Is this how it starts? She couldn’t remember because she had not been attracted like this to someone in a long time. This must be how it starts. The sudden loss of breath and the on and off again sound of your heart in your ears. Words caught in your throat and the sudden urge to lick your lips. Wanting to look away, but wanting more just to reach across the table and place your hand on some part of him.
Is this how it begins?
“Yes,” she finally said. “Love songs are my favorite too.”
He stayed little more than an hour. The house was warm, and he asked if Campbell would mind if he removed his sweatshirt. She didn’t and tried not to watch as he pulled the material over his head. He had on two more T-shirts beneath that, but now his arms were bare, and she could see the strength in them.
He thought maybe they could get together on Sunday.
“That would be great,” Campbell said. She was going out of town tomorrow, but would be back on Friday.
It was just Monday, and as she walked him to the door she could already feel the anticipation building in her.
“You can call me, you know?” he teased her. “I just get so caught up with work,” he started, and then tilted his head a bit and changed course. “I just think I’m the type of man who needs a little jump-start when it comes to this. I’ve been by myself for a while. I’ve been out of the game for a while, you know?”
Campbell knew. She nodded her head.
Donovan looked up at the sky and bristled as he stepped out into the cold night. He was on the third step before he turned and faced her again. He just looked at her. It wasn’t a blank stare, but Campbell couldn’t read his face.
He started back up the stairs, and Campbell almost took a step backward when he was standing in front of her again. Standing this close she could smell the cologne he’d dabbed on his neck that morning.
He reached down and took her hand in his.
Campbell felt the corners of her mouth twitch as he slowly brought her hand up to his face and then bent his head and gently kissed the soft middle of her palm.
“Good night, Campbell,” he said.
Campbell believed that she had offered him the same. She knew her lips were moving, but wasn’t sure that anything had come out.
She remained in the doorway until his car turned the corner, and only then did she move her eyes to the place on her palm that was still warm from his lips.
She closed her hand into a tight fist and pressed it against her heart.
FEBRUARY
It’d been a little over a month, and Campbell was still touring and Donovan working long hours and most weekends, so they found little time to get together, but made up for it with telephone calls that went on for hours.
Sometimes when Campbell was on the computer, working, thoughts of Donovan would overwhelm her, and she would shoot off an e-mail to his cell phone that said, Hi, or, Have a nice day, some simplistic message that would let him know he was on her mind.
Their relationship was still in its infancy, and Campbell fought to keep it there as long as possible, even though what she was feeling already had her dressed in ivory and walking down the aisle.
She’d been burnt on more than one occasion.
But two days before Valentine’s Day she found herself standing in front of the Hallmark store, staring in at the red-and-pink display of cardboard hearts, wrestling with the idea of whether she should buy a card for Donovan.
She walked out with a glossy four-by-six white card that held a small pink heart at its center. On the inside, in tiny black letters, it said simply, Happy Valentine’s Day.
The winters were growing shorter.
Over the years Donovan had noticed that the heat of summer reigned well into October. The turning of the leaves reminded everyone that autumn had begun, but sweaters and lined jackets still lingered inside dark dresser drawers and hall closets.
Winter’s chill took hold only in December, a week or so before the Christmas spruces and evergreens were chopped from their trunks and crammed into empty lots or lined at attention along sidewalks with large For Sale signs prominently displayed before them.
Before January reached its center, the days started to grow long again, and every now and then the warmth of a September day would find its way into that first month of the year.
Those days, those warm, out-of-place September days, made Donovan uncomfortable. He preferred the cold weather; the chill kept his mind clear, his thoughts clean.
On days when the temperature moved above sixty, he found himself thinking about Clyde, thinking about him so hard that the man became the voice of his thoughts.
Winter used to be his saving grace. The longest season of the year. The longest period of time when Donovan could forget about what was so unforgettable.
But now winter came in dribs and drabs and Clyde most all of the time.
But for now, February was going along just fine.
Blusterous mornings and deep-freeze evenings. Everyone dressing in layers, gloved and scarved. For now, things were going just the way they should.
Clyde was still a slow murmur at the back of his head, and thoughts of Campbell occupied the Clyde-free space at the forefront of his mind.
* * *
He took her for dinner at a small Italian place a friend of his had recommended.
The space was quaint, with ceramic-tiled floors stucco walls with niches brimming with flowers, candles, or both. The small round tables were covered in red cloth, each adorned with a cluster of tiny flickering candles.
After dessert, just before Donovan called for the bill, Campbell had slid the Valentine’s Day card across the table toward him. Donovan had blinked and then smiled before picking it up.
He tore the envelope open and read the contents. Campbell warmed as she watched his smile broaden.
He looked up at her, and his eyes sparkled. “That was sweet,” he said, and she giggled.
“Well,” she said, and dropped her eyes a bit, “you’re a sweet guy.” She laughed.
Donovan had looked at her for a while and then stood up, walked over to her, and kissed her lovingly on the cheek and then the curve of her neck. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.
When they left, bellies full and Campbell’s head swimming from the wine, she looped her arm through Donovan’s to steady herself, but more to feel his closeness.
They made their way down the street, Campbell not quite staggering, but walking out of time and giggling when her full hips knocked into Donovan’s narrow ones.
It was still early when they rolled over the Brooklyn Bridge. Just after eight. Donovan looked across at Campbell as she gazed out the window, absentmindedly twisting one of her locks.
“Do you want to go home?” he asked.
“Huh?” Campbell uttered, dragging herself out of her musing.
“Are you ready to go home?” he repeated.
“No, not really.” Campbell tried to straighten her posture. She realized she was a little more than tipsy. “So where do you want to go?”
Donovan didn’t say anything for a while. He checked the clock on the dashboard. Grammy would be out of the house by now, he thought, and on the bus to Atlantic City.
“Do you want to come by the house?”
“Okay, sure,” Campbell said, not wanting to sound too excited. She’d never been inside his place.
The apartment was an L-shaped two-bedroom with stark white walls that were bare except for the two framed Jacob Lawrence prints.
The plants stunned Campbell: large palms in each corner of the living room and colorful pots filled with cacti lined up along the base of the wall.
On the low glass table in front of the couch sat a clear bowl brimming with fragrant potpourri. Arranged around it were colorful scented candles that looked as if they’d had plenty of use.
A large-screen television took up the far right corner of the room, and in the far left, a stereo.
“Let me take your coat,” Do
novan said after Campbell had taken in everything.
She could tell he was nervous. Campbell just smiled.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked as he pulled a wooden hanger from the hall closet. “Some wine?” he added before shutting the door. “Or have you had your fill of that?” he teased, and let out a small laugh.
“I’ll just have some water,” Campbell said as she settled herself down on the couch.
“Don’t you want to see the rest of the place?”
“Oh, of course.” She pulled herself back to her feet.
She followed Donovan down a long narrow hall. “That’s the bathroom,” he said, and gave the door a little shove. It was small, but the skylight with the hanging plant beneath it and the green and white tiles on the wall gave it an airy feel.
“This is the extra room,” he explained, pointing to the room directly across from the bathroom. Campbell peeked in and saw that he had the space set up with weights and a computer. The walls were covered with movie posters and the shelves teemed with model cars.
“I collect that stuff,” he said, a bit of bashfulness in his voice.
They moved four more steps down the hallway.
“This is my room,” he said, and flicked the light switch on the wall.
It was a cozy room with a double-size bed, nightstand, and chest of drawers with multicolored bottles of cologne arranged neatly on its top. And a nineteen-inch television resting on a stand beside the dresser.
On the floor to the left of the bed, a dozen or so pairs of sneakers were neatly lined up. Behind that line were about six pairs of Timberland boots.
Campbell had been in quite a few bachelor pads, and most of the time they seemed to be unorganized or just plain junky. This house had an almost feminine order about it. “Wow, you’re neater than I am,” she said as she made her way back to the living room.
Donovan laughed. “No, not really. My grandmother comes up here once a week and cleans up for me. Today was that day.”
Campbell’s eyebrows went up. “Oh,” she murmured.
They started out sitting up on the couch, chatting about small things as Donovan roamed through the hundred-plus satellite stations he had.
Finally he settled on an old favorite of his, The Color Purple. As he slipped his shoes off and tossed them aside, he asked, “Do you like this one?”
“It’s my all-time favorite,” Campbell said, and stole a glance at her watch.
“Go on, make yourself comfortable.” He moved the crystal bowl and candles aside and propped his feet up on the table.
Campbell slipped off her boots and curled her legs beneath herself on the couch.
They watched in silence until Campbell realized that Donovan was snoring softly. His head was resting on the back of the couch, and his lips were parted a bit. She thought he must be dreaming, because his eyeballs moved rapidly back and forth beneath his eyelids.
She just watched him for a while, struggling to keep the smile that tugged at her lips at bay. She wanted to touch him, stroke his cheek, and run her fingers down his neck and over his bulging Adam’s apple.
His snoring became louder. He was out for the count. Campbell looked down at her watch. It was getting late.
Should she wake him? It was obvious he was dead tired. The thought of drawing him from his slumber and dragging him back out into the cold to take her home made her feel guilty.
Maybe she could take a cab home?
Maybe she should stay?
The last thought was more appealing to her.
“Hey, hey,” she whispered softly as she gently shook Donovan’s shoulder.
He woke with a start. “Huh?” he said, and looked wildly around him before finally finding Campbell’s smiling face. “Damn, I’m sorry. Did I fall asleep?” His voice was thick with slumber as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Yeah, you did,” Campbell said, and reached for her boots.
Donovan looked at the television and then down at her feet. “Whatya doing? The movie isn’t over yet.” He stood and gave his body a hearty stretch. “Are you in a hurry to leave me or something?”
Campbell was blushing. When he stretched, his sweater rose up a bit, and she’d been treated to his belly button, an innie.
“No, no,” she said, averting her eyes.
“Relax. When the movie is over, I’ll take you home. Okay?” he said, and slapped playfully at her thigh.
Seeing that part of him had ignited something inside her. The muscles in her thighs tensed, and her mouth went dry. Jesus Christ, she thought to herself, has it been that long?
She tried to gather herself and would have been successful in doing so if Donovan hadn’t done what he did next. He walked off to his bedroom and changed into a loose net jersey and a pair of sweats. She could see his washboard stomach, broad chest, and powerful biceps through the cotton.
Campbell sighed.
“Do you mind?” he said as he picked up the pillow and dropped it on her lap.
“Uhm . . .” Campbell raised her arms in the air. She had no idea what it was he was about to do.
Donovan sat down on the couch and then slid sideways until his head was resting on the pillow. He lifted his legs and swung them over the arm of the couch. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
Campbell looked at her arms and hands, still suspended in midair. What was she supposed to do with them? If she lowered them, they would have to rest on some part of his body. Some part.
She felt like an idiot, sitting there, hands level with her face, fingers looking at her. She had no other choice. She would have to lower them, she would have to touch him . . .
Slowly, she placed her left hand on his shoulder and the right on his head.
She waited, but there was no objection from him. She listened to his breathing. It remained the same. Felt for any rejection from his body. There was none.
It started slowly. Her index finger lightly gliding over his curls, the other fingers steadily joining in until her whole hand was stroking his head.
It felt good. The movement of her hand, the rhythm of his breathing.
She felt a murmur in her chest and cocked her head, trying to understand what it was that was building inside of her. She realized she was humming, not the “Over the Rainbow” song she normally turned to when she was sad, lonely, or afraid, but the nursery rhyme she would hush Macon with when she was small and wrapped up in the most loving place she could be, Campbell’s arms.
“Hush little baby, don’t you cry . . .”
The movie was over, but Campbell was too comfortable to move, and she didn’t want anything to disrupt the warm feeling of contentment washing over her.
Yes, she thought to herself as she leaned her head back into the couch and closed her eyes. Yes, this is how it begins.
* * *
She woke with a start. She’d been dreaming about Pat.
They were sitting on a beach that was empty except for the two of them. No palm trees or salty mounds, just white sands that went on forever behind them, and in front of them a raging aqua sea.
Campbell was confused—there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, yet the sea before them behaved as if it were caught in the winds of a violent storm.
She thought that Pat looked peaceful, unconcerned with the tide creeping closer and closer to them. Not disturbed by the waves that climbed higher and higher and then slammed down brutally against the shoreline.
“What is this place?” Campbell asked Pat.
Salt crystals sparkled like diamonds against her black skin, her lips cracking and drying beneath the sea spray that settled on them.
“Things aren’t always as they appear,” Pat whispered.
When Campbell’s eyes fly open, it’s her heart that’s pounding in her ears and not waves, the sun in her dreams is the bright overhead light of the living room, and sitting beside her is Donovan.
“We fell asleep.” He yawns. “What time is it?” he asks, and drags his hands across his
face.
“Two,” Campbell says, twisting her wristwatch into place and then bending over to reach for her shoes.
“Damn,” Donovan utters. He watches her thoughtfully as Campbell grabs a boot, and then he touches her knee.
“Do you want to stay? I mean, I have to get up in four hours, anyway. Work. I have to be up by six.”
The words come in pieces that are mostly true, but what is definite is that he wants her to stay because he enjoys her closeness. It’s been a long time for him; he wants to touch her without the bother of clothing.
Campbell isn’t prepared for this. No sexy bra or lacy panties. She scours her memory—did she even lotion her legs or those areas on her sides that always seem to scale in the winter.
“If you don’t want to, I’ll take you home,” he says when her answer takes too long to come.
Campbell finds the other boot. “No, no, just call me a cab. I’ll be fine.”
She wants to stay with him in the worst way. Wants to curl into him and run her hands across his stomach, kiss the back of his neck, and inhale the curls on his head.
But she imagines Millie’s face, the long disapproving stare she would wash her with when Campbell walked through the door in the morning after spending a night with a man she’d known for only three months, a man Millie hadn’t even met yet. Well, you’re certainly your father’s daughter, she would spit.
Campbell knew it; she’d been in that situation before. She was a woman living in her mother’s house, but she would forever be a child beneath Millie’s roof.
“I can’t put you in a cab at this hour.”
What was he afraid of? She was a grown woman, for chrissakes!
“If I stay, how will you see me in the morning?” Campbell tosses the question at him out of nowhere.
Donovan was bent over his knees, lacing up his boots. He turned his head slowly toward her. “The same way I see you now.” His face was serious, his words sober and honest.
The moment was too grave; Campbell needed to take some of the weight off it. “You stay on your side of the bed.” She laughed and kicked off one boot. “And I’ll stay on mine.”
Loving Donovan Page 16
