by Gail Dayton
What was left of the evening passed quietly. Eli sat beside Marilyn on the blue plaid sofa watching her more than the television she turned on. Did she seem quieter than usual, or was that just his imagination? Was she really okay?
When it came time, Eli went into the bathroom to change from his party clothes into his old shorts. As usual, the bed was folded out and waiting for him when he left the bathroom. He accepted Marilyn's handto move from the wheelchair--all the help he needed these days--then lay back, tucked his good hand under his head and stared at the ceiling to wait for the end of Marilyn's turn in the bathroom.
When she came out, she puttered around, filling the coffee pot for morning, moving cups from the sink to the dishwasher, checking the lock on the door. Homey stuff. Stuff to delay the moment she got into bed beside him.
He kind of liked the idea that it still made her uncomfortable, sleeping next to him, even after almost four weeks. It meant she was aware of him as a man. At least he hoped that's what it meant. It also meant he still got to say "Come to bed, Marilyn."
"I'm coming."
She turned off the lamp on the sofa table before taking off the thick blue velour robe he'd come to hate. She slipped under the covers and took the hand he stretched toward her and finally, it was here. His favorite time of the day. When they would lie side by side in the same bed, holding hands, and just talk.
Tonight, he rolled to his side, onto his leg cast--a recent accomplishment--so that he faced her. He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. "So, really," he said, knowing she would tell him now, in the dark. "How are you? Okay?"
She turned toward him, their faces now separated only by the breadth of their clasped hands. "I'm fine." She sighed.
Then she sighed again, a long, drawn-out, quavery kind of sigh, and Eli's gut shivered. That was not a good sound.
"It's just--you're right, you know. They're my family, so it hurts more that they don't understand. That they don't want to bother, they don't even want to try to understand. I--God, I feel so alone." The slight tremble in her voice as she started to speak grew with each word until with the last, she was weeping aloud.
Nine
***
"Oh, hey--" Eli moved his uppermost arm, thinking to put it around her, but he'd brain her with the cast on that one. So he tugged his lower hand free and slipped it under her head, around her shoulders, and pulled her close. "You're not alone, okay? I know it's not much, but I'm here."
Marilyn tucked her head into his shoulder and cried on it. "You're not staying."
"Sure I am. Long as you want me, I'll stay. Promise."
It was an easy one to make. She wouldn't want him around that long, just till she got her feet under her. Till her family got their heads straight. Joey already did. The others would come around soon enough. Probably sooner if Eli was out of the picture, but that was just too bad.
She cried harder. Her sobs scared the shit out of him. He didn't know how to make her stop.
"Hey." He tightened his arm around her, let his plaster-free fingers rest on her arm. "What did I say wrong? I didn't want to make you cry more."
She shook her head, sobbing like her heart was breaking. Her hand slid up across his chest, under the broken arm and around to his back. Now she held him as tight as he held her.
Eli kissed the top of her head. He couldn't help it. He wanted to kiss her tears away, but that would probably make her cry harder. "Shh," he breathed, rocking her slightly in his arms. "Sh, sh. It's all right. It's gonna be all right."
"Oh, God, Eli," she said, voice cracking. "Hold me."
"Sure." Carefully he added his cast to the mix, placing it behind her. He pressed his face to her hair, wishing he knew how to comfort her better, what more he could do. This was more than merely what happened tonight.
"I've been alone for so long," she whispered.
"Not anymore."
"No, not anymore." She held him tight, crushing her breasts, covered only by thin cotton, against his naked chest, wiping her tears on his shoulder.
Eli bit down hard on the inside of his cheek but it did nothing to quell his body's reaction. He'd been wanting her for too long, but this wasn't the time to bother her with it. He bent his good leg and brought it up, hoping to hide things.
"I feel like--" Marilyn paused to wipe her eyes again, this time on his neck. "Like part of me's been dead. Numb. Like when your leg goes to sleep and when it wakes up, all these pins and needles stab you till it's all the way awake. Only the part of me that's been numb is bigger than any leg, and it was worse than just asleep. Like it was dead and is coming alive again, and it hurts. It hurts bad, Eli."
He stroked her hair back from her face with his fingertips, careful not to bump her with the cast. Then he kissed her forehead where he'd exposed it. He shouldn't kiss her, but he had to. He limited himself to the one, tucking her head back under his chin where his lips couldn't reach it.
"But it's a good hurt, you know?" A sob caught her, putting a hitch in her voice. Her hand on his back pulled him close while the one against his chest drew little circles on his skin. She was making him crazy. "If I let it hurt, after a while maybe it won't hurt anymore and I'll be better. Better than I was before. More alive. Only half dead instead of three-quarters."
"All alive, not any dead. Don't stop till you get there." He couldn't stand thinking of her any other way but completely alive.
She turned her head and laid her cheek flat against his chest. Eli resisted the urge to twist himself around and kiss whatever he could reach. He just held her.
"I can't believe you promised to stay." The motion of her jaw against his chest as she spoke made chills run up the back of his neck. "You don't have to."
"Yes, I do. I promised. And I always--"
"Keep your promises. I know." She moved her hand higher on his chest. "Even if you're released from your promise?"
"I said 'as long as you want me.' When you get sick of me hanging around, I'll go. If you want me to come back, I'll be here."
Marilyn sniffled.
He could feel fresh tears as she turned her face back into his chest. "Oh, hey--I thought you were all done with that crying stuff."
"You're too nice to me. I can't--after so long--to have somebody..." Running out of words, she held him tight and cried.
Eli held on, whispering stuff he couldn't remember the second it came out of his mouth. Marilyn cried and cried, until he was afraid she'd make herself sick with it. He didn't know how else to help her, and finally promised himself that if she didn't slow down in the next ten minutes, he'd call somebody. He didn't know who, but somebody.
Almost as if the silent promise had some kind of weird power, Marilyn's sobs faded in less than five minutes. By ten, she was asleep on his shoulder, sniffling occasionally between breaths. Eli rolled onto his back to keep from accidentally bashing her with the arm cast and tucked her into his side. She snuggled in, spreading her hand flat just over his heart. He could get used to this he thought, right before he joined her in sleep.
Marilyn dreamed she was hot. Not toasty, snuggly warm, but hot. Cleaning out the attic in July without a fan hot. Lying on a Florida beach in August hot. Baked in a furnace hot.
As she struggled up from sleep, she realized she wasn't inside a furnace, merely lying next to one. Or, more correctly, draped all over him. Eli's nearly naked body generated incredible heat, and Marilyn lay with her head on his shoulder, her arm across his stomach and her leg over his broken one with her knee drawn up almost within touching distance of his...package.
Her face burned as she remembered the humiliating way she'd cried all over him last night. He'd been so nice about it. So nice about that awful scene at her mother's, about everything. Which had only made her cry harder because it had been so damn long since anybody was nice to her about anything.
How in the world was she going to extricate herself? Not only from her physical position vis-à-vis his...package, but from--well, from wanting him to sta
y. From liking him too much. From wanting to take him up on his outrageous proposition. It would end badly no matter what she did. She was sure of that already. But if she wasn't careful, it could get so much worse.
And it would get worse very quickly if she didn't hurry up and get her knee away from his.... She had to stop thinking about his package. No packages. Not now, not ever. Not Eli's anyway. Maybe someday she'd meet a nice forty-mumble-year-old man and she could think about his package but--
Get a grip, Marilyn.
Carefully, Marilyn lifted her knee straight up until it wasn't touching Eli's leg or his cast anywhere, and moved it back where it belonged. On her own side of the bed. Then she paused to see if she'd awakened Eli.
If she had, he was pretending to sleep, for which she was grateful. It was bad enough hoping he didn't know she'd plastered herself all over him. If she knew he knew she'd done it, her humiliation would be complete. As it was, she could still hope.
Inch by fraction of an inch, she moved her hand off his chest, then withdrew her head from his shoulder. The process took longer than she wished because he had his good arm sprawled beneath her all the way across the bed. Once she achieved her goal of not touching him anywhere, she took a deep breath and slipped from the bed entirely, crossing her fingers that Eli truly was asleep.
When the bathroom door shut behind her, Eli opened his eyes and sighed. So much for wishes.
Midweek, Eli had an appointment with the bone doc. He wheeled into the waiting room with high hopes and Marilyn. He walked out with a walking cast and crutch. And Marilyn. He had at least three more weeks before the casts would be completely gone, but he was free of the damned chair.
Out on the street again, he stood straight and took a deep breath of exhaust-tainted air while Marilyn pushed the empty wheelchair to her car parallel-parked only a few slots away.
"Damn, it feels good to be out of that chair. We're heading straight to the rental place to turn it in, right?" He eyed the crutch under his good arm with distaste, wishing he could be rid of it too, but he knew Marilyn would pitch a fit if he tried it. Then he saw her fighting the wheelchair into its folded position and hobbled hurriedly to her side. "Let me help with that."
"How?" She shot a sardonic look at his crutch. "You don't seem to have a free hand at the moment."
"Like this." Pinning the crutch under his arm, he took the keys from her coat pocket, unlocked the car and opened the back door just in time for her to slide the folded wheelchair in. "See? I'm not totally useless."
"Never said you were." She walked around the car while Eli tossed the crutch on top of the wheelchair and got in the front seat.
"Never said it," he replied. "But you're the queen of innuendo."
"Always knew I was the queen of something." Marilyn started the car and waited for a break in traffic to pull out into the street. "So, three more weeks till the casts come off. Do you know where you're going next?"
She could feel his probing gaze on her and kept her attention resolutely on the traffic.
Eventually, Eli spoke. "Is that a not-so-subtle way of telling me my time is up when the casts come off?"
Marilyn jerked her head around to face him, unnerved by the unexpected dismay. "Of course not. I just thought--"
His eyes unsettled her more with their steady gaze. She looked back at the road and swore under her breath when she realized she'd missed a gap in the stream of cars.
"You thought what, Marilyn?" Eli pushed her. "You did say I could stay as long as I wanted, remember? And I promised to stay as long as you wanted. So, is my time up in three weeks?"
"No." Why had she asked that stupid question? Did she really want him to go? Or was it that she was afraid he would?
She saw another tiny gap and swung her barge of a car into it, knowing the other drivers would give her room to protect their shiny new Mazdas and Hondas.
"Then what?" Eli persisted.
"I don't know," she snapped. "Okay? I'm not setting any deadlines. Are you?"
"No."
"Okay, then. Let's just see what happens when the time comes. Okay?"
"Fine." He sounded like a sulky teenager, reminding her how young he was.
Then again, Bill had sounded that way from time to time, right up until the day he died. Maybe it was a man thing.
"Marilyn," he said, after a quarter mile or so of silence. "Are you keeping your promise? Are you thinking about--"
"Your proposition?" she interrupted, afraid of what he might say. She didn't want to hear the word "sex" or any of its synonyms coming out of his mouth.
"Yeah. Are you?"
She couldn't stop thinking about it, much as she wanted to. Wanted both to stop thinking about it and wanted to do it, to give in and dive in and forget about good sense and good morals and doing good, and go for feeling good.
She wanted to wallow in sensuality, indulge in whims, drown in passion. She wanted to say to hell with the consequences. But the consequences scared her half to death.
Except...half to death wasn't nearly as terrified as she'd been a mere few days ago, and if that didn't frighten her the rest of the way to death, she was in deep, deep, deep trouble here. What would happen if she reached the point where she decided the thrill was worth the inevitable pain? What if she agreed to the whole crazy idea?
"Marilyn?" Eli touched her shoulder, calling her back from her thoughts. He shifted position, lifting himself in the seat to pull his wallet from his hip pocket. "I need to give you something, in case you are thinking. Maybe it'll help you make up your mind."
He opened the wallet and took out a battered piece of paper, unfolded it and handed it to her. She set it down on the car seat beside her.
"What is it?" She risked a quick glance down, away from the heavier traffic around her. "I'm driving. I can't look now."
"Keep it. Look at it whenever you have time. I already know what it says. It's a blood test. Mine."
Marilyn's heart pounded. He really was serious about--about what he wanted. Serious enough to give her--oh, she wasn't any good at this sort of thing. It was bound to be easier to avoid men altogether than have to figure out all the twists and turns involved in the modern dating scene. And yet it touched her, his gesture.
"What does it say?" she asked, consumed by curiosity.
"I'm clean. No diseases. Not even flu." He flicked the paper lying between them with a too-casual finger. "It's a couple months old, but I haven't been with anyone since then." He shrugged. "Haven't been with anyone in a while."
She looked at him, but he was staring out the far window. "How long a while?"
It really wasn't any of her business, unless of course she intended to take him up on his invitation, which she didn't...she didn't think. But she wanted to know anyway.
Eli glanced over before screwing his forehead into thinking mode. "I don't know--a year? About that, I guess. Christmas last year, I think, when I was down south. You want her name?"
The blush burned all the way up. "No, that won't be necessary," she said primly, wishing she could hide her embarrassment. But the test was a couple of months old, he said. She'd only known him for one, since mid-January. "Why did you have the test done, Eli? Was there someone else you were thinking about--you know..."
He waited until she looked at him. "You're the only woman I want. The only one I've wanted since Christmas a year ago."
Her blush burned hotter and she turned back to the street, unconvinced of his sincerity. "Then why have the test done?"
"I get one every six months," he said, voice grim, hard. "I've been told I don't have to any more. It's been long enough I should be clean, but I do it anyway. I used to get one every three months."
He was watching her when she risked a glance, his face closed down. Except for his eyes, so bright they burned her.
"I lived almost four years on the streets here in Pittsburgh, Marilyn. I wasn't exactly--" Eli shut those pale, shining blue eyes and when he opened them again, they stared at the c
eiling of the car. "Hell, for a while there, I fucked anything that moved. Is that what you wanted to know?"
No. His truth scalded her heart.
He took a deep breath, let it out, and spoke. "I just thought that--since you know--I mean about Stan kicking me out and all--that you might wonder. If I had something. I don't. So that's one less thing for you to be afraid of." He shrugged, looking anywhere but at her. "If you're really thinking about--about what I said."
She had to work to keep her voice even, eliminate the pity she felt for the boy he used to be. Eli the man wouldn't want it. "I appreciate the consideration."
"So are you?" Still he wouldn't look at her. "Thinking about it? Seriously?"
Marilyn sighed. "Yes, Eli. I'm afraid I am."
Eli spent the next several days making himself useful around Marilyn's apartment. He adjusted her toaster so that it actually made toast rather than either warm bread or charcoal. He fixed the funny noise in the dishwasher. He even glued her dining chairs back together where the joints were coming loose. Not easy with only one and a half hands, but he managed. He only had three weeks to convince Marilyn she wanted him to stay and he figured he would need every minute of that time.
Early in the next week, he had the guts of Marilyn's kitchen clock spread out on the table. He was trying to hold a tiny washer in place with the fingers of his right hand while his clumsy left hand inserted an even tinier screw through the opening.
"You don't have to fix everything I own," Marilyn said, watching him work from the chair across the table. "That wasn't an expensive clock. It lasted for years. I can afford to buy another one."
"I was bored, okay? It gives me something to do." He dropped the screw and swore under his breath when it rolled off the table. Picking things up off the floor still wasn't easy, even with the smaller cast on his leg.
"Better be careful." She got up and headed into the kitchen, probably to fix lunch since it was about that time.
