Walk on Water (6 page)

Even though such questions were constantly populating my brain as interrupting thoughts from which I hurriedly fled only to wind up right back with them again. How much had he changed? What did he think of me now? Could we really be friends again? Would it be like
old times
, or like that
one time
? Which one did I want? Did I still want what I had always wanted, in the words of
Seinfeld’s Elaine,
the
this, that, and the other
. And what about the wheelchair? What did it mean? Could it even be like it was?

Friday night I was home—probably waiting for the telephone to ring—but keeping myself busy doing the laundry. When the laundry was done, I took a shower because it was time to go to bed. The hot water felt good and combined with the scent of juniper to dissolve the hyper-vigilant state I was weary of living in. Why must hope be so resilient? Luke had kissed me—so what? It was just a friendly gesture. Friends kissed all the time. Hadn’t I kissed him first? On the cheek, yeah, but still. He’d call me when he got around to it. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. He certainly must have a life. I did. I was too old to be sitting around waiting for the telephone to ring. It was enough to know that he was basically okay. I was out of half-and-half. I should go grocery shopping tomorrow.

By the time I was washing off a second coat of body wash suds, the telephone did ring. It must be after ten. Mommy was usually in bed by now unless she had some important news or juicy gossip that couldn’t wait. The phone kept ringing while I made up my mind to try to answer it, which meant wrapping myself in a towel and dripping water on the floor.

“Hello,” I said in a voice that revealed the dash to the phone.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Luke asked.

“Oh! Luke,” I said glancing at the clock radio by the bed. “Uh-uh no. No! Hi!”

“Hi. Hope it’s not too late.”

“No. No, I-I was just in the shower.”

“Oh sorry, then I better let you go.”

“No! I mean it’s okay. I-I was getting out. I have a towel.”

“That’s all?” he chuckled.

A blush covered me from head to toe.

“I’m-I’m covered,” I tried to say nonchalantly.

“Too bad,” replied Luke.

I shivered. Like old times, he still enjoyed teasing me. It was silly to be thrilled but I was. For a time there was silence. I had never known what to say.

“So I called to see if I could take you up on your lunch offer,” Luke supplied finally.

“Oh—for sure!” I said, dropping the towel. “When would you like to get together?”

“Tomorrow okay?”

“Yes. That would be fine, Luke.”

Maybe I should have hesitated at least a little, as if I had to mentally check a busy schedule. Must I always be too easy for him?

“One o’clock okay?” he asked.

“Um-hmm,” I replied again without a second of hesitation.

God—I was such a pushover! I clutched the telephone receiver tightly to contain myself and sat down on the bed.

“Great,” said Luke. “I’ll pick you up.”

My joy faded. There was no elevator in my building. Luke could not come to my house. How could that be true?

“Oh…uh,” I stammered. “Uh…”

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I uh…I live on the second floor. There’s no—”

“Elevator,” he finished for me.

“No,” I confessed. “I’m sorry.”

“Does that bother you, Rachel?”

“Yes, of course,” I said immediately. “I mean…that my building’s not-not accessible. I didn’t think…well it’s an older building. You know, before there were codes.”

But not before there were wheelchairs and the people who needed them. I felt as guilty as the builders.

“Is there handicap parking?” Luke asked.

Thinking for a minute, I realized that I didn’t know.

“I’m not sure,” I was forced to admit. “I can check.”

“Don’t do it now, for God’s sake,” Luke laughed. “I’ll just call you when I get there and you can come down.”

For at least a quarter of a century I had been lamenting the fact that I couldn’t fit into the world of Lucas Sterling. Now all of a sudden he couldn’t fit into mine.

“Okay,” I said.

“So we’re good then?” asked Luke.

Did I sound sad?

“Yes!” I answered quickly. “Yes of course.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replied.

“Okay,” I smiled happily once more.

There was silence again.

“Guess I’d better let you get back to your shower,” Luke said.

“I’m all done,” I reminded him.

“Where’s the towel?”

“On the floor.”

“Must be a little chilly.”

I blushed again.

“I’m okay,” I laughed nervously.

“I’m sure,” Luke concurred.

“I’m glad I was able to catch the phone.”

“Me too. It’s kind of late, and you never were much of a night owl.”

“No-no, that’s okay. Really. I’m glad you called.”

“Had to. Even though it was your turn, you know.”

“My turn?”

“Yeah. But then you always were a little slow on the uptake.”

“I don’t like to bother people,” I lamely explained.

“I know. That’s what you say.”

Did I? Corrine complained that she always had to call me, and even Mommy called me more than I did her. And poor Robert, it was always left up to him to keep in touch.

“Okay,” I agreed. “You’re right, but I didn’t have your number. I mean your home number.”

“You have caller-id, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have it now.”

“Okay, Luke. I get the message.”

He laughed merrily, having scored his point.

“Good. But as I said, not a quick study,” he teased.

Was Luke Sterling really back in my life? Was I really hearing his voice, his laughter, not just remembering it or dreaming about it in my sleep?

“I’ll get it together,” I promised in my defense and as a self-made assignment.

I wasn’t a girl anymore. He wasn’t a boy either.

“Just pick a place for lunch,” Luke told me. “I’ll be happy with that.”

It felt the same. He was the captain and I was the crew. It felt the same and it felt good.

“Consider it done,” I replied.

“So where are we going?” Luke asked.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll just have to
call
you and let you know.”

.

SIX

E
ager for it to be true, it didn’t take me long to let myself believe in the miracle of our reunion. There were lunches and dinners, cappuccinos and conversations, even a movie. Individually we both had changed, and a lot, we must have, but together we were managing to be the same friends again. Once more the
this
was getting to be as good as the
that.
And the
other
? Well let’s just say I was willing to go without it again too.

We exchanged affectionate pecks on the lips to say hello and goodbye, although none of them like that first night in my car when we had said goodnight. The warm but dry gestures were all agape, the Biblical acts rightly shared between a brother and sister. It was truly better this way. Eros had shot a fatal arrow through our
us
the last time; and if I had to choose between having Luke and having sex then it was a no-brainer. Luke like
this
was absolutely better than no Luke at all.

It wasn’t about the wheelchair. Luke was still Luke. He was more filled out in the shoulders and chest. His arms were thicker. Maybe there was the tiniest hint of a paunch, but unlike me he couldn’t help it, otherwise I knew he would have, since Luke had always been a little vain about his physical appearance. He also couldn’t help that there were little creases around his eyes, and gray not only in the hair on his head but pushing through in the stubble on his chin. Granny liked to say that old-age was the price you had to pay for living. And in any case Luke Sterling could still inspire admiring looks. The chair wasn’t always obvious, and even when it was he was so smooth, even graceful, maneuvering it with athletic proficiency around and over the assorted obstacles that could be anywhere.

Furthermore his beautiful car accentuated his mystique. It was a Mercedes sedan, black, sleek, a suitable evolution it seemed to me from the red Trans Am of his college days. Except for the disability emblem on the license plate. Luke always drove us again, although now I did more than
radio duty
being hyper-vigilant as it were on the lookout for handicap parking. Most of the time there were ample spaces, but one day it so happened that the café where we had a lunch reservation had no special parking space free when we arrived. When I saw that one of the cars occupying one of the precious two spaces didn’t have a disability decal or tag I was indignant.

“Wait here,” I said angrily as I unbuckled my seatbelt. “I’ll get the manager.”

“It’s not a big deal, Rachel,” replied Luke. “I’ll get out and you can park the car.”

“No, Luke,” I charged. “It’s not fair. The manager just needs to call the police. That guy should be towed.”

“And we know it’s a man because?” laughed Luke.

“I’m serious,” I insisted. “People have to learn that they can’t do this.”

“Doing meter maid-duty now?”

“Luke—”

“Rachel,” he cut me off. “Give it a rest. You can park.”

Shutting off the engine, he opened his door. Then reaching behind him for the chair and the wheels, he quickly began to reassemble it on the pavement.

“Go on,” he continued matter-of-factly as he attached the second wheel. “Hop out and come around.”

By the time I was on the driver’s side, he had transferred into his chair.

“Get in,” Luke said.

“Luke, I…I don’t see why we can’t just—”

“We can organize a march—in my case sit-in—after we eat.”

The sarcasm stung.

“It is against the law,” I insisted defensively.

“We’re blocking traffic, Rachel,” he returned.

Reluctantly I got in the car. Luke closed the door and rolled himself back. I sat still staring at the hand controls, spellbound a little, afraid of them, as if they were too hot to touch, like they might be alive and capable of biting me. I was getting used to the wheelchair, to the way it was a part of him, and yet somehow the hand controls meant something else. He must lift his legs into the car one at a time, and his right foot could not press the accelerator or pump the brake. Now some self-important, inconsiderate idiot had made Luke’s life that much harder by taking the space that he was entitled to, sentenced to, because another idiot could not wait to send a message. I was on the verge of tears.

“You have to start it, Rachel,” advised Luke. “With the key.”

But I wanted to punish somebody for all of this, for the hand controls being necessary in the first place. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“I-I don’t think,” I stammered. “I mean that I can—”

“What?” asked Luke.

“Your controls…I don’t—”

“Have to use them,” he finished for me. “It’s a regular car, Rachel. Like everybody else’s.”

For as long as I had known him, Luke had been this kind of
go-with-the-flow
guy. In college, one of his intramural teams could be behind in the third quarter, down in the eighth inning, yet by the end of the game come out on top, if not by score then by attitude. Like in the movie,
Life of Brian,
Luke looked on the
bright side of life
, hanging from a cross or confined to a wheelchair. Okay, maybe that was inspiring, but it could be infuriating too. Being unhappy, angry, frightened, these were real feelings too.

Eventually I parked the car and rejoined Luke out front, and we went inside the café. A waitress seated us by a front window, handed us menus, and took our drink orders. As usual, Luke suggested what I might like. From behind the menu that I held up in front of me I made little sounds to indicate that I was listening, but I was also sulking. So what if I was taking too long to
get used to it
? I was doing my best. It was a lot to
get used
to. Okay, yes,
it
had happened to him, but in a way
it
had happened to us too; and I wanted to fix it, and since I couldn’t, I wanted to fix things for him. Was that so wrong?

From the other side of the menu I heard Luke whimpering. I lowered the menu to see him holding his hands in front of him like he was pretending to be a dog begging.

“What are you doing?” I cried in a frantic whisper as other patrons turned to look at our table.

“Trying to get myself out of the dog house,” he continued to whimper plaintively, pawing at the air.

“Stop that!” I reached across the table and grabbed his hands pulling them down. “People will think you’re crazy!”

“Is it working?” asked Luke, holding tightly to my hand.

“People are looking at us,” I replied.

“Is it working?” he pressed, a sly grin filling his handsome face. “Can I come in?”

“You’re silly!”

“Maybe,” he replied. “If that’s what it takes.”

His gaze met mine intently. His lashes were still the envy of every woman who had ever purchased a tube of mascara, myself included. He began to softly caress the top of my hand with his thumb. I began to come apart like butter melting in a warm pan.