Walk on Water (20 page)

“Oh music for sure,” I said bringing his glass to him.

“Not NPR?” he queried taking his glass, touching my hand in the process, and sending a little electrical current up my arm.

“I’ve been irresponsible all day why be grown-up now?”

“Is that what you call it?” said Luke raising his glass for me to tap mine with his before taking a drink.

“You said yourself it was playing hooky,” I reminded him.

“Touché,” he replied settling more into the sofa. “You mind playing DJ since you’re uh…standing up?”

“That’s a bit of a lame excuse,” I popped back before thinking, regretting it instantly.

But Luke was laughing.

“Hey!” he chided me. “I’m the only one who gets to make gimp jokes. Now go play me some music before I turn you over my knee.”

I would never make jokes I wanted to say, but it seemed like that would be making too much of the comment. I never liked it when he referred to himself as a
gimp
or used the word period. To me it was a term as derogatory as a racial slur.

“How do I know what to play?” I asked disconnecting the iPod from the docking station and bringing it to him.

“Just pick something, Rachel,” replied Luke closing his eyes indolently.

I scrolled through the many playlists with their various names:
cardio 1, cardio 2, Earl Klugh, easy listening, John Williams,
etc. Then I came to the title:
Rachel’s Dinner
. He must have made a special playlist just for that evening. It was like a
Rachel’s Favorites
reprise. How had he remembered I wondered, thinking about the Isley Brothers’ song. After all that had happened, all that he had been through, he had not forgotten. And there was no playlist named for Stephanie-the-teacher.

I selected
Rachel’s Dinner
and the room was soon filled with the same soft tenor sax that had greeted me the first time I had come here. The remote control to the docking station was on the end table next to where Luke reclined and I went over to get it.

“I hope you don’t let everybody see your iPod,” I said adjusting the volume.

“What’s your point?” he asked.

“
Rachel’s Dinner
? Come on, Luke. I wouldn’t think it would be on Stephanie’s Top 40.”

Not to mention his mother’s, but I wasn’t about to conjure up that living specter. I returned the remote control to the table next to Luke and sat down on the sofa, not exactly beside him, but closer, honoring the promise I had made to myself about sitting there.

“You like it,” he said turning his head to look at me.

“I do.”

“Good.”

He closed his eyes again.

“Are you tired?” I asked.

“A little,” he admitted.

“Oh,” I began to apologize. “I-I won’t stay long. Just to finish—”

“I’m not tired of you,” he said cutting me off.

He looked at me again and I felt the burst of heat again. This time it was followed by a dampness that cooled in the crotch of my panties as my face flushed.

“Okay,” I replied quietly and took a sip of wine.

For a time there was only the music in the room. Outside the light was nearly gone. The leather couch was so soft. I wanted to kick off my shoes and curl up on it. Perhaps if I had too much wine, Luke would let me spend the night. I could sleep peacefully here and dream about being in Luke’s bed—with Luke. In either case, tomorrow morning I would look like a wicked mess, but that would be okay. Luke was my friend and he had already seen me at worst lots of times.

In my purse my cell phone vibrated, generating a soft buzzing sound as if it were a tiny insect trapped inside a jar. Luke reached for the remote control and muted the music.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” he asked when he realized I wasn’t making a move to do so.

“It can go to voicemail,” I replied.

“Rachel, be nice. You called in sick today. What if your friends are worried about you?”

“You really cannot a bear a ringing phone, can you, Lucas Sterling?” I giggled as I took out the phone to see who was calling.

It was Brian. I let his call go to voicemail, and then to cover my tracks I called Corrine back. Luckily she answered.

“Hi Corrine, I missed your call,” I said.

Luke smiled to himself, satisfied. Should I leave the room to have my call? It was easier for me to do that than it was for him. But then how would that look? Like I didn’t trust him—or want him—to hear what I had to say? So I remained on the sofa.

“Hey girl!” Corrine replied. “Are you okay?”

“Much better,” which was the truth. “Work go okay today?” I asked.

“When I got your email this morning I thought something must have happened.
Did
something happen? I mean
the
something? Did you and Mr. Magnificent make magic?”

Yes and no, I thought. Because it did feel magical still, the way Luke had declared that what was between us was
ours
. And it had always mattered to him too. What I said was, “Everything’s fine, Corrine.” Because it really was.

“Oh you can’t talk,” she picked up immediately and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is he there?”

“Yes, for sure,” I replied in a regular voice.

“Take that, Stephanie-the-teacher!” Corrine squealed with delight.

“Corrine, I gotta go,” I said very embarrassed. Maybe Luke had heard her. “Okay. We’ll have lunch. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You better!” replied Corrine.

We said bye and I shoved the phone back into my purse. Luke unmuted the music.

“See,” he said. “She was worried, wasn’t she?”

And now she had the completely wrong idea. If only wishing could make it so, I contemplated to Anita Baker singing about
no one in the world
being able to love her better, letting myself play with the fantasy of
making magic
with Luke. Because it would be magical.

Luke had no idea how right he was about me doing my research. From the Internet, I had learned what to expect if ever I should get to see Luke naked again. There would be muscle atrophy, maybe a catheter, perhaps even a diaper. The
incomplete
diagnosis made it a little harder to predict what he might require even though I knew his injury level. No two injuries were the same, and Luke didn’t give details. Was he incontinent? Could he have an erection? Did he even feel his legs at all?

As friends I supposed we should have been able to talk about these kinds of things openly, like when we were in college discussing our relationships—him mostly—or how we would go about saving the world—me mostly. But then he didn’t owe me a list of his limitations. And as for Stephanie and Brian, they were mainly just names between us, symbols really of our separate lives. And maybe I didn’t have the
right to ask him how he felt
, or he the
right to speak to me so kind
according to Phil Collins and Marilyn Martin.

I just wanted to know more. Sometimes it felt like there were these huge parts of Luke that he kept locked away from me, maybe even from everybody else. Today at breakfast he had opened up a little, perhaps even a lot. But I wasn’t his counselor. I refused to analyze him. I would wait. And if he needed a thousand years to tell me everything there was to know about him then I would just be here ready. After all, I kind of had my secrets too.

.

NINETEEN

N
oticing that Luke’s glass was almost empty I returned to the kitchen for the bottle of wine and proceeded to refill it.

“Thanks,” he said gazing up at me.

Like a million men across these United States, just home from a hard day’s work, Luke looked so relaxed, having
his lady
pour him drink. Of course the work had been shopping and the woman was just a friend. Christina must have done this ten thousand times, and I wondered now if she missed doing it. If she missed him. They must talk. They had the children between them. Robert and I didn’t have that much and he wanted to talk. Mommy was right. People did reconcile.

“Sure thing,” I smiled, placing the wine bottle on a coaster on the end table next to him. It was time for me to go. I shouldn’t have anymore. “And Luke, thank you,” I said sincerely. “It was really fun today, even if you do hate my new hat.”

“I never said that,” he protested.

“Oh no, not directly,” I chuckled. “But you might as well have. But I don’t care. You can just get used to it, sir, because I’m gonna—”

He caught my hand in his, surprising me a little, making my blood race a lot, and igniting a full-fledged conflagration between my legs. I forgot what I was going to say.

“I better let you go,” he said holding my hand tightly. “I must be keeping you from Brian.”

There were only three places in the universe: Luke’s eyes, Luke’s hand, and my throbbing genitals. And Brian was nowhere to be found.

“You-you should talk,” I tried to say nonchalantly. “Like Stephanie’s not somewhere expecting…I-I mean waiting for you.”

Luke grinned crookedly. I was actually trembling now. He let go of my hand and reached into his breast pocket for his cell phone. He pressed a button and a moment later, despite the music from the iPod, I heard the familiar tone of a cell phone powering off. He left it on the end table and looked up at me as he lowered the footrest.

All the while I stood like a statue except for the riot of desire raging inside of me. Even my tongue felt swollen, as if it would push through my lips to plunge independently into his mouth. The palms of my hands were wet, demanding to touch him. There was music all around, strings, brass, Michael McDonald or James Taylor or Luther Vandross, I couldn’t tell anymore. Luke just watched me. I didn’t know what to do. Luke was my
first
, but since him I had had a fair share of
nexts. Fresh-face
or not, I was no innocent maiden. Under normal circumstances I would know what to do, but this wasn’t normal. It could be incredible.

“Come to me, Rachel,” Luke said.

And I was in his arms. As our mouths joined almost violently I had to wonder if I had leapt here. Maybe I had flown. Or like the Apostle Peter had I miraculously walked on water, traversing a tumultuous sea to reach him?

Our tongues mingled wildly, while Luke crushed me against his chest with arms that were like vises. Hungrily I clung to his steely shoulders. I felt his hand roughly underneath my sweater, briefly stroking my belly before cupping one of my breasts, massaging it as I buried my face against his neck. I tasted the fading fragrance of his cologne, running my tongue along his Adam’s apple before tugging at the open collar of his shirt to kiss his chest.

Soon I had Luke’s shirt unbuttoned down to his navel and he had removed my sweater. But then abruptly he stopped kissing me and leaned back against the sofa cushion, breathing deeply. What was wrong I wondered while my entire body pulsated with eager, anxious anticipation. Yet I kept silent, fearful of damaging the mood and taking comfort in the way he continued to hold me close.

“We have to talk, Rachel,” he said.

That announcement was almost never good, but I didn’t move.

“Okay,” I breathed against the soft cotton fabric of his shirt.

Only when Luke took his arm from around me, and I knew for certain that the miracle moment was over, did I sit up straight, preparing myself for the waves of reality about to overtake me. I even slipped my sweater back on. It had simply been too long. Too much had happened—to both of us. Watching Luke, I waited. He was looking down at his hands. Going back in time was for the movies.

“I…uh,” Luke began as he laced and unlaced his strong fingers. “I think…I mean I know…”

He seemed nervous. I tried to recall if I had ever seen him that way before. Oh sure he must have been at some time or another; everybody was sooner or later, but Luke wasn’t the type to show it. He hadn’t earned his fraternity nick-name for nothing.

The professional counselor part of me wanted to help him out. I could make it easier for him and bring up Stephanie-the-teacher myself. Then he could admit to me that they were getting serious, and tell me how what just happened wouldn’t be right. I could then be very mature and totally sophisticated, and we could end the evening the best of friends, ultimately noble, in spite of a little left-over out-of-control passion.

But I didn’t help him. If I was on my way back to the sidelines then he’d have to be the one to send me. Otherwise I was staying right where I was. I was not going to dutifully get off this leather couch once more, and be satisfied sitting at his feet. I had been trying to play fair all along, keeping to my
little sister, protégé, puppy-dog
lane. He was the one who had violated the rules.

Eventually Luke looked at me again. “You should take some time to think about it first,” he said.

“Think about what?” I asked.

“About what it’s like… to be with a man like me,” he answered.

The
what
was his disability? Oh God. I nearly beamed with relief.
I am stronger than you know
, I could have quoted Stevie Nicks.

“I think about that all the time,” I replied frankly. “Ever since St. Ives.”

A little smile tried to tug at the corners of his mouth.