Heart Stronger

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Good thing he knew how to breathe the life back into me.

  He seemed to do that better than anything else.

  Aiken

  “Hey there, good boy.” I rubbed the top of Smitty’s head with the hand that held a dozen purple roses, a giant dog bone in my other.

  “Richards, where are you?” I set the flowers on the counter and threw my parka over a chair. Music floated from the second floor. “Got something for you too, tough guy.” I handed over the bone.

  “Coming…I’m zippering my dress.” Claire’s voice carried through the hallway. Immediately, she had my full attention.

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  She came into the kitchen in a tight red dress with a low-cut V-neck and a high slit on the leg.

  “Whoa, maybe we should’ve done takeout?”

  “No way, we’ve been in for nights…and before that, I was in for…forever. I’m looking forward to getting out.”

  We’d flown home on New Year’s Eve, quickly collected Smitty from the kennel, ordered Chinese, and rung in the New Year like horny young lovers.

  Claire was all business come the new semester. She was teaching an additional section of her research class and getting involved with the preschool again. With that came mentoring four additional graduate students.

  I’d picked up two more websites. One for a local bed-and-breakfast and the other a large feed and surplus chain. Between new and old clients and discovering clues about my mom, Claire and I mostly had our evenings.

  But those nights and weekends were ours to do as we pleased. Mostly, that meant staying in, tucked in each other’s arms. With clothes or without.

  I tried to hide my smile.

  Claire was living again.

  Getting out, doing more stuff with work, having fun.

  Thanks to me.

  The only thing she was still stuck on was this house.

  Since we’d returned from Pops’ place, I’d spent almost every night at Claire’s. We’d spent two or three nights at my house, but she liked hers, and honestly, I didn’t care. I wanted only to be with her. Location was insignificant.

  And she’d gone through enough transition.

  “Here.” She turned around and lifted her hair so I could zip her, when all I wanted was to unzip her.

  We were in a weird state of semi-cohabitation—running, eating, fucking, not discussing what was next.

  I knew better than to force or pressure Claire for more. Cleaning out Abby’s room had been enough change for a while. Though, I was getting close to wanting way more. Her wanting to go out instead of stay in was a good sign.

  At least, I’d take it that way.

  “Looks good.” I squeezed her ass. “Good enough to eat.”

  Yanking her hair, I bit her neck. She moaned.

  Sucking on her earlobe, I whispered, “Got you flowers.”

  “I got you something too.”

  She turned in my arms with a smirk on her face. “But it has to wait until we’re back from dinner.”

  “Oh, does it now?”

  My lips gravitated toward hers. “Love you, Richards. Happy Valentine’s Day and happy birthday,” I mumbled the last part.

  “You said you weren’t going to mention the second, farm boy.”

  “I didn’t get you a birthday gift, as promised, but I can tell you to have a good one. In fact, I’m going to make sure it’s a good one. Now, come on, let’s go. I want to get back to my gift.”

  “One sec, I have to grab my shoes and purse.”

  “I’ll go warm your car. No way you’re gonna get in my truck wearing that...unless you want it to split all the way up your leg.”

  “Whatever you say, boss. I’m leaving my cell behind. It’s been dinging all night since I posted grades for the first exam. These students are crazy. They’ve been back for a month. After that, you’d think they’d know I meant business.”

  As I grabbed the keys, my phone dinged.

  “Shit,” I muttered when I saw who it was.

  Abbie. She’d become a regular pain in my ass.

  Like a pesky little sister, she’d inserted herself in all of my business.

  Happy V-Day. Don’t forget to meet us tomorrow. We have to make a plan.

  Treat Prof. Richards right tonight.

  Not in the mood to have a long, drawn-out conversation with her, I texted back:

  K.

  With the car running, I went back in to get Claire.

  “I’m ready,” she said, stumbling as she shoved her feet into stilettos.

  “Good thing it’s not snowing or anything.”

  It was. There was already a light dusting on the ground.

  “You may just have to carry me later.”

  “No arguments from me.”

  “Be good, Smit,” she said, and out the door we went. Claire hung on to my elbow all the way to the car, and my hand lingered on her hip a bit longer than normal as I helped her into the seat.

  “I’m hungry. I wonder if the same bartender will be there. I’m sure he doesn’t remember us,” she rambled and didn’t apologize for it.

  We were in a comfortable spot, easy. I was pretty certain it wouldn’t last—a chill ran down my spine at the thought. I pushed it away. Tonight wasn’t the night for any of that bullshit.

  We were going to The House for dinner. We hadn’t been since our first date.

  “I would guess he’s there, and I’m sure he remembers you. But you know what? I’ll be there, so who gives a shit?”

  “Come on, you can’t be jealous of that guy.”

  “I’m jealous of any guy,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road.

  I parked as close as I could and hustled Claire inside as quickly as possible. Of course she gravitated toward the bar area. Seated on her stool, she waited to order her wine. She practically shrieked when the bartender popped a bottle of champagne in front of her and said, “Happy birthday!”

  “Aiken,” she growled.

  “You’re being rude. Say thank you…”

  “Thank you,” she said to Bill, the bartender from last time.

  “And happy Valentine’s Day,” she added.

  “To you too.”

  “Cheers.” I tipped my glass next to hers. “To many more, Richards.”

  “This is the best surprise. Actually, nobody’s ever surprised me before, so thanks for being the first.”

  “Drink up. I also ordered us the prix fixe dinner. We get a different drink with each course.”

  “Perfect,” she whispered, but I heard.

  Later I asked, “Dream house?”

  She frowned.

  “Aw, come on, I know you love yours, but if you had to pick a dream one.”

  We were making small talk, asking for tiny “truths.” We’d gone over dream vacations: beach in Hawaii for her, hiking in Arizona for me. Best dog breeds: Lab for both of us. I was also partial to black and tan coonhounds. First kisses: on Mount Washington in Pittsburgh for her, spin the bottle behind the bleachers for me.

  Then I’d gone and fucked it up with my house question. My impatience was getting the best of me.

  Oh well, Claire would have to get out of the past eventually.

  “A pool. It definitely has a pool. And a balcony off my bedroom where I can drink my coffee every morning.”

  “Sounds awesome.”

  “It wouldn’t have to be a big house. I’m only one person.”

  “Or maybe it would be for two people.” I winked.

  “Maybe. This is all such a dream. I never imagined having a second chance. I always felt too weak, like my heart didn’t have any more to give. But you make me stronger. You make my heart stronger.”

  I didn’t care that we were in public. I leaned in and kissed her, taking my time savoring her lips, anticipating her tongue later this evening.

  “Should we take dessert to go?”

  “I thought you’d never ask. Now, eat up,” I told her before digging into the rest of my meal
.

  Claire

  At home, the dessert bag barely hit the island and Smitty’s tail almost got stuck in the door on his way back from relieving himself. Aiken had me backed into the counter, his tongue exploring my mouth while his hand hiked my dress around my waist and tickled over my hip bone.

  My own fingers wandered down his back and inside the waistband of his jeans.

  We were a symphony of moans and hungry groans, despite being full from dinner, the snow falling outside the window behind us, Smitty hiding in the front room. It was a strange scene of two lovers and domesticity. I didn’t belong, but I didn’t care. It felt too good.

  Aiken slipped a finger, then two, inside me, my underwear shoved to the side, his tongue never leaving my mouth. My nipples hardened from the friction of my dress and bra with his shirt…

  “Too much clothes,” I whimpered.

  He pulled back, tugged his button-down shirt over his head, yanked my dress off, and tossed them in a heap on the floor. With his teeth, he freed my breast from the cup of my bra and sucked on my nipple while keeping his fingers at a steady pace. It didn’t take me long to get off. What David never quite figured out, Aiken had mastered in only a few months.

  I heard the clang of his belt buckle and whoosh of his boots, the clatter of his pants, and then he was inside me. Bare, all of him and all of me, fitting together like it wasn’t meant to be any other way. Focusing on the physical sensation, I shoved all the romantic garble to the back of my mind.

  It wasn’t until later, both of us in bed, the drapes open so we could watch the snow fall, that romance came back with a vengeance.

  His hand tracing figure eights on my arm, my back tucked into his front, empty dessert container on the side table, Aiken said, “I’d ask you to move in, but this isn’t my place.”

  “What?” I didn’t move, stayed stock still in his arms, hoping the moment would pass, praying the moment lasted.

  “Us. We’re together almost every night. If I’m being practical, we shouldn’t pay two sets of bills. But really, I want to go to bed with you every night. And your dog is kind of partial to me.”

  “Are you asking me to ask you to move in with me?” I gathered the sheet close, keeping my breasts covered, guarding my heart with a bedsheet.

  “Yeah. I am. I know you prefer it here, and I don’t care. As long as I can bring my couch and my big-ass TV.”

  “Don’t you think this is going a little too fast? I mean, it’s only been a few months.”

  “Richards.” He spun me around and kept me gathered tight, front-to-front, face-to-face. “We’re adults.”

  “I know.” It was a whisper.

  “We don’t need years to know how we feel. Either it’s there or it’s not.”

  “Okay, Mr. Therapist.”

  “Don’t do that.” His lips grazed mine. “Don’t get silly. We don’t need to justify our relationship,” he said, finishing with another graze of my lips. “Plus, who says I can’t be smarter? Just because…”

  “Don’t say it. I know you’re younger. Now who is being the silly one?”

  “I love you, and I don’t want to push, but I want this to happen, Claire. I try to play by your rules, like I didn’t get you a gift for your birthday. On this, I’m taking the lead.”

  “Can I have a little time? Let me get through spring break? Midterms? Then we can make all the decisions.”

  “Yes,” he said, but he was covering up something—disappointment, rejection, impatience? My clinician brain couldn’t even get a read on it. It was deeper than I could read.

  “Thanks for an amazing birthday.” I moved the conversation to a better place, trying to get my smirky smile back.

  “Even though you didn’t want to celebrate? Oh, what about my gift for V-Day?”

  Instantly, I felt the blush creep up my cheeks.

  “Look at you, Little Miss Almost Over the Hill, blushing.”

  I pinched his ass—hard. “Over the hill?”

  “Kidding. Swear! I said almost! Still kidding. But I need to know what would make your cheeks flame like that…confess, now.”

  “One sec.” I slid out of bed and went into the bathroom.

  When I came back to bed, I was wearing a red lace teddy and matching garter belts. It was something straight out of one of those Victoria’s Secret catalogs, and I wasn’t sure where I found the courage to shove my body into it.

  First, Aiken whistled, and then he hooted, and then he whistled again. “My, my, my, Little Red Richards, get over here in that get-up.”

  I walked slowly…

  “Pick up the pace, lady. You were not kidding when you said you had a gift for me.”

  I made it to the bed, and Aiken snatched me into his arms. We were back to being front-to-front, and he ran his hand down my arm and up my back. “I need a moment to take this all in.”

  His eyes perused while his hand explored.

  Eventually, Aiken’s hand wound in between us, finding my most sensitive spots, gently removing the lingerie, moving us to a way better place—both of us.

  The last two weeks of February passed without incident. Aiken and I had even gone over to the athletic facility on campus a few times and taken a couple of spinning classes.

  He knew how I took my coffee, and I knew what Chinese takeout he liked.

  We’d settled into a quiet ease once again, avoiding any serious conversation.

  Weekends had consisted of exercise, hanging around my place or his—just being—and having a drink while Aiken smoked a cigar. It wasn’t super exciting, but we both seemed happy.

  I figured the ball was in my court, so when March arrived, midterms were over, and my desk was organized, it was my time. Time to make a move, time to shit or get off the pot, or whatever. Time to ask Aiken to move in, as he’d asked me to do.

  I smiled to myself thinking about it. It was super cute the way he’d framed that question, and I’d shot him down.

  On Friday night, we’d grilled out, despite the chilly temperatures, eaten our fill, and watched a movie in bed (because my couch wasn’t comfortable). Of course, we’d both fallen asleep (because the bed was too comfortable). I’d planned to make breakfast and ask Aiken over coffee, but he was gone in the morning.

  He’d woken early with Smitty and taken him to do his business. To my knowledge, he didn’t come back upstairs.

  I must’ve dozed back off, because when I woke, Smitty was chilling in his dog bed and the house was quiet. I stretched like I didn’t have a care in the world, slipped out of bed, and padded to the bathroom. Tucked in my robe, I walked downstairs.

  The first clue was there was no coffee. Aiken always started the coffeepot. I wondered if I was out…maybe Aiken had gone home for java.

  I went outside to look for the paper, and it wasn’t there.

  In my robe and slippers, I walked next door while Smitty made quick use of the yard.

  I knocked, and nothing. The house was dark with no movement—not that one person caused a lot of that.

  “Shit,” I mumbled, pulling my robe tighter.

  I’d resisted accepting a key to Aiken’s, for whatever twisted reason I’d concocted in my head. Now, I was worried sick something might be wrong, and I couldn’t get inside.

  I knocked again, Smitty barked at the closed back door, and nothing.

  No answer, no stirring, nothing, zip.

  I texted him and received no answer.

  His voice mail picked up my calls.

  For two weeks.

  Every day, I thought about calling his dad, but I didn’t want to worry Sam. He’d had enough in his life, and now he was happy with Judith. He didn’t need a hysterical me in his life.

  All in all, I knew Aiken had left because he didn’t want me.

  Maybe his dad even knew?

  Which left me alone with my thoughts and theories—a lethal combination.

  Claire

  My hands shook.

  No matter how hard I tried to mentall
y order them to still, they refused to cooperate.

  Tightening my robe, I sniffled back the mucus running down my nose. My poor lips were so chapped from all the crying and nose running and more crying. Not to mention, my skanky robe could have run out of here on its own.

  All the while, I kept trying to stifle a small cough. I was a pitiful sight, yet the flu attacking my body felt like nothing in comparison to the cold, harsh reality of the person who stood in front of me.

  A police detective.

  A newer one, a younger guy, one I’d never met.

  The first blow came when I answered the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Dr. Richards? Claire Richards? Is that you?”

  With only the mention of my name, a wave of nausea swirled up my esophagus, burning my throat. Something awful must’ve happened to Aiken. That was where he’d been. He hadn’t changed his mind about me.

  “Oh God.” I held myself up on the doorjamb. “What’s happened?”

  I’d already lost everyone else important in my life—it had to be Aiken. He’d been missing, but I thought he’d taken some space.

  Unless this was about Mary, which sent another wave of nausea up my throat.

  But they’d go see Pat first, right? Not me?

  “Ma’am, are you okay? Dr. Richards?”

  I nodded. “Yes, that’s me. Sorry, I’m fighting a wicked virus and not feeling so hot.” My throat croaked and cracked with my words.

  Smitty eyed the strange man cautiously, a small rumble bubbling from his throat.

  “I’m Detective Land. Maybe we should sit down? I have some things to discuss with you. You’re not in trouble.”

  “Um, okay. Come in.” I motioned toward the living area.

  Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. That much I knew. Nothing ever good happened at my front door. Or over the phone in the middle of the night.

  I watched the foreigner in my house walk toward the small sofa, thinking of when Aiken sat there, engulfing the pale pink piece of furniture. How he hated it. How he liked me on his black leather couch.

  Closing my eyes, I counted backward from ten. My flu was long forgotten, and the burning in my throat was turning into a full-blown panic attack. I had no clue why this guy was sitting in my home, but my emotions were already frayed, my heart broken in several thousand pieces. Anxiety swirled in my belly, taking my breath and bravado, my hands beyond clammy, my heart rate skyrocketing, my chest hurting.