A bright rug covered part of the floor and Mrs. Elmore had even brought up a little vase of flowers. He’d smiled at the neatly folded bathrobe at the foot of the bed, easily guessing her message – if you get up in the middle of the night, this is so you won’t have to walk around the house half-naked and freezing. Very thoughtful of her.
A part of him would be happy to let this atmosphere work its magic. Even this far away, the unmistakable aroma of baking apple pie drifted through the air and the setting sun filled the room with a warm orange glow. He’d switched on the radio on the desk, found it tuned to a classic rock station and left it playing softly.
If only he could find something safe to think about, something other than Emily. Usually he was very good at distracting himself once he’d decided a woman was off limits, but there was something about Emily that was weakening his resolve.
When he’d seen her at the window, watching him, he’d somehow known she wasn’t admiring his snow-removal technique. He’d been surprised for a moment and then something about her stillness, her unwavering gaze, had ignited something within him. A kind of desire he hadn’t felt for a long time took over. All his qualms evaporated; he forgot who she was and he stared back, thinking nothing more than “I want that.”
If only she were the kind of woman he could just fuck and forget. A woman had once tearfully told him she should have known, that he might as well have been wearing a button that read “Be Careful.” But, she’d said, she’d decided he would be worth the trouble and that she’d eventually be able to change him, soften him somehow. She had, of course, been wrong.
Emily wouldn’t be foolish enough to think that way, would she? She struck him as well controlled, grounded, not the kind of woman who’d let herself be carried away by fantasy. He liked women like that – maybe they could be friends, he thought, and then laughed at himself. Sure, friends.
He shifted, moving his legs around to stifle the beginning of another erection as he thought of her plump breasts beneath that t-shirt and those long legs in the old sweatpants. If she walked up here, he thought, I could have those pants off and be inside her in thirty seconds flat, hear her moan, watch her eyes as his cock filled and stretched her.
He changed position again, then gave up, rose and crossed to the window. Throwing it wide, he felt the cold air rush in and took a few deep breaths. I need something to do, he thought, and re-reading “The Scarlet Letter” or “Animal Farm” wasn’t going to work. Time to go downstairs anyway, see if he could make himself useful. Maybe they needed some wood chopped – he could use another strenuous physical task.
The old house was filled with peaceful early evening sounds. He passed an open bedroom door and heard Abby’s light snore; from downstairs came the whir of an electric mixer and the frisky music of a children’s TV program. That apple pie smell grew stronger and the air around him noticeably warmer as he walked downstairs.
The old dog lay on his bed before the crackling fire in the living room and the little girl sat at the long, empty table, folding napkins with fierce concentration. He thought he’d gotten his shit together now and would be able to handle things okay. It was just that first sight of her that had shocked him, taken his breath away. Now he knew it was just another pretty little girl. She looked up at him and said “You’re grandma’s friend. What’s your name?”
“I’m Joe,” he said, putting his hand out.
She shook his hand, seeming proud to know what was expected, and he flinched – he’d forgotten he used to seal a lot of deals with Danny that way and the touch of her little hand rattled him. But then he was okay again. “What’s your name?” he asked.
She looked surprised and said “I’m Emma” in a tone that indicated he was a little dense not to know.
Through the wide entry to the dining room he could see Emily moving around the table, setting plates. Feeling it would be wise to gauge the depth of the water around him, he decided to find out if he’d imagined or misread her reaction to him. He walked over to the entry, leaned against the molding and said “Hey, Emily.”
When she didn’t even glance at him, he knew he’d been right – the chemistry ran both ways. She unnecessarily straightened a plate, moved on to the next seat and put down another before saying “Hey, Joe.”
He didn’t move. “Do you think it would be okay to ask your mom if I can use the washing machine?”
“Of course. She’s still in the kitchen.” She’d finished the plates and now turned to a sideboard, opened a drawer and stood staring inside as if fascinated by the collection of silverware. He could see her cheeks were flushing, which made him think of how she would look during orgasm. Stop it, he thought. What you ought to do is grab your stuff and get back on the road, fast.
He gave her a wide berth as he passed by to the swinging kitchen door, but when he reached it, he couldn’t resist – he turned slightly to push it open with his shoulder and looked directly at her. She’d been watching his retreating back and now she froze, a bunch of forks in her hand. Her cheeks flushed an even deeper red as their eyes met and Joe sighed quietly as he stepped into the kitchen.
With permission to use the machines granted, Joe climbed back upstairs for his duffle, then down another flight to the basement. He took one look at the high-tech washer and went back to the foot of the stairs. “Uh, Mrs. Elmore?” he called.
“”Yes, Joe?”
“I think I’m going to need some help down here.”
“Oh, I forgot,” she called, and then in a louder voice, “Emily.”
Joe heard footsteps on the floor above him. “Run down and help Joe with the new machine, will you dear?”
There was a short pause. “Gee Mom, I’m not sure I know how myself.”
“Oh you know how to do the Regular cycle, and that’s all he needs I’m sure. I don’t want to get up right now.”
Another pause. Emily came down the stairs with the rigid posture and blank face of a woman walking along death row but Joe felt a strong surge of desire anyway. When she reached the last step, he didn’t move, leaving her not quite enough room to pass without touching him. She brushed by without looking at him and crossed the cement floor, her steps now brisk.
Get a grip, he told himself. This is not a woman to dick around with. Say thank you and stay where you are. Do not go over and pretend you want to learn something about modern laundry improvements. “All your stuff in?” she asked without turning.
“Oh, wait a second. I have this shirt…”
He went over and took the new, folded shirt from the top of the washer. “This feels stiff so I thought…but I have to get the pins…”
“Here, let me. Hold out your hand.”
As she began to remove them and drop them into his palm, he thought he could see the tiniest quiver in her fingers. An ancient furnace across the room throbbed loudly, dispelling some but not all of the basement humidity and the air felt thick, almost tropical. Time slowed and each of her movements seemed magnified.
Her head was tilted downward, and Joe was concentrating on her delectable mouth, imagining how it would feel to bite at that lower lip. Unconsciously he’d let his hand drift upward so that her fingers brushed against his palm as she dropped another pin. Joe felt something close to the energy of static electricity and was instantly aroused. He involuntarily drew in a sharp breath.
She heard that, he thought. He saw her breasts move up and down with her own deep breath and now the tremor in her fingers was unmistakable. Joe felt caught in some old-fashioned cinema effect – the rest of the room faded to gray, leaving only the two figures in the center of the screen in focus, about to embrace.
Everything about her – each strand of hair, the tiny rip on the shoulder of her t-shirt, the small gold star shining on her earlobe, every dark eyelash outlined against her smooth cheekbone – every detail seemed to etch itself onto his brain and he knew he would lie awake tonight, remembering.
She smelled faintly of cinnamon and he thought of p
ressing his lips to the side of her neck, inhaling it, touching the tip of his tongue to her skin. If she looks up at me, I will have to kiss her, he thought. There is a limit to my self-control. She shook the shirt out and it seemed to unfold in slow motion, fluttering and waving gently.
“There’s always one more than you think,” she said in an unnaturally quiet voice and Joe felt as though she’d conveyed something unbearably intimate.
“Aha,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear. Now she did look up and when their eyes met, Joe saw that she seemed momentarily surprised, and then confused.
She turned away quickly to toss the shirt in the washer and begin pressing a few of the many buttons. What had she seen in his face, he wondered. Why had she looked surprised? There wasn’t a chance in the world she didn’t know the effect she had on him – had he frightened her somehow? Had he read the signals wrong after all? “Emily,” he said.
She didn’t turn or answer. Without thinking, he lifted his arm and put his palm gently at the small of her back. She was trembling. “Emily, I…”
“Emily—” Her mother was calling down the stairs. “Emily, bring up the things in the dryer when you come, will you?”
Several seconds ticked by and Joe suspected she was getting control of her voice. “Okay,” she yelled, finally.
Another few seconds passed. Joe left his hand where it was until she turned and walked around him without raising her eyes. She picked up a plastic basket from a table behind them and started to walk back but he stopped her. “I’ll do it,” he said, more brusquely than he intended. And then, “Here.”
He took the basket in one hand and extended the other. “Take the damn pins.”
Her mouth opened but she closed it without speaking, then put her hand out. He dropped the pins without touching her and walked over to the dryer. “You can go back up. I’ll be along in a minute,” he said, his voice rough.
Her heard her receding footsteps as he grabbed clothes and stuffed them into the basket. Yeah, in a minute, he thought. I just need a little time to figure out what the fuck is going on and what he had done to shock her and maybe do a hundred quick pushups to get rid of the erection.
*
Emily kept going at the top of the stairs, up another flight and into her room. She closed the door behind her, dropped the pins into the wastebasket, sat on the edge of her bed and tried to calm down. What the hell had been happening down there? She’d been working so hard to hide how she felt, trying to control herself, but her fine motor skills had deserted her and every pin had been a struggle. Her senses had seemed heightened and she could hear every breath he took, smell his clean, male scent, see clearly each line on his rough palm.
When she finally looked at his face, she’d seen…what? Lust, it had really looked like lust. But that couldn’t be, she knew, so had she somehow made him angry? Probably he’d just been bored and impatient, anxious to get away from her.
The spot on her back where he’d touched her still seemed to radiate heat along her spine. She reached back and put her own hand there, remembering the feeling. It had been only brotherly affection, of course, and luckily he would never know how it had thrilled her, made her so quickly wet and ready.
Thank god her mother had interrupted before she had a chance to completely embarrass herself. I was just about to turn around, Emily thought. I was just about to turn around and throw myself at him, kiss that beautiful mouth just once before he had a chance to pull away.
He would have been sweet, she thought, gently removing her arms from his shoulders, saying only that it wasn’t a good idea, that he really liked her as a friend and they would just pretend it hadn’t happened.
Sighing deeply, she rose and went into the bathroom that connected her room with Abby’s to splash cold water on her face. There was a knock on the other door. “Emily, is that you? Can I come in? I was just about to fix my hair.”
“Sure,” Emily answered.
Abby came in, a hairbrush in her hand. “What’s everybody doing? I had a great nap,” she said, addressing her reflection.
“Mom’s still in the kitchen. We’ve got to get her out of there. And Dad’s watching TV with Emma.”
“Where’s Joe? I want to see if he wants to come along with us.”
“I don’t know, downstairs I guess. Where are you going?”
“Just over to Bill and Mary’s. A lot of people are going, we’re just going to sit around and catch up.” And talk about your kids and try to brag about your life without being too obvious about it, Emily thought. Then you’ll get a little drunk and start gossiping about the people who aren’t there. What fun!
“What are you guys going to do?”
Emily shrugged. “See what’s left to do. Help Mom. Watch TV, go to bed early. Hey, what time does Emma go to bed now?”
“Well, officially, seven-thirty. Usually more like eight, but it doesn’t really matter as long as she gets to stay up later than her brother. I’ll put him down before I leave.”
“Okay. Did you bring a book for me to read her?”
Abby was on her way back out. “Forgot, but Mom has a couple.” She came back to the doorway. “Em, you don’t want to come, do you? I’m sure it would be fine.”
Oh, yuck. “No, that’s okay. I’m really beat.”
“I thought so. See you downstairs.”
One of the great things about a crowded house was the difficulty of keeping tabs on people – it was easier to slip away for time alone. Everyone assumed you were with someone else, doing something else. Emily took some time to unpack her things, think a few more uninterrupted thoughts and at least run a comb through her hair, for crying out loud.
Glancing at herself in the mirror, she wondered why she looked so extra-drab today. Mark would have looked her over carefully and said something like “I think you need a little more make-up.”
Which reminded her – she checked her phone again but found nothing new. He’d texted around three to say he’d been stranded at O’Hare for long enough and that if he could get something going the other way, he was going to give up and go back to Boston.
At the time, she’d been relieved and texted back “Might be best.” But now she half wished he’d been able to make it and wondered why. Well, any port in a storm, she supposed. Yeah, okay, he was a little pretentious, but he was smart and polite and handsome and maybe he would have helped get her mind off Joe.
At six-thirty, her mom called “Sort-of suppertime, if you’re up there,” and Emily grabbed a sweater and went downstairs.
Her dad was still in the living room, reading the paper and watching basketball. As she passed through, he waved and said “Too busy in there for me. I’ll get something in a few minutes.”
In the kitchen, Abby sat feeding the baby between bites of something with noodles; Aaron and Joe were eating thick ham sandwiches and Emma had a chicken leg. Her mom was at the counter, opening something wrapped in foil. “Wonder what this is,” she was saying. “Oh, hello dear,” she said to Emily. “Here’s what we’re doing. Anything that isn’t eaten tonight is going out. I want that refrigerator clear before morning.”
“Mother, you have got to stop cooking for an army,” said Abby.
“Mind your own business, dear,” her mother said absentmindedly as she re-wrapped whatever had been in the foil and pitched it into the trash.
Emily walked over to peer into the fridge and a thought struck her. “Um, Mom? Where’s the turkey?”
“Next door. They’re leaving first thing tomorrow for the daughter’s in Sacramento and…” She walked over to the door and called down the hall. “Mike, unless you want to get up at the crack of dawn, go next door and get that key now. Ruth said they’re going to bed early and this is the third time I’ve asked you.”
“Bert will be happy to stay up til midnight, talking my arm off. Send one of the girls,” he yelled back.
“They’re eating right now.”
“Well, Ellie, they’re not go
ing to bed at seven o’clock over there.”
“How do you know? And anyway, I don’t want one of the girls wandering around in the dark.”
“I think they can make it fifty yards or so. What are you worried about? Wolves?”
Emily smiled. She’d forgotten that her parents always seemed to carry on these minor disputes at a distance, as if they couldn’t bear to disagree face-to-face. She looked over to the table and saw Joe staring fixedly at his plate, his lips twitching with amusement. “I’d be happy to go, Mrs. Elmore,” he said. He looked over to Emily, smiled and winked.
“Thank you Joe, but I can’t see Ruth handing the key to a stranger.”
“I’ll go Mom,” said Emily, already walking out. “I’ll be fine.”
By the time she got back, the house was pleasantly quiet. She had gotten stuck for a while, answering all the usual questions, but the cold, fresh air had done her good. The sky was brilliantly clear; she’d seen a couple shooting stars and been able to clear her head again. The smile and the wink from Joe had been nice, his way of telling her everything was okay between them.
She’d realized there was no reason to be so embarrassed – he probably hadn’t thought anything at all about her behavior in the basement because it happened all the time. With his looks, probably every woman he met blushed and stammered and dropped things and generally made a fool of herself. It was no big deal.
Her dad came down the stairs as she was walking to the kitchen. “Where is everybody?” she asked.
Abby and Aaron had left after putting the baby to bed; her mom was giving Emma a bath; Joe and the dog were out back, stockpiling wood by the door. “Get yourself something to eat and then get your Scrabble hat on. I am feeling particularly clever tonight.”
“Okay, Pop, it’s a date.”
As she sat at the table with a meatloaf sandwich, Emily noticed she was finally feeling relaxed. She could hear the quiet ticking of the oven timer, and from outside, pleasant thuds as logs were stacked, then a pause and the squeaking of the old wheelbarrow being trundled back to the garage for another load. And George, barking happily – he’d always loved snow.
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