From my latest Work In Progress titled . . . in a love song
(Part of Chapter 13)
Before the notion became action, she approached his rig from around the house in short well-worn cut-offs and a halter top. She looked surprised, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Boy, did I miscalculate. I thought you’d be later,” she called. “You gonna stay for dinner?” she teased when she saw him with his wrist still draped over the steering wheel, unmoving as she approached.
He got out of the Jeep and when she got up close, that halter top and those shorts and some old holey white tennis shoes were drenched. Clinging to her. Sensuous.
“Got hung up irrigating. It’ll be ready in 15 minutes tops. Give me a minute to clean up, and I’ll be right with you.” She pushed the wet hair off her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Come on in where it’s cool. How was work today?”
He followed her up the stairs. “Not so long today. Overtime is off and on with this job.”
She tugged her wet shoes off using her toes and stepped inside, holding the door for him. Once again the aroma of a meal drifted through the comfortable cooling air. “Smells great, Patricia.” His voice flagged his rare bout with self-consciousness.
“You like chicken?” She continued into the kitchen.
“You bet.”
“What’s wrong, Dale?” She stopped and faced him, and he nearly ran into her. Her ability to zero in on poignant emotions kept him off balance while she seemed immovable. He hadn’t dug into her private life because she’d practically confessed it to him. No games seemed to put him at a disadvantage. The realization he played them more easily than being straight up bothered him.
When the silence lengthened, she reached for his hand and led him through a back door beyond the kitchen and out to the back yard where an elaborate wooden swing with a canvas awning and comfy cushions waited idly on a lush lawn. She sat down and let go of his hand, tucking her legs up beside her. He joined her, easing down onto the swing.
“You don’t get me, do ya?” She asked him with concern, no tease or sarcasm.
He labored over an answer and arrived at “I guess not.”
“Why don’t you ask me why I feel the way I do?” Still only kindness in her voice.
Exasperation rose up uninvited and he reacted. “You kiss like a woman who wants to make love. But you don’t—or rather you won’t. I don’t know if you plan on waitin’ a few days, a few months, or ‘til there’s a ring on your finger.” Her eyes were steady on him, intent, but his anxiety pushed him out of the swing, and he watched as it jerked crooked from his upheaval and she instinctively grabbed the side chain. He cussed and shoved his hands in his cargo shorts. “I imagine you think you have a good reason for—” He hesitated, stared past the swing, a brick fire pit, and out into the hay fields. “I should probably go.”
“So it was all about formalities then.” It was a statement, and disappointment played like a sad song from each word.
“Okay, Patricia! Okay.” Hands flailed out of pockets. “Yes. I would’ve taken you home from the tavern that first night I saw you if I thought you’d come with me. And the next night and the next night, and I’d a made love to you over and over again.”
“Until when? And, yes, I believe you would’ve, Dale. Only it wouldn’t have been making love to me. It would’ve been having sex with me. And I’m sure you would’ve given it your all, too, trying to please me. But all we would’ve known of each other is our body parts. The most private and intimate parts of ourselves displayed without any knowledge of who we are as people. That’s backwards, Dale.”
“It’s all I’ve ever known.”
“And it’s still all you want?” She stood and stopped as she approached him, her clothes mostly dried from the hot summer evening but still clinging to her body.
She had him there. “What do you want from me, Patricia?”
“A chance at love, Dale. That’s what I want. Apparently neither one of us has ever experienced it, but those who have swear it’s the greatest. My parents were in love, Dale. Devoted to one another. Donald and Eva Johnson loved each other with a passion you could sense. Even in their aging years. How ‘bout your parents, Dale? I’ll bet they’re still in love. You got something against love?” She forced a brief smile.
He stood quiet, hands back in his pockets, eyes inspecting the grass. “I feel like a stupid high school kid.”
“You’re right about one thing.”
He brought his eyes to hers and smirked. “That I’m stupid?”
“No. That I kiss like a woman who wants to make love.” She walked past him. “I’ll clean up and dinner’s ready.”
She had him right where she wanted him he decided as he turned to watch her walk into the house. It only took a moment for him to reverse his direction and follow her.
“Different” echoed in his thoughts.
Father, again and again, thank you for it all. Every word, inspiration, story. May I always honor you in my writing. In the Name of Jesus.
