Part 30 (1/2)
196.
I roll over and wipe the sleep from my eyes. The framed clover scowls at me. It knows the truth, a secret shared by the three of us Lora, the clover, and me. At times, I long to confess, to wear that scarlet letter on the outside for the whole world to see, but I won't. I'm too much of a coward.
”Good morning.” Rebecca comes in and hands me a cup of coffee.
”Light cream, right?”
”Yeah.” I struggle to sit up. She's adorable, wearing nothing but her cotton blouse from last night, its hem bouncing against her bare thighs. The top b.u.t.tons are open, and I peek at her barely-hidden b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
Another pang of guilt a.s.saults me. ”How long have you been up?”
”A few minutes. Did I wake you?” She sits on the edge of the bed and scans my face.
”No.”
”I watched you sleep for a long time. You sure do frown a lot.” She sips her coffee and stares at the picture lying facedown on the nightstand, but says nothing.
I glance at the clock. ”Lord, look at the time! Guess you have to get to work soon, huh?”
”No, I'm not on till this afternoon. I thought we might go out for breakfast.”
”Uh, not this morning. I've got sales meetings all day tomorrow, and I need to get down to the office and get my s.h.i.+t together. I've been letting things slide for the past few weeks.” I take a long drink of coffee, scalding my tongue.
”Okay, maybe we can catch up later?” She's reading me, sensing my uneasiness, not pressing too hard. It would be easier to blow her off if she'd make demands of me, or push for something, anything, but she doesn't. She kisses my cheek. ”I wanted to tell you something last night, but somehow I couldn't.” Rebecca hooks my eyes. ”I just want you to know that I don't sleep around... I mean, I have to care for someone before... ”
”I'm flattered.” I look down into my cup, already dreading the look on her face when I work up the nerve to call it quits between us.
She gives me a sad-eyed smile. ”Don't be too hard on yourself. I'm irresistible, remember?”
”That you are, Miss Greenway, that you are.” I take her hand and graze my lips across her fingers. She smells of aloe and baby powder, making me want to invite her back to bed for round four, but I can't.
Rounds one through three are still fresh in my mind, and it could take 197 months for my humiliation to fade. ”What the h.e.l.l am I going to do with you?”
Rebecca touches my cheek, her gaze resting on mine. ”Don't freak out on me, okay?”
”Too late.”
”Was I that bad?”
”On the contrary.” I take another long swallow of coffee. The tears welling in my eyes won't go away. ”I'm so f.u.c.king confused.”
Rebecca takes my cup and sits it on the nightstand. ”It's okay to be confused.” She wraps her arms around my shoulders, and we sit still for a moment. Then she says, ”I'm going to go now. Seems like you need some time alone. I'm sorry if I rushed things.”
”It's not your fault. It's mine.”
”Let's not talk about fault. I had a wonderful time, and I'd do it all over again. I hope you feel the same.”
When I don't reply, hurt registers on her face, but she smiles and pats my hand before heading for the door.
I throw back the blanket and start to get up, but Rebecca waves me away. ”You lie still. I can let myself out.”
I should protest, but I don't.
She pauses in the doorway. ”Will you call me?”
I nod, not knowing if I ever will work up the nerve to see her again.
The echo of the walled room rings in my ears. That's good, familiar, something I've done for years. Nothing unusual here, nothing to worry about, nothing to regret. The racquet feels like it always does, light but powerful in my hand, under control. Forehand, backhand.
Forehand, backhand.
I whack the small blue ball hard against the front wall, watching it slam into the surface and bounce back to me. That's the thing about racquetballno matter how hard you hit the ball, it always comes back.
No matter how good or poor your shot, the ball will never end up more than a few feet away. And with four solid walls, no one can see when you make stupid plays or flail about like a three-hundred-pound ballerina. No one knows how inept you are.
A knock sounds on the back door, and Tonya crouches through.
”Hey. How long have you been here?”
”A few minutes.” I toss her the ball and step toward the back of the court. ”You serve.”
198.
”Don't I get to warm up?” She twists the racquet strap around her wrist and gives me a once-over. ”What's up with you? You look funny.”
I shrug and turn away. ”I thought you were going to warm up.”
”Oh, my G.o.d. You got laid, didn't you?”
”Shut up.”
”No way. I've got to hear this.” She takes one step toward me. The slap of her court shoe bounces around the room.
”What makes you think you know everything?”
”I don't know everything, but I do know you, and you got laid.
When? Where? Who? Rebecca?” Her excitement bubbles into an out- and-out laugh.
”Drop it.”
”Details, girl, I want details.”
”Shut up and serve.”
”So tell me about it. Was she as good as she looks?”
The night rushes back to meRebecca's skin, her breath, her scent.