His upper body covers me, holding me still and steady as he pounds into me. His hands rest on mine, our fingers entwined. His forearms quiver ever so slightly.
“I can feel it,” he says. “I can feel you.”
“Don’t stop,” I say. “Not yet.”
“I won’t.” He pumps inside me and when I finally come, I feel like my heart breaks and then comes back together. He grunts and pushes inside me, and I realize he’s coming too. I squeeze his hands as he goes soft on top of me, his weight pushing me into the mattress. But I don’t want him to move and I don’t want him to change anything.
He kisses my shoulder, and then trails tiny kisses up the back of my neck, and I feel his dick flinch inside me, and then he slides out. He kisses my shoulder again. “Be right back,” he says.
He goes to the bathroom, I suspect to take care of the condom. I don’t move. I can’t move. I lie there spread-eagled across the bed, completely unashamed and completely spent.
He lies down next to me, then turns his head so that he’s looking at me while lying on his back. He grins. “Did you see Jesus?” He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear.
“And the Virgin Mary and a few disciples,” I say with a laugh. “I always thought two people in a bed was enough, but now I’m not so sure. We might have to invite them to come and play every now and then.”
He arches a brow at me. “Every now and then?” He laughs so hard that his chest rocks. “Give me ten minutes. We’ll invite them all for tea.”
“I’ve never come like that before,” I admit. My cheeks heat at the admission.
“Good.” He tweaks my nose. “Maybe you’ll want to keep me around.”
“Your dick is huge, by the way. You really should have warned a girl. Just saying.”
“Flatterer,” he says, and kisses the tip of my nose.
“Well, that’s all there is to it,” I tell him. “You’ll have to marry me now.”
He freezes.
“I was just kidding.”
“Don’t,” he says. He leans closer so he can kiss my lips. “Don’t kid about that. I’d marry you tomorrow if you wanted me to.”
“I want you to,” I suddenly blurt out. I cover my eyes with my palm. “Forget I said that!” I am still married, after all, to Charles.
He pulls my hand down. “So what do you want to do now?” he asks as he rolls onto his side and lies with his face against his upturned palm.
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
He looks around the room. “Do you want to show me what’s in your memory box?” His brow furrows. “Or is it too personal? You said you had some of our stuff in there.”
I get up and pad naked across the room. I grab his discarded shirt and pull it over my head.
He pretends to pout. “Killjoy.”
I grin and grab my box and go back to the bed, and I place it between us. “You have to promise you won’t laugh,” I say.
He lays his hand over his naked heart. “I do solemnly swear.”
And I open the lid.
I lift out a little rubber bracelet. “Do you remember this day?”
He nods and takes it from me slowly, smiling as he runs it through his fingers. “I still have mine. It’s at my mom’s,” he says.
“Do you remember where we got them?” I watch his face as I ask.
“Of course, I do,” he replies.
31
Ethan
The last day of summer was a hot one. We’d just spent Labor Day weekend at the lake, and my mom and dad were taking down our tent so we could go home. I was, as always, on Abigail’s front porch with her.
“Why do you have to leave?” she asked. She sat in the glider on the front porch, the metal kind that slides back to front and if you rocked it just right would go from side to side too. Her feet were across my lap and she lay back with her forearm over her eyes. I could hear her sniffle. “School doesn’t start back for another week.”
“Not for me,” I said as I tickled the bottom of her foot. She jerked her foot back and almost kicked me in the face, but it did make her lift her arm long enough to look at me. “I go back on Tuesday.”
“Your school district is stupid.”
I didn’t like it any more than she did. “I know.”
“But why are your parents ready to leave so soon?” She glanced down at the Swatch watch she’d gotten for her last birthday. “It’s not even noon yet.”
“My dad has some chores he wants to do before he goes back to work tomorrow.” I pick up a helicopter seed, one of the dry little seed pods that fall off the nearby trees, and I toss it off the porch. It flutters to the ground in a spiral. “I’m supposed to cut the grass.” I would have to push the mower, and I hated that. It always made my hands itch when the bar vibrated. “I’d rather stay here, but I can’t.”
If you asked me, Abigail was being way too dramatic. She always got gloomy on Sunday evenings before it was time to go home, but it usually wasn’t this bad. “What do you want me to do?” I asked her.
“Why did you kiss me if you’re not going to even try?” she cried, as she sat up and practically spat the words at me.
Her curls were wild around her face, so I reached to brush a lock of her hair behind her ear, but she roughly shoved my hand to the side. “Now you’re just being mean,” I said. “I’m going home. See you next year.”
I tossed her feet off my lap and got up, and I strode back toward the campsite where I knew my parents were. We finished packing up, and suddenly Abigail showed up on her bike. She threw the bike to the ground and ran over to me.
“I’m sorry I was mean,” she said, and her cheeks were still wet. Her grandmother walked up behind her, shaking her head.
“Hello, Mrs. Marshall,” I said.
“Y’all heading out?” she asked my mom.
“We have some things we need to do at home before the work week starts,” Ma said. “But thank you for letting Ethan hang out with Abigail so much this summer.”
Mrs. Marshall laid her hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “We love having Ethan around. I don’t have to play UNO with Abigail when he’s there.”
“She cheats,” I admitted.
“I know,” her grandmother replied.
“She cheats at Monopoly, too,” I added.
“I do not cheat at Monopoly!” Abigail cried. “You take that back, Ethan!” She came at me like a whirling dervish, her fist raised so she could punch my arm. Her grandmother grabbed her in time, though, and yanked her back.
“Just because you can’t win on your own doesn’t mean I cheated.” And then Abigail stuck her tongue out at me.
“You two have time for a short walk if you’d like to take one,” Ma said to us, and she shushed my dad when he started to complain. “You have one hour. No more.” She glared at me. “Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. But now I wasn’t sure if Abigail wanted to go walk with me. If her grandmother hadn’t grabbed her, she would have punched me. “You want to walk to the store?”
I had two dollars burning a hole in my pocket to spend at the tackle shop right down the road. Abigail and I walked down there all the time, and the owner, Shy, would give us each a piece of candy. Abigail always wanted the bubble gum that had the comics in them because she thought they were funny.
“I guess,” she grumbled and shrugged.
I tilted my head toward the road, and she fell into step beside me.
“Gran told me I was acting like a shrew,” she said quietly.
“What’s a shrew?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it’s bad.” She finally looked at me. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. I never could stay mad at Abigail. She didn’t have an off switch. She was either all the way on, or she was asleep. There was no in-between. She felt things deeper than most people did, and she wasn’t afraid to let you know.
“I have two dollars,” I told her.
Her b
row furrowed. “Where’d you get two dollars?”
I grabbed at a tall stalk of grass as we walked by a field and stuck the end of it in my mouth. “Left over from my birthday”
“Oh.” She walked a ways in silence. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Aren’t you coming back next year?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I guess we are. I stay with Gran every summer.”
“Why don’t your parents ever come?” I’d never even thought to ask that question before.
“They’re busy,” she said.
“Oh.”
The little bell over the door tinkled as we walked into the tackle shop. The smell of the place was always startling. It smelled like potting soil and fish and air fresheners all at once, with a little lemon furniture polish in the background.
“Well, looky who’s here,” Shy said. He leaned on the counter so he could talk to us. “What are you two doing out and about?”
“Going home today,” Abigail said.
“Well, just because of that, you get two pieces.” He grabbed four Bazookas and dropped two into Abigail’s outstretched palm and two into mine. “Can I help you guys find anything?”
I shook my head. “We’re going to look around, if that’s okay.”
He gave a quick jerk of his head. “Sounds good.” He winked at Abigail, which made her grin.
We walked toward the back of the store, and Abigail stopped to slide her fingertips down the length of some necklaces that hung on a rack by the wall. They were made of plastic, but they were still outside my price range. She kept walking, and I followed her.
On a low shelf, I saw a bucket filled with small rubber bracelets. They were all in primary colors, and they were only fifty cents. I crouched down to inspect them. “Look at these,” I said. “We could get matching ones.”
She knelt down next to me and rested her head on my shoulder. She almost knocked me off balance, so I spread my feet and looked at her. “I don’t want you to go yet,” she whispered.
I kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back next year,” I said. “Just like always.” I picked up a handful of the bracelets. “What color do you want?”
“Blue,” she said. She dug into the box until she found two that were blue. She held one out to me and she finally smiled at me. “I feel kind of bad having you spend your birthday money on me.”
I shrugged. I couldn’t think of anything—or anyone—I’d rather spend it on.
We walked to the register, and Abigail reached over and took Shy’s pen from on top of the cash register and she wrote her name on the inside of my bracelet while I paid. Then I did the same in hers, writing my name in big block letters, trying to be as neat as I could. I slipped it over her wrist, and she slipped mine on the same way.
Shy suddenly called out loudly, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. ’Til death do you part.” He gave a quick nod, like it was a done deal.
I was grateful because it made Abigail smile.
I never told Abigail this, but when Shy gave me my change, he’d given me the whole two dollars back.
When we left the store, we took turns seeing who could blow the biggest bubble. Abigail was always worried she’d blow it so big it would get stuck in her hair, so she stayed conservative. I blew the biggest bubble ever, and she leaned over and poked it so it popped right in my face.
We walked back to the campsite and found my parents sitting at the picnic table talking to Mrs. Marshall. They all looked up when we got close.
“We need to get a move on,” my dad announced, standing up.
“Yes, sir,” I said. I let Abigail’s hand drop from mine, but suddenly she flung herself at me, her arms wrapping in a tight hug. I hugged her back, because my dad always said that when a woman flings herself at you wanting a hug, you’re obligated to hug her back. It’s just common courtesy.
“I’ll see you next year,” Abigail said.
“I’ll see you next year,” I replied.
Then I’d gotten in the back seat of our station wagon. We had the kind with the rear seat that faced the back, so I climbed all the way in the back on top of the tents so I could see her. She waved as we pulled away. Just before we drove out of sight, I saw her grandmother take her by the hand to lead her back to the cabin.
We never did go back to the lake. That winter my father died, and my mother didn’t want to camp without him.
32
Abigail
I run the rubber bracelet between my fingers and try to find the evidence his name was once on it, but I can’t even see it. If I hold it up to the light at just the right angle, I can see the imprint from the pen, but the letters faded long ago.
“I wore this thing to school every day, and I told everybody there that I had a boyfriend at the lake.” I close my eyes and feel for the bent spot in the bracelet, the spot where it almost cracked. “I nearly wore it out.” I show him the crack. “Gran had to put some glue on it for me.”
“I have mine, too,” he reminds me again. “It’s in my old room at my mom’s house. In the top drawer of the dresser.”
“You never came back,” I say quietly. “That first summer weekend of that next year, I waited by your campsite. I stood there and ran people away from it for hours, telling them that your family had claimed it. Finally, Mr. Jacobson came and ran me off and told me to get home.” I smile at the memory. “He was so annoyed with me.”
“How long did you wait?”
She grins. “Oh, about twenty years.”
“I would have come back if I’d been able,” I say, brushing her hair back from her face.
“I was heartbroken. I cried that whole weekend.”
I scratch at my nose. “I bet your grandmother loved me at that point.”
“Then Tommy Adams showed up, and he liked the way I looked in my swimsuit,” I inform him with a jaunty toss of my head.
“You fell out of love with me that quick?” He mimes stabbing himself in the center of his chest.
“I don’t think I ever fell out of love with you,” I reply, staring into his eyes. “It’s just a different kind of love now.” I sigh. “What can I say, you do it to me every time.” I throw my hands up in surrender.
“I’m not going anywhere this time.”
“You promise?”
He draws an X over his heart. “Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”
I lie back on the bed, and his t-shirt rises up my thighs. His gaze immediately falls there. He’s still naked, nothing more than a thin sheet covering his middle.
He grins. “You couldn’t pay me enough to make me go away this time.” He parts my thighs and stares down at me. I pretend to try to hold my knees closed, and giggle as he pushes them farther apart. “You’re stuck with me.”
As he bends his head, I stop him by asking, “You promise?”
He looks into my eyes and says, “I swear it.”
That’s good enough for me. I let my legs fall open and his head dips, and I forget my name, along with his.
And the next morning, I wake up to the feel of him pressed hard against my butt, his dick rocking back and forth, sliding through the slick seam between my legs, as his fingertips roll in big circles over my clit.
He kisses my shoulder. “Are you awake?”
I nod and let out a small cry as he slides inside me.
He kisses my shoulder and the back of my neck as he screws into me, and when I come around him, he follows almost immediately.
“So it’s true, huh?” I say. I giggle, which makes him let out a hiss as it pushes him out of me.
“Is what true?”
“That guys who just got out of prison really are insatiable.”
He rolls me onto my back, and I laugh up at him. “This guy loves you,” he says. “I don’t know about all guys.” He kisses the tip of my nose and lifts himself off me so he can go and take care of the spent condom.
But that’s when I hear the screen door slam. I jerk the covers over m
yself, and he picks up a scatter pillow that was on a nearby chair and holds it in front of himself.
Gran walks around the corner, then freezes in the doorway. “Oh my,” she says. She lets her eyes settle on Ethan for no more than a second, and then she looks at me. “Hello, Ethan,” she says. Her eyes go wide as she looks at me.
“Hello, Mrs. Marshall,” he replies. He stands completely still, which is a little more awkward than it has to be since I’m pretty sure he’s still wearing a used condom. “So nice to see you.” He lifts his free hand in a wave.
“What are you doing here, Gran?” I say as I gather the sheet around myself and stand up.
“I heard you were shacking up with a man,” she says. She sniffs loudly. “Had to come see if it was true.”
I look at Ethan and shrug. “It’s true,” I reply. Then I giggle involuntarily, which makes me laugh. Then I snort. Then I laugh because I snorted, and then I can’t stop giggling.
“Oh my God,” Ethan says with a groan.
Gran finally cracks a smile. “I’m going to take a little walk while you sort yourselves out,” she says. But at the last moment, she turns back to Ethan. “You turned out to be a fine-looking young man.” She lets her eyes fall to his chest, but no lower, because that would just be weird.
“Uh…” He scratches his nose. “Thank you?”
She cups her hand around her mouth and whisper-yells at me, “He’s pretty, Abigail!”
I whisper-yell back, “I know, right?”
She laughs and walks out. “I’m taking that walk now!” she calls out loudly, like we hadn’t heard her.
“Thank God,” Ethan says quietly.
“I heard that!” Gran calls back.
“Gran!” I call in warning, but I’m laughing so hard that I can barely catch my breath.
“Don’t Gran me,” she shouts, but her voice gets quieter and quieter so I can tell she’s walking away. “I’m not the one wrapped up in a sheet while a fine-looking specimen of man tiptoes bare-ass naked to the bathroom…” Her voice keeps going, but I can’t tell what she’s saying anymore.
Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher Book 3) Page 22
