I was wearing low-rider, midnight blue cords; a cool, heavy-buckled black belt of my own; and dark, gray-blue, fitted long-sleeved tee (I didn’t figure Luke would have issues with blue cords). My feet were bare too and my toenails were painted a dark, electric-blue. It had seemed a good idea at the time; I was feeling in a funky-girl mood. I decided I needed a pedicure.
Vance had made quesadil as and they were good. He’d even put jalape?os and bits of sautéed chicken breast in them. When we were done eating I did the dishes while he made some cal s (it was only fair, he cooked). He was off that night, back at work tomorrow. He was going to the cabin after Luke picked me up.
When he was done with the phone and I was done with the dishes, he guided me to the steps to the bed and we climbed up.
Luke was due at my house in just over an hour. I figured Vance would go straight for the hanky panky. We had time.
He didn’t.
He lay down on his back and tucked me in his side, my cheek on his shoulder. Then his hand went up the back of my shirt but only to draw mindless patterns on the skin of my lower back. Other than that, he was silent and he didn’t touch me or try to kiss me.
Hmm.
His fingers were having an effect. As I’d attacked him that morning, I thought it was his turn. I didn’t know how to communicate this without making it my turn.
“Vance?”
“Yeah.”
“What’re we doing?”
“Lyin’ in bed.”
“I know but… why?”
“Why not?”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
Wait, I did. “I’m not good at lying around.”
“Princess, you need to learn to be stil .” I thought about that, thinking maybe he was right. I was rarely stil . I was usual y on the go, always had been my whole life. Hard to save the world lying in bed and doing nothing.
“Is this a Native American thing?” I asked.
“What?” There seemed a hint of laughter in his voice and I got up on my elbow and looked at him. I was right, definitely laughter, in fact a ful blown grin. “What’s funny?” I asked.
“You.”
“How am I funny? I don’t know anyone who sits around, doing nothing and being stil .”
“Lot of people do it. Most the time they fuck it up with their eyes glued to a television set, fil ing their mind with garbage.”
I had to admit this was true. “Is that why you think I’m funny? Because I can’t be stil ?”
“I think you’re funny because you asked me if it was a Native American thing.”
“Why’s that funny?”
“The only thing I know about my culture is what I’ve read in books. I was off the rez by the time I was twelve. The two years before that I was bounced around amongst people with good hearts who took me in but not enough patience to deal with my shit. Before that al I knew was my Dad gettin’
shitfaced drunk every fuckin’ night of his life, most of those beatin’ my Mom bloody while my brother and I watched.” Every muscle, bone and piece of tissue in my body froze including my lungs and heart. Then I snapped out of it, leaned over him, reached high and turned out the light.
“Jules?”
I settled in beside him and put my arm around his waist and pul ed him to his side, facing me.
“Jules,” he repeated.
I looked up at him, my arm stayed around his waist and I pressed my front to his.
Then I whispered, “I can’t do it, Vance. You have to give me time. I need the moonlight.” I took a deep breath then said, “But before you get upset, you have to know that I know it counts, this counts more than any of it.” A change came about him. I could barely see it but I could definitely feel it.
“Jesus, Jules,” he muttered but he wasn’t disappointed in me. It was something else, something bigger, something that made his voice sound kind of husky.
It was something good.
I pushed deeper into him. “If I had a superpower,” I whispered, “I’d go back in time. I’d talk your Dad to an AA meeting. I’d get you back your family.”
“Quiet Jules.”
“I’d fix your Mom so she was only beautiful and not broken –”
“Quiet.”
“And you’d know al about your culture because you should.”
He rol ed into me, then on top of me. “If you aren’t quiet, I’l make you quiet.”
“You should at least find your brother, Vance.” His hands came to either side of my face.
“I’l help you,” I offered.
He kissed me and he didn’t stop there. He did a lot of things that made me stay quiet.
Not exactly quiet, as such, but the sounds I was making didn’t have anything to do with a recognized language.
So I guess I figured out how to get Vance to make a move and take his turn.
After we were done, he pul ed a soft knit, chenil e blanket out of the cubbyhole over the hal ceiling and arranged it on top of us.
He held me front-to-front, my face in his throat.
After a few minutes I said, “I want you to tel me more.” He was silent.
“Please. I know it’s hard but –” I went on.
“Later.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
His arms, already around me, tightened when I gave in.
I lay there, stil , and thinking it was not that hard.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sometime Next Week