It Happened on Maple Street

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  And maybe, just maybe, I was a tad bit angry at the God who’d allowed that night on the country road to happen. To James. And to me.

  Anyway, getting on with my life, I enrolled in classes, too. I was certifying to teach so that I could make a living until I could earn money with my writing. I figured I’d start out with magazine articles or something. Until I could write my Harlequin romance. Until my heart could feel the romance again.

  I was hoping that sleeping with James would not only relieve some of his pressures so he could study and get good grades instead of being distracted by me all the time, but would also bring back my heart. My desire.

  We were going to Columbus for the weekend. Just the two of us. I packed my bag. I said goodbye to my folks, who knew we were going to Columbus for the weekend and hadn’t said a word, and climbed back into the car where James had lost control that night eighteen months before. I didn’t want to go with him.

  I didn’t want to sleep with him.

  But I loved him. Not like I’d loved Tim. Not with that all-encompassing, stop-the-world magic. A girl got that kind of love once in a lifetime. If she was lucky.

  I’d been lucky.

  And now I was with a man who was good to me. And who was happy with me. A man who I enjoyed. Who was a good companion. An entertaining conversationalist. A man who liked the same things I liked. Who wanted the same things I wanted.

  A man who, in spite of my shortcomings, believed in me. James believed I really would sell a book to Harlequin someday.

  He hadn’t said a word since I’d gotten in the car. We were on the highway, speeding toward Columbus, and we hadn’t even kissed hello.

  “Are you having second thoughts?” I asked. Because I was and it would be a whole lot easier if he was, too.

  “No!” He glanced at me, took one hand off the wheel to hold mine. “Of course not. I’ve been looking forward to this day for three long years.”

  I’d been looking forward to a wedding, first. But while James was in school, he could still be on his mother’s health insurance, and we couldn’t afford to get our own.

  I was working at a fast-food joint at night, in management, that provided mine.

  “It’s going to be great,” James said now.

  And I had to be honest with him. We were partners now. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

  “What?” He glanced my way again, frowning now. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just . . . I don’t feel . . . it.” I’d been raised not to talk about such things.

  “Well, thanks,” he said, his voice grumpy. “Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

  I’d hurt him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not that I don’t want you. I’m just . . . scared, I guess.”

  “Oh,” he relaxed back against the seat and sent me the sweet smile I was more used to seeing on his face. “Well, that’s understandable. The first time’s usually not as good for girls as it is for guys. But I’ll go slowly. I promise. And then the second time, you’ll like it as much as I do. You’ll see.”

  I didn’t see. But I was going to be his wife. I was going to have to sleep with him at some point. It might as well be now.

  Funny, I thought, forty-five silent minutes later as James pulled into the parking lot of the hotel we’d chosen. I was a girl who exuded to the point of making guys crazy with desire, but I felt nothing at all.

  James carried in our bags—two duffels—and I about died of shame and embarrassment as he set them on the floor of the lobby and checked us in. I was certain the two women behind the desk were watching us with knowing eyes. Knowing what we were going to be doing in that room.

  If James hadn’t picked up the bags and motioned me to follow him, I’d have bolted.

  The key in the lock opened the door on the first try. The door swung open, revealing a generic hotel room like thousands of others like them in the city. Two queen beds. Clean, blue commercial carpet. A built-in dresser with a TV on top.

  The door swung shut. James set our bags down and clicked the security chain into place.

  I was hot. And cold. Panicked. I wanted to call my mother. Reached for the phone.

  And James came around the bed, grabbing my arm before I could get to the receiver.

  He pulled—harder than necessary—and I was flat on my back on the bed, staring up at him while he pulled at the dress slacks I’d worn for the dinner we’d talked about having.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s best just to get this over with,” he said. “You aren’t going to like it anyway. And this way we can get on to the second time, which will be better for you. Besides, I’ve waited long enough.”

  “No,” I tried to sit up. He pushed me back down.

  “I want to eat first. We said we were going to dinner . . .”

  “We will.” He had his pants undone and yanked mine off, and before I’d even realized his intention, he was forcing himself inside of me. There was no touching, no attempt at lovemaking.

  It was done in a matter of seconds. I burned between my legs. I was dead in my heart.

  And sick to my stomach.

  Racing for the bathroom, I threw up.

  Fifteen

  IN AUGUST OF 1981, TIM BARNEYGRADUATED WITH A degree in electrical engineering. With a job lined up, he was on top of the world as Emily met him after graduation. They were going camping for the weekend before he started work on Monday.

  Emily loved camping as much as he did, and they had the site set up, using a tent until he could afford the pop-up camper he had his eye on. While he chopped up the wood he’d brought for the fire and got the thing burning, she cut up potatoes and put them in foil with butter and onions and salt.

  He’d bought T-bone steaks to celebrate.

  And a twelve-pack of beer.

  “To you, Cowboy,” Emily said later that night, as, dinner done, they were sitting by the fire with fresh beers. She tipped her bottle and drank.

  “To you, too, Teach. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  She hadn’t helped with the studying. He’d managed that fine on his own. But when he’d had a run-in with a professor who’d tried to tell him that credits weren’t going to transfer as he’d been told and he’d been ready to quit school altogether, she’d calmed him down and convinced him to hang in there.

  He was glad she had.

  They were sitting side by side in camping chairs, and Tim pulled her closer to him, putting his arm around her and pulling her into his chest.

  “A campfire, a full stomach, a beer, and sharing it all with the woman I love,” he said softly. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”

  Her silence fit the campground that had quieted as families put their children to bed and husbands and wives moved like shadows in the darkness.

  “It does get better, Cowboy,” Emily said. It took him a minute to figure out what she was referring to. He’d had an Eagles song running through his head. “Take It Easy . . .”

  He took another long swig of beer. Taking it easy.

  “It gets better when we’re a family, too,” she said, motioning toward the camper next to them—a couple not much older than them with a two-year-old son. They’d met them earlier that night when the boy had thrown a big plastic ball their way.

  Tim had thrown it back and started an impromptu game of catch with a two-year-old that lasted fifteen minutes.

  The swig of beer got stuck on the way down.

  Now Emily wanted kids? They weren’t even married yet. And . . .

  “You’re graduated now,” she said.

  Yeah, well, college graduation was one hell of a long way from fatherhood. He didn’t have his camper yet. And everyone knew you couldn’t take babies camping in a tent.

  Didn’t they?

  He’d never seen anyone with a baby in a tent.

  Not that he’d looked, but . . .

  “When I moved into the house you said . . .”<
br />
  When her voice faded off, he thought back. And remembered saying something about not wanting to move in with her while he was still in college.

  And she’d remembered.

  Of course.

  “We were talking about living together.”

  “No, you were talking about living together. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to live with you until you’re my husband. I want to know, when I get in the bed with you every night, that it’s forever.”

  That didn’t surprise him.

  “I get that. And I agree.” In theory. “I just don’t want to run off and do something before we’re ready.”

  “We’ve been dating for two years, Tim. We’ve been lovers for most of that time. And you don’t know yet if you want to marry me?”

  Her tone was his clue. “Of course I know I want to marry you,” he said quickly. What he knew was that he didn’t want to lose her.

  He didn’t want to hurt her.

  And he didn’t want to lie to her, either.

  “I just . . . give me a little time to get settled in my job, first. I’m not big on the idea of being a kept husband. Nor do I want to go into this dependent on you. I need to be bringing home money, too.”

  “You will be starting Monday.”

  “We have no idea if I’ll even like the job once I get in there.”

  Emily sat forward, and his arm fell back to his side. “Look, Cowboy,” she said, her arms on her knees as she stared toward the fire. “I bought it when you said you wanted to wait until graduation. But now that’s here and you’re just making more excuses . . .”

  “No,” he interrupted before she could issue the ultimatum he heard coming. He didn’t deal well with ultimatums. Especially ones he couldn’t comply with.

  “It’s not like that at all. I’m only twenty-two, Em. Once we’re married I take on my share of the financial obligations. I need to know that I’ll have the money to make good on that. I want to marry you. Hell . . .”

  He got down on one knee, his beer bottle still in his hand when he grabbed her hand and cupped it between his—with the beer an awkward guest. “Emily, will you marry me?”

  “Stop it, Tim. Don’t make fun of . . .”

  “I’m not making fun, Emily. I swear it. I’m asking you to marry me. I just want to wait to set the date until my probationary period is up at work and I have benefits and job security.”

  “How long is that?” Her look was skeptical, but she hadn’t pulled her hand away. And her lips had softened into a half smile.

  “Ten months.” When he felt the beginning of a jerk on the hand he held, he added, “But I’ll buy you a ring, now. Well, when I get my first paycheck. Assuming it’s enough to cover my expenses. But if it’s not, I’ll get it as soon as I’ve saved enough. Hell, now that I’m employed full time I should be able to get a credit card. Not that I want to rack up debt, but . . .”

  Her finger on his lips stopped the humiliating babbling. “It’s okay, Cowboy. We’re really engaged? Officially?”

  “We will be as soon as you answer my question. Assuming your answer is yes.”

  “Of course it’s yes, you idiot,” she said, pulling him up on his feet and throwing her arms around him before planting a wet one on him.

  His feeling of dread was just a result of the very natural fear of change.

  He was happy. He loved Emily.

  Everything else would work itself out.

  I tried to like sex. Thankfully James didn’t ask for it often during the fall of ’81 and spring of ’82. But the couple of times he did ask, I didn’t refuse him. I wasn’t a virgin anymore. I didn’t have anything to hold out for. I was willing to serve his needs. Because, other than the sex, I really liked being with him.

  I was safe with James. He knew me better than anyone. And he didn’t try to change me. Nor did he criticize my shortcomings. He just accepted me, loved me, as I was. He continued to encourage me to write. To start my Harlequin romance. And I would have if I hadn’t been working two jobs to help supplement his living expenses so that he didn’t have to work and could concentrate on his upper-level physics classes and get done with school.

  He was due to graduate in August of ’82, and we were going to be married the following week. Mom and I had found my dress. It was being altered. We had a reception hall, a band, and flowers all picked out. I’d received my teaching certificate and had a job lined up for the fall as a substitute teacher in a suburb of Columbus.

  I was living in an apartment in the city, across the hall from Chum and only a few miles from James’s place.

  On the second Friday in June of 1982, James invited me over for a cookout at his apartment complex. He had a studio unit, paid for by student loans and me, and had become friends with a couple of fellow chemistry students who lived in the same building. He wanted me to meet them.

  I thoroughly enjoyed the evening. The three of them talked about their classes, making fun of themselves as much as of their professor. James was the wittiest of the three and, I thought, the most perceptive. I couldn’t remember a time I’d laughed so hard.

  And for the first time in forever, I was happy. The future was going to hold a lot more nights like that one. It was going to be good.

  The guys left around eleven, and I turned to ask James if he wanted to sit out on the balcony a bit longer.

  He’d locked the door and was coming toward me, a strange look on his face.

  “You liked them, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did. They were nice guys. But I expected them to be. They’re your friends.”

  “No, I mean, you really liked them.”

  He couldn’t mean what I thought he meant. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You’re a whore, Tara. You just can’t turn it off. And if you want it that badly, then I’ll be the one to give it to you.”

  When he lifted me to the card table that served as his dining room, I knew what was coming.

  “No!” I squirmed and pushed. “No, James. Not again.”

  “You want this. You know you do.”

  “No! I don’t!”

  “Of course you do. You want it this way. That’s why you act like you do. You’re a whore.”

  I fought him, but it did no good. He was much bigger, much stronger than I was.

  As soon as he finished, James softened. Became the gentle, caring man I knew him to be. He invited me to lie with him.

  Without a word I went into the bathroom and locked the door. I spent a good part of that night crying—the first real tears I’d cried since the first time James had defiled me.

  He’d just done it for the last time.

  I pulled off my engagement ring.

  I was done with him.

  Whether another man would ever have me or not didn’t matter to me anymore. Because I didn’t want another man.

  Ever.

  Ten months after he graduated, Tim met Denise Denton. He’d been in his office, going over a work schedule for a first shift line, when she’d appeared in the doorway with a stack of forms in her hand.

  His heart skipped a beat when he first saw her, and he did a double take. No. She didn’t look anything like Tara. It was just the hair. Same color. Almost same style.

  Turned out she worked in human resources.

  He’d made it through his probationary period with flying colors. She was there with his insurance forms.

  Probation was done already? He stared at the forms, knowing that they meant it was time for him to ante up.

  Time to marry Emily.

  “Why haven’t I seen you around here before?” She smiled, and again he thought of Tara.

  “I was supervisor on second shift until yesterday.”

  “Oh.”

  “How long have you been here?” He was engaged. Sort of. He’d never bought the ring he’d promised Emily that night after his graduation. They’d been saving for a camper. And a bike for her.

  Well, he was doing that. She w
as saving for their wedding. Her dad had lost his job, and her parents weren’t going to be able to help.

  “A couple of years.” She smiled directly at him, looking him in the eye like she was talking to him, and then her bravado slipped a bit and he saw her insecurity. Tara, again.

  He had to go get Emily a ring. His probation was up.

  “What’s your name?” He smiled back at her.

  “Denise. You want to have a drink or something? After work, maybe?”

  Emily had junior-high cheerleading practice that evening. And every other night that week. Summers weren’t time off anymore like they used to be.

  “Okay, Denise, one drink. After work.” Just to show himself that the girl was nothing at all like Tara Gumser.

  One drink. That was all it was going to be.

  Until one drink turned into drinks every night that week.

  And that weekend, he told Emily he couldn’t marry her. He told her that there was someone else.

  And he hated himself for all the hurt he’d caused her. For not being able to love her enough. God knew he’d tried.

  Her parting words didn’t make him feel any better.

  “You really did me a favor, you know.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You saved me from going through my whole life feeling like I’m second best.”

  On July 4, 1982, Chum was killed. The car he was in was hit head-on by a kid coming up over the hill on the wrong side of the road. The kid was high on acid. I’d insisted he take my car instead of his motorcycle because I’d been afraid it might rain. My car was totaled. And I was the last person ever to see him alive.

  The blockbuster movie ET had just come out that summer, and Chum and I had a date to go see it the day after he was killed. I went alone. And when Neil Diamond came to town, my parents and I went to see him. I sat through the concert with my eyes closed, hearing my brother’s voice instead of Neil’s, and mostly unaware of the tears streaming down my face.

  Completely alone in Columbus, I spent the following year on a collision course with death. I drank too much. When I slept, which wasn’t much, it was on the couch in my apartment. I had a bed, but didn’t get in it. I took up cigarettes. When I wasn’t partying, I was crying.