alone.”
“You’re a mind reader. Let those two hens settle down.”
“They’re not hens,” I said.
“Well they’re going to peck at you for being alone with me.”
“I’ll peck on you.” I stood close to him behind the screen.
“Promises, promises.” He opened my blouse. “When we’re done here you can saunter downstairs all fresh and perky, and I’ll come down later. Like we’ve been apart all day.”
“You’re a master planner.”
“I could be a spy.”
“Maybe you are.”
“Maybe I am.”
It was a perfect escape, if only for a while. We stood glued together behind the Chinese screen propped in the corner of my study. I couldn’t have been happier. I felt the tread of Annie’s footsteps on the stairs. Peter and I stood stock still. Finally the door opened, I smelled the scent of Annie’s hair, then the door closed and her footsteps faded away. Within moments I inhaled the scent of car exhaust and asked Peter, “Is Annie leaving?” He spelled back that Annie was furious: she had yelled that there were no groceries, she was going shopping, and Mother was going to nap in her room. I noticed that Peter tried to seem easygoing, relaxed, but there was something tentative in his hands. I wanted to keep him by my side, so I did the only thing I knew how to do whensituations got tense.
I took a deep breath and said, “I’m itching to get out of this house. We’ve been here for days since our Chautauqua trip. I like to keep moving. How soon till that speech in Boston?”
“It’s in …” He slid his fingers over my back, then down to the desk to grab the letter. “Five days.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “That’s when Annie’s test results come in.”
“She’ll be fine. And then we’ll have three things to celebrate.”
“Three?”
“Annie’s health, your rousing speech, and …”
“And?”
“And the fact that you’ve agreed to marry me.”
“Marry you? You haven’t asked me properly.”
“I’ve seen you with your top off, missy. Don’t talk to me about proper.”
I smiled, waiting for him to go on.
“Am I to get down on one knee? To beg?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I want you to beg.”
“Beast. You want me to prostrate myself before you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Your wish is my command.” He lowered himself to the floor and said, “Thank God I have this.”
“A ring?”
“Better. One exquisitely sharp fingernail.” He scratched the back of my bare calf and then pressed hard on the inside of my bare thigh.
“Do you say yes?”
I couldn’tanswer.
“Helen, let’s marry. Let’s run away.”
I couldn’t move.
“I’m begging,” he said, his breath warm on my thigh, his hand inside my skirt.
I called his name. My voice, which I hardly ever used in front of him, was ragged, but I couldn’t help myself.
Yes.
As I pulled him toward me his curly hair, rough in my hands, smelled of teak, a kind of far-off tree. My senses told me that even as he proposed, fear pitched through him. He knew I was not like other women. Every day, in recurring, relentless ways, he would have to care for me. Strangely, I was not afraid. We would marry, run away. So when I felt him pull away from me I reached for him.
His skin was slightly slippery. He pulled hard at my hands and said, “You’ll marry me?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll let me deal with your mother and Annie?”
“Yes.”
Why didn’t I realize that Peter acted strong but was really frightened? It wasn’t clear to me then, when I put aside my loyalty to Annie, to my mother, even to myself, that Peter was what Annie called a paper fighter. A person who fought in print, through words, but when real people were involved, he would dissolve. I couldn’t see it at that moment. I didn’t want to see it.
There are so many ways to be blind.
We celebrated our engagement that afternoon. “Shhhh,” Peter said as he led me down the back stairs, past my mother, who napped in the first-floor
“You’re a mind reader. Let those two hens settle down.”
“They’re not hens,” I said.
“Well they’re going to peck at you for being alone with me.”
“I’ll peck on you.” I stood close to him behind the screen.
“Promises, promises.” He opened my blouse. “When we’re done here you can saunter downstairs all fresh and perky, and I’ll come down later. Like we’ve been apart all day.”
“You’re a master planner.”
“I could be a spy.”
“Maybe you are.”
“Maybe I am.”
It was a perfect escape, if only for a while. We stood glued together behind the Chinese screen propped in the corner of my study. I couldn’t have been happier. I felt the tread of Annie’s footsteps on the stairs. Peter and I stood stock still. Finally the door opened, I smelled the scent of Annie’s hair, then the door closed and her footsteps faded away. Within moments I inhaled the scent of car exhaust and asked Peter, “Is Annie leaving?” He spelled back that Annie was furious: she had yelled that there were no groceries, she was going shopping, and Mother was going to nap in her room. I noticed that Peter tried to seem easygoing, relaxed, but there was something tentative in his hands. I wanted to keep him by my side, so I did the only thing I knew how to do whensituations got tense.
I took a deep breath and said, “I’m itching to get out of this house. We’ve been here for days since our Chautauqua trip. I like to keep moving. How soon till that speech in Boston?”
“It’s in …” He slid his fingers over my back, then down to the desk to grab the letter. “Five days.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “That’s when Annie’s test results come in.”
“She’ll be fine. And then we’ll have three things to celebrate.”
“Three?”
“Annie’s health, your rousing speech, and …”
“And?”
“And the fact that you’ve agreed to marry me.”
“Marry you? You haven’t asked me properly.”
“I’ve seen you with your top off, missy. Don’t talk to me about proper.”
I smiled, waiting for him to go on.
“Am I to get down on one knee? To beg?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I want you to beg.”
“Beast. You want me to prostrate myself before you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Your wish is my command.” He lowered himself to the floor and said, “Thank God I have this.”
“A ring?”
“Better. One exquisitely sharp fingernail.” He scratched the back of my bare calf and then pressed hard on the inside of my bare thigh.
“Do you say yes?”
I couldn’tanswer.
“Helen, let’s marry. Let’s run away.”
I couldn’t move.
“I’m begging,” he said, his breath warm on my thigh, his hand inside my skirt.
I called his name. My voice, which I hardly ever used in front of him, was ragged, but I couldn’t help myself.
Yes.
As I pulled him toward me his curly hair, rough in my hands, smelled of teak, a kind of far-off tree. My senses told me that even as he proposed, fear pitched through him. He knew I was not like other women. Every day, in recurring, relentless ways, he would have to care for me. Strangely, I was not afraid. We would marry, run away. So when I felt him pull away from me I reached for him.
His skin was slightly slippery. He pulled hard at my hands and said, “You’ll marry me?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll let me deal with your mother and Annie?”
“Yes.”
Why didn’t I realize that Peter acted strong but was really frightened? It wasn’t clear to me then, when I put aside my loyalty to Annie, to my mother, even to myself, that Peter was what Annie called a paper fighter. A person who fought in print, through words, but when real people were involved, he would dissolve. I couldn’t see it at that moment. I didn’t want to see it.
There are so many ways to be blind.
We celebrated our engagement that afternoon. “Shhhh,” Peter said as he led me down the back stairs, past my mother, who napped in the first-floor
Similar Books
