Mary McDonald - No good deed

She looked around for somewhere to set the toast, and raised her eyes to his, questioning.

The cabinet where he kept his plates was right behind her, so he stepped close and reached over her head.

Her arm skimmed against his chest as she turned to see what he was doing. A shiver swept through him at the contact, and he almost dropped the plate.

She skirted around him, putting the toast on the plate as she went. “Sorry. I guess I’m in the way.”

“No. You’re fine.”

After brushing her hands together, she shoved them in the front pockets of her jeans. The action pulled her blouse tight and he had to drag his eyes away.

Her quick retreat to the other side of the kitchen didn’t escape his notice. Trying to recover his composure, he took the pan off the stove and added the rest of the eggs to the new plate. “Come on, let’s go eat while it’s still hot.” His voice was more gruff than he intended.

Nodding, she took the plate he offered. He tore a couple of paper towels off the roll to use for napkins, grabbed the glasses of juice, and followed her around the corner to the table.

She took a bite. “This is good, Mark.”

“Thanks.” He shrugged. “It’s just eggs.” Pleasure surged through him at her compliment. It wasn’t just about the food. It was how she glanced around the apartment with interest, and not a hint of condescension, or worse, pity. She might not want to be close to him, but at least she had stayed to eat with him.

Jessie sipped her juice. “So, to answer your earlier question, I came by with some of your stuff I told you about.”

“My stuff?” He dropped his fork on the plate with a clatter and shot a look at the box. With all the things they had talked about that night at O’Leary’s, he’d forgotten that she had mentioned rescuing some of his things.

“Most of it’s there. There are a couple of lenses that were cracked. Since the box was full, I left them at my place. I can bring those by another time.”

He didn’t have money to repair cracked lenses so they could wait, but he’d grab at any excuse to get her to come by again, so he just nodded.” That would be great.”

His leg bounced, jostling the juice and rattling his fork on the plate. It was all he could do to remain seated, so bad did he want to tear through the box right then and there. He took another bite of eggs, but he was no longer hungry. Instead, he felt like a kid on Christmas morning and couldn’t keep from sneaking peeks at the box as they continued eating.

She laughed. “Go ahead and look. I won’t be offended to be left finishing my meal alone.” Another smile took any possible sting out of the comment.

“I’m sorry…it’s just…well, it means a lot to me.” How to explain to her that it was more than just some photo equipment? It was like getting a part of himself back.

Mark jumped up from the table and reached the sofa in two long strides. He lifted the box and set it on the floor as he sat on the edge of the couch. His heart raced and he had to wipe his hands on his thighs. With a deep breath, he tugged the top off. Several of his cameras lay inside. He held one. It was the camera he used most and he blew some dust off the lens. The weight of it in his hands felt wonderful. So familiar. So natural. The strap hung loose and he put it around his neck, feeling it settle into the usual spot.

A surge of emotion swept through him, catching him off guard. His hands shook and he clutched the camera in a death grip. He heard Jessie get up and approach, but he couldn’t look beyond the camera in his hands. It was no more than a dark, watery shadow and his throat tightened. Blinking hard, he attempted to say thank you to her, but his voice failed him.

The couch creaked as she sat on the arm of it, and a second later, he felt her hand on his back. Without uttering a word, she rubbed slow circles, her hand warm even through his t-shirt. He pretended to work at some smudges with his thumb. After a few minutes, he lifted the camera from around his neck, set it on the table, and removed another. It was an older one he hadn’t used often, but below that, wrapped in dish towels, were some of his lenses. He smiled. With them and his favorite camera, he could begin to take on a few photo jobs. It would be tough, with so many photographers switching to digital, but it was a start.

He cleared his throat, and this time, he was able to speak. “Thanks, Jessie.” It was too soon to look at her yet. He didn’t trust his emotions that much. “This is…it’s fantastic.”

“You’re welcome.” She squeezed his shoulder.

There were two more towel-wrapped bundles in the box. The first was his long lens. Excitement surged through him, and he grinned. Now he was truly in business. He had all the basics. As he picked up the last bundle, Jessie’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Not a lot, but he felt her tension.

It was the camera. He knew it. Even wrapped in the cloth, the thrum of energy seeped into his hands. His brain screamed at him to drop it, but even as that command shot into his mind, his hands tore the towel off, as if seeking to get closer to the energy. “Damn it, Jessie!”

“Mark-”

Anger and fear gave his voice a hard edge as he cut her off. “I said I didn’t want this one. Why the hell did you bring it?”

Revulsion battled with an overwhelming attraction and he couldn’t let the camera go. Or wouldn’t let go. He wasn’t sure which. His fingers betrayed him and skimmed over the surface, tracing edges and flicking a speck of dirt off the steel rim around the lens.

“What was I supposed to do with it?”

“Get rid of it. Trash it. I don’t care.” He shrugged her hand off and stood, giving the camera a shake. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

Jessie crossed her arms. “I don’t care, Mark. You can toss it in the garbage for all I care.” She straightened, standing in front of him, her eyes boring into his. “I don’t think I have the right to decide its fate.”

“And you think I do?” He laughed, short and harsh. “You want to know about rights? I’ll tell ya about rights. If I use this damn thing again, I can kiss all my rights goodbye. Again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t take that chance.”

She looked from the camera to him and shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to do with it. It’s just that the second you touched that thing, you’re whole body gave off a…a jolt of energy or something.” She held his gaze. “It didn’t do that for me.”

Mark broke eye contact, hating that he thrilled at the rush of electricity shooting up his arm. “I feel it, but…” His body hummed, just like it had the first time he’d touched the camera. Eventually, he’d become used to the energy or had learned to control it. Overwhelmed and unsure, he sank onto the couch, and even as he cursed the camera, he cradled it against his stomach. “If I use this again, they could lock me up-just like before.”

It surprised him to see tears on her face as she nodded. “Maybe. But maybe not.”

“I can’t risk it.” He finally pried it out of his hand and set it in the box. “Do you know what it’s like to lose every single right you ever had?”

She shook her head and sat beside him, her hand returning to his back. It felt good.

“Forget about liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That was history. Even the right to life was on pretty shaky ground.” Mark gave a bitter laugh, then scrubbed his hands down his face, letting his arms drape across his knees.

Her arm reached towards his opposite shoulder, and she pulled him close in a quick sideways hug, her head resting on his shoulder.

He turned his face, catching the scent of her hair. Clean and fresh, the sun lit the strands. Her eyes were closed, the dark lashes contrasting with her hair. When she opened them, she looked straight into his eyes, not moving her head.