“Since when do you just throw anything into a box?” my mother asked.
“What does that mean?” I asked her, grabbing for the tape roll that she held just out of reach.
“The daughter I know likes everything neat and orderly.”
“I still do. I’m just thinking that they’ll be going back up all messy and random, so it’s not necessary to make it perfect inside the box, right?” I shrugged.
Perhaps a little touch of California had already made its way into my sensibilities. Wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.
Clark continued to call me while I was back east, not every night and not always at the same time. But late enough and with enough regularity that I went to bed each night wondering whether Nighttime Clark would be making an appearance. And more often than not, he did.
“Wait a minute, just wait a damn minute. Chess team? Please tell me you’re joking,” I said during one phone call. I was lying in my bed, eating Sour Patch Kids and asking Clark about his high school days. A few nights ago we’d started chatting about grade school, progressed on to everyone’s least-favorite and most-awkward junior high years, and had finally made it to high school.
“Chess team was serious business. Do you know how great that looks on a transcript? Colleges eat that shit up.” He laughed and sipped his Scotch. Three hours ahead of him I wasn’t indulging at the same time he was, but it did make for a more relaxing conversation. And for a looser Clark.
“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before, Mr. Barrow.”
“I’m sure I have,” he said.
“Nope, pretty sure you haven’t. Although I’ve gotten a few willy-nillys and a holy mackerel and—”
“I’ve never said holy mackerel and you know it,” he interrupted me, and I laughed.
“Oh yes you have; it was when I was going to throw away the moth-eaten blanket that was on the back of the couch in the living room. You launched into this tirade about how it was an authentic Adirondack woolen blanket, extremely rare for California, as they were typically found in upstate New York, from the old camps where wealthy families would go to escape the heat of Manhattan and Philadelphia and Boston at the turn of the last century, and that we couldn’t possibly throw it away. That it would be akin to trashing Americana as we know it,” I said, snorting a little at the end.
There was a long pause.
“You have a stunning memory, Vivian,” he finally said, a hint of humor in his voice. I’d been worried I’d hurt his feelings.
“Sometimes I do, I suppose. About some things.”
I switched positions on the bed, getting more comfortable. “So, chess team, huh? Tell me more about that.”
“What did you just do? You sound different,” he said.
“I just turned around in bed, I had my feet up against the wall before.”
“And now?”
“Now?”
“Mm-hmm,” he breathed.
Nighttime Clark. I grinned into the darkness.
“I’m lying the right way,” I said, my voice lifting a little at the end.
“I wasn’t aware there was a right way to lie in bed, Vivian,” he said, his voice deepening, going all warm honey.
“Depends on the bed, I suppose,” I teased.
“Depends on the body, I’d suppose,” he teased right back, and just like that, my skin pebbled. “Tell me all about the right way,” he said, with more of the warm gooey.
Officially? I was lying on my back with my head on the pillow, my legs under the blanket. But unofficially?
“I’m stretched out on my back, arms over my head, my legs barely tucked under the comforter since it’s so hot in here tonight. I’ve got one hand twisted in my hair, and my other hand is holding . . . you.”
I closed my eyes, held my breath, and waited.
Clark. Groaned. Deep.
Holy mackerel.
Two nights later I was on my back again with Clark in my ear, telling me about his favorite spots to kayak on the Big River.
“It’s not too swift there; just enough current that you can relax and go where the river wants you to. The trees on either side, the sound of the water, there’s nothing like it,” he said, slipping into that low and melodic voice that came at night. After hours.
“Well you’re in luck, because I’m bringing my kayak back with me,” I said, taking a swig from the water bottle next to my bed. “Two in fact, if you want to borrow one.”
“I also have my own, but thanks for the offer,” he said. “Maybe we’ll have to take them out sometime, see how they do.”
“Whether they’ll play nice together?” I laughed, rolling over onto my side.
“You must know all about that. With five brothers, I imagine ‘play nice’ is like a mantra.”
“It was the opposite—we played hard and rough most of the time. They never went easy on me just because I was a girl. They knew I’d punch them if I thought that they were.”
“I believe you. Receiving end over here and all,” he teased.