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I had to ask him to repeat it to be sure I had heard him correctly.
"I said thank you. Thanks for trusting me with all that. I know how hard it is to tell anyone those things "
He leaned back on his hands. I liked what he had said. I liked the sympathy and sincerity in his voice.
"There's more," I said and told him about Craig's family, the house, the prom and some details about the accident.
"And therefore they blamed you and people in the town think the same thing," he concluded for me. "Yes. You know how they say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I'm the apple back there."
"Funny how people always find ways to blame someone else. Parents blame their children, too. At least I know my mother does. She doesn't come right out and say it, but somehow, my very existence is the cause of her troubles."
"Why would she think that?"
"I'm not exactly sure, but I know it." He threw another rock. "She loves me and yet she . . ."
"Hates you?"
"No. Fears me or for me," he said.
"How could she be afraid of you?"
"Maybe I look too much like my father."
"You should know if you do or not."
"My looks changed since I was a child. I haven't seen him for some time--years, in fact."
"So? Don't you have any pictures of him?"
"No. She tore up all of them. She even tore up their wedding photo."
"Oh. I had never seen pictures of my mother until my aunt showed them to me. Your mother hates your father that much?"
He thought for a moment and stood up, as if he realized he had gone too far in telling me what he had already told me. "We'd better go. Your uncle and aunt are liable to be home and wonder if I kidnaped you or something."
"I doubt they got out that quickly," I said but stood up, too. "Thanks for bringing me here. It is beautiful. It was nice of you to think of it, to want to share it."
The wind above nudged the clouds, which seemed just at that moment to come apart and let the glow of a new moon- slip through, its light reflecting off the surface of the river and softly illuminating his face and mine. He was staring at me with gentler eyes.
"Yeah, well, you're not only the first girl I brought here. You're the first person."
"I'm glad, Duncan."
He reached for my hand and then let go of it and moved his hand up my arm to my shoulder. He did the same thing with his other hand and suddenly like two statues who had come to life, we leaned toward each other until our lips met and we could kiss.
To me it felt like a seal of approval, a snap, a stamping to certify. He pulled back, but I didn't move, and after a moment, he kissed me again, this time embracing me, pressing himself gently but firmly to me. This kiss was passionate, hungry, and determined for both of us.
He pulled hack.
"We'd better go," he said, sounding a warning as if he might lose control. He took my hand and slowly led its away from his private spot on the river, neither of us speaking until we reached the scooter.
"After your grandfather brings up your art materials, I'd be glad to help you set up your studio," he said, getting onto the scooter. Apparently, I didn't respond fast enough. "But I don't care if you don't need any help," he added, as if showing any interest in me was weakness.
"I'd like that. You know it was once a famous sculptor's studio?"
"Yeah, I heard all about it. Get on," he ordered, and I did. He started away slowly.
"How far is your home from where I'm at?"
