Taking Faith (9 page)

              "You were in the garage?" he asked quickly.

              "Yeah," she answered nonchalantly. "I gave myself a tour." She smiled at him coyly. "You kind of skipped that part."

              He chuckled reluctantly, as if taken aback. "Yeah. Uh, it's a '79 Cadillac Eldorado. The only thing I ever bought for myself purely for pleasure."

              "Why's that?"

              He grimaced. "Well, I never had anything that belonged just to me," he said defensively, gruffly. "I work hard and I don’t think there's anything wrong with me getting myself something-"

              "No, no, no," she stopped him. "I meant why was this the only thing you'd ever bought yourself?"

              "Oh," he said in surprise. "Uh…well the law is that a man has to have a certain amount of money saved up on top of the cost of the bride when he takes a wife. So, my father kind of exploded when I bought this. Said I set myself back."

              "How old are you?" she asked, but noticed that the question might seem derogatory with the topic so she continued, "You look pretty young to have…accomplished so much."

              "I'm twenty six. How old are you?"

              She swallowed. Twenty six… "Nineteen."

              "What?" he said and cringed. "Really?"

              She nodded. "Mmhmm."

              He blew out a 'whew'. "Most of the women are young, but I thought you were at least twenty one, two maybe." She shook her head, though it wasn't needed. "That sucks," he groaned and pulled on his lip with his fingers. "My God, you are so young. They took your whole life away."

              "I'm very independent, always have been." She straightened her back. "I was already living on my own, so…"

              "Nineteen," he mused with raised eyebrows. "Wow."

              "So what do you do on days off?" she asked to steer the conversation.

              "This is it," he laughed. "I usually just sit around and catch up on CSI, mow the grass, work out, take a drive."

              "Could we…take a drive?"

              He cracked a sideways smile. "You want to take a drive me with me?"

              She nodded, thinking about how the dance she'd went to with Lionel was wasted. He'd rented some fancy car to impress her and hadn't even driven his convertible the night of the dance.

              Roger shrugged. "Sure. My baby hasn’t been out in a while. Let's go."

              Amy was teeming with excitement. Not only was she getting to ride in her first convertible, but she could also get a good layout of the town. But mostly, the beautiful convertible. And when she followed him out to the garage, and he yanked the cover off, she saw how beautiful it was. Cherry red and white leather. She sighed and made a quick path to her side.

              He chuckled at her, but didn’t say anything as he got in. It started the first time. The engine purred just for her, Amy thought as she relaxed against the warm leather. She was pretty pasty and the white of the leather seemed to give her skin a glow. She smiled as she buckled her seat belt.

              He drove down passed his shop and around through downtown. The wind brushed her face as he waved to a few people whose eyes seemed too interested and nosey. After about fifteen minutes, he pulled into a broken down drive-in theater. The screen had branches skewing the view and a long split down the middle. There were vines and broken speaker poles scattering the area.

              He parked it in front of the screen and pulled a speaker to set on his window. He turned and grinned at her. "What do you want to see?"

              She laughed. "I think anything they played here is long gone. Why did this close down?"

              "Well," he laughed once, "when the men aren't interested in dating their wives, it doesn't make much sense to have a drive-in. I came here once when I was about six with Alex and his mom, but it closed down soon after that. The only ones who would use it were teenage boys and we were too busy being groomed to be stellar husbands to watch movies." He laughed again and shook his head.

              "Well…" she mused, "I bet it was nice while it lasted."

              "I guess."

              They sat in comfortable silence for once as they both looked at the screen and imagined what it was like to have one normal thing like this in the lives of these people. "Your mom never brought you here?" Amy asked.

              He scoffed. "Uh, no. I told you my mother was prickly."

              "Yeah, but she was still your mother," Amy countered. His mouth tightened. "What?" she asked. "You can tell me."

              His pause was loaded. "My mother hated me."

              "Roger, that is not true-"

              "Would you love the thing that was implanted in you against your will by the man who kidnapped and beat you?" he said harshly.

              She caught her breath. Oh.

              He went on. "She hated everything about me. She hated him and she hated me for being born and forcing her to be responsible for me."

              "Oh, Roger…" He jerked his gaze to hers at her sympathetic tone. "You want to know the saddest part of all of this?"

              "Yeah, lay it on me," he said sarcastically, but his eyes never left hers.

              "The saddest part…is that you actually believe that to be true."

              He looked away and closed his eyes. After long, silent minutes he finally said, "Why?" When she looked at him in question he repeated, "Why? Why are you doing this?"

              "Doing what?" she breathed.

              "Trying to get me to feel something for you," he answered steadily.

              "Is that what you think I'm doing?" He nodded. "Then I take it back. This is the saddest part of it all." She stared him down with a serious gaze. "That you think that no one can show you any amount of humanity without an ulterior motive."

              "I know what humanity is."

              "Do you?" she asked back, her voice harder. She had to make him see, to break through the barrier the community had planted in him.

              "Yes!" he said, exasperated. "Of course! My father…may not have been the kind I wanted, but he had my best interests in mind."

              "Roger, you can not be serious!" she yelled and worked to lower her voice. "He abused you! Not only have I seen the scars on your back and stomach, but I've seen him hit you with my own eyes and you're a grown man! I hate to think what he did to you when you were a child," she said, her voice strangled.

              Roger stared straight ahead and breathed slowly. He didn't rebut or defend and Amy was grateful. He had to see the hypocrisy of what he was saying, right? Eventually he got out of the car, taking the keys with him, and walked around the car to lean on the hood.

              She left him alone, but knew she needed to turn it up a notch when she got home.
Home
… She gulped and corrected herself; when she got back to
his
house. She waited for him to finish his think or freak-out or whatever it was that he was doing up on the hood. She'd never been abused or anything, but tried to imagine being told and thinking that was the proper way to be brought up only to realize way into your life that it wasn't? She couldn't imagine the kind of turmoil your mind would be in.

              When he finally got back in the car he didn’t say anything. He just drove them home. When he pulled into the garage, he reached over Amy to open the door for her. She sucked in a startled breath and held it as his face sat a half inch from hers. He flicked the latch with his hand and then smiled a little as he sat back.  "Sorry. Isn't that what a gentleman does? Opens the door for his wife."

              She nodded. "Thanks." Then she tried not to roll her eyes at how breathless she sounded. She got out and immediately went to the kitchen. The kitchen seemed like her neutral zone, a place where she could grab the reins and control the situation, so she was eager to get back to that. For dinner she planned steak and baked potatoes.

              She started to wash the potatoes, but realized she was missing her favorite ingredient for cooking; music.

              She peeked back into the living room, finding it empty. She could hear the water running in the shower and she hoped he didn't mind her turning on some music. The radio above the TV crackled to life and she smiled when John Mayer's
Heartbreak Warfare
came blasting through the speakers. She loved him.

              She turned it up before making her way back to the kitchen. He was in the shower so he couldn't hear her, right? She belted it out as she brushed the potato skins with a sponge.

If you want more love, why don't you say so.

If you want more love, why don’t you say so.

Just say so.

How come the only way to know how high you get me

is to see how far I fall.

God only knows how much I'd love if you let me

but I can't break through it all.

It's a heart…heartbreak

              She swayed her hips as she rubbed the seasoning on the steak. She felt so lighthearted tonight for some reason, and found herself half smiling. When she heard the bathroom door shut, she stopped swaying pronto.

              When he moseyed into the kitchen a little later, she had to stop her mouth from falling open. He was buttoning his shirt, his feet bare and his jeans weren't even buttoned up the whole way. His shaggy, black hair was a wet mess of curls. Amy turned away, but not before he saw her cheeks turn pink.

              She heard him say, "Huh," from behind her, but when she turned back he was gone. She finished dinner and served it to the table. She sat and called him.

              "It's ready."

              He came in from the living room and stared at the spread. Then he eyed her with a critical glance. She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and then he sat. He ate in silence, glancing over at her every now and then. She knew he was suspicious or confused about something, but she wasn't really sure about what. She said nothing, however, and just ate her dinner as the radio continued to play in the background. It had moved on to Coldplay's
Fix You.

              She had to bite her tongue so as not to mouth the words. When she looked up and once again caught Roger looking at her, she got up and cleared the plates to keep from smiling. He was so on edge! What did he think she was going to do?

              She cleaned the kitchen and then brought him a drink as he sat in his chair. He took the glass from her and stared at it in his hands. Then he glared at her, his jaw hard. She was confused at his anger, and when he put the glass down and got up from the chair, she couldn't help but to step back and gasp as he closed in on her.

              He pressed her to the wall near the front door with his hands on her upper arms. She thought he'd slam her into it, but once he was close enough to the wall, he slowed their movement. He looked down at her, his face inches away.

              "I can't let you just walk out of here, Amy. I've told you that. So why the show? Why the charade? No matter what you do or say…I. Can't. Let. You. Go."

              "I'm not trying to get you to," she breathed. "Let go, Roger."

Chapter 9

              He let his grip tighten a bit, not enough to hurt her, but enough to let her know he was on the edge. "Why, Amy? Tell me why you're doing this?"

              "I already told you!" she said loudly and sighed. "I'm not trying to trick you. I'm just trying to be the wife that you asked me to be."

              "Please stop."

              "Stop what?" she asked in exasperation.

              "Just…stop being so..."

              "Roger-"

              "Stop trying to make me fall in love with you!" he roared. His fast breaths blew on her cheek from his open mouth. "I can't afford to. You can't either. Stop it," he growled, but his resolve was just gone. He leaned forward and pressed their cheeks together and repeated his plea in a whisper, "Stop it."

              They stayed like that for several minutes strained with a mix of confusion and comfort. Amy knew he was breaking through some of his barriers and Roger knew that Amy was just trying to be what he wanted her to be, but didn't know how to accept that. Eventually, Amy had enough. "Roger," she whispered, her lips touching his cheek with the closeness. "Roger, it's all right. I'm just trying to... I'm not trying to pull the wool over your eyes or run some scheme-"

              "I know. I know," he sighed and moved one of his hands to her cheek. "Amy." He rubbed their cheeks together and she thought he was going to kiss her. "Oh, God, help me. I can't do this," he said and pushed away from her so quickly, she almost lost her footing. He went into his room and slammed the door.

              She leaned on the wall to catch her breath and covered her mouth with her fingers in confusion. What had she done that was so terrible? She moved to the couch and balled herself up on one corner. She echoed Roger's sentiments. She didn't know if she could do this either.

              Later, she woke with a warmth around her she hadn't felt in a long time. She gripped the hard, warm arm with both hands and was lifted. She found herself pressing closer and rubbing her cheek on soft cotton. She heard a surprised chuckle, but couldn't make herself wake to investigate. A scruffy chin rubbed a small kiss over her forehead before she was placed in softness and comfort. When the blanket was pulled over her she sighed and pulled her knees up.