Sweet Memories (25 page)

He smiled and hauled her close, speaking against her mouth so that she could scarcely discern the words. “So clean me up.” Her tongue seemed drawn to his by some magical attraction, and she learned a new delight in taking command during a kiss.

“Mmm ... you taste good,” she ventured, backing away only slightly. She ran her nose along his jaw. “And you smell good, just like I remember, only stronger.” She backed away and ran a fingertip over his jaw. “You just shaved.”

He grinned, his hands now on her back, holding her against him, but undemandingly. “Just like a teenager getting ready for his first date.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Twenty minutes or so. How long have you?”

“About ten minutes. I was in my room, putting on fresh lipstick, then wiping it off, then putting it on again and wondering which was the right thing to do. I was so nervous.”

Suddenly it struck them how funny it was that they’d been so apprehensive. They laughed together, then gazed into each other’s eyes, and without warning simultaneously answered the compulsion to hug. Their arms went about each other—tight, tight—reaffirming. His hands roved her back. Hers touched his hair. When he backed away, he looped his hands around her hips until she rested against his again.

“What do you want to do first?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Just ....” Her heart pulsed crazily. “Just look at you some more.” She shrugged shyly. “I don’t know.”

He moved not a muscle for a long, silent moment. Then he nudged her backward with his thighs, directing her shoulders with his hands. “Come here then. Let’s indulge ourselves for a while.” He lifted a knee to the bed, then fell, tugging her along till they lay on their sides, each with an elbow folded beneath an ear. He rested a hand on her hip. Their eyes locked, their feet trailed off the end of the mattress.

Incredible. She had been in his room less than five minutes and already she was lying on the bed with him. But she had no desire to get up or to protest at his taking her there. His head lifted slowly. His mouth covered hers, urging her lips open once again, his tongue delving into the soft recesses, tickling the skin of her inner cheeks then threading its tip along her teeth, as if counting each. Her body came alive with desire, and her breathing grew fast and harsh, as did his. But when he’d explored to his satisfaction, he lay as before, head upon elbow, his hand still resting on her hip, but undemandingly.

It seemed best to set things straight immediately. Timidity brought color rushing to Theresa’s face and made her voice unnatural. “Brian, I____ ...” His eyes were so close, so intense, burning into hers. “I didn’t come here because I was ready to go all the way with you.”

His hand left her hip and fell to the hollow of her waist. “I know. And I didn’t come here to force you to. But I want to. You know that, don’t you?”

“I’m not ready for that, Brian, no matter what I ... well, I might have led you to believe something else when we first kissed.”

“I think we’re both in for a hell of a weekend then. It’s not going to be easy. Obviously your conscience and your libido are at odds.” His hands left her waist, squeezed her upper arm gently, then caressed its length until his hand rested on the back of hers. “And my libido ... well, there’s no hiding it, is there?” Then, unceremoniously, he carried her hand to the zipper placket of his white brushed cotton slacks. It happened so unexpectedly she had neither the time nor inclination to pull away. One moment her hand rested on his hip, the next it was flattened along his zipper, and he’d raised his upper knee as he gently forced her fingers to conform to the ridge of hot, hard flesh within. His hand disappeared from atop hers and he rolled closer, letting his eyes drift closed as he spoke gruffly against the hollow of her throat. “I’m sorry if I’m too direct, but I want you to know ... whatever you choose is what we’ll do, as much or as little as you want. I’d be a damned liar if I said I wasn’t thinking about making love to you ever since last January when I left you crying in that airport.”

While he spoke, his body undulated against her palm, then she reluctantly slipped her hand up his shirtfront and pressed it against his chest. Beneath her palm his heart thudded crazily.

“Shh ... Brian, don’t say that.”

He backed away, pinning her with a distracting, direct gaze. “Why? Because it’s true of you, too?”

“Shh.” She rested an index finger on his lips. He stared at her silently until at last the fires in his eyes seemed to subside. He clasped the back of the hand at his mouth, kissed its palm, then threaded its fingers through his own. “All right. Are you hungry?”

She smiled. “Ravenous.”

“Should we go and find something to eat, then hit all the highlights of Fargo, North Dakota?”

“Let’s.”

With one lithe motion he was at the foot of the bed. one foot on the floor, the other knee on the mattress. He hauled her up against him and she landed on her knees with her arms around his neck, and his hands on her buttocks. He kissed her fleetingly, then rubbed the end of her nose with his own. “God, it’s good to be with you again. Let’s get out of here before I change my mind.” With a squeeze and a pat he turned her loose.

They were walking hand in hand along the Broadway Mall in downtown Fargo when they suddenly stopped and stared each other up and down, then burst out laughing.

“You’re wearing—”

“Do you realize—” they said in unison, then laughed again, standing back, assessing each other’s clothing. They were both wearing white slacks, and the baby blue of her ruffle-necked blouse closely matched that of his knit pullover. She wore white tennis shoes on her feet and he white leather sport shoes with a Velcro-closed strap across the arch of his foot.

“If we dressed to please each other, I think we both did a good job,” he said with a smile. “I like your blouse.”

“And I like your shirt.” Again they laughed, then caught hands as they moved on, exploring the entire three-block length of the mall from Main to Second Avenues. At its south end they studied the Luis Jimenez sculpture depicting a prairie farmer behind a pair of oxen, breaking sod for the first time. Sauntering northward they discovered that the curving mail was designed to represent the pathway of the Red River, and that carved granite markers of red, gray and brown had been set into the concrete on either side of the street to represent the cities flanking the great river as it coursed the length of North Dakota from Wahpeton to Pembina. As they sauntered, they read the names of the towns on the North Dakota side and the dates of their founding: Hunter, 1881; Grandin, 1881; Arthur, 1880. The stones were set varying distances from the street to depict the setback between the actual towns and the great life-giving river that fed the area.

The sun was warm on their backs, the sky overhead flawless cerulean. They had a sense of calm and an ever greater one of delight in being together, swinging hands, watching their white-clad legs matching strides. The mall was dotted with redwood planters in which geraniums and petunias had been set out, and all along the mail’s length ash trees were beginning to break into first leaf. At the Old Broadway Cafe, they peered into the twin oval windows on the front doors and decided to give the old landmark a try. Inside, the booths were the high private cubicles of another era, dark-varnished and set with stained-glass panels. The floor was ancient oiled hardwood that creaked and croaked as the waitress delivered their plate dinners of thick-slicked beef, potatoes and gravy and golden, buttered carrots.

“You haven’t mentioned your mom and dad,” Brian said, studying Theresa across the booth. “What did they say when you told them you were coming up here to meet me?”

She met his serious green eyes and decided to tell him the truth. “Mother assumed the worst. It wasn’t a very pleasant scene.” She dropped her eyes to her plate, drawing circles on it with a piece of beef.

Beneath the table his calf found hers and rubbed it reassuringly. He closed his ankles around one of hers and stopped the hand that had been pushing her fork in circles. She looked up at him.

“I’m sorry.”

She laid her hand atop his. “Don’t be. Something quite wonderful came about because of it.” Wonder showed in her face. “Daddy. Would you believe he finally stood up to mother?”

“Willard?” Brian asked in surprise.

“Willard,” she confirmed, still with the amazed expression on her face. “He shouted ‘Margaret, that’s enough’ and ... and ...” Theresa had great difficulty not smirking. “And hauled her off to the bedroom, slammed the door, and the next time I saw them she was calling him Will, and the two of them were cooing like mourning doves. That was the end of Mother’s resistance.”

Brian dropped his fork with a clatter, threw his hands in the air and praised, “Hallelujah!”

They were still chuckling about it when they returned to the mall. They continued their stroll past The Classic Jewelers, stock-brokerage houses, Straus Drugs and so to the far north end where they discovered the Fargo Theater with its vintage art deco marquee announcing that Charlie Chaplin was playing tonight in 
The Bank.

“Do you like the silent movies?” Brian asked hopefully.

“Love ’em.” She grinned up at him.

“Whaddya say, should we give old Charlie a try tonight?”

“Oh, I’d love to.”

“It’s a date.” He squeezed her hand, then led her across the street and they started back along the “Minnesota” side of the mall, reading the town names, peering in store windows. In one called Mr. T’s, a bridal gown was displayed. Without realizing it, Theresa’s feet stopped moving, and she stared at the mannequin. The sight of the white gown and veil, symbols of purity, brought to mind the coming night, the choice she had to make. She thought about other men she might meet in her life, the one she might possibly marry, and what he would think if she did not come to him as a virgin. But she found it impossible to imagine herself being intimate with any man but Brian.

While Theresa gazed at the bridal gown, two young men passed along the sidewalk. Brian watched their eyes assess her breasts—blatantly, neither of them trying to disguise their fascination. Their heads swiveled, gazes lingering as they drew alongside, then passed her. When they moved on, one of them must have made a lewd comment, for he did a little hip-swinging jive step while patting his thighs, then his companion laughed.

Brian was at first angry. Then he found himself assessing her breasts as a stranger would, and found, to his chagrin, that he was slightly embarrassed. Guilt followed immediately. He fought to submerge it, studying the back of Theresa’s head as she gazed up innocently at the window display. But as they moved on up the mall, he was conscious of the eyes of each man they met. Without exception, they all dropped to Theresa’s breasts, and Brian’s discomfort grew.

Scanlon, you’re a hypocrite.
 The thought was distinctly nettlesome, so he hooked an arm around Theresa’s neck, settled her against his hip as they ambled back to the car, and when they reached it, he gave her a tender kiss of apology. Her hands rested on his chest. When she opened her eyes they held a dreamy expression, and he felt small and unworthy for a moment, realizing how hurt she’d be if she suspected he’d been embarrassed over her generous endowment. He traced the outline of her lips with a single finger and said softly, “What do you say we get away from people for a while?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He smiled, kissed her nose, settled her inside, then started the engine. They crossed the river into Moorhead, drove out onto the blacktop highway heading east, then left it behind to wander the back roads between green woods, brown fields and blue ponds where ducks and blackbirds nested. Spring was burgeoning all around them. They felt it in the renewed warmth of the sun, smelled it in the damp earth, heard it as the sound of wildlife lifted through the air.

They discovered the lush wilds of the Buffalo River where it surged under a culvert beneath their gravel road. Brian pulled to the side, turned off the engine and invited, “Let’s walk.” She slipped her hand into his with a glad heart, letting him lead her down the steep bank to the dappled woods, where they picked their way aimlessly along the surging spring-swelled waters that rumbled southward. The river sang to them. The tangled roots of a long-fallen tree stood silver in their path. Brian led the way along the massive trunk to a spot where he could mount it, then reached down and helped Theresa up beside him. He walked the weathered trunk to its highest point, with her right behind him. Now the river flowed at their feet. A fish leaped. A trio of sparrows darted from the underbrush to the tangled roots of their tree. From far away a crow scolded. Everything smelled fecund, growing, renewed. From behind, Theresa lightly rested her hands on Brian’s hips. He remained as before, unmoving, imbibing, gathering sweet memories. His hands covered hers, drew them firmly around his belt, and his arms covered hers while she pressed her cheek and breasts against his firm, warm back. A blue jay carped from a loblolly pine, and the sun shimmered on the forest floor through the partially sprouted leaves of the surrounding trees. Against Brian’s back Theresa’s heart thrummed steadily. His palms rubbed her arms, which were warm with gathered sunshine.

“Ahh ...” he sighed, tilted his head back, said no more.

She kissed the center of his back. It was enough.

In time they moved on through the gold-and-green afternoon. As they ambled, they caught up on the past three months. Brian had stories about Jeff and air-force rigors, the band, the music they’d been working on. Theresa had anecdotes about life with a teenage sister, incidents from school, plans for spring concerts.

But none of it mattered. Only being together had meaning for them.

They found a nest with three speckled eggs, built in the reeds where the river backwashed and bent. They turned back as the afternoon waned and hunger imposed its demands. They kissed in a basswood grove, then climbed the pebbled bank again and settled into the car for the ride back to town. At their doors in the motel Brian said, “I’ll pick you up at your place in half an hour.” A quick kiss and they parted.