jealousy.
Later that evening when Marshall saw her home he seemed worried about her.
"You seem rather blue tonight, Rachel," he noted as they stood in the entry, preparatory to his leaving.
"Blue?" She tried to put on a gay expression, but failed. "No, just tired. It's been a long week."
There came into Marshall's eyes a look she'd never seen there before, and as he took her gently into his arms she sensed a difference in the pressure of his hands on her back.
No, not Marshall, she thought in a panic.
But as he leaned back to look into her face, she saw a flicker of emotion that went beyond
fraternal care. "You've been doing 125 great. Pushing ahead, getting on with life. I'm very proud of you, you know." He touched her cheek and she wanted to shrink back, wary of allowing him to think for a moment that she wanted any kind of relationship with him other than the one she had. He bent his head to touch his lips to her cheek. She was already searching for the proper words to fend him off when he straightened, gave her arms a platonic squeeze, and said good night.
For some reason the experience with Marshall made her wonder how she would have reacted had it been Tommy Lee who'd given her such ardent glances and pulled her into his arms that way.
Dangerous thought! She promised herself she'd stop dwelling on Tommy Lee this way, and the next time she saw him, she'd walk straight on by with nothing more than a polite hello.
But the next time she saw him she couldn't walk away. It was the following Friday at four-thirty. Verda was running the vacuum cleaner over the carpet prior to closing, and Rachel was seated at her desk, putting away the empty bank pouch.
The door opened, Rachel looked up and
froze.
He was dressed in an open-collared black sport shirt topped by a gray sports coat a shade lighter than his trousers. His hair was tousled by the wind, and as he closed the door his eyes were already seeking her out.
Her stomach went fluttery and she felt fifteen again. This time I'll end up saying yes.
The vacuum cleaner wheezed into silence and Verda greeted him. "Well, howdy, Tommy Lee. Now, what in the world are you doing in a place like this?"
He carefully avoided glancing Rachel's way and sauntered farther into the store with a charming smile for Verda. "I need to buy a present for someone."
"Well, now, I'm sure as eternity not going to ask who it's for. I might not like the answer."
He laughed and looked down at the rectangular glass showcase in the center of the store, studying the accessories arranged there, fingering silk scarves, poring over a basket of earrings. Rachel sat watching him, her pulse hammering out a warning in her throat, but he
scarcely gave her a glance. 127 Momentarily, Verda spoke up again. "Y'all just take your time looking while I finish up this floor. If there's anything you like, maybe Rachel can help you."
He looked up as if only now realizing Rachel was there. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Hollis. Never been in your store before." He glanced around, drummed four fingertips on top of the glass cabinet. "It's very nice. Classy." His eyes returned to her and he flashed a quick smile. "Smells good, too."
It smelled of Rachel. It was no particular scent and all scents lingering together in a potent mixture that spoke of things delicate and feminine. Her eyes dropped to the desktop and she busied herself writing something, sitting at a chair almost as delicate as she, her legs crossed and the hem of a melon-colored skirt riding just above the knee. In the cleft of her white embroidered collar lay a collection of chunky coral and brown beads.
Her eyes met his again as the vacuum cleaner cut off the possibility of further talk, but he noted the quick rise and fall of her breasts and the
tendons of her right wrist standing out boldly as she clutched the fountain pen. Who but Rachel still used a fountain pen? he wondered. Then he dropped his eyes
Later that evening when Marshall saw her home he seemed worried about her.
"You seem rather blue tonight, Rachel," he noted as they stood in the entry, preparatory to his leaving.
"Blue?" She tried to put on a gay expression, but failed. "No, just tired. It's been a long week."
There came into Marshall's eyes a look she'd never seen there before, and as he took her gently into his arms she sensed a difference in the pressure of his hands on her back.
No, not Marshall, she thought in a panic.
But as he leaned back to look into her face, she saw a flicker of emotion that went beyond
fraternal care. "You've been doing 125 great. Pushing ahead, getting on with life. I'm very proud of you, you know." He touched her cheek and she wanted to shrink back, wary of allowing him to think for a moment that she wanted any kind of relationship with him other than the one she had. He bent his head to touch his lips to her cheek. She was already searching for the proper words to fend him off when he straightened, gave her arms a platonic squeeze, and said good night.
For some reason the experience with Marshall made her wonder how she would have reacted had it been Tommy Lee who'd given her such ardent glances and pulled her into his arms that way.
Dangerous thought! She promised herself she'd stop dwelling on Tommy Lee this way, and the next time she saw him, she'd walk straight on by with nothing more than a polite hello.
But the next time she saw him she couldn't walk away. It was the following Friday at four-thirty. Verda was running the vacuum cleaner over the carpet prior to closing, and Rachel was seated at her desk, putting away the empty bank pouch.
The door opened, Rachel looked up and
froze.
He was dressed in an open-collared black sport shirt topped by a gray sports coat a shade lighter than his trousers. His hair was tousled by the wind, and as he closed the door his eyes were already seeking her out.
Her stomach went fluttery and she felt fifteen again. This time I'll end up saying yes.
The vacuum cleaner wheezed into silence and Verda greeted him. "Well, howdy, Tommy Lee. Now, what in the world are you doing in a place like this?"
He carefully avoided glancing Rachel's way and sauntered farther into the store with a charming smile for Verda. "I need to buy a present for someone."
"Well, now, I'm sure as eternity not going to ask who it's for. I might not like the answer."
He laughed and looked down at the rectangular glass showcase in the center of the store, studying the accessories arranged there, fingering silk scarves, poring over a basket of earrings. Rachel sat watching him, her pulse hammering out a warning in her throat, but he
scarcely gave her a glance. 127 Momentarily, Verda spoke up again. "Y'all just take your time looking while I finish up this floor. If there's anything you like, maybe Rachel can help you."
He looked up as if only now realizing Rachel was there. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Hollis. Never been in your store before." He glanced around, drummed four fingertips on top of the glass cabinet. "It's very nice. Classy." His eyes returned to her and he flashed a quick smile. "Smells good, too."
It smelled of Rachel. It was no particular scent and all scents lingering together in a potent mixture that spoke of things delicate and feminine. Her eyes dropped to the desktop and she busied herself writing something, sitting at a chair almost as delicate as she, her legs crossed and the hem of a melon-colored skirt riding just above the knee. In the cleft of her white embroidered collar lay a collection of chunky coral and brown beads.
Her eyes met his again as the vacuum cleaner cut off the possibility of further talk, but he noted the quick rise and fall of her breasts and the
tendons of her right wrist standing out boldly as she clutched the fountain pen. Who but Rachel still used a fountain pen? he wondered. Then he dropped his eyes
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