here.”
“No, that’s okay,” she replied in a colorless voice. “I’m sorry. I got all caught up in getting that application in the mail.”
John Henry’s face fell. “So you went and did it.”
“I sure did.” Esther’s face flushed. She didn’t like feeling vulnerable, telling someone that she actually sent out the forms. Win or lose, she didn’t want anyone snickering at her high hopes behind her back.
Esther looked at John Henry. His slightly dazed expression was the same one he’d worn when she beat him in a fight in the first grade. But today John Henry was different. Twenty years of different. And so was she. A lot of time and love hadpassed between them in those years. A lot of secrets shared. He’d never hurt her or break his word, she was sure.
“Don’t tell anyone about them forms, now, promise?” She had to say it anyway.
“Of course I promise.” He paused, then waved her over. “Com’ere.”
Esther pushed air out through pursed lips. She just wanted to be alone right now. But she went anyway and plopped on the old sofa beside him. The sofa creaked, complaining at the extra weight on its already bowed out legs.
John Henry lay silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “What’s the matter, Red?”
“I dunno.” Then she said in a hushed voice, “I’m scared. What if I don’t make it?”
“What if you don’t? It doesn’t mean you can’t paint anymore. You can do that anywhere. Here.”
Esther didn’t reply. Instead, she tucked her hands tightly between her knees and looked off. How could she tell him that she had to leave here, soon, or she’d be so choked up she’d never paint again. Nora MacKenzie’s return brought back too many memories, vivid recollections that she could not share with John Henry most of all.
It was desperation that had finally made her do what she’d been putting off for months: fill out the application for a fellowship in art at New York University. Her whole being was focused on that little envelope in the mailbox.
She felt John Henry’s hands rubbing her back. Esther knew his touch so well by now that she read in his fervent strokes a plea that she love him. Any talk of her leaving made him nervous. Esther leaned over and pecked his cheek.
He held out his arms and Esther reluctantly slipped into them. He smelled of sweat and the sofa smelled of mildew. Esther lay in his arms long enough to give him a reassuringsqueeze. She sensed his need like radar. Wriggling her shoulders, she loosened his hold and quickly sat up.
John Henry grabbed her back, holding her squashed close with arms like bands of steel. His kisses were hungry.
“No,” she said against his lips. “Not here.”
John Henry drew back and swung his leg around, hoisting them both off the sofa. His hands remained around her waist in a possessive grip.
“Come on, then.”
“I can’t. I’ve got things to do.”
“Come on,” he drawled close to her ear, propelling her off the porch toward the barn.
Esther allowed herself to be led off to the dark corner of the barn that they often went to when they wanted to be alone. She didn’t want to make love. She wasn’t in the mood, but John Henry’s persistence was not to be ignored.
And she loved John Henry, in her fashion. His need of her was obvious. He wanted so much from her, more than she felt capable of giving. John Henry was one more person who needed her.
Esther relinquished all resistance by the time they reached the dark recess of the ramshackle barn. She’d give in to him, as she always did when he wanted her. He was a good, kind man—her best friend. It was the best way she knew how to show she cared.
His kisses were urgent and his hands grew rough. He pushed her back against the barn wall, hard, and his hands trembled down to her belt and started unfastening it, squeezing her waist as he jerked the leather free.
So, he was going to be dominant today, she realized. He always was when he felt
“No, that’s okay,” she replied in a colorless voice. “I’m sorry. I got all caught up in getting that application in the mail.”
John Henry’s face fell. “So you went and did it.”
“I sure did.” Esther’s face flushed. She didn’t like feeling vulnerable, telling someone that she actually sent out the forms. Win or lose, she didn’t want anyone snickering at her high hopes behind her back.
Esther looked at John Henry. His slightly dazed expression was the same one he’d worn when she beat him in a fight in the first grade. But today John Henry was different. Twenty years of different. And so was she. A lot of time and love hadpassed between them in those years. A lot of secrets shared. He’d never hurt her or break his word, she was sure.
“Don’t tell anyone about them forms, now, promise?” She had to say it anyway.
“Of course I promise.” He paused, then waved her over. “Com’ere.”
Esther pushed air out through pursed lips. She just wanted to be alone right now. But she went anyway and plopped on the old sofa beside him. The sofa creaked, complaining at the extra weight on its already bowed out legs.
John Henry lay silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “What’s the matter, Red?”
“I dunno.” Then she said in a hushed voice, “I’m scared. What if I don’t make it?”
“What if you don’t? It doesn’t mean you can’t paint anymore. You can do that anywhere. Here.”
Esther didn’t reply. Instead, she tucked her hands tightly between her knees and looked off. How could she tell him that she had to leave here, soon, or she’d be so choked up she’d never paint again. Nora MacKenzie’s return brought back too many memories, vivid recollections that she could not share with John Henry most of all.
It was desperation that had finally made her do what she’d been putting off for months: fill out the application for a fellowship in art at New York University. Her whole being was focused on that little envelope in the mailbox.
She felt John Henry’s hands rubbing her back. Esther knew his touch so well by now that she read in his fervent strokes a plea that she love him. Any talk of her leaving made him nervous. Esther leaned over and pecked his cheek.
He held out his arms and Esther reluctantly slipped into them. He smelled of sweat and the sofa smelled of mildew. Esther lay in his arms long enough to give him a reassuringsqueeze. She sensed his need like radar. Wriggling her shoulders, she loosened his hold and quickly sat up.
John Henry grabbed her back, holding her squashed close with arms like bands of steel. His kisses were hungry.
“No,” she said against his lips. “Not here.”
John Henry drew back and swung his leg around, hoisting them both off the sofa. His hands remained around her waist in a possessive grip.
“Come on, then.”
“I can’t. I’ve got things to do.”
“Come on,” he drawled close to her ear, propelling her off the porch toward the barn.
Esther allowed herself to be led off to the dark corner of the barn that they often went to when they wanted to be alone. She didn’t want to make love. She wasn’t in the mood, but John Henry’s persistence was not to be ignored.
And she loved John Henry, in her fashion. His need of her was obvious. He wanted so much from her, more than she felt capable of giving. John Henry was one more person who needed her.
Esther relinquished all resistance by the time they reached the dark recess of the ramshackle barn. She’d give in to him, as she always did when he wanted her. He was a good, kind man—her best friend. It was the best way she knew how to show she cared.
His kisses were urgent and his hands grew rough. He pushed her back against the barn wall, hard, and his hands trembled down to her belt and started unfastening it, squeezing her waist as he jerked the leather free.
So, he was going to be dominant today, she realized. He always was when he felt
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