“It’s okay.” Grace thought she understood what Marlys was trying to say, but the homey kitchen didn’t erase the struggles she and Rey faced if they tried to build a future.
As the apples became slices, then chunks, Grace’s shoulders relaxed to the rhythm of the knife hitting the cutting board. The hypnotic flash of the stainless steel knife convinced her that Marlys wasn’t going to judge her, not the way her own family or Rey’s friends would.
She could share the fear that she hadn’t even recognized until after Rey’s friends had driven away. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for Rey. Long term.”
“You are.” That sounded as confident as the other woman’s apple chopping.
“How do you know?” The question echoed in the kitchen like a plea.
“Set your alarm every morning, dontcha? Keep getting up. That’s the first step. That’s being strong.”
“Mar-lys! Come see this!” her husband yelled from another room.
“Hold on.” She wiped her hands on a striped towel. “What is that man fooling with?”
Following their hostess through the front hall to an office, she heard muffled laughter.
“Grandma!” Three blond children crowded and waved from a computer screen. Rey sat to the side of the desk, grinning, and Glen had a flush over his bald head as he gestured his wife to sit next to him. “Surprise!” the kids cheered.
“This young man fixed the video box with the computer thingie, don’t ya know.” His eyes glistened as he looked at Rey. “We can see our family today.”
Chapter 18
Despite the lack ofother cars, Grace drove slowly because she didn’t want to overshoot the headlights. And it was a form of control, at least over her exterior, that she didn’t feel over her emotions. “How could I not know?”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. They were the nicest people ever, and I didn’t know that they’d lost their son until… I feel like such a…” She’d whined to Marlys without understanding the other woman’s heartbreak until after dinner, when Rey had pulled her into the living room to see the boxed flag.
“It’s life.”
She didn’t say more while she parked directly in front of their room. Three lonely cars meant they could’ve had separate rooms, but after four nights, she’d forgotten to ask.
As if he’d also counted the customers, he reached for her hand. His fingers were longer and thicker and far stronger than hers, his skin a shade darker despite months inside Walter Reed.When her hand curled in his palm, he cupped it as gently as she would hold a shorebird’s egg. “Happy one room.”
“Me, too,” she agreed.
“Tonight?” He brought their joined hands to his lips, and she automatically unfurled her fingers to stroke his cheek where he’d shaved before dinner.
Don’t dither. Undoubtedly Marlys assumed two people their age were having sex, and she’d aimed her advice at marriage plans, but there was truth in her words. “Yes.”
The car was simultaneously steamy and freezing, and a warm room waited. The key was an old metal type hooked onto a steel slug and ball with the motel’s mailing address, and it took too long to operate. Finally he opened the door and motioned her to squeeze under his arm. She couldn’t make it without brushing his chest, which his lowered eyelids indicated he noticed.
The door clicked behind her and the chain snicked home, but she was uncertain whether to sit or stand, or even where to be, so she didn’t venture far into the room. Nothing in the utilitarian furnishings had changed from earlier when they’d dressed to go to the Andersons’ house, and yet the room felt as different as she did. The memorable items were the two double beds, not because of their patterned spreads or white pillowcases, but because of their side-by-side presence.
Rey solved her dilemma the way women fantasized a man would. From behind, he lifted her hair out of her coat collar and let it sift through his hands while he whispered her name. His lips brushed her temple and she tilted her head to let him kiss farther as he said, “Coat off.” It slid down her arms until the sleeves hung from her fingertips and she shrugged it to the floor.
With his hands holding her hips against his, he rotated their bodies until they both faced the mirrored vanity. The dim light from a single bedside lamp showed contrasts, but not details, ofhis white shirt and her silver sweater. They looked like an art photo.
“See.” He finger-brushed her hair to one shoulder. While she watched, he lowered his lips to her ear. His eyes never left her reflection. “Us.”
She was covered turtleneck to toes, but he found places to touch. The edge of her ear. The small bones of her wrist. The feather of tiny hair at her temple. He moved so slowly, always watching her eyes, that her knees wobbled with the tension and she couldn’t support herself without his body. She felt the bulge rub against her lower back, she wanted to press on him and squirm closer, but his touch was so precise it constrained her to stillness. She’d never known a man to be so focused on each moment with her, but nothing distracted him. This must be how he conducted missions.
Her head fell to his shoulder while they both watched him inch her sweater upward. His hands almost covered the pale band of skin revealed to the mirror.
“Smooth.” His voice was as rich and low as chocolate.
Now her chest rose and fell in the mirror. She looked like a runner needing air, but the elastic of her bra compressed her ribs and she couldn’t breathe. Again his hands moved as if he knew each thought when she had it, bra hooks released and the tight band was replaced by heat from his palms as the bottom hem of her turtleneck lifted higher.
