by Mary Pearson
assured her. “I kind of know what he’s doing. He’s just more aware of what’s going on out there and he feels the need to do battle personally. He’s kind of like Noah, you know. He just wants to keep you all in the arc.”
“Sometimes I’d rather take my own dinghy,” Stacy’s eyes flashed, “and I don’t so much mind it out there.”
“Someday you may see things differently.” Arthur’s leg brushed against hers. “Things change. And that was something I was kind of wondering about, too. If it’s not too personal, where is Reecy’s dad?”
“Who knows?” Stacy shrugged. “After Dad had been gone for awhile some well-meaning friend of Mom set her up with this guy and, for awhile, they really hit it off. He did a lot of stuff with us, too—the first year. I think Emily liked him.”
“What about you?” Arthur asked.
“I never trusted him. One day he just left. After that we found out Mom was pregnant, but we never saw him again.” Stacy’s eyes met his. “I’m glad we got Reecie. I can’t imagine life without her.” After that they were silent for a bit. Eventually Arthur looked at his watch. When he didn’t say anything, Stacy asked, “About how long do you suppose we’ve been in here?”
“I don’t think more than ten minutes.” He shifted his body to get more comfortable. “Are you cold?”
“A little. This basement shaft isn’t heated. Do you mind if we sit next to each other for body warmth?” She felt a bit of pink creep warmly into her cheeks.
“Not at all.” He quickly slid down the wall next to her, the left side of his body against her right side. The thought popped into her head that it would be warmer still if he would put his arm around her, but Stacy didn’t say this out loud.
“Thanks.” She nuzzled toward him a bit and closed her eyes. He sure did smell good.
Stacy awoke, startled, to the noise of the elevator grinding back into motion. She must have dozed off. Vaguely she wondered how long it had been. She jumped hastily to her feet. Arthur was gazing at her intently. Neither spoke.
“Sorry about that.” George was holding a wrench. “It took a couple of hours to get the thing going again.” He looked from one to the other and back again. “I hope no one’s virtue has been compromised.” But there was a twinkle in his eye.
“I don’t know, Uncle,” was Stacy’s saucy reply, “you really should keep better watch of your flock.” She raised an eyebrow and headed back to the work room.
By Thursday the bread store was fully replenished and everyone exhausted from the effort.
“Tell Mom I won’t be around tonight to work on the sweet rolls for the church, but I should be able to put in a few hours tomorrow afternoon.” Stacy said this to Emily on Friday as they were getting ready for school.
Emily looked up from brushing her teeth. She spit in the basin. “Where are you going?”
“There’s a get-together with some friends. Darius invited me.” Stacy grabbed her book bag. “Mom’s waiting for me in the car. Just let her know.”
“Why don’t you tell her yourself?” she heard her sister call after her.
Good question. Why didn’t she? Maybe it was because she was feeling a bit guilty about the whole thing and she thought her mom might notice. Mom could always read her like a book. Maybe she didn’t want to give her mother the chance to say she couldn’t go. “Just tell her!” she shouted back.
Stacy left school with Darius that afternoon. They didn’t go to Drake’s right away. They sauntered around the mall, played a few video games, split some Chinese at the food court, and shopped in the more nefarious stores that catered to young adults. After a few hours of this, Darius casually looked at his watch. “We should get going to Drake’s, don’t you think?”
“If you like.” Stacy surveyed her companion with approval. She liked the the casual but stylish way Darius dressed. She was pretty sure Stacy and Clinton of TLC’s What Not to Wear would give him a thumbs up, too, and it made her feel popular just to be seen with him. He gathered her in closer and let his hand slide down her body, lightly resting on the lower part of her hip. He led her through the parking lot to his black truck. Blaring hip hop music, the base nearly deafening, he tore out of the parking lot, throwing Stacy’s body forcibly against his with the thrust of acceleration.
There were lots of vehicles already parked in the driveway and along the street near Drake’s house. Darius smoothly pulled in behind the last car on the block. “Let’s go,” he said, leaving Stacy to get her own door. She scampered after him, his strides twice the length of one of hers. As they entered the dimly-lit living area, Stacy could make out couples scattered everywhere throughout the room. There was very little talking going on. Stacy hesitated, but Darius grabbed her by the elbow. “You like to work out, don’t you? C’mon, let’s go check out the weights and other stuff in the basement. His parents are really into fitness.”
His suggestion appealed to Stacy far more than trying to socialize with the lip-locked couples scattered around the living room, so she followed her companion as he threaded through the living room, dining room and kitchen and down the basement stairs.
“At least we’ll be alone here,” Darius said, clicking on the lights. There was a professional-style weight bench, a treadmill and an elliptical machine, as well as mats strewn about the floor. Drake’s parents had a miniature fitness center.
“Wow!” Stacy breathed. It was even more impressive than Uncle George’s. She hopped up on the elliptical and jogged a bit. “This is nice.”
“I thought you’d like it,” Darius said, surveying her. Then he knelt by a weight bench. “Angelina tells me you’re pretty strong.” He put his right elbow on the bench. “Wanna arm wrestle?”
Stacy doubted her ability to beat a guy, even a wiry one like Darius, but she shrugged and knelt opposite him. She clasped his hand.
“On three,” he said. “One… two… three!” Stacy gave it everything she had. For about forty-five seconds they struggled against each other, arms trembling with the strain, but eventually Stacy’s went down hard on the bench. “You are strong,” Darius breathed, winded.
“I’m better at leg wrestling,” Stacy told him.
Darius lifted a brow. “I’m game, “ he said, laying down on a mat.
Stacy took her position with her head by his feet and vice versa. They lifted their inside legs and locked them together.
On three, they started and this time Stacy’s tenacity paid off when she flipped her opponent.
“I won!” she shouted jubilantly. She was laying on her back on the mat.
Darius rolled over on top of her, pinning her arms with his. “Are you sure?” he said, his face inches from hers.
Stacy let him kiss her, one long, lingering time, then she struggled to a sitting position. It felt good, but it felt wrong. “I’m kind of thirsty,” she said, standing. “Are there any drinks in there?” Darius shrugged, so Stacy opened the mini-fridge in the corner and found a diet sprite. “Do you think his parents would mind?” When he didn’t answer. she popped one and drained half the can in one slug. Then she offered it to Darius. “Want some?”
“Thanks.” He took the can, but he didn’t drink from it. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a mini-bottle of what Stacy presumed to be alcohol. “I prefer mine spiked.” He poured the liquid in and lifted the can to his lips. Then he passed it back to Stacy, but she didn’t drink any, instead setting it on the bench beside her.
Darius sidled next to her and put his arm around her. “Getting back to what we were doing…” he started to pull her in again, but Stacy held him off.
“Darius,” she said hesitantly, “I really don’t feel comfortable with this.”
Her companion gave her an appraising glance. “You’ve changed,” he stated coldly. “I kind of thought so earlier at the mall. It just doesn’t seem like you’re into the same things you were before.”
Darius was the last person Stacy felt like sharing her budding interest in Catholicism with. But he was right. Doing
whatever she felt wasn’t as easy as it had been before. She sensed a Presence within her, struggling to impose itself between her and the careless activities she had been only too eager to participate in before. However, before she could get as much as one word out to explain this, she heard someone shout, “Raid!” and Darius yanked her to her feet. “We’ve got to get out of here,” he said, scrambling toward a window.
“Why?” Stacy stumbled after him.
“Take my word for it, Stace. You don’t want them to find you here.” Then he hoisted himself through the little window he had managed to pry open and disappeared into the night, leaving her to fend for herself.
Back at the bakery, preparations for the upcoming weekend of hospitality were in full swing. Stacy’s mom was proofing sweet rolls and she had ten 24-roll pans of caramel rolls lightly done and cooling on a rack. Stacy’s grandmother was rolling a second pan of apple squares and Emily was working on chocolate chip cookie bars and some with maraschino cherries that Stacy particularly liked. Arthur was again helping Zeke. The family owned a donut robot and they had previously mixed the batter, which was now frying itself, being flipped automatically at the midpoint. All the guys had to do was to stack them neatly in boxes. Tomorrow they would be frosted as they were too fresh to work with today. Then some would be coated with sprinkles or nuts or toasted coconut. The children particularly
