by Dusty Miller
He took a couple of long, silent breaths. He heard wind up on the roof and small creaking noises when he moved. The rug was thin and beaten hard.
The longer he stood there the worse it got.
Bending, he picked the lady up. Watching for the top of the stairs, he kept going as silently as he could, his and her breath all too loud in his ears. He thought he would die halfway down, but they made it. Not a stumble. He didn’t even brush up against a wall. At the bottom of the stairs, the hardest part was over as the dimly-lit kitchen and back hall were empty. A panel of lightness directly ahead revealed the location of the back door.
Again he set her down, and fiddled with the lock. With extreme care, he withdrew the deadbolt, and having thought ahead, he had her keys in his right-hand jacket pocket. He blocked the door open with a bag of sidewalk salt so the wind wouldn’t take it.
Braden carried Heather out, face like an angel in the illumination of the amber security light over the back door. If he got caught right now, he would be in one hell of a lot of trouble. He hoped she wouldn’t snore. His adrenalin was already pumping at a sufficiently high rate, and he thrust the thought aside. Braden relocked the door. The bag was right there, lying in the slick paved parking area behind the building. His vehicle was in an alley on the other side of a screen of brush. A hundred feet further on, the dim lights on the backs of two and three story buildings showed where the next street was.
He’d stumbled across it the other day while scoping the place out. The layout and Heather’s proximity had inspired the whole idea in the first place. She came first. He would come back for the garbage bag. God, she was heavy in that totally relaxed state.
Four minutes later, they were winging their way across town in his big SUV, her in the back under a tartan blanket and him in front, laughing obscenely as the adrenal fits kind of took him, and wondering if he dared risk a late-night burger joint drive-through.
Braden Mitchell was as hungry as hell after his amazing feat, and when he got home, he preferred not to drink on an empty stomach.
Surely this called for a drink.
#
Heather first became aware of a mild pain in her head, a soft, fuzzy ache in the region behind her right ear. The pillow was cold under her lip. The vague thought went through her that she might have been drooling in her sleep…she’d been noticing that lately.
A snork sound woke her, bringing her to a higher state, but only for a second. The noise came from her, and so it wasn’t threatening enough to wake her. She’d noticed that before too.
The sound of the shower running and someone cheerfully whistling broke into her semi-conscious state. She was curled up on her right side. It was Saturday morning and sooner or later she would have to get up out of her nice warm bed and have a tinkle. Her eyes popped open to see a blue wall and a tall, narrow yellow dresser beside a closet door. There was a round mirror on the wall above it.
The events of the night before flooded back and there was a sharp intake of breath.
“Braden.”
Flinging the covers aside, she rolled over and sat up. This was not her room, and all of her worst fears came back. That cheerful whistle not far down the hallway was the only thing that kept her from becoming really angry. There was also the fact that his duct-tape bonds had been removed and she was wearing her familiar pajamas. Her own slippers were right beside the bed waiting for their rightful owner. Beside the closet was a green garbage bag, much reduced in size. Braden had obviously put her things away somewhere.
“Braden. Damn you, Braden.”
She dropped her feet to the floor. If the door was locked she was going to smash out the window and scream bloody murder.
#
The door wasn’t locked, and as she went down the hall the noise of the shower got louder. She stopped outside the bathroom door and then went another few feet. The kitchen light was off but the windows showed the back yard. The place was bright enough to move around in, and the coffee maker, full of dark fluid, gurgled and chuckled to itself on a corner of the countertop between the sink and the fridge.
Going through an alcove and a small archway, the living room was still dark with heavy curtains closed and the TV going with the sound turned down low.
The water in the bathroom turned off and she heard him step out. Retracing her steps she went looking for a coffee mug, standing for a moment again at the rear window. Off to her right was a short hallway and the back door. Checking, she found it latched but not bolted.
Clearly Braden wasn’t expecting her to make a run for it. She was a little confused, possibly even in a heap of trouble if someone went looking for her.
Heather sat in the living room, drinking coffee and thinking about everything.
Braden shaved, flushed the toilet, brushed his teeth, the noises familiar from her youth and her life back home as a kid. Her dad had whacked his razor against the side of the sink just the same way when he shaved. From moment to moment, she thrilled to the excitement of being here and seeing him again, and then plummeted to the depths of fear and resentment.
When he stepped out and went into the kitchen, he must have seen the level in the coffee maker was down some and the cream and sugar sitting right there.
He came into the living room with an inquiring look on his brow.
“Good morning, Heather. How are you feeling?”
Something simmered inside of her, and it wasn’t lust. She was pretty sure it was anger. The trembly feeling in her arms, her guts, and the shaking of her fingers were all prime indicators.
She said nothing, just watched TV. She sipped her coffee, with legs curled up under her and propped up by a throw-cushion.
Reading something into the atmosphere, Braden turned back to the kitchen for his own cup of coffee.
They were in for a long morning. But he had done what he felt was right. Aspirin might be helpful. They would get through it. It looked like he had some explaining to do.
The question was, would she go for it?
#
Braden got it that Heather was seething inside and his heart sank.
They sat in silence, with the TV up a little louder now as the news magazine blathered on and on about the state of the world and how that all related to the price of tea in China.
She was angry. Her whole demeanor was different from the previous times they’d been together, including last night, when she had clearly been glad to see him.
“Heather. I’m sorry—” He didn’t get to finish.
“What in the hell were you thinking, Braden?” Her tone cut through him, and her eyes, usually a warm blue, glinted with unfriendliness, glittering like gemstones frozen into a glacier.
“Ah…” He was just thinking of them, the two of them.
He was thinking of her. But clearly he had screwed up.
“Okay.” It was time to start over.
On that thought, he began to try and salvage the situation.
“It’s time to start over.”
She stared at him, willing him to make sense of it.
“What?”
“For us, I mean.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” She glared in fury at Braden. “I have to answer to my Mother Superior. I can hardly be absent all weekend without someone noticing.”
He sighed, deeply.
“I’m not so sure about that—” Again she stepped in.
“I am.”
He took a breath.
“Look…I know what I did was wrong. But…but.” He faltered.
This was all turning out so badly. The plan had seemed utterly foolproof in his estimation.
She saw it otherwise.
“What if someone knocks on my door and I don’t answer? What if my absence from Mass is noticed? Surely you must have thought of that?”
“Tell them you went for a walk. Tell them you were sick.” It sounded terribly lame now, yet that had been pretty much his entire line of thinking.
It
was true that he didn’t understand her world or its obligations. Her time was their time.
His feelings sank. He really hadn’t thought it through, in his excitement at finally having Heather right in town.
In one last desperate bid, he pulled the little box out of his pocket. She was staring off into a corner, so she didn’t see it at first as he got up and then knelt in front of her. Her head swung in disbelief, and the look of disgust on her face cut him to the quick.
Her eyes popped a little and her mouth opened.
He opened up the box and unstuck the ring from its slot in the velveteen blanket it nestled in.
“Heather, would you marry me?”
He bit his lip, lowered his head and half turned away, fearful of her answer and the likelihood that he had blown it beyond all retrieval.
#
She didn’t give her answer straight away, making him wait and suffer for his sins.
The sound of traffic going up and down the street, the voices of children playing in the yard next door, put a poignant underline to every word spoken. They were heated at times, and subdued by turns.
She learned as much about Braden in that half hour as she had in all of their previous encounters.
He was deadly serious about the pair of them marrying, and didn’t perceive the difficulty she faced. To him it was a no-brainer. She was unhappy in the bosom of the Church. Therefore she must leave and marry him. Heather had never seen it that way at all. It was completely alien to her thinking. It went against everything that she had ever thought and believed.
It’s not that she wasn’t touched by the depth of his feelings for her, and her anger eventually abated after he had sensibly agreed to let her think on it. The one thing she wouldn’t tolerate was pushing for a decision. If he had any sense—or any respect for her at all, he would give her some space.
The ghost of a smile crossed his face when she said that, and she wondered what was going on inside of that head of his.
Heather, after some back and forth discussion, left the ring on the table and finished her coffee, lukewarm now, in a couple of gulps. Wordlessly, at an impasse in the conversation, nearly a debate by the raised voices and the tone at times, she got up and took the cup into the kitchen. Sticking her head out, she told a miserable Braden that she was going to have a shower.
He nodded, with his eyes downcast, and almost on autopilot as his hand reached for the remote.
#
The shower enclosure was big and luxurious. It had glass panels and took up an entire corner of a fairly large bathroom, done in a pleasant combination of blue and yellow glazed cubes, with a floor of creamy, veined marble tiles. The window, up high, was frosted but un-curtained.
Heather soaped up and scrubbed herself thoroughly, analyzing her feelings and tying to come to some manageable outcome. The thought of losing Braden was almost unbearable, yet the man had treated her badly, and thoughtlessly, no doubt filled with enthusiasm, risking her exposure and embarrassment.
He kept talking about how a relationship was about more than just good sex, and she agreed with him. The trouble was, she’d never seriously considered it. Not really—she saw that now. It was all escape, all fantasy. Braden was offering more, so much more. He wanted more.
It wasn’t about sex after all for Heather. This was a new revelation. It was about her fears. It was about the habits, or rather, habit, of a lifetime. It was about her self. Her personhood, and did she or didn’t she have the right?
It was a question of who she wanted to be.
Heather thought her life in the Church was important. She didn’t know if she could let it go, as she finished rinsing the shampoo out of her hair and put in some conditioner.
As a qualified teacher, she didn’t necessarily have to be a nun to teach kids. That tidbit of information was true enough.
Turning, she saw a form outside the foggy glass. With a rueful grin, she saw Braden standing naked with a forlorn look on his face. She shook her head in resignation.
He lifted a hand and knocked on the door, and she tried not to smile.
She opened it a few inches.
“Yes?”
“Special Delivery for Sister Heather.”
“Oh. You brat.” She stepped back, out of the way, and shook some of the water out of her hair.
Braden stepped into the steamy enclave, wearing a lean and hungry look on his face.
She snuggled up tight. His penis rose rock hard in two seconds flat as she fondled it.
Braden held her in close, kissing the top of her head and just trying to be very gentle and loving with her. He was perfectly aware of the choice he had presented her, and with no prior warning.
He prayed for luck. He prayed he had done the right thing.
“I really am sorry. But you have to admit, it’s a good gag.”
“Did you really carry me out in a sack, Braden?”
A strange grin went across his face as she looked up.
“Something like that.” He kissed her forehead tenderly. “I thought my heart would explode right out of my chest, about halfway down them God-damned stairs.”
“Jesus, Murphy. Oh, Lordy. When a nice man like you is that determined, how can a girl resist?”
“Then don’t resist.” He kissed her deeply, and to his relief, she returned it. “Just go with the flow.”
She offered no further resistance as he began to make love to her in the shower, and after a time, she began to respond with a few measured little touches of her own. As for her decision, that could wait. As for going back to the convent, with a little luck she might sneak back in there late Sunday night and no one would be the wiser.
But she didn’t think so. It was too much to expect. She could expect trouble sooner rather than later. She was a new girl there, and sooner or later someone in the place would make some opening move, some gesture of friendship or even just polite interest. Sooner or later, someone would want to talk to her outside of the dinner table or the lounge.
Braden had dumped her into a steaming heap of dog-poop, and while it was all very sweet, it was the sort of thing that made a person wonder about his sanity or even his intelligence.
Scene Two
Much to her surprise, Braden stopped abruptly. He gave her a peck on the cheek, a quick slap on the bum, and then stepped out of the shower. With his back turned, he quickly toweled off and left. When the bathroom door opened, the temperature went down in the bathroom and internally for Heather as well.
Heather turned off the shower water and reached for a dry towel. Braden was giving her a choice, which was just what she had always thought she didn’t have. There was some sort of message in the behaviour…his and hers. While she liked surprises, and making love this weekend was now definitely in the cards, Heather was torn both ways.
Now that she was there, she might as well stay there, rather than try to sneak back during daylight hours.
Her stomach rumbled, and she realized that she had always found breakfast on the table when she went down in the mornings. She had led a sheltered life, with its limited perspective.
#
When she came into the kitchen, Braden was pulling items from the fridge. He had a carton of eggs and a pound of bacon. He sliced open the package and began separating strips into the pan.
“I hope you’re hungry.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I usually just have toast and jam first thing in the morning.”
He looked up.
“Please don’t go to any extra trouble for me.”
He grinned ruefully.
“The perfect woman. Look, why don’t you trust me on this one?”
She looked at the meat, the eggs, the tomato, the onions, the diced potatoes all ready to go in when the fat was hot. He was going all out.
She bit her lip.
“Listen. You can’t fuck on bread and jam—”
She hooted with laughter.
“My old man used to say that.”
S
he nodded. Why struggle? He had some kind of a plan. There was some kind of message here in all of this and given enough time it would all come out. As for the matter of marrying Braden, all of her emotions were in a spin and maybe she really should just sit back and let someone else take the reins of responsibility for a while. On that thought she patted him on the shoulder and left him alone to get on with the cooking.
A few minutes later he came into the living room with a fresh cup of coffee for her, even going to the extent of wearing a frilly white apron that she presumed was a relic from the past, either the ex-spouse or even his mother. He looked ridiculous, of course. She shook her head at the sight of it.
“Thank you.” She watched him bob and turn back into the kitchen.
Braden was up to something. She could just sense it. There was the usual stirring in her abdomen as Heather contemplated just what form his plans for the rest of the day might take. The promise of the shower would be fulfilled sooner or later.
His little game of not talking to her had interesting psychological insights. He had her wondering what a life with Braden Mitchell would be like.
In a word, it might be interesting.
If only she wasn’t a Bride of Christ.
#
It occurred to Heather how little she had in common with other people. She didn’t know what to think, how to act or what to say as they ate breakfast, plates on the coffee table and a sports magazine show on the TV. She didn’t think she’d eaten off a coffee table in her entire life.
It was all right.
Braden seemed intent on the show, and it was obviously a part of his Saturday morning routine. Talking about the weather wasn’t all that compelling when you were already lovers.
