Purely Relative (The P.U.R.E.)

by Claire Gillian

  “Well, I’ll miss you.” I gave him one of my finest kisses I had been saving for him all day. He showed the proper amount of appreciation, much to my relief. “Are you sure you can’t stay? I can drive you to the airport in the morning.”

  The kiss he attempted to pass off as his answer wasn’t cutting it with me, so I pulled away and asked again.

  “I can’t. I haven’t even packed, and I’m bushed. If only I could pack you in my suitcase and bring you with me.” Two doe eyes sought forgiveness, his forehead pressed against mine.

  “I could be your DC mistress!” The idea was erotically appealing for a few seconds anyway. “Hang out in the hotel like Pretty Woman until you return from your training to ravish me in your bed. Oooh ... I like it!”

  He kissed me. “I like it too. Can you fit in a carry-on though, because I hate to check a bag.”

  “Plus I’d need to be in the pressurized and heated part of the airplane.”

  “How would I get you into the overhead bin?”

  “Maybe you could cut holes for my arms and legs to stick out so I could assist you and then later stretch out.” Our banter sent bubbles of happiness fizzing through me. I gave him another kiss born from that joy.

  I knew he wasn’t that bushed. We didn’t even make it to the bedroom, and I never made it off his lap. Whee! My gal parts adored the regular and decidedly meticulous attention they received from a pair of investigative fingers and a rather enthusiastic periscope.

  “At the risk of sounding like a real prick for dining and dashing, I really need to go, but more importantly, I need you to let me because I’ll never make it out of here if you don’t.” Jon shifted me off his lap and sauntered into my bathroom, the curve of his rear barely holding up his unfastened pants.

  Part of me speculated on the up side of being a love slave, especially with Jon as my master.

  Sex all the time? You’d get blisters and die! Nobody can do that. It’s nothing but a silly romantic notion.

  It’s a wonderful notion! No job to go to, lie about in cool cotton sheets and pray at the temple of Jon’s body. What’s not to love about that? And yes, people can, and do, do this.

  Porn stars and sex crime victims maybe. Your brain would go to mush.

  I’ve heard too many orgasms can do that.

  Seriously though, you sex-addled twit. He’ll leave you eventually and then what’ll you do? Who would hire you then? You’d be right back to living in your car.

  God, you’re such a Debbie Downer.

  One of us has to be. You’re just woozy because you’re still tingling. It doesn’t last. It can’t. You really wanna be a blonde bimbo, and if that’s all he wants, he can find much cuter models than you, honey.

  Don’t call me honey.

  Okay, I’ll just call you stupid instead.

  Jon emerged, all spiffed up. He was leaving and despite what he proclaimed, I couldn’t and wouldn’t stop him.

  I walked him to the door and gave him a kiss goodbye.

  “Good luck with your interviews,” he said, hugging and squeezing me tight.

  Into his shoulder I murmured my thanks and volleyed back a similar platitude about his training before relinquishing him to the big bad world. Chrissy winked her lights as Jon approached the driver side, hopped in, and then left.

  I showered and crashed into my bed with my ratty old copy of Tama Janowitz’s Slaves of New York. Flipping the pages to find my favorite stories reminded me of the crossword book drying in my kitchen. I hadn’t done a puzzle in eons and if Jon enjoyed them, I’d like to do something that reminded me of him.

  I flipped through it, looking for a puzzle he hadn’t started, antiseptic spray in hand to nuke any lingering toilet-water nasties, and noticed with horrifying clarity that multiple handwriting filled the book, most of which was not Jon’s. Jon had claimed ownership; he hadn’t claimed exclusive usage.

  A voice in my head nagged that I’d been a bad guest in the Cripps house, and Jon had most likely been covering for me, trying to brush off what I’d done. The truth was I’d been snooping and in doing so had destroyed their property. Guilt rushed in, swamping my already depressed mood in a quagmire of sludge. What kind of crappy guest was I anyway?

  The replacement I purchased on Thanksgiving had been forgotten until then. If I had remembered, I would have given it to Jon to take on his trip. A better idea formed. I’d take it to the Cripps, confess my sins but clear my conscience. Hopefully they’d be more impressed by the confession and apology gift than upset by the snooping that caused it.

  ***

  No one but Jon’s mother was home when I buzzed the gate. To her credit, she didn’t sound the least bit surprised at my impromptu, uninvited visit. She actually seemed excited to hear from me.

  I parked in front; I wasn’t planning to stay long. I couldn’t. I had an interview to prep for and only an hour to spare. My plan was to ring the bell, tell my story, hand over the book, and leave.

  It didn’t play out that way.

  Mrs. Cripps, Julia, answered the door and insisted I come inside. She wouldn’t hear a word of what I had to say from her front porch. Then she insisted on giving me a cappuccino and piece of coffee cake. Only after we sat down and I took a breath to begin my spiel, did I realize that she too had an agenda.

  “Jon is very happy, happier than I’ve seen him in a long time and I know it’s because of you,” she said.

  “Thank you. He’s very important to me too. I—I love him, if it wasn’t already obvious.” Damn that was hard to say, but it felt good once it was said. I did love Jon. There had never been any doubt in my mind once that gear finally slipped into place.

  She laughed and flipped a hand. “Oh, yes, yes and it’s entirely mutual, any fool can see that.”

  “Aww, thanks. Listen. I came here to fess up to a bad thing I did. I would have told you at Thanksgiving, but I panicked. And then the next time I came over ... well there was too much family stuff going on, it didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up. I hope it’s not a huge deal to you, but it weighs heavy on me.”

  Julia’s face held a smile the entire time, like she was indulging a small child. “Is this about the crossword puzzle book?”

  My eyes jacked open and my jaw dropped. “You knew?”

  “Yes, but it’s not important in the least. Don’t worry another second about it. Please.” Again she flashed a smile, only this one was indulgent but sincere.

  “Okay. But I did bring you,” I reached in my purse and pulled out the new puzzle book, “this. I’m sorry for anyone who had a puzzle in process, and I’m sorry I was too much of a chicken to tell you what I did in the first place.”

  Her laughter swept me up and soon I was laughing, too, though mine was more from relief and to keep her company than because I found my predicament funny.

  “Oh, Gayle,” she began, wiping her eyes, “you are so charming.”

  I didn’t think I was that charming, but whatever.

  The laughter suddenly ceased and she fixed me with a terrifying stare. “You must do your penance now though.”

  I gulped. Though she was my size, she was five times scarier. “What do you need?”

  “I need you to tell me who Jon works for.”

  That I was not expecting. At all. “Wha-what? What do you mean?”

  “Who does he work for? It’s a simple question. You owe me an answer as your penance,” she said, right before she took a sip of her coffee. Her eyes never left mine, however.

  I decided to see how far playing dumb would get me. “We were both fired from Anderson Blakely. I thought you knew that.”

  She shook her head and set her coffee mug down. “I didn’t ask you who he doesn’t work for, I asked you who he works for right now. Who is signing his paychecks?”

  The coffee cake I’d been nibbling suddenly turned to sawdust and stuck in my throat, or at least that’s how it felt. I took a sip of my coffee, stalling as I considered my best response. I got nothing. �
��Um, I don’t think it’s my place to say anything, Mrs. Cripps.”

  “Very well. How about confirming what I’m pretty sure is the truth? He’s still with the FBI, isn’t he?” She cocked her head to one side, eyes narrowed.

  “Why do you think that?” It was the best I could come up with until I could figure out how to run away without permanently damaging my relationship with her.

  “Because that’s who he worked for in DC. He had a job he loved. I know he moved here for Thalia, but he would have never completely cut ties with the Bureau. He loves it too much, more than he ever loved Thalia.”

  She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, although I had never considered that his moving back to Dallas might have only happened with the FBI’s accommodation. Had they not given him the transfer, would he still be in DC, and still in a long distance engagement to Thalia? “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cripps—”

  “Julia.”

  I nodded, as much as my neck muscles would allow from the tension seizing me up. “I’m sorry, Julia, but I can’t pay my penance this way. I’ll do your laundry or wash your car or still owe you, but don’t ask me to tell you stuff about Jon. I can’t do it.” I stood to leave. “I won’t do it.”

  She stood with me, stony-faced. “Please.” She motioned for me to sit. “I’m sorry. I’ve overstepped. I’m sorry. If Jon won’t tell me, I have no right to bully it out of you. Please accept my apology and consider your penance served.” Two steps and she was at my side, her hand on my arm. “Not that you ever owed me any.” And then the smile returned. “I just ... worry. He may be twenty five years old, but he’s still my boy.”

  That almost crumbled me. Almost. Were it not for that little twitch at the corner of her mouth, the same twitch I’d seen on her son’s face when he was pulling my leg, I might have fallen for it. Instead I smiled and said, “I understand.” And that’s all I said before excusing myself and leaving for my job interview.

  Chapter 10

  I missed Jon. He called me that first night, tired from his trip, but it wasn’t the same as having him with me or even knowing he was at his apartment a few blocks away. My heart stretched into a thin filament, struggling to remain attached to him over the long miles that separated us. The next night I could hear the strain in his voice over the telephone. When I asked what was wrong, he mumbled something about work politics. All I knew was that I wanted him back home, but I still had a day to go.

  My interviews didn’t pan out so well. The businesses I visited seemed enthusiastic enough, but in all of them, I sensed trouble bubbling beneath the surface. Drama-free was requirement number one. After all the issues at Anderson Blakely, I needed, no I craved, normal. Reconciling my bank account only added to my melancholy.

  At five o’clock, three days after he left, Jon finally came home. When he rang my bell, I threw myself into his arms. Once I dragged him inside my apartment, I attacked him, fembot weapons set to sexual enslavement. He was a very good sport about the whole thing, though I could tell he was tired.

  As we drowsed on my bed, he reached over and took my hand. “I want to take you out to eat. At Rocky’s. I feel like a really good steak and a world-famous dessert.”

  I smiled at the memory that particular restaurant in the White Rock Lake area of Dallas conjured. Rocky’s was where we had our first date that really wasn’t supposed to be a date, but kind of felt like one anyway. We were supposed to be there to spy, but when the objects of our sleuthing left rather quickly, we made the best of it. I had a fledgling crush on Jon then. I never dreamed we’d end up falling in love, had actually fought against the notion, but of course I lost that battle.

  “I’d like that. If I’d known back then you were pulling in two paychecks, I probably wouldn’t have wrestled with you over picking up the tab,” I said.

  “Yeah you would have. Back then, anyway. It’s moot now. I’m paying.” He pulled me in closer and planted a kiss on my temple. His palm went possessively to my breast. “You is my woman now. Ungh!” A leg swung over me and swept me in even closer. “Mine, mine, all mine,” he said, snickering against my neck, adding soft little nips to the flesh.

  Oh, man. He was hitting all my vulnerable spots, especially with his caveman Jon bit, even done in jest. “Okay Grog, let’s put our fancy skins on and head on over. I’m starving.”

  ***

  The crowds had died down by the time Jon and I arrived at Rocky’s, not surprising given it was a Thursday. We slipped in between the old-fogey early birds and the illicit trysters and claimed a primo table in the back. Dinner did not disappoint.

  Afterwards, we sipped our wine and held hands, rubbing knees provocatively beneath the table. When he still made no move to whisk us back to my place for some after-dinner fun, I grew a little suspicious and Jon grew more visibly nervous.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked when his agitation had sparked my own.

  Panic took over at that point. Jon cleared his throat, glanced around the restaurant and fumbled in his pocket before finally looking me in the eye.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to drop a bomb on me?”

  He cracked a smile but it quickly went back into hiding as his visible distress rose. “Gayle?”

  “Jon.” I hoped we weren’t going to the play the name my lover game again. I’d already had a run of bad outcomes whenever he did that in the past.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, so I guess I need to simply do it. It’s not like I’ve never done this before. No, that’s not true. I’ve never done it with—never mind. What I’m trying to say, but botching up horribly is....” He stopped, mouth moving but no words emerging.

  “What? What? Just say it already. Please tell me you aren’t breaking up with me.” I was half-kidding and half-terrified he really might be.

  “No! No. Quite the opposite.” He placed an object on the table but it remained hidden beneath his palm.

  My heart pounded and my head took off into the ether. Oh my God! He actually did it! So soon. Too soon. Why so soon? Oh dear Jon, what have you done?

  That’s what you thought in the shower and instead he handed you a towel.

  Yeah, but this time there’s actually a ring box.

  For all you know it could be a pair of earrings, chica.

  “Gayle,” he began, his voice a little shakier than I’d ever heard it. He was usually so confident. “I know it’s soon and I know you will probably be caught a little off guard, but I always told you I’d marry you, Gayle, someday.” He turned his hand over and revealed a black jeweler’s box. “From the first moment I met you, I knew you were the one for me. The longer I’ve known you, the more I’ve grown to love you and to realize how right my instincts were. Gayle Lindley, I love you and I hope that someday might be now. Will you marry me?” Jon opened the box and inside the black velvet nestled a ring exactly like the drawing I had seen on the Kruger’s order form, only it was more beautiful than anything I could have imagined.

  My breath came in spasms. My mouth hung open. I couldn’t speak. Warring voices raged a war of logic and emotion in my head, growing louder and more strident as the pregnant seconds ticked by. Why couldn’t I speak? Was I paralyzed? Had shock rendered me mute?

  “I....” My word came out as a squeak.

  Jon’s smile twitched, dear God it twitched. My hesitation had rendered him a twitchy wretch. I had to say something. What though? What? Yes? No, I couldn’t even form the word on my lips. Too many objections strangled me. No? I couldn’t say that either, because ... I did love him. I did.

  And then his smile withered and died, dragging me into with it into Purgatory. “You aren’t ready yet, are you?” He closed the ring box lid with a final, terrifying snap, like a trapdoor beneath a gallows.

  I swallowed hard and watched his hands recall his request, watched him take back that beautiful diamond ring, and I still couldn’t say a damned thing. I opened my mouth to speak again and managed to force out a breath, but my vocal chords re
fused to engage. My body revolted and held me back.

  “It’s okay, Gayle, really. If it’s not yet time, if you can’t ... it’s not yet time. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ve screwed this up already. You’re sitting here in public trying not to make a scene and I appreciate it, but....” His voice caught ever so slightly, and he shook his head, eyes pinched shut. I had hurt him, something I never intended to do. His pain skewered me, as real as if were my own, like pulling a thorny vine through my heart.

  I burst into tears.

  “Oh, Gayle, Gayle. No.” Jon scooted his chair closer and pulled me into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’ve royally botched this, haven’t I? Proposing to you so suddenly. I didn’t exactly do the best job with it, but I have a hard time with the right words and—”

  I shook my head and finally found my voice albeit a pale version. “No. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I couldn’t wait. I’ve jumped the gun. I know I have. I don’t want to scare you off, and I hope my family hasn’t done that—”

  He was being so sweet, so wonderful, and here I was bawling my eyes out, unable to say a damn word, unable to tell him to stop apologizing, unable to tell him how I felt. I wasn’t even sure how I felt beyond the “I love you” part and that was hard enough to say out loud. My life was twisted and upside down and surreal. And now I was going to ruin everything by breaking his heart and my own. What was wrong with me? I needed to get it together, stop crying.

  “Gayle? Sweetheart. It’s okay.” He placed a sweet kiss on my lips.

  “I’m sorry I’m acting like this. It’s just … I-I’m worried.”

  He kissed my forehead, then lowered his eyes to meet mine. “Why worried?”

  I filled my lungs with the pungent aroma of steak and onions and slowly released it to rein in my tears. “No. I can’t marry you. Not yet. I mean, someday I’d like to, but—”

  “But not today.” He smiled ruefully at me before kissing my lips. “Okay.”

  “Please don’t think it’s because I don’t love you or love you enough. That’s not why. I just, I just don’t think I’m ready for that. Not yet. But damn, that ring was gorgeous.” A final half laugh, half–choking cough emerged from me as I expelled the last of my barriers. We both laughed together, but I could see the tension in the lines around his eyes, in the tightness of his jaw.