Heart Stronger

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “You know that’s pretty much how I’ve lived the last three years,” she went on. “Bitter, broken, bored, drowning my misery in caffeine and sugar. Really, it’s been longer than three years. Before Abby died, I was bitter over my failed marriage, being a single mom. Then after, I was pretty much bitter over everything. All of it sucked the life out of me, and somehow, I took to always being alone. It was easier.”

  “Isn’t this better than being alone?” I asked, giving her space, still playing around with the grill.

  “Well, I was a solo flier for so long. Alone is pretty much how I’ve spent most Friday nights over the last few years. I don’t even know half the neighbors’ names anymore. Yet, here I am, at your house for dinner, drinking, smiling…something I haven’t done in a long time…and yes, it is better. So, thank you. Again.”

  Dropping the cover on the grill, I gathered her by the waist and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m happy you’re here. It’s not pity or any Mrs. Robinson fantasy. This feeling, I know you feel it too.” My lips grazed her forehead this time. “Feel that? The crackling? Between us? It’s hot…and I don’t mean the grill.” She laughed into my chest, and it made my heart pound harder.

  “Whatever this is, it’s mutual. I’m a loner and keep to myself. But not when it comes to you.”

  “With you, I seem to always want to be closer. Yeah, at first, I thought you were sexy as hell, but now, I want to know all of you.” A few errant hairs blew from the gust of my hushed words into the crown of her head, and I kissed them down.

  “I don’t know what to say. This is unexpected, but I can’t seem to stop it. I think about you. A lot. And you make me smile more than anyone else has in a long while.”

  “So don’t say anything, except for how you take your steak. Leave the rest to me.”

  Another soft smile, her wineglass still dangling in her hand.

  “Medium.”

  “I can do medium. Now, go sit back and take a load off in one of those loungers.”

  Of course, Smitty followed her and sat at her feet, guarding her like I wanted to.

  With two cobs of corn shucked and two steaks plated, I walked toward the small patio. “Don’t get up.”

  “Let me get you a drink…at least.”

  “I got one.” I flicked my chin toward the small cooler next to the door.

  I handed her the plate and set mine on the lounger next to her.

  “Smitty,” she semigrowled.

  “Don’t you dare let him eat my food.”

  “Never.”

  I grabbed a cold beer and joined her. “Go ahead, eat.”

  “I haven’t had steak in a long time. I don’t really make it…ever.”

  After a pull on my beer, I told her, “The dairy farmer said the grass-fed beef at the grocer is local, so I grabbed it. Back home, I’d have grabbed steaks from a neighboring farm.”

  “And the corn?”

  “Wish I’d grown that myself. It’s all right, but not like we grow.”

  We ate in silence for a few beats, and then she asked, “So, websites? Only for farmers?”

  “I’ve done a lot of farms. I know the SEO and all that junk. I’ve also done a few online fitness businesses and a doctor’s office and a preschool. Back home, I had a steady flow of farms. I think I did every single one in a few-hundred-mile radius. But I wanted to expand. I’ve also done a few fixer-upper sites. Ones that owners botched and broke, and I came to the rescue for a pretty penny.”

  “And the farm? Your family farm?”

  She set her plate on the table between our chairs and sipped her wine, her eyes staying trained on me.

  “My dad’s still running it. We hired some additional help. When I was home, I did some. He wants it to stay in the family, but I got a good thing going. I draw a minimal salary from there. He insists. I think mostly so I’ll come back out of guilt.”

  “Seems that you like your freedom, but I’m sure you don’t want someone else running something with your name on it.”

  “Are you analyzing me?” I set my plate next to hers and leaned in closer.

  “No.” She laughed. “Lucky guess? Or you know what I do?”

  “The university has a website, Professor Richards. All I had to do was type your name, and like magic, there you were.”

  “Stalk much?”

  “Nah, I spend all day on my laptop. Workplace casualty. As a professor of developmental psychology, former head of developmental preschool, do you have any of those?”

  She shook her head.

  “By the way, I saw an old picture, thought you look even better now…and in person,” I said with wink.

  A bittersweet smile crossed her face, mouth up, mouth down, settling somewhere in the middle.

  “I didn’t mean anything…you’re a gorgeous woman. You have to know that.”

  She paid my explanation no mind. “I never did a lot of counseling counseling after graduation. During school, I worked with families affected by attention deficit disorder, helping them find order and peace. Mostly, I liked being a researcher, looking for patterns and solutions to help families. Mary and I made great partners way back when. She wanted to interact with more subjects, and I wanted to make sense of the data. For a long while, we kept a healthy balance doing this. When we came back here, we both moved into administrative positions. That was about seven years ago. She took over the whole department, and I…well, it didn’t quite work out for me,” she said from a place in her mind far away.

  It pained me as she knocked back her remaining wine, struggling to maintain her composure.

  “You wanna talk about it?” I couldn’t not ask. She was begging to talk.

  “I was awarded head of the preschool. It was a prestigious job. The school was affiliated with the School of Psychology, so it was on the cutting edge. Lots of research coming in and going out. It was a laboratory school. I mentored the graduate students working there and collaborated with schools all over the country. I only taught graduate seminars…except for my summer intro class. And then everything happened, and I took a leave of absence. I decided I couldn’t go back to the school, not to work with all those innocent kids. I went back to teach undergrads for the most part. Something about them was settling. It was both painful and comforting at the same time.”

  Her fingers restless, I gathered them inside my own.

  “It’s okay to not be perfect, to have fears, Claire. I have them all the time.”

  “You’re supposed to have fears. Me, not so much. I am…I was…a mother. You have your whole life in front of you.”

  “You’re not so much older than me, lady. And we all have fears. Mother, father, or not.”

  She was trying to protest. I could see the arguments gathering behind her eyes, but I didn’t allow her to start. Instead, I kissed her. I leaned forward, and my mouth met hers. She tasted like red wine and fear. I dared myself to suck all the fear out of her.

  I crept forward, landing in front of her on my knees, ours mouth nipping, sucking, touching.

  My tongue wanted entrance—

  I bit her bottom lip, and she opened, and my tongue entered, twisting with her tongue in a way I wanted all of me to do.

  I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, but Claire ended up breaking the moment.

  “Aiken, I need to stop.”

  Reluctantly, I pulled away.

  “My heart is beating so fast, I’m afraid it’s going to come out of my chest. We need to slow down.”

  I nodded and slid back into my chair, keeping hold of her hand.

  “Tell me, what do you see for yourself in the future? Ten years from now? Still living here? Teaching?” I asked while standing and cracking open another beer and refreshing her wine.

  Her brow scrunched. “You mean still stuck in the memories? Look…” She leaned forward as if she were about to get up and run. “I know I’m pathetic, but this is me. I run, hang with my dog, visit Abby even though she doesn’t know I’m
there, and I teach. I guess that’s what I see for myself ten years from now. Fifteen too. Forever, if I’m being honest.”

  Moving to the edge of her lounger, I lifted her feet into my lap. “I didn’t mean to upset you. That’s not why I asked. I look at you and see this unbelievable woman. Strong and resilient. Beautiful. Most women wouldn’t even be running and teaching and visiting their daughter like you do. But I want you to want even more for yourself.”

  “I guess there’s never been closure. For David, there was. Abby’s dead to him…the reason or the why or the who doesn’t matter to him. Not so much for me. I want to know who and why. To me, this is an open case.”

  My fingers tangled with her hair. “I want you to have that too, but it may not happen. We can’t control everything. I’d like to find my mom, or find out what happened to her, but I guess there needs to be a shelf life on how long I’ll look.”

  “I know.” It was a whisper.

  “There’s nothing wrong with having a life, even if you don’t have answers. Abby would want that.”

  She nodded. “Abby was a good girl. Happy, bubbly, always singsonging around. She didn’t deserve so much shit. David leaving, my working a lot. At least she died doing something she’d been dying to do. That concert…it’s all they talked about for months. Their seats, what they’d wear, and whether we were really going to let them go by themselves. She was my life, even though I wanted a few hours to myself that night.”

  “None of it was your fault.”

  “I know that. In the beginning, I’d wished that I’d taken them to that damn concert and died alongside them.”

  I moved up the chair and pulled her into my arms, her hair spread over my shirt—black and white, the way she wanted to look at life.

  “I can imagine. When I was little, I’d wish my mom took me with her. I was always afraid to tell my dad, because then he would have lost me too. I’d open my window at night and look at the stars and wish for her to come get me. Like this.” I pointed to the darkened sky.

  “Beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as you, Claire.”

  “Kiss me?” she asked, her words husky and her chest pounding near mine.

  My mouth found hers, and she responded with an urgency I secretly savored. A breath escaped each of us, and our tongues discovered one another. My hand wound its way up her side, my thumb grazing the side of her breast—she was all woman, and I wanted every inch to be mine.

  “I want to make you happy,” I mumbled. “I’ve never felt that way about anyone, and, honestly, I didn’t think I ever would. From the moment I saw you, I wanted to know you better. There was a spark in your eyes that made me feel like it was just for me.”

  She looked up at me, her lips plump, eyes wet.

  “This is like a teeny-bop movie or something, except I’m an adult.”

  My fingers snaked around and pinched her ass. “And I’m an adult too.”

  “Okay, okay. Are you sure this isn’t some mommy thing?”

  “We can add that to the list…this isn’t a mommy thing, or a Mrs. Robinson deal, or a pity party. While we’re at it, it’s not love at first sight. Maybe lust, but now it’s just Claire and Aiken, our own rules, and I like you a whole lot.”

  “If you call me Claire Bear, I’m leaving.”

  She placed a small peck on my lips, her mouth brushing mine, causing a roaring fire in my belly.

  Really—

  “And now I’m going to walk you home, because if not, I’m going to take you inside and have all of you. It’s not time yet…and we have plenty of time ahead for that.”

  I stood and yanked her up by her hand, holding her tight. Smitty looked at her and then me and then wagged his tail.

  We walked toward her house, hand in hand, Smitty stopping to relieve himself.

  “Set your alarm, Richards. I’ll be by at seven to run.”

  With a quick pat on her ass, I walked back to my house to clean up and jerk the hell off.

  Claire

  God, earlier tonight, he’d nodded, and I was on him. I’d let go of his hand and crawled over him, front-to-front, my mouth seeking his, like his was the only air I ever needed.

  Something came over me.

  I craved him like Smitty craved a piece of steak.

  It didn’t matter that I was a grown woman who’d lost a child. With Aiken, I was a woman. A desirable (yet vulnerable) woman with wants and desires…needs I’d never needed before.

  It was refreshing and scary as shit at the same time.

  Even more shocking, I liked this version of me.

  Our tongues had entwined, and my body had ached to rub against his.

  I hadn’t grinded up on anyone since I was sixteen in my friend’s basement.

  I was too old to act like that. Right?

  Yet, I’d wanted nothing more than to create friction where it counted.

  “This okay?” he’d asked, kind and gruff at the same time, his voice hoarse with want.

  “Yes,” I’d breathed.

  Now, as I wrestled with the covers, Smitty pacing the hardwoods—anxious from my own nerves—I wished I’d stayed, we’d done more, gone inside…that he’d had his way with me.

  I was wanton and breathless over my neighbor.

  My younger neighbor.

  I had to get over that. In three years—longer than that—no one had made me breathless, let alone hungry with desire.

  “One more mile?” We circled town, Aiken more than likely slowing his pace. As for me, I was dragging my ass faster than usual.

  “Sure.” No way I’d ever own up to tossing and turning half the night.

  All night.

  “There’s a big coffee with lots of sugary vanilla in it at the end for you. How’s that?”

  “Now you’re speaking my lingo, kid.”

  “Pick it up, Richards.”

  A quick pat on the butt had me looking every which way…

  “I’m not a student, and I want to touch a lot more of you. I see you looking around. No one’s even paying attention to us.”

  As if I were a coed, my cheeks flamed. I couldn’t look at him. His words had been so simple, yet so suggestive.

  “Look at you…are you out of shape? Or embarrassed?”

  My tank was soaked through, bra too, my thighs sticky, and salty sweat dripped into my eyes, but I pushed forward. “I’m not out of shape. It’s been a long time…a while since someone tapped my butt, let alone in public,” came through huffs and breaths.

  “You mean, smacked your ass? I’m not a toddler, neither are you. You don’t need to say butt.”

  “Yes, my ass.” I turned my gaze the opposite direction of him.

  “Look at me,” he demanded, not even out of breath, and I did.

  “It’s a mighty fine ass, Professor Richards.”

  He winked, and I stopped dead in my tracks.

  “Too much?” Aiken stilled next to me, tipping my chin up.

  “Too much.”

  “Noted. Now let’s go.”

  He started running again, and I followed suit.

  He was the lighthouse and I was a ship lost at sea.

  We didn’t stop until we were in front of the Coffee Hut.

  Slowing, shaking out my legs, I took in Aiken. Arms glistening, navy muscle shirt tight over his pecs, mesh shorts loose on his tan legs—he was any woman’s wet dream.

  Do we have those?

  “I’m not going to acknowledge you staring at me. I need my caffeine, missy.”

  He opened the door and hustled me inside before I could deny my perusal.

  We ordered and headed back outside, where I thought we’d walk back home.

  “Let’s sit.”

  Aiken pointed toward a small table under an umbrella. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at it like it was a ghost about to rise from the dead.

  “You okay? Need some water? Richards?” He wrapped an arm around my sweaty back, and

  I shook my head, trying t
o drag myself out of my own head.

  “Used to come here with Abby on Sundays. We’d get coffee, decaf for her, regular for me, and we’d read.”

  “Come on, let’s stroll home.”

  If I were to be waterboarded and forced to say what I liked about this guy, I’d admit…he didn’t push. Aiken took cues and rolled with them.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Why? A walk is just as good as sitting with you. No need to explain.”

  We passed the alley with the farmers’ market and Patsy’s Bar & Grill, where students went to do karaoke and slam poetry, both of us seemingly comfortable with silence. My iced coffee, sweet and refreshing, settled the errant thoughts tumbling in my head and churning in my belly.

  Or maybe it was the guy next to me, patient and unfaltering?

  On the next block, he said, “Lord, I went to this joint one night. What a meat market.”

  “You went to Juicey’s?” I laughed…big, loud, hiccupping laughs.

  “Hey, I looked it up on Yelp. It has good reviews.”

  “Bet you don’t go back. That place is a cheeseball’s heaven.”

  “Pretty much. I didn’t stay long.” His smile, infectious and wide, traveled the entire length of my spine, igniting an emotion I hadn’t felt in forever.

  Hope.

  Hopefulness.

  “What are you up to for the rest of the weekend?” We crossed over into the residential neighborhood where we lived.

  “Today, some grading. Tomorrow, I told Mary I’d come to her house for a pool party for one of her kids. You?”

  “Some website work. The dairy farm wants me back out next week for a demo.”

  “It’s probably cool to see…their place. All those cute, big, not-so-cuddly cows.”

  “Hence the shitkickers.”

  “Really?”

  “No, just kidding. I like them. They remind me of home.”

  For the briefest moment, a wistful look passed over his face, and I could tell he missed his own farm.

  “And, turns out, this dairy farmer knew my grandparents. He mentioned he knew someone whose kid married a guy with my last name, and we got to talking. Maybe they have some information for me about my mom, but I want to finish the job first.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, though. I know you want this badly, but still. Take your time.”