Denise took her shower first. She came out with a Pompano Beach, Florida, towel wrapped around her, drying her hair with a bathroom towel.
She said, “Your turn.” A look passed between them.
Taking his shower, Ryan thought about the look and the girl in the room in the quiet early evening and felt himself becoming aroused. Drying himself in front of the mirror he liked his color, he liked the way he looked, the way his hair hung down uncombed and the shiny glow on his face. He rubbed in some Ice Blue Aqua Velva. He looked strong and healthy. He felt good.
When he came out, with the bathroom towel around his waist, he saw Denise still in the Pompano Beach, Florida, towel, rubbing her short blond hair. As she brought the towel down, he saw the look again, felt it, and knew she did too. She kept looking at him as he came over to her and put his hands on her arms, then let them slide around her, feeling her hands on his ribs, her hands slowly moving around him as they closed their eyes and kissed, moving their heads a little, getting it good and comfortable, feeling each other’s mouth and parts of lips, holding and pressing gently, making it last and knowing there was a lot more to come. There was relief in it too, finally, the sound of relief when they breathed and came back to each other.
They smiled as they made love.
Boy, it was good, and Ryan told her he didn’t believe it. He said, It’s so good making love to somebody you love. Like the first time, only way better. Do you feel that? He could ask her because he knew she felt it. She smiled and said, Uh-huh, I feel it. He said, God, I don’t know what to do. I want to do everything at once. Seeing the smile in her eyes, knowing they were both feeling the same thing, kissing and not being able to kiss each other enough, putting his hand on the patch of hair between her legs and feeling her girl hand on him, still kissing, their mouths moving, holy shit, it had never been like this before. He said, I’ve never been here before. I’ve never had a feeling like this. She said to him, Put it in me. He watched her eyes and heard the sound that came from her. They were there and he didn’t know if he could stand it, aware of himself for only a moment before he was aware of both of them, trying to get closer, all the way, and somehow get lost within each other. They let go, straining to hold on tight, hearing sounds coming from inside them. He breathed and got his breath and they were kissing again, lying on their sides facing each other, kissing, breathing against each other’s skin, faces, kissing, looking at each other, smiling tired effortless smiles.
When he was lying on his back, looking at the ceiling, she said, “Where are you?”
“I’m here.”
“What’re you thinking?”
“I was wondering, should we have the ham or the chicken? We could brown some onions and green pepper, put in some tomato sauce…” He felt her move and looked at her, propped up on an elbow. “Why? What were you thinking?”
“Nothing,” Denise said. “I’m not going to tell you now. You’re thinking about food.”
“Come on, tell me.”
“I love you,” Denise said. “I absolutely adore you and I’m in love with you.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah, because I’m in love with you.”
“Do you know you said it? You said, making love to somebody you love.”
“It’s something, isn’t it? We’re all set, we’re stuck with each other.”
She lay back on the pillow and was silent. They could hear the surf and the wind gusting through the open window. She said, “But what if after a while…”
“What if after a while, what?” Ryan said. “Do you want to know everything that’s going to happen to you, or you want to take it a day at a time and be surprised?”
She said, “Couldn’t I know just a little of what’s going to happen?”
“Maybe,” Ryan said, “it depends. What’s worrying you?”
She said after a moment, “I was married before.”
“I know you were.”
“I wondered if… you ever pictured me with him. The kind of person he was.”
“I don’t think of him as a person,” Ryan said. “I think of him as a number.”
“You do?” Puzzled. “What number?”
“Eighty-nine. That was the number he had in the morgue. Before he was identified.”
“Oh. You saw him?”
“I saw him, but the only thing I remember about him’s the number. The man who had it’s gone.”
They went out in the sun for five days and turned brown and felt better, both agreed, than they’d ever felt in their lives. Though sometimes when he was silent she would ask him if everything was all right. He’d say, Everything’s fine. She believed him and it would be enough for several hours or until she felt the need to ask him again. She knew about living one day at a time and not worrying about things that might never happen. She felt comfortable and happy being with him, and when they made love she was sure of him beyond any doubt. But she would feel him leave her in his mind and wonder where he was, if he was sorry and had misgivings and was escaping, if he was only being nice to her because she needed someone. She would say to him, standing in the kitchen, “Hold me.” Then it was good again. She could feel he loved her. He told her, often, he loved her. She would say, “But-” And he would say, “Why don’t you just believe me and not think about it?” He would tell her every day to feel and try not to think so much. She said, “But what if I feel and I get scared of the feeling?” He said, “What’s wrong with being scared?” He said, “You have to leave yourself open and take chances and that can be scary, you bet. But if you don’t take chances, what do you win?”
You make molded salads and watch Name That Tune.
She could cross that one off, one less option to think about. And living alone was dumb. So why not bet on Ryan? If she felt good with him, natural, herself, and was happier than she’d ever been, what was the problem? As long as he would reassure her from time to time.
The fifth day the feeling of anxiety would not go away. They didn’t talk or smile at each other as much or as naturally. He’s had enough, Denise thought. He’s bored. She asked him if he wanted to do something, go somewhere. He said, No, he didn’t think so. She didn’t ask him where he was or if everything was all right.
She said, “Your back’s not going to get very tan.”
She was lying on a towel on her stomach, her face turned to Ryan, sitting in a canvas chair with his straw hat tilted low on his eyes, staring at the ocean.
“My back gets whatever it can,” Ryan said. “I don’t like to lie down like that unless I’m gonna take a nap.”
His tone was all right, but he was quiet, inside himself, deeper in there than he had been during the previous days. She had to think up things to say to him. Maybe put him on a little. She raised her face from the towel, looking at the sky.
“We’ve been lucky with the weather.”
He didn’t say anything.
“It’s going to be eighty today, light showers expected tomorrow.”
Ryan looked at her now. “Is that right?”
“One winter in Bad Axe the snow was so deep,” Denise said, and stopped. “You want to know how deep the snow was?”
“How deep was it?” Ryan said.
“It was so deep outside you had to shit in a shotgun and shoot it up the chimney.”
“That’s pretty deep,” Ryan said.
Denise lowered her face to the beach towel. “So are you.”
Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Finally Ryan said, “Okay.”