A Change of Heart

by Nancy Frederick

  "No, real estate."

  "Oh, I see."

  George walked toward the stairway. "Let's finish the tour." Without waiting for Annabeth, he climbed up to the second level, forcing her to follow along behind him and do the same routine she had done downstairs. When they came to a halt in her bedroom, Annabeth stood nervously, both hands clutched around the mug she had brought with her. George seated himself comfortably on the bed and looked toward her. "Recently separated, huh?"

  She nodded. "Well, thanks for seeing me home," then walked toward the door, hoping he would arise and follow her down the stairs.

  "How's the headache?"

  "I'm sure it will be fine in a bit. You've been very nice."

  "I know a little accupressure," he said, rising from the bed and walking over to where Annabeth stood, putting his hand on her arm before she could exit the room. "Trust me, Annabeth, you're safe." He led her toward the bed, pressed her down against it so that she was sitting on the edge, facing out. His hands massaged the knotted places in her shoulders and neck. "Just relax," he commanded.

  Not knowing how to leap up and eject him without being terribly rude, Annabeth sat, tensely at first, but in a short amount of time she allowed herself to relax as he expertly massaged her shoulders. His hands were strong and smooth and his motions controlled and comforting. Breathing deeply, Annabeth let go of the headache, of the various events of the day which had pounded at her like a series of strokes on an anvil, until all she was aware of was the healing presence of his hands on her shoulders.

  "So many knots," he said in a voice that was knowing yet patient. "Been a long time, hasn't it?"

  She nodded, although she did not stop to think to what he referred.

  "Here, lie back." His hands guided her gently back against the bed, but she stopped, reaching to sit up once again. "No, no," he said, "I can't reach your back properly that way. Don't worry."

  So Annabeth lay, face down, and George kneaded her mid-back, releasing the kinks that had been there since the summer. She sighed now and then, floating inside her body, her mind at peace.

  Relaxing his grip to a sensuous stroking, George slid first one hand then the other along the bare skin on her back, beneath her blouse. Almost before Annabeth realized it, he had unhooked her brassiere and had pushed the blouse up as far as it would go, his fingers gently kneading each little bump of her backbone. Unhooking the button closing the waistband of her skirt, he was able to push it down a bit so he could massage the base of Annabeth's spine.

  Very relaxed, yet aware she should make him stop, Annabeth stirred. "Thank you. That was so nice. But..."

  "Not yet. Don't worry. You're fine. Your feet." He reached gently inside Annabeth's skirt, along the outside of her hips and grasping both panties and panty hose, pulled them down, down, down, until she was naked beneath the skirt.

  "No, no," she said.

  "Relax, you're fine." In hands that were strong and sure and very practiced, he took each foot, pressing deeply with confident thumbs that knew exactly where each spot in need of attention lay, rubbing gently, sliding up and down and back again until all pressure points were activated.

  Annabeth sank deeply into a relaxed calm, thinking very little, feeling the power of his hands on her skin, and she let go of the final shred of anxiety that nagged at her. No longer worried about what she should do or what she was doing, she allowed herself to receive from him the attention that he was lavishing on her. How wonderful his hands were. He knew exactly how to touch her, how long, how hard, and when to move to another spot. Her mind wandered deeper into sensual thoughts of pleasure, and her body was focused on pure sensation.

  George worked now on her left calf, his fingers rolling the muscle into blank relaxation, the cramping of hours on foot released, and then he slid his hands along her thigh, caressing gently, sliding his palm up her thigh and against her buttock. He relaxed back against the bed then, lying on his side, leaning against Annabeth, and reached over and kissed the middle of her back, sliding his lips along her bare skin.

  Feeling the heat of his lips on her back, Annabeth thought to herself, I could pretend; she sighed in pleasure, thought I could pretend, I was drunk after all; her breath came faster and she thought I could pretend I'm not in charge; she gasped a bit, tried to right her breathing, feeling his hand slide up deep between her legs, thought I could pretend I didn't know what I was doing; she gave in to the intensity of the moment, as his other hand pressed against her side, turning her toward him, and thought pretend it was just him doing it all, not me; feeling him push her blouse up over her head and off and his mouth capturing her nipple, she groaned with desire, wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing him tightly to her, and thought, oh no I won't pretend, I want it. Her eyes fluttering open occasionally, looked down at George as he floated above her breast, grazing now and then in many ways, all of them exciting.

  Leaning back abruptly he unbuttoned his slacks, reached in the pocket, tossed something onto the table beside the bed, hurriedly unzipped them, and twitching once, divested himself of them.

  Wanting to touch him, but too shy to assert herself, Annabeth paused, gathering her breath, her nerve to continue, which he could clearly see, and smiling he pressed her hand to the spot she sought, causing her to grasp him just tightly enough, gasping again at the wonder of it all. "Oh," she said, and smiled slightly, saying again, "Oh." To touch…a man…to touch…I want to…

  "It's always you quiet ones," he answered, wanting to wait no longer, having been ready for a long time. He reached over and kissed her mouth quickly for the first time, his need and urgency plain, and then reached to the table, opened the packet and removed its contents as Annabeth watched him.

  How funny to see a man do that. She was glad he was doing it, for how would she ever have broached such a subject herself? Her first condom! But she'd wanted to…. Then he was upon her and soon they moved together. "Oh," she said again, her breath a short shock of air burning her lungs. She held him tightly to her, adjusting the rhythm of her thrusts to match his, concentrating, knowing she must hurry if she were to gain her own fulfillment before he found his and stopped, but his pace was constant, his breathing steadier than her own, and Annabeth found there was plenty of time, all the time she needed, and then when they reached the same plane of arousal together, she relaxed deeply and rode with him, feeling his breathing escalate to match her own, his urgency a counterpart of the tensions she herself was experiencing, and then just being in her flesh, sensations like the thunder and lightning that raged outside filling her with joy once again to be alive.

  His breath coming in great gasps to match her own, he let go and together they finished, rocking and holding each other tight against the earthquake inside them. George remained on top of Annabeth, her arms holding him tightly, their skin flushed, dripping, stuck together in heat and the aftermath not of love but of lovemaking.

  He rolled then onto his back, and not wanting to let him go, Annabeth slid over, placed her head on his shoulder and let the softness of her hands soothe him in long, gentle strokes along his chest. "Oh, my," she said. He smiled sleepily, then relaxed back against the pillow and was soon snoring, leaving Annabeth to her thoughts. She'd never thought a man could be as exciting as R.J., but what did she know? She never had a man other than R.J.. She'd thought her life was over, that she would be alone, but here was someone new to love, just like that. And he was every bit as good a lover as her husband, maybe better. How about that? Relaxing into thoughts of a future far less bleak than the one previously imagined, Annabeth drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep, her head pillowed on the shoulder of a man she didn't know at all, except intimately.

  The next morning she awakened slowly. Still groggy, Annabeth glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Rogers, the cat, blocked her view. He sat there, placidly staring down at her, a look of wounded disapproval on his face. She reached her hand toward him, touching his soft fur, but he leapt from the table and ran out th
e door. Then she remembered. George.

  Annabeth turned over in the bed and regarded the man sleeping there. Her thoughts organized themselves in her brain into columns, like people do when they're listing the pros and cons of any situation. On one side, she put, it was a wonderful night. On the other, what have I done? Over and over these two warring concepts blazed in her mind. Holding her hand to her head, Annabeth hoped that yesterday's migraine would not reassert itself. It had been years since she'd had those headaches, not since Richard's death and that whole thing with Mother Welner.

  George Healy awakened then, his head clear. He smiled at Annabeth and reached his arm out, pulling her close, cradling her head on his shoulder. "Hello sexy, " he said quietly.

  She relaxed against his shoulder, letting her hand lie softly on his chest. "Good morning," she said, still shy. "Are you hungry?" What sort of hostess etiquette did one use in this situation?

  "Yes," he said.

  "Oh, let me make you breakfast then."

  "In a bit."

  "The shower is right in there," Annabeth lifted her arm to gesture. "I'll get you a clean towel."

  "Not yet." George took Annabeth's hand in his, squeezing it briefly, then slid it down along his body. "Let's get a little dirtier before we get clean."

  "Oh," said Annabeth, her thoughts swirling. She lay there calmly, quietly, enjoying the freedom to touch him as she chose. Unlike the previous night, there was no sense of urgency, and she could savor the feel of his skin against her hands as they floated, stroked, drifted across his flesh.

  "You have good hands," he said, his breath a bit unsteady.

  "You too," she said.

  "How is your mouth?" His hand pressed against the top of her head, guiding her down.

  She slid down, along the smooth sheets, the coarse hairs of his body tickling her soft skin, and began working on him with her mouth in tender little kisses, gentle nibbles, wet strokes with her tongue.

  Hearing him groan, she smiled quickly and continued, taking her time, inventing new techniques as she went along until he was ready for more.

  George lay back against the pillow, looking down at Annabeth as she worked on him. Holding her head tightly to him, he moaned, saying, "That's it, oh yes, so wonderful."

  There was a strange sound, like a clatter, a rumbling, but Annabeth was too focused on her task to hear it until George jumped, reaching for the covers.

  "Mom!" exclaimed Sally, whose footsteps on the stairs had made the noise. Her voice was hoarse, and she stood silently then, in shock.

  Annabeth turned, grasped the covers and pulled them to her chin, her mouth agape. The three of them stayed frozen for a moment that seemed to last forever until Sally turned and ran from the room.

  "These things happen," said George, reaching for Annabeth, who leapt from the bed, grabbed a robe and raced down the stairs after her daughter.

  "Sally, wait," she said, as Sally was reaching for the front door. They glanced at each other, equally embarrassed. "Come in for a minute. Did you need me?" Annabeth tried to catch her breath.

  Sally glared at her mother, then walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. "Who is that?" she asked sternly.

  Annabeth began making coffee, speaking softly, not really knowing how to answer. "A friend."

  "How long have you known him?"

  "Oh, a while," lied Annabeth.

  Sally stared at Annabeth, her eyes blazing and her jaw clenched. Shaking her head, she continued, "You have a boyfriend and you don't even introduce him to us?"

  Trying to change the subject, Annabeth said, "What brings you by so early this morning?"

  Still frowning, Sally held out her hand. On it was a tiny diamond.

  "Isn't that beautiful," said Annabeth, smiling. She could hear the water running upstairs. Would George be coming downstairs soon? What if she introduced him to her daughter and somehow he mentioned that they'd only just met? What had she done?

  "And I wanted to show you this," said Sally, still obviously upset, as she rummaged in the tote bag on her arm. She pulled out a bridal magazine, turned back to a specific page.

  "Oh, my, how beautiful," said Annabeth on seeing the wedding gown pictured. Lost for a moment in a reverie, she envisioned Sally in the dress, and she smiled. "You'll look wonderful in a dress like that."

  George appeared in the kitchen briefly, his clothes on. He nodded awkwardly toward Sally then mumbled, "See you at the Lantern, Anna--uh--Annabelle--uh--Annabeth," and walked to the front door and out.

  Sally was thoroughly aghast. "Mom! He doesn't even know your name. And the Lantern? The Rusty Lantern? You're hanging out at bars now? Jesus, what are you thinking?"

  "I have supper there occasionally, that's all. For heaven's sake."

  "He didn't even get your name right."

  Annabeth blushed, Trying to find the right thing to say, she mumbled, "It's early."

  "You're acting like a slut. You're supposed to be a mother. I have to go now. I'm just too mad at you to talk any longer." Sally jumped up and strode toward the door, saying with a stammer, "Just, just, just think about what you're doing, will you? I'm ashamed of you."

  Annabeth heard the door slam. When, an hour later, the phone rang and she heard her father's voice, she was almost afraid to speak to him. Could Sally have called him? Annabeth cringed at the thought.

  "How are you, dear?" he asked.

  "Oh, I'm fine," she answered, her mind racing. "How are you?"

  "I'm a little upset."

  Annabeth's throat locked as she swallowed. Afraid to ask what was wrong, she remained silent, waiting tensely.

  "Though I consider this only a minor setback."

  A setback? Would her actions with George have an effect on the divorce? How was that possible? Afraid to continue silently, Annabeth spoke haltingly, "A setback?"

  "Judge Henson will be hearing the case. He's young. Too young. Too liberal if you ask me."

  Annabeth let loose a huge sigh of relief, which her father read as one of disappointment.

  "Now listen to me," he said, "I don't want you to worry. The judge--even Henson--will want to see you're taken care of."

  "I'm sure it will all be fine. Say, Dad?"

  "Yes, dear?"

  "I stopped in at the bank and the woman there said I could get a mortgage. Even on what I earn. And with alimony--er, maintenance money, I could qualify for the whole amount to pay off R.J.."

  "Give that son of a bitch a settlement and you get stuck with a mortgage?"

  "I have to save my home."

  "Well, we'll see. Asprey's been stalling, making R.J. sweat."

  Her conversation with her father finished, and her heart no longer pounding, Annabeth sat back at the kitchen table. She breathed in deeply, thinking about the recent events in her life. She could not help but feel guilty, although somewhere in the back of her mind was a thought she couldn't quite articulate, namely, didn't she have the right to do what she wanted? As she was trying to make sense of everything, including George Healy and whether she would be likely ever to see him again, the phone rang once more.

  "Sally's hysterical," said Laurel.

  "I know," answered her mother. "I'm sorry."

  "She says you're picking up men in bars and they don't even know your name."

  "And how are you, honey?" said Annabeth, trying to change the subject.

  "I told you to date, didn't I?"

  "Things in New Orleans going well?"

  "I just want to ask you one question. Condoms."

  "That didn't sound like a question to me. Look, hon, don't worry about me. I'm fine. All grown up, you know. Able to take care of myself."

  "It's serious, Mom, condoms."

  "I know, hon, I know."

  "Well, that's a relief. And, Mom?"

  "Yes?"

  "Um...well...I mean...you need them for...um...oral sex too. Just thought I'd mention it."

  Annabeth blushed and remained silent.

  "I think it's grea
t you're getting out. Really I do. In fact, I told the kid that when she called me. But, Mom?"

  "Yes?"

  "You're not thinking of getting married again right away are you?"

  "Goodness, no." Annabeth wondered if George would ever speak to her again after this morning's shock.

  "Because there's more to life than being married you know."

  "Oh?"

  "We all need a life of our own. A career. Something that matters."

  "You're a very smart girl."

  "You know, Mom, you could always come here. There are a lot more things to do in a city. More people."

  "Thanks, hon, you're a wonderful daughter, but this is home."

  "I had a party this weekend. Everyone loved the apartment."

  "Oh, you mean a house warming?"

  "Well, not really, just a little party."

  "And when will you be coming home next?"

  "Maybe Thanksgiving."

  "That would be lovely. Oh--did I tell you--I sold a lot of pieces to a store. And I'm going to a crafts show with Becky, this nice woman I met."

  "Great. Keep at it. I'm sure you'll be in galleries any day now."

  "Nah, don't think so," said Annabeth, thinking about Mr. Paris Landry and his haughty treatment of her.

  "Okay, Mom. Don't worry about Sally. I'm sure she'll snap out of it."

  "Thanks hon. You take care."

  There was a lull at the ice cream counter later in the day, and when Becky stopped by, Annabeth was glad to see her. Becky accepted Annabeth's offer of a milk shake, then said, "I just wanted to check in with you about the show this weekend. All ready?"

  "I have quite a few pieces. I hope not too many. How about you?"

  "Oh!" Becky reached out and touched Annabeth's hand. "My things never looked better. It's your wonderful designs."

  "I'm so glad. My boss gave me this weekend off, so I guess we're both all set."