AN HONEST WOMAN
by Inge Moore
Copyright 2012 Inge Moore
Published by Inge Moore on Smashwords
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Cover design by Donna Casey.
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AN HONEST WOMAN
Celeste walked all the way down the sloped drive and onto the street before she allowed herself to glance at the construction site next door. Seeing what she'd hoped for, she crossed the lot and headed toward the man she'd been watching from her window, tripping slightly on a weed tuft. He looked so young. She smiled.
"Nice night," she said, coming to a stop in front of him.
"It is now," he answered, flicking his cigarette into the dirt and straightening. He was appealing. His manner was that of a courting bird, a swagger to it, a smooth roll. So young and he seemed so sure. His mouth had oddly mocking lips, always on the edge of a grin. Despite the warmth of the night, she began a slight shiver. "Where ya goin?" he asked.
"Just down to the lake." They walked on side by side; he hadn't asked if he could join her, he'd simply come. "I have to be back right away," she said. "My son's at home sleeping."
They stood by the water, watching moonlight play on the waves. They were close; she shivered perceptibly now. When they turned back, the warm wind blew against them, pressing their clothes to their bodies. She felt naked.
"Where are you from?" she asked.
He named a nearby town. "Been there most of my life. Never lived in the city. Don' wanna."
"I feel the same way. I like a small place."
They'd reached her door. Looking down at her feet, she asked him in. He followed her across the threshold, brushing against her back.
"Nice place," he said, sitting down on the smaller of the two couches, beside the stereo.
She nodded. "You like a drink?" Her own throat seemed to be filling with blood, throbbing. What was she doing?
He declined the drink so she fixed herself one, then found Rick an ashtray and sat down gingerly next to him.
He turned to face her. His hair curled fetchingly about the sides of his face. Her eyes wandered that face, across the high cheekbones down his mouth and strongly cleft chin and onto the intricately designed yokes of his western shirt where she could see the swell of his shoulder through the cloth. She could smell him as well -- soap. Finally, she looked into his eyes.
He put an arm around her. "Drink up, babe," he said, grinning. She drank, set down her glass and sank deep against him, breathing against the side of his neck. His mouth reached for hers in a long kiss. It would be easier than she thought, as easy as the last time, six months ago. The black guy, he'd been older but God how athletic. He'd been like a fish on land, gasping and flipping on top of her, all slick and wet. It didn't matter that she hadn't actually enjoyed the experience, wouldn't now; it was doing it that mattered, filling her emptiness in the only way she knew of.
She was getting high, beginning to float away on the unaccustomed effects of alcohol and love, when abruptly Rick pulled away and got to his feet.
"Isn't your husband enough for you?" he asked coldly.
She felt her eyebrows draw down and together and she didn't answer. He was pacing across the room, his face averted.
"Well, isn't he?"
She crossed her long legs, leaned back. "I didn't exactly have to drag you in here."
"I know what you got me in here for."
"So, what then?" she asked when he failed to continue.
"You tell me."
Her heart was racing and she couldn't tell if it was from fear or anger. "Okay," she said. "I was interested in you. I wanted to ... know you better."
"You wanted to fuck me."
"Maybe." She shrugged. She wondered if this were some kind of harmless game, a turn-on for him. Youth were so different now, getting stranger every day. Then his manner changed; the act either ended or began, she couldn't tell which.
"You didn't really care about me," he said in a hushed voice. He was standing to one side of her now, turned slightly away.
"Rick," she said. "I don't know you. Anymore than you know me. How could I really care about you?" She sat up straighter. "Look, is something bugging you? My kid? My clothes? Me? What? I'd like to hear.
He sat down on the couch beside her again and said it was nothing. She asked him if he wanted to watch TV and have popcorn. He had.
They talked. He was sweet. He worried about chemicals in water and red dye in beef. Sweet youth. She thought she'd been attracted to him before. It had been nothing compared to this.
He told her of a cabin he had, in the bush. Accessible only by plane or canoe. "Be heading out again in a few weeks, before freeze-up," he said.
"How long will you stay?"
"The winter."