year.”

“Wow.”

Joel touched her arm and pointed to the horizon. “Get ready.”

A pause fell between them. He gestured with one strong arm for Maggie to move into the hollow he made for her. She sat in front of him, her head nestled in his shoulder, her back against his chest. His legs rested easily along the outside of hers.

From the edge of the eastern horizon, there came a great light, an orb of orange lifting like a newly created planet to grace the night sky. Without realizing it, Maggie leaned forward, entranced by the sight of the full moon rising, so huge and bright, from the darkness. She sighed, pressing a hand to her chest.

“It’s really something, isn’t it?” Joel murmured, his hands in her hair.

She nodded very slowly, her heart filling with a soft illumination, as gentle as the man now cradling her. She shifted to look at him. His face was bathed with the light, his eyes almost mystical as they reflected the great, round moon. “Thank you,” she breathed.

There was no resisting him as he bent his head to fit his mouth to hers. There was no demand in his tender and playful exploration of her lips. His tongue snaked out to hers, and his hands combed gently through her hair.

It was a deceptive ease and care he took, an effort to remain calm that made his hands tremble. Maggie sensed his restraint with a feeling of frustration, and she turned in his embrace, pulling away from his sweet kiss. She nuzzled his neck, smelling the clean aftershave he wore, working her hand up his shirt to its opening. She slipped her fingers beneath the flannel to his chest and kissed his neck with her tongue. When his grip tightened reflexively around her, she smiled.

“Isn’t this the kind of thing you do when you park? Neck?”

He laughed low in his chest.

For a while, Maggie thought he wasn’t going to say anything, and when he did, it was in a voice so deep that it was nearly a growl.

“Every situation demands a different response.”

With disappointment, and relief, Maggie realized he would stick to his promise—even if in her heart, she didn’t want him to.

“We ought to get back,” he said, standing up.

Maggie sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” She fell back on the blanket, staring up to the sky. “Too bad.”

“Are you a camper?” Joel asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.” She felt a tickle on her neck and brushed it absently. “Are you?”

He affected a country drawl. “Since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

Maggie nodded distractedly. The tickle moved higher on her neck, and she reached for it again. When her fingers encountered the unmistakable shape of a spider, she shrieked and jumped to her feet, batting madly at her neck.

“What is it?” Joel asked in alarm.

A shudder passed through her. “A spider.” She brushed her neck and shook her hair hard. Another shudder rippled her shoulders. “Ugh!”

Joel laughed. “I wouldn’t have put frogs in your locker if I’d ever seen you act like that over a spider.”

Maggie strove to see the humor in the situation but revulsion clouded everything. “Joel, please see if he’s on my back or anywhere.”

He bit his lip to contain the grin, but he did as he was asked. “All clear.” With an obvious effort to maintain a straight face, he asked, “Are you all right now?”

“Fine,” she said, her voice thick with the disgust she felt toward herself. Briskly, she bent over to yank up the blanket, then shook it viciously. “Believe it or not, I used to pay my brother to kill spiders for me.”

“Poor Maggie,” he said, but laughter lingered in his voice.

Resolutely, she ignored him. “I feel sorry for your sisters,” she said haughtily.

He choked and finally burst out laughing. “I’m sorry,” he said when he caught the look of dignified endurance on her face. He swallowed the last chuckles, but his nostrils quivered for a moment longer as she carefully folded the blanket.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve read that a fear of spiders is related to low endorphins in your brain. You know how we could increase your endorphins, don’t you?”

Maggie gave him a dry glance. “Don’t even say it, Joel Summer. It’s bad enough you’re a tease. You don’t have to prove yourself to be a lecher, as well.”

He shrugged. “Just trying to be helpful.”

* * *

Moses, Joel’s cat, was waiting on the front porch when they got back. With him was a kitten, perhaps four or five months old. It was a scrawny gray tiger, with tufts of white at its chest and paws. As Joel and Maggie came up the walk, Moses shifted, like a child getting ready to ask a favor, and protectively licked the kitten’s ear.

“Who’s this, Moses?” Joel asked, squatting. He held his fingers out to the kitten, who sniffed them delicately and rubbed against the other cat. Moses meowed softly.

Maggie had never seen a cat behave in such a territorial fashion toward an animal it hadn’t lived with. As she watched, the kitten stood up and haltingly limped toward Joel. “Oh, he’s hurt,” Maggie said.

Joel scooped him up, his hands easily engulfing the skinny body. Moses meowed again and trotted to the front door. Joel grinned. “Okay. I get the message. We’ll take him inside.” He looked at Maggie, a bemused smile on his face. “Have you ever seen such a thing?”

Maggie shook her head, following Joel inside at his indication. He carried the kitten into the kitchen and flipped on the overhead light.

The gray tiger was exhausted and trusting as Joel moved his fingers gently over its body. “Ah, I see,” he murmured out loud. To Maggie, trying to calm Moses as he paced around, he said, “It looks like he might have got caught under the wheel of a car. His back paw is pretty mangled.”

“Poor thing.”

Joel squatted and Moses hurried over to wash the kitten with a few short whips of his tongue. “We’ll take care of him, Moses,” he said, reaching out to stroke the old tom gently. “Now, I bet you’re hungry.” He looked again at Maggie. “There’s a bag of food in that cupboard. Would you feed him while I find a box to transport the kitten to the vet?”

“Of course.” She moved to the cabinet, and Moses followed her eagerly. As she shook food into his dish, she marveled at the transformation of the mangy, distrustful animal into this glossy-coated, clean and loving cat. She rubbed his back fondly as he ate. “You found a master worth your time, didn’t you?”

Joel had disappeared onto the back porch, and she heard him rustling around in there. “Do you need some help?” she asked, going to investigate.

A clatter greeted her, and as Maggie peeked into the glassed-in room he used as a recycling area, she grinned. “Having trouble?”

He sighed ruefully, the kitten clasped gently to his chest as he rooted around in a fifty-five gallon drum. “I thought I had a box that would work in here. I must have been wrong.”

In the yellow light cast by the bulb overhead, his utterly straight hair shone as if polished, slightly mussed by the long evening. A photograph of him in his flannel shirt, so huge and muscled and rugged, with the tiny kitten clasped to his chest, would sell a million bottles of whatever anyone wanted to sell. She shifted.

Joel moved out of the corner. “I was going to invite you upstairs to see my etchings, but I’ve got to get this kitten to a vet.”

“You’ve clearly been cast as hero,” she agreed with a smile. “I understand.”

He walked her to the door. Still holding the kitten, he bent to kiss her, touching her cheek gently. “I know the first part of the week is a busy time for you, but maybe we can get together Thursday or Friday.”

“I’d like that.” She reached up to brush the gloss of his hair with her fingers. Meeting his eyes, she said, “I had a wonderful time tonight.”

He kissed her again, lingering this time. “So did I.”

“Let me know how the kitten is.”

“I will.”

There was nothing else to do. Maggie walked out his door to her own. Immediately, the world seemed silent and a little lonely.

“M
om, have you seen my red dress?”

Maggie smiled to herself. “I’m ironing it right now.”

A sheepish Sam rounded the corner of the kitchen, where Maggie stood over the built-in ironing board. A basket of wrinkled clothing awaited her ministrations with the iron.