Thursday Afternoons

by Tracey Richardson

  The first touch of Amy’s tongue sends hot liquid through Ellis’s veins. She begins moving her hips in a quest to beg for more, and Amy obliges. Ellis squeezes her eyes shut, concentrates on every stroke, fascinated by how Amy switches up the speed and intensity of her lovemaking. Right when Ellis is on the very edge, when she thinks she can’t take it anymore, Amy enters her. Slowly. She adds another finger, increases the pace until she’s thrusting inside even as her lips begin slowly sucking Ellis into heavenly oblivion. Ellis swears she’s going to break under the relentless salvos of such pleasure, but instead her body hungrily laps it up, absorbing every delicious blow until her orgasm rushes through her with a force that nearly levitates her off the bed. Her nails dig into Amy’s back as she draws every last tendril of pleasure from her lover. Then softly, she cradles Amy’s head in her hands, urges her up.

  “Do you know,” she says, her breath coming in hard rasps, “no one’s ever made love to me the way you do?” It’s more than that. No one’s ever made her feel the way Amy makes her feel in bed, but she doesn’t want to spook her. It’s too soon for the kind of vulnerability that comes with complete honesty.

  “Do you know,” Amy says with a smile in her voice, “that no one’s ever made me want to make love to them like that before?”

  Ellis kisses her, tasting herself on Amy’s lips, and it makes her want to do all those wonderful things to Amy that Amy’s done to her. “I want to taste you,” she moans into Amy’s ear. “So badly.”

  The sight alone of all that wavy, red hair cascading over her thighs nearly makes Amy come. Ellis is like a starving woman, her tongue laving over Amy’s sensitive flesh, sending fire streaking through her. Her fingers are dancing at her entrance, teasing, until Amy reaches down and pushes them inside her. She rides Ellis’s face and hand, thrashing her head against the pillow. Being in bed with Ellis turns her instantly into a wild animal. And it’s never been like this with anyone because she could never really let herself go, could never fully trust herself or her lover enough to let her own body take the wheel. It didn’t happen with Lisa all those years ago, nor with the few transient lovers she’s had in her life. Some day she’ll analyze why that is, but not right now. Right now she needs to come. And she does, with a force that leaves her shaking and wrung out, even as Ellis climbs up and cradles her against her chest.

  “It’s okay,” Ellis murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

  The simple declaration leaves Amy’s eyes stinging with unshed tears, and her heart, well, she doesn’t know what the hell is happening to her heart, except that it feels like it’s going to explode. She’s dying and being born at the same time, but she can’t—won’t—verbalize any of this to Ellis. She needs to figure out exactly what is happening to her first, and then she needs to weigh her options on what she’s going to do about it all. If she’s going to do anything.

  “Stay here tonight?” she says to Ellis. She knows the invitation is a potential minefield for later, but for now, she wants to feel Ellis’s body against hers all night long.

  “Absolutely.”

  The next morning, Amy’s head is throbbing a little from all the wine last night, but the rest of her is happily tingling from the sex. They’d woken and made love again some time in the middle of the night. Ellis has retreated to her own room for a shower and to pack, because they’re hitting the road for home today. They’ve overslept a bit, so they grab breakfast sandwiches from the fast food joint down the street, then point the car in the direction of the Toronto airport for their flight home.

  “Are you okay?” Ellis says to her once Collinsworth is in the rearview mirror.

  They haven’t talked yet. Had sex, lots of it, and ate their breakfast from their laps in the car, but they haven’t talked about what this new development means or where they’re going with it. Amy needs to be alone to think it all through before she plucks her heart out of her chest and places it on her sleeve for Ellis to see. “I’m fine,” she says, wincing at the inadequacy of the words.

  Ellis, as is her nature, presses. “Amy, I can’t make love to you and then have you ignore me or hate me or whatever. I want to see you. I mean, actually see you when we get back home. I want us to figure this out. I need us to figure this out.”

  Amy nods. “I’m not going to ignore you or hate you. But being together—it’s a massive conflict of interest. For both of us.” And just like that, her hesitation dies. Her excuses too. She wants to continue seeing Ellis. She wants to spend time with her, get to know her, be a part of her life, because with one match at a time, Ellis has gone and relit the lamps in the darkest, loneliest corners of her heart. “Christ, Ellis. Maybe I’m crazy. But I don’t want to keep fighting this. Us. Not after last night. I can’t.”

  Ellis reaches over and intertwines her fingers with Amy’s. “Then let’s not fight it. Entirely.”

  “What do you mean?” The hospital and the town they live in have eyes. And ears. And a boatload of judgment.

  “We certainly can’t be open about seeing each other, and as much as it kills me to say this, we can’t sleep together again until I wrap up my work at the hospital. I’m only four months in, and I’ve got at least another three months of groundwork to do before I start preparing my report. I don’t want to get pulled off this assignment by muddying the professional waters with—”

  “Sex? Like we did last night? Twice?”

  Ellis’s cheeks are aflame, but she’s grinning. “Right. Like that.”

  “But how the hell am I going to keep my hands off you?”

  Ellis throws her head back against the headrest and laughs. “I’ll dress like a nun. And maybe stop showering. Oh, and every other word will be the f-bomb. I could start smoking too, would that help?”

  Amy laughs too, until it hits her that spending time alone together like this will be almost impossible. She stares bleakly ahead, through the drops of rain beginning to blur the windshield. “So we have three months where we sort of quietly see each other but don’t have sex?”

  Ellis nods, bites her bottom lip. “We can’t risk officially dating. But I don’t think I can handle pretending we don’t mean something to one another.”

  Jesus, Amy thinks. How the hell can this possibly work?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Ellis?”

  Mia has had little to say since Ellis’s return from her field trip. Not that she’s ever been one to walk around like a talking doll with its string constantly pulled, but she’s been more introspective than usual. She swore she enjoyed her stay at Kate’s, so it can’t be that.

  “Yes?”

  “What happens when you die? Like, to you as a person, do you think?”

  Ellis’s heart skips a beat. Is it an innocent question, or is there more behind Mia’s words? One can never be sure with teenagers, and Ellis is by no means an expert.

  “Why do you ask?” Ellis feels like she’s picking her way through a minefield.

  Mia shrugs. “Being around the hospital. Being around people like Kate and Erin and A— Dr. Spencer. And, you know, seeing people in the hospital that look like they’re not going to make it out of there.”

  Ellis exhales her relief. Ok, simple curiosity, nothing to be alarmed about. “Well, I guess nobody knows for sure. Maybe it’s one of those things that we get to create our own idea of how it’s going to be, of how we want it to be.”

  “I’m asking what do you think.”

  They’re having dinner out, something they haven’t done in about a month. In the past, they would share a meal with minimal discussion because Mia is typically absent while present. As in, not interested in talking with Ellis. Until lately. It’s a nice change, but one Ellis hasn’t fully adapted to yet. She thought teenagers enjoyed talking about movies, celebrities, their friends, current events—not the kind of stuff you need a PhD in philosophy to answer.

  “Okay. Well, I like to think that it’s peaceful. That you’re surrounded by the people and things you love and only by good me
mories, because you’ve shed all the negative stuff. And that you feel all that love while you kind of close your eyes and let everything go. After that, I have no idea what awaits. Hopefully good things. Hopefully some other place for your soul to go.”

  Mia chews thoughtfully for a while. “I think it was like that for my mom. The passing part.”

  “I sure hope it was. I’m sure it was.”

  “Did you know that…my mom stopped being mad at you a long time ago?”

  “She did?” The food Ellis is eating sits like a rock in her stomach. “I’m so glad to hear that. Thank you for telling me.”

  Mia goes back to her burger and fries, the subject seemingly dropped, but to Ellis, it’s an opening for something she’s needed to address for months.

  “Mia, I need to apologize for walking out on you and your mother. I’m sorry I failed you. And her.”

  Mia looks surprised. “You don’t have to.”

  “No. I do. I handled it like I was walking away from a purchase I no longer wanted. Like the two of you didn’t mean anything to me. Because you did. You do. I hate the way I handled leaving. Or didn’t handle it, more accurately. I’m ashamed, Mia, deeply ashamed. I’m sorry.” It’s the regret that won’t go away…not from the passage of time, not from confessing her shame. But it’s a start, she hopes.

  Silence stretches out until Mia simply says, “Okay.”

  Okay? That’s it? Ellis wants to press Mia to define what she means by okay, what she really feels about it all. Instead, she relaxes against the back of the booth and decides to let Mia process the apology in her own way, in her own time. “If you ever want to talk about it some more, please, I’m willing to answer anything you want to ask me.”

  Mia thinks for a long moment, smiles. “How come you don’t date someone like Dr. Spencer?”

  “Sorry?”

  “She’s really nice and super smart. And pretty good looking too.”

  Ellis clears her throat in a lame effort to buy some time. And to hide her shock. Apparently, Mia has been observing everything while pretending to hide behind that wall she’s erected around herself. “Yes, I suppose she is all of those things.”

  Mia leans over the table a little and drops her voice. “I think she likes you.”

  “You do, eh? How do you figure that?” Around the hospital, Amy has been, if anything, cool toward her. Intentionally aloof, so as not to draw attention. It’s nothing short of amazing that Mia has picked up on their feelings for one another.

  “I can tell.”

  Jesus, when did this kid get so smart?

  “Well, I’m afraid I—”

  “Do you like her?”

  Warmth suffuses Ellis’s cheeks, not so much because Amy is the subject of their conversation, but because she hates the idea of lying to Mia. Betrayals start with lies hidden in the shadows of silence. And yet, she can’t risk telling her the truth. Not yet. If she gets pulled off this hospital service review, someone else, someone far less fair-minded and competent might end up doing it. Maybe it’s her ego talking, but she doesn’t think anyone else can do the job better than she can.

  “Look, Amy is all those things you say. Plus a really good doctor, from what I hear. But I can’t date anyone right now who works at the hospital. It would be a conflict of interest.”

  Mia looks disappointed, but then she starts chatting about Kate and Erin, how they seem to be dating, and the subject of Amy, thankfully, is forgotten. If only, Ellis thinks, she could back up to the day she first met Amy Spencer and clairvoyantly end things before they ever started. A pointless exercise though, because Amy is a yearning Ellis can’t exorcise. And if she’s honest, she doesn’t want to. There’s too much substance that keeps her coming back, keeps her wanting more. Amy might be the best thing to come out of this job she’s been hired to do.

  * * *

  Amy’s mother greets her with her customary kiss on both cheeks.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Puttering in his workshop.”

  It’s code for sitting in a lawn chair in the garage, which used to be William Spencer’s workshop, one where he made beautiful carvings and woodworking. A year ago, with his reluctant consent, the family had most of the power tools removed and sold off, because it wasn’t safe for him, what with his declining cognitive abilities. He can still hand carve little pieces of wood though—wine bottle stoppers, figurines, key chains. He likes to sit out in his workshop and sketch things he might make, dream about what he might still accomplish.

  “How was your trip north last week?”

  Amy helps her mother pour some iced tea. “Fine. Productive, I guess, though no surprises.” She’s talked to her parents about the hospital review, though her father acts like it’s news every time the subject comes up.

  Amy and her mother take their glasses to the rear screened-in patio, where it’s shaded and somewhat cool. Her mom moves slowly, eases herself down in her chair.

  “Arthritis acting up today?”

  “A little.” That was her mom, always downplaying her aches and pains.

  “Mom, when are you going to let me arrange more help for you both?”

  “Please, not that old subject again. Your father and I are fine.”

  “You’re not.” The housekeeping is noticeably declining. The house isn’t dirty, but it’s dusty, untidy. The same old figurines and framed photos, decades old now, litter almost every surface, collecting dust, the photos becoming faded, the frames now chipped or scratched. Her mother never would have allowed such a state of shabbiness a few years ago. “I’ve got someone who can come in and clean for you once a week. They’re prepared to start next week.”

  “Oh, dear, you know we can’t afford that.”

  They’re always complaining they’re poor (they’re not). “I’m paying for it, don’t worry.”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Okay, then you can pay for it. But it’s happening.” Enough negotiating. Begging, more like. Amy decided during her trip to Collinsworth that she would bring in extra help for her parents with or without their blessing, though getting them to buy in is preferable. She’s been more than patient with them. “And I’ve got another idea. There’s a young girl I’ve gotten to know who does volunteer work at the hospital, a teenager. What if she came for an afternoon a week? She could do whatever odd jobs you wanted. Yard work, groceries, laundry, or even just to provide company to sit with.” She has yet to discuss the idea with Mia, but she’ll be halfway there if her mother would agree to it.

  She can see her mother’s frustration and sense of helplessness beneath the veneer of cheeriness. It’s a struggle to stay in their own home, and her parents hate the idea of being a burden. But there comes a time, Amy understands, where pride and ego and independence must take a back seat to reality. Her mother needs to come to that conclusion too.

  “She needs the work,” Amy hastens to add. “You’d be doing her a favor. She’s also trying to find her way a little bit after some hard times, and I know you guys would be a great influence.”

  Her mother has always been a sucker for a good cause. “Well. Do you really think it could work? I mean, are you sure she even wants to do this?”

  “I’ll talk to her. And I’ll set up a meeting. How’s that?”

  Her mother stares at the sky for a minute. “What’s her name?”

  “Mia.”

  “I like that name.”

  “Me too. So it’s a deal?”

  “If you think it’s a good idea. For her, I mean.”

  “Oh, I absolutely do.”

  “Then I guess it’d be okay.”

  “Good. Great.” She might need to enlist Ellis’s help to get Mia to agree, and the thought that she’ll have to chat with Ellis, alone, makes her smile. They’ve only seen each other lately in hallways or in the cafeteria at the hospital. It’s too risky to text or email, though they’ve shared a handful of dirty late night phone calls.

  “How’s Dad, any changes?�
��

  “Not really. Why don’t you go sit with him for a bit?”

  “I will. I’ll bring him some iced tea.”

  In the garage, Amy hands her father a plastic cup of iced tea and unfolds a lawn chair next to his. “How’s it going, Dad?”

  “Hi-ya, Amiable.” It’s his pet name for her when she was a kid, and she’s surprised he’s remembered it. “So, how many knees have you replaced lately?”

  Amy’s heart sinks. He’s forgotten she’s a general surgeon, but there’s no use in correcting him. She smiles through the disappointment she has to hide. “You know how it is, always lots of work available for a surgeon these days.”

  “Bah, surgeons. They’re such a humorless bunch.”

  Amy wants to laugh but doesn’t. She finds it best to go along with whatever direction his thoughts take him. “You’re right. I should have become a family physician like you, Dad.”

  “Na, no money in that, my girl.”

  True, but then, her father never cared much about money.

  “Dad, do you remember when I was about five and we were in the city, and you took me on my first escalator ride at the department store?” She can remember how scary those moving metal steps looked, their razor-sharp teeth poking out, how they could swallow up your feet and maybe your whole body if you didn’t time your steps properly. He’d taken her hand, and at exactly the right moment, effortlessly swung her up and onto the first step. He was always there to rescue her anytime she thought something might go drastically wrong. Now he’s the one who needs rescuing.

  “Escalator? What’s an escalator?”

  She explains it to him, but confusion stares out at her from his glazed eyes. Probably shouldn’t have brought it up, but sometimes he remembers the weirdest things. They drink their iced tea in companionable silence until he says, “They say it might snow this weekend.”

  “Rain, Dad. We shouldn’t have any snow for a few months yet.”

  “Ah. Rain. Isn’t that what I said?”

  “Right. Yes. My mistake.”