Force of Nature

by Kim Baldwin

  She shook herself awake and yawned, and glanced over the half-wall partition that separated her from her customers. Erin stood alone at the counter, nervously biting her lip, holding a large plate of something covered with plastic wrap. Cupcakes, it looked like.

  Relief poured through Gable as she stood. “Hey, Erin.”

  “Hey, Gable.” Erin’s eyes met hers and the edges of her mouth twitched upward in an embarrassed smile.

  “It’s good to see you.” Gable stepped around the partition.

  Erin held out the plate. Her expression altered from embarrassed to hopeful. “The school band is having a bake sale to raise money for uniforms. I thought a plate of cupcakes might be a good way to say I’m sorry I bit your head off the other day.”

  “No need to apologize.” Gable accepted the plate and set it down. Gently, she asked, “Are you all right?”

  Erin leaned against the counter and brushed some nonexistent dirt off the top as she considered her answer. “Yes. I just…had some things to sort out. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I should have called you.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  Erin looked at Gable for a long moment, and her eyes shone with tears. “Can you forget I’ve been such a jerk?”

  “I never thought that in the first place. You’re entitled to have an off day.”

  “Thanks for understanding.”

  An elderly woman pushing a walker came up behind Erin, interrupting them.

  “Good morning. May I help you?” Gable asked.

  The woman dug in her purse and pulled out four empty prescription vials. “I’d like these refilled, please.”

  “Certainly.” Gable glanced at the labels. “It’ll be a few minutes, if you’d like to take a seat.”

  “I’m going to let you get back to work,” Erin said, once the woman had moved away. “I’ve got a training class soon.”

  Gable stuck out her lip in a disappointed pout, which drew the first genuine smile from Erin since she’d arrived.

  “Come to my house for dinner tonight?” Erin asked with a hopeful expression.

  Gable smiled back. “I’d like that. I’ve missed you.”

  Erin looked at her for another very long moment. “I’ve missed you too.” Then she was gone.

  *

  That evening, Gable detoured home long enough to change into a T-shirt and jeans. When she drove up Erin’s driveway shortly before seven, she spotted Erin waving to her from a portable gas grill set up a few feet from the cabin. It was a warm late July day, but there wasn’t much humidity and the steady breeze and shelter of the trees made it seem much cooler than eighty-eight degrees.

  “Perfect timing,” Erin said as Gable got out of the Jeep.

  Gable sucked in a big whiff of…steak? Her mouth started watering as she approached. “Something sure smells good.”

  “It’s not Outback Steakhouse, but I splurged and got us a couple of filets mignons at the butcher shop. Medium rare, right?”

  “Oh yeah, exactly right,” Gable replied, pleased that Erin remembered.

  “Go on in and help yourself to a beverage.” Erin gestured with the tongs in her hand. “There’s beer and soda in the fridge, and an open bottle of wine on the table. These will be done in a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  Earl Grey had evidently been watching Gable’s approach from his perch in the window. He was crouched just inside the door and pounced on her as soon as she entered, then raced away, hoping she would chase him as she had when he was staying at her house. Gable’s eyes followed the cat until he passed the dining area, where her attention shifted to the beautifully laid table. White china and crystal stemware rested on place mats and napkins in a deep emerald green. Between the settings rested a pair of candlesticks, and a vase filled with the delicate miniature daisies that grew rampant along Erin’s drive.

  She always makes meals an occasion, Gable thought, recalling the other times Erin had prepared dinner for her. But she noticed there was a subtle difference this time, in addition to the extravagance of the filets mignons. The place settings were laid opposite each other, instead of at right angles as they had always been before. She and Erin would face each other tonight as they ate.

  Erin was just flipping over the steaks when Gable joined her outside with a glass of wine in her hand. “How was work?” she asked, and Gable was struck for a moment by the pure sweet domesticity of that moment—Erin in her oversized barbecue apron, grinning up at her and asking how her day went. Gable knew she was only indulging an impossible fantasy, but she would savor the moment nonetheless.

  “My day got considerably brighter when I saw you standing at the counter,” she answered honestly.

  Erin smiled broadly at the comment.

  “The table looks great,” Gable gestured toward the cabin. “And I can’t believe you got us these steaks.”

  “Well, I wanted to do something nice for you. And this happens to be one of those many wonderful indulgences that we have in common, so I benefit too.”

  I wish we had more in common at moments like these, Gable thought, swallowing hard. It wasn’t getting any easier at all to be this close to Erin without being able to touch her. You just look so damn kissable. How is it that you seem to get cuter every day?

  Over the course of their friendship thus far, Gable had greatly enjoyed being able to steal frequent long looks at Erin whenever Erin was preoccupied—cooking dinner, doing dishes, shopping, watching television. She relished every chance she got to admire, unobserved, Erin’s face, her hands, her body, and the way she moved. And ordinarily, she got plenty of opportunities to do just that.

  But not tonight. Tonight, Erin seemed much more keenly aware of Gable’s surreptitious scrutiny. Nearly every time she stole a glance as they ate, and cleaned up, and later watched a movie together on television, she found Erin was either already watching her, or else she would quickly seem to sense Gable’s eyes and look up.

  Gable always glanced quickly away, afraid that Erin would discover the depth of her feelings. Erin never said a word about it, but by the end of the evening Gable had severely curtailed her efforts to observe her in secret. She didn’t want to risk putting distance between them again, though Erin acted as if everything was fine now.

  “I’d like to reciprocate and invite you to dinner tomorrow,” Gable said as the movie credits rolled. “Do you have plans?”

  “I’m all yours,” Erin said, a pleased smile lighting her face. “I’ve got training, but I’ll get done before you do. What time should I come over?”

  “Give me until six thirty to get home,” Gable said, suppressing a yawn as she got to her feet.

  Erin followed her to the door. “You got it.”

  Gable turned to say good-bye and found herself unexpectedly enfolded in a hug.

  “Sorry again I was such a pain,” Erin mumbled into her chest.

  “Stop apologizing,” Gable returned her embrace, then took a step back. “See you tomorrow, then. Sleep well.”

  Erin gave her a long look. “You too, Gable. Pleasant dreams.”

  As she drove home, Gable reminded herself not to get too used to spending evenings with Erin. Soon enough, she reckoned, some of the guys who’d been hovering at the picnic would ask her out. Just as soon as word got around that Tim was out of the picture. Enjoy it while you can.

  *

  “So what are your plans for the weekend?” Erin asked the next evening as they sat on Gable’s porch after dinner, sipping coffee while watching the approaching dusk paint the sky with brilliant shades of pink and lavender.

  “I have to work tomorrow until five,” Gable said. “James took the day off for his daughter’s wedding.”

  “James? Have you told me about him?”

  “Guess I haven’t,” Gable said. “James is our part-time pharmacist. He’s semiretired now, and just works Saturdays and whenever else I need an extra hand.”

  “Well that bites,” Erin said resignedly, th
e disappointment evident in her voice. “I have a training class tomorrow night, so Saturday’s out altogether. What about Sunday?”

  “No plans,” Gable replied.

  “Let’s do something fun,” Erin proposed. “Maybe take a drive up the Lake Michigan shore—hit a few antique shops, grab dinner somewhere?”

  “Sounds great. Count me in.”

  They had another pleasant, relaxed evening together, and Gable was treated to another hug good-bye when Erin departed for home. Once again, Erin seemed to be much more aware of Gable’s eyes on her than she used to be. What’s up with that? Gable wondered.

  *

  Erin picked her up at ten on Sunday morning as they’d arranged, but begged a stop at her school before they set off on their excursion. “I lost all my lesson plans in the tornado,” she explained as she pulled out of Gable’s drive and headed toward Pine River. “I’ve got some stuff at school that will help me try to recreate them, and I realized this morning I better get going on it. School starts pretty soon.”

  She pulled into the school’s empty parking lot a few minutes later. “Want to come in? Might take me a minute to find everything.”

  “Sure,” Gable replied.

  Erin had a key to the outside door of the band room, where she had a file cabinet and locker for her supplies. As she started going through files, pulling out what she needed, Gable took a look around. Wide shelves on one side of the room held an assortment of music cases, containing trombones and flutes, French horns and saxophones and a variety of other instruments.

  Erin glanced up from what she was doing. “Mmm-hmm. Most of them have been donated over the years.” Her face suddenly lit up. “Say! I know what would be fun.” She joined Gable and scanned the shelves of instruments. “There it is.” She pulled down a black case shaped like a hatbox and unlatched the top. Inside was a snare drum. “As I recall, you said you always wanted to play drums in school, right?”

  Gable smiled. “I did indeed.”

  Erin took the drum out of the case and set it on a stand, then searched among the shelves for a pair of drumsticks. “Ah! 2Bs. Perfect. You’ll get a good bounce with these, and they’re a good weight for beginners. Okay, hold out your hands. Right one first.”

  She stepped to Gable’s side and took Gable’s hand in hers, placing one of the drumsticks in her palm, cradled in the crook of her thumb. “Hold it loosely, like this,” she demonstrated, but Gable was finding it hard to concentrate with Erin holding her hand and standing so close.

  “Now there are two ways to hold the left stick,” Erin continued, gesturing for Gable’s other hand. “There’s the traditional grip, like this…” She laid the drumstick in Gable’s upturned palm and showed her how to cradle it with her thumb and fingers. “Or the newer one is like this.” She demonstrated the second type. “Frankly, I prefer the traditional grip.” Her small hands enfolded Gable’s larger one, and she looked up into Gable’s eyes. “But you should go with whatever feels right to you.”

  Whatever feels right? Gable’s mind repeated blankly, as her body registered how much it liked being this close to Erin—shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. A flush of warmth spread through her, and she froze, unwilling to break the contact.

  When she didn’t respond immediately, Erin released her and stepped back a step, a playful grin on her face. “Gable? Something the matter?”

  “Uh, no! Nope, everything’s fine,” Gable stuttered, as her attention snapped back to the sticks in her hands.

  “Go ahead, give it a try,” Erin encouraged, and Gable hit the snare a few times, tentatively.

  “You can do better than that,” Erin challenged.

  Gable relaxed into it, then, and happily wailed away at the drum for a minute or two, getting a feel for the grip and trying to control how the sticks bounced off the drumhead.

  “Very nice,” Erin complimented, watching her. “Want me to teach you a couple of basic strokes?”

  Strokes? Gable’s mind repeated. Why does everything you say sound sexual? “Uh, sure. That’d be great.” She held out the sticks for Erin to take, but Erin shook her head.

  “No, you hold them.” She stepped behind Gable and wrapped her arms around her waist, resting her hands lightly over Gable’s. “Ready?” she asked.

  Gable nodded her head, not trusting her voice. She tried to keep her hands from shaking, but a shudder ran through her as Erin’s body pressed closer still. She stopped breathing for a moment.

  “Now when you’re learning how to do rolls,” Erin explained, “You want to try to control the sticks so that the bead at the end bounces off the drumhead twice. First one stick, then the other. If you go back and forth five times, that’s a five-stroke roll. Like this.” Erin lightly gripped Gable’s hands in hers and slowly tapped out the rhythm on the drum. “And this is a seven-stroke roll.” She demonstrated the difference.

  Gable could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Their nearness was excruciatingly delightful.

  “And a nine-stroke roll.” Erin demonstrated, her fingers cradling Gable’s hands with a gentle warmth. “Get the picture?”

  Gable nodded again. Her mouth was dry. She felt a sudden twitch in her lower abdomen when Erin pressed slightly harder against her.

  “Here’s a long roll.” Erin tapped it out. “You have good hands to play drums,” she added in a soft voice as she withdrew her hands and stepped away. “Nice strong hands, good dexterity, nice flexibility in the wrists.”

  Gable felt herself blushing, so she pounded away at the drums to hide her embarrassment, practicing the rolls.

  Erin stepped over to the shelves of instruments and pulled out a long case and laid it on the floor near the drum. Gable stopped playing to watch her.

  It was a trombone, and Erin had it put together in under a minute. With a twinkle in her eyes, she held the instrument up and asked, “Ready?” then put the mouthpiece to her lips.

  “Ready for what?” Gable asked, puzzled, and Erin launched into a driving riff that she recognized immediately. Wipeout. Like every other wannabe drummer in the world, she had played along with it on many occasions over the years, but always with just her hands, or a couple of pencils on a desktop. Oh cool. A big grin splashed across her face as she waited for Erin to get to the drum solo part.

  When it arrived, she banged away, right on cue and not too badly, truth be told. But she was not so self-absorbed that she failed to notice how brilliantly Erin played the trombone.

  “God, that was fun,” she said when they finished. “And I have to tell you, I am really impressed! I’ve never personally known anyone who could play an instrument like that. You’re quite a musician!”

  Erin smiled at the compliment. “Thanks, Gable.” She pulled the trombone apart and put it away.

  Gable felt a pang of disappointment that their jam session was apparently over, and it must have showed on her face.

  “You want to play some more, don’t you?” Erin smiled up at her.

  “Kinda,” Gable admitted, in a singsongy voice like a child’s.

  Erin laughed. “Okay. Hit away, and I’ll join you in a second.”

  While Gable practiced rolls, she watched Erin pull several instrument cases down from the wall and line them up along the floor, assembling the instruments inside so she could play whatever struck her fancy. A piccolo, a French horn, a trumpet, an alto saxophone.

  They played for half an hour, a variety of songs and rhythms. Marches and show tunes, TV theme songs and old pop standards. Erin would play a snippet of a song on one instrument, then switch to another, selecting the accompaniment that best fit the tune. “The Stars and Stripes Forever” on piccolo, the theme to The Simpsons on sax. Gable played along as best as she could, amazed at Erin’s versatility as a musician.

  “I can’t believe how good you are on all of these,” she said as they put the instruments away.

  “Well, if you want to see me at my very best, you’ll have to come over to my house tomorrow,” Erin replied
. “They’re supposed to deliver my new piano!”

  “Oh, I bet you’re excited! I know you’ve missed having one.”

  “I really have,” Erin agreed. “I hated waiting so long, but I wanted the same kind of Baldwin upright I had before, and they’re made to order.”

  “I look forward to hearing you play,” Gable said.

  “Then I’ll expect you for dinner tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  *

  They spent the rest of the day poking around in antique stores and flea markets they stumbled across as they drove up the Lake Michigan coastline. The sky was a deep blue and cloudless, and the great lake shimmered silver in the sunlight. On their way back, they stopped for dinner at a charming seafood restaurant that had great walleye and a breathtaking view of the sunset over the water.

  They lingered there over coffee until it was well past dark, neither apparently in any rush to end their time together. It was only when they realized the restaurant was getting ready to close that they headed back to Erin’s pickup.

  They were on a deserted stretch of road a few miles farther down the coastline when Gable caught a shimmer of color in the sky out her window. “Erin, stop! I think I see northern lights!”

  Erin pulled off onto the shoulder and cut the engine, and they both got out. They were miles from the nearest city, so they had an unspoiled view of the night sky, brilliant with stars. To the north, a shimmering curtain of green appeared, stretching from the horizon to the sky above their heads, faint at first, then all at once, alive with movement.

  “Wow!” Gable breathed.

  “Oh!” Erin gasped.

  “Isn’t it incredible?”

  The curtain grew, expanding as if unfolded by an unseen hand, and traces of yellow mixed with the green, then a flash of red. They watched for several minutes, awed by the phenomenon. Every now and then, a particularly vivid or startling manifestation would prompt an exclamation from one or the other.