Rapture

by Thomas Tessier

  Later, Jeff would tell himself that the real reason he had agreed to jog with Sean was because it would give him one more chance to see Georgianne and Bonnie. The plan was that they'd go out at seven, run or walk for a while, and then return to the house for breakfast. He thought he'd drive down to New York in the afternoon. He had reached the point where he wanted to leave Danbury.

  It was getting dark and cool outside by the time they'd finished their coffee. Bonnie cleared the table and cleaned up in the kitchen while her parents sat in the living room with Jeff. Georgianne dug out some albums of old photographs, which they looked through with a mixture of disbelief and amused embarrassment. She had a lot of pictures Mike Rollins had taken-he had been a Polaroid enthusiast. The result, Jeff discovered for the first time, was a number of snapshots of himself with two girls, his date at the time and Georgianne. He was fascinated to look at them now. How odd he appeared to himself! Weedy, angular, stiff. But there was something nice about it. He wished he had some of these photos, because he saw it would be possible to crop out the other girl, leaving pictures of himself with Georgianne, alone.

  "My hair didn't start to grow until I got to college," he said absently.

  Georgianne looked great in every snapshot, as he knew she would, and Bonnie's resemblance to her became even more apparent. Mike, in various poses, showed great fat-bearing potential, which Jeff now knew had not been left unfulfilled. Kathy, Joanne, and Betsy looked almost like strangers to Jeff. None of them was quite as pretty as he remembered, although in one picture, as a result of an optical illusion or a pair of falsies, there was definitely more to Joanne's bosom than Jeff had ever encountered. They were still going through the albums when Bonnie came in to say good night. Not long after that, Sean began yawning and hauled himself to his feet.

  "I'm always early to bed," he explained. "And I've got some catching up to do for last night."

  "I should be going," Jeff said.

  "No, no, stay and finish your drink," Sean insisted. "Georgianne will fix you another one, if you like. You two haven't talked in twenty years, and I'm sure you still have a lot of ground to cover."

  "He goes to bed at ten o'clock every night," Georgianne confirmed.

  "Just make sure you're here at seven sharp," Sean warned, "or I'll come down to that hotel and drag you out in your pajamas. You're going to do some jogging."

  "I know," Jeff said, nodding his head reluctantly. "I may be unconscious, but I'll be here on time."

  "You do need another drink," Georgianne said when Sean had gone upstairs. "Come on."

  "I've had more to drink this week than I have in the last year," Jeff remarked, following her into the kitchen.

  Georgianne poured two more tall vodka-andtonics. They touched glasses to toast each other once again. Jeff leaned back against the counter, Georgianne beside him at a slight angle.

  "1 told you yesterday that you'd done well," he said. "Meeting your husband last night, your daughter today, seeing you in your home and how you live, I have to say it again, kid, only more so."

  "Thanks, Jeff." Georgianne looked down at her drink, which she held in both hands at her waist. You know, I told Sean last night, on the way home after dinner, that the reason you and I were such good friends in school was because I always felt safe with you around. We all did. Even Mike. You know the kinds of things he could get up to-I think he felt freer and could be a little wilder as long as you were there, because you knew how to take control when things started to get out of hand."

  Jeff shrugged, but he was deeply touched. "I'm glad we never had to test it." He took her hand, squeezed it, held on. "Twenty years later," he joked softly, "and I'm finally getting to hold hands with you. How about that?"

  Georgianne smiled back at him, then tugged gently. "Come on. I've got to sit down. The drink is catching up with me."

  They returned to the living room and sat together on the couch. Hands still held between them, they stretched out their legs on the coffee table. Jeff was beginning to feel dizzy, but not from the drink. The back of his hand, holding hers, rested lightly against bare thigh where Georgianne's shorts ended. The feeling was devastatingly wonderful, but at the same time he was a little frightened by it. What was happening? Was she seriously flirting with him? It was another bizarre echo of a past that had never occurred-on the couch with Georgianne while her old man slept upstairs. This time her husband, not her father. Jeff felt anything but self-possessed now. This moment was precisely what he had wanted and dreamed of so many times. But he didn't know what to do with it.

  "How has it felt being back here?" Georgianne asked. "Make you think at all about moving back to Connecticut?"

  "No, not really," Jeff replied, glad to have something to say. "Where you are, here, is the nicest place I've seen. But the old Brass Valley is even more depressed, and depressing, than it was when we grew up there. Besides, I've made a home for myself in California that I can't see myself leaving, not in any foreseeable future."

  "It doesn't really matter where any of us lives," Georgianne said. "As long as we live well in ourselves."

  "Right."

  Side by side they sat, close, comfortable together. It felt so very good, but Jeff was afraid to turn and look at her. Afraid of what might happen. But suppose that was what she was waiting for ... ? Could he be reliving his own unnecessary hesitancy?

  Jeff finally turned to say something, but the words were lost as he was transfixed by Georgianne's madras shirt. The top three buttons were undone. They had been that way all evening, he realized, but now the image meant something more to him. She still wore a shirt like a high-school girl-open like that but with no cleavage visible. It seemed peculiarly girlish, and Jeff couldn't explain why but he thought it was the most beautiful, telling quality that Georgianne possessed. He knew he should look away, but he couldn't move his eyes. Georgianne gave no indication that she was aware of how intensely poignant this moment was for him. She simply held his hand and gazed absently at her drink. Finally, he leaned forward, his face closer to hers. She looked up at him and smiled.

  "I should be going," he said.

  And cursed himself silently. Even now, he thought, you're hesitating, hoping she'll take the initiative and kiss you. He felt desperately miserable. At the same time, he couldn't believe that Georgianne really wanted him to try anything. She had made the point about feeling safe with him. The wrong move now would destroy that. He had waited twenty years, and now he had come this close to her; he could wait a while longer to get the rest of the way.

  "Think you'll make it here at seven?" she asked.

  "Yeah, somehow."

  They stood up and walked across the room to the front door. Georgianne stepped outside with him.

  "Thanks for a great meal and a great evening," he said.

  "Thank you," Georgianne responded. "For last night, and for coming tonight."

  She seemed subdued, in a dreamy, wistful kind of way, as she leaned back against the door frame and looked at him. He was no longer a successful businessman, he wasn't even an old acquaintance enjoying a nostalgic reunion. He was a trembling schoolboy saying good night to the girl he had never really stopped wanting in his life. And she looked better than ever, a picture he would keep, if only he could.... He brought his hand up into her hair and kissed her. It wasn't a passionate kiss, but gentle, lingering, open-mouthed. It was a moment he wanted never to end, the past made perfect in a simple act of innocent but deeply felt affection. No, not just affection-love.

  "Jeff ..."

  Instinctively, he kissed her on the cheek to lighten the moment. But secretly he was thrilled. He had finally done it. He had kissed her, not like a brother or a harmless friend, but the way a man kisses a woman. And it had done no apparent damage.

  "See you at breakfast," Georgianne whispered. Then she pulled back slightly, a small but clear step.

  On the drive to his hotel, and until sleep overtook him, Jeff wondered about that last look on her face in the doorwa
y. It was impossible to decipher, but endlessly fascinating. Had he seen sorrow in her expression? Perhaps, but happiness, too-he was sure of that. And there was more-a fire, an undefined longing for something ... or someone. Had he awakened that in her? He wanted to believe that more than anything, but he knew it was too early to tell. Still, it was all beginning to drift in the right direction as far as he was concerned; that much was undeniable.

  Jeff sprawled across the bed and started laughing quietly. The laughter grew, a rhythm that took hold of his entire body. You're delirious, he told himself, enraptured, enthralled, on your way off the deep end. You know that, don't you?

  "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes ..."

  CHAPTER TEN

  "I didn't think you'd make it," Sean said.

  "Neither did I."

  "How do you feel?"

  "Fine, more or less."

  "Think you can do some jogging?"

  "Sure, but not very far."

  "Well, I'll be easy on you," Sean promised unconvincingly, "seeing as how you're a smoker and all."

  "Thanks."

  Sleepy but not too hung over, Jeff had made it to the Corcoran house on time. Sean was already in the driveway, going through a routine of stretching exercises. He wore a proper running suit and shoes, whereas Jeff had on slacks and a T-shirt and an ordinary pair of sneakers. He resented having to go through with this nonsense, but he kept thinking ahead to breakfast with Georgianne.

  Sean parked the wagon on a side street near the en trance to the Gorge. There was a plaque mounted on a boulder just inside, where several paths diverged.

  "It's a beautiful place," Sean said, leading the way. "Every September we hove a real invasion of out-oftowners, who come to see the leaves turning color."

  Within a few minutes, the trail they had taken brought them to the edge of the Gorge itself. An old rail fence had been put up in places to keep people from wandering off the edge. It was a steep drop to the Bullet River, a narrow band of violent water rushing through a rocky cut. Jeff was impressed by the wild, raw look of it.

  "Two or three people fall in every year," Sean said.

  'Really? It does look dangerous."

  "Outsiders who don't know their way around, or kids who've had too much to drink. Some of them survive, and some don't." Sean pointed ahead. "You can see places where there's no fencing, just undergrowth. Foxrock's a small town, so there's not a lot of money, and this isn't a managed park. It's just ground that's too wild and rocky and hilly to be developed. The river runs through town, bringing this finger of land with it. Nobody's figured out what to do with it, and I hope they never do. I like it just the way it is."

  They had walked perhaps a quarter of a mile, with the rocky Gorge always nearby on their left. The ground was heavily wooded and thick with tall grass and brush, but the path was well worn. It never ran straight for more than a few yards before dipping to the right or left, then rising again, swinging up, looping around stone outcrops, threading past clumps of birches. In spite of himself, Jeff liked the place, liked the idea that it was so close to town yet so wild and secluded.

  "Ready for a little run?"

  "Uh ... yeah, I guess so."

  "Keep me in sight, because we'll be crossing other paths, and give a holler if you want to stop and catch your breath."

  Sean took off at a slow trot, and Jeff stayed close behind. At first it wasn't as bad as he had expected. He had no trouble keeping up with Sean, as he quickly found an easy rhythm for his breathing. The only awkward part was the ground itself, which was so rough and irregular that he had to keep his eyes on it all the time to avoid a misstep. They were moving gradually away from the Gorge, he reckoned, since he could no longer hear the roaring river. But they hadn't gone too far when Sean surprised him by stopping.

  -rr- -v "Okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm still here," Jeff said, bending over and gulping air.

  "Teenagers," Sean muttered, kicking a rusty beer can off the path. "I wish they'd take their litter with them. Listen, the path widens from here, and we can pick up our pace a bit, if you want. Or would that be too much for you?"

  Jeff caught the tone of that last sentence all too clearly, and he couldn't refuse the challenge. If nothing else, it served to crystallize the amorphous dislike he felt for Sean.

  "Why not?"

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'll stop if I have to," Jeff said irritably. He straightened up. "Otherwise, let's go."

  okay."

  Sean sped away, and Jeff trailed gamely behind, telling himself, The man's a fucking asshole. He was determined to make a fire of his anger, and to warm his hands at it. Make the effort, make the effort, he told himself. Just this once.

  But it was too much. He was competing with Sean on Sean's terms, and he didn't have a chance. Sean steadily increased his speed, and Jeff drove himself to keep him in sight. The rhythm he'd found earlier eluded him now. His legs began to hurt, in the calves, knees, and thighs. He felt a tiny red dot form on his breastbone. It burned as it grew, and pressure seemed to be building up beneath it, as if a hot poker were being pressed into his chest. He pushed himself on, though his breath came in loud, jagged gasps. Then a metal band started to tighten around his forehead. He could still see Sean, but only as a blur, a floating figure that bounced in and out of view. I ought to die here, now, he thought dimly. Serve the bastard right-let him live with guilt for the rest of his life.

  He stumbled to a halt, unable to move another step. He swayed on his feet. his whole body heaving. His mouth was dry and gummy, and black spots danced across his vision. He got down on one knee and bent over-that's what he'd been taught in school, he remembered: put your head down when you feel dizzy. But as soon as he did it, he was shocked to find himself puking furiously. It looked like everything he had consumed the night before was coming up. That's beautiful, he thought with self-loathing, just beautiful. Now you've really made Sean's day. When the spasms finally subsided, he moved away from the smelly mess. He stood up carefully and wiped his face. He felt shaky but calm. The dislike had become a pure white flame of hatred within him.

  "Are you all right?" Sean asked, walking up casually. Then he noticed the pool of vomit on the ground. "Oh boy, I was afraid of that."

  Afraid? More likely you were looking forward to it, Jeff thought bitterly. He stared at the other man without speaking, and he could tell that his look was so icy cool it unnerved Sean, who was compelled to fill the air with noise and chatter.

  "Sorry about that. Barfed myself the first time out. Almost everybody who starts running does, you know. Really. You can't push yourself too hard. You have to break into it gradually. I did it on Main Street, for all to see."

  "Yeah, well, forget it. I feel okay," Jeff said, walking away. He could no longer bear listening to the fool prattle on.

  "I thought you were doing pretty well," Sean said as he caught up. "We must have covered a mile or so, anyway. You're in better shape than I thought."

  That was a lie, Jeff knew. He hadn't run anywhere near a mile. Everything that came out of Sean's mouth was inane. But Jeff was enjoying the situation, too. He had submitted himself to an indignity in order to gain a psychological edge of some sort, and he felt he had achieved that.

  "I'm okay, really," he said, forcing himself to sound reasonable and unruffled. 'I should have slowed up a little sooner, that's all."

  "Right, right," Sean agreed quickly. "But it was a bad idea after a night of drinking and so on. My fault entirely. I'm the experienced runner. I should have known...."

  And he babbled on. How typical, Jeff thought, that Sean was now so eager to shoulder all the blame. It was another roundabout way of rubbing it in, for all his apparent sincerity. Yes, he was the experienced runner-which only persuaded Jeff that what had happened was precisely what Sean had intended. The man was like cheap window glass, weak and transparent.

  "Do you want to stop and rest some more?"

  Jesus Christ! "I'm all right," Jeff answered, the edge back
in his voice. "I didn't have a heart attack."

  Sean kept up his line of talk, though it diminished some in the face of cold silence. They came out of the woods onto the street and drove back to Indian Hill Road.

  "You're a good sport, Jeff," Sean said as he parked the wagon in the driveway. "Sorry it turned out to be a bad idea."

  Jeff nodded curtly. A good sport-what a thing to say! It was as good as admitting that the whole thing was a prank. Once you get into Sean's shallowness, there's almost no end to it, he thought, and then he nearly laughed out loud at the contradiction. Geor gianne came out of the kitchen when she heard them at the front door.

  "Hi there," she said brightly. "How was it?"

  "I'm no runner," Jeff replied with a genuine smile. She looked terrific, as usual, although she was dressed only in faded denims and a gray sweatshirt. "I'm just going to wash up," he told her as he headed for the bathroom.

  "Beautiful morning," he heard Sean say.

  As he stepped through the bathroom doorway, Jeff caught a glimpse of Sean making a gesture with his finger in his mouth, not quite as exaggerated as Joan Rivers, but just as obvious and tasteless. Son of a bitch, he thought, furious again. That was totally unnecessary. He shut the bathroom door, found a bottle of mouthwash, and gargled for a full minute. Telling Georgianne was uncalled for, telling her in such a crude fashion was totally unforgivable. Sean had had his fun with Jeff; the least he could have done was keep it between the two of them. But no, that was the whole point. He had to let Georgianne know, so that Mr. Computer Wizard from the West Coast would be cut down to size. Jeff spat out the mouthwash and rinsed his face with cold water. He felt calm, cool, full of hate. In other words, just fine.

  "You okay?" Georgianne asked when he walked into the kitchen a minute later.

  "Yeah, sure." Jeff sat down at the table, which was set for breakfast. He ignored Sean, smiled at Georgianne. "I am, really," he added tightly, since she looked unconvinced.