LaVyrle Spencer - The fulfillment

Her words formed a cinch around his gut, and he felt it tightening in a way that needed escape, like he imagined strangling must feel. "Am I your man?" he asked. There was no warmth to the question. "I don't know. Are you, Aaron?"

He knew damn well what she was trying to lead him to, and the worst part of it was she had every right. But he wasn't ready to be confronted. "Don't push me, Pris," he said. "Have I ever pushed you?" "Maybe push is the wrong word. Maybe it's pull."

She said nothing, and he turned to walk toward the drive. In spite of his reluctance to speak of marriage, he felt he owed her something. He could feel the hope springing in her, and in himself there was something akin to pity because he hadn't the same nesting urge she had.

They walked together, but apart, near the corncrib and toward the road. The moon highlighted things: her hair-mussed now-an old, misshapen sweater she'd thrown on against the chill, her downturned face.

He took her hand in apology and drew her against his side. They walked very slowly, their hips bumping in a famil- iar way with each step, until by some unspoken agreement they stopped. He knew it had to be brought out into the open, and she'd done her part, more than a woman should have to. His silence belittled her, and she deserved better.

He eased his hold on her hand and very lightly stroked his thumb up and down her own, feeling her shiver as he did.

"Pris, I know what you want," Aaron said, and his voice was so quiet that her breathing seemed a roar in her ears.

He stood beside her, unmoving, except for the warm thumb that kept stroking across hers. She waited for him to go on, but he just stood there, the thoughts so quietly loud around them that perhaps they were already spoken. "What is it I want, Aaron?"

He swung to face her then, and gripped both her hands so hard they hurt. As if unable to look at her, he put his face up toward the sky instead. "Oh God, girl…you want me to marry you, and I should be askin' right now." Something told her his eyes were closed, and she heard him swallow. "But you're not?"

He looked down at her then, but she was looking at the ground. She wondered if Aaron could feel the heat of her face through the night chill. "No, Pris, I'm not. I'm just not ready for it yet. And that makes me feel guilty." "Is it something I did?" she asked, meaning the time she gave herself to him, blaming herself for it.

He held her right hand in his, and with his free hand ran the length of her forearm, up and down again and again from wrist to elbow. "It's nothing, Pris, nothing you did. Please believe me. It's got to do with me, not you. People had us marching down the aisle before we even got used to the changes we saw in each other. We sort of fell together like, living so close like we do. And it's for sure I enjoy being here-I mean I like your folks…the kids…and you."

He put a hand under her chin and made her look up at him as he asked, "Do you know what I'm saying?" "No." The word was choked out. "I'm saying I've been unfair to you. I've come around here for a year now, and I can feel all the threads tightening me to you…and some days I feel like they're strangling me be- cause I'm not ready to be tied down yet. That's the part that's unfair to you. Folks in these parts see me coming to call, and right away they say she's Aaron's property. Nobody asks me, and nobody asks you. Meanwhile, the others who might take a fancy to you keep away, thinking it's all set between you and me. It seems I can't have the pleasure of you without us taking vows." "I never said that, Aaron." "No, you never did, but it's the truth, nevertheless. Do you know what I was doing up there in the loft tonight while I was waiting for you? I was remembering the time we made love up there, and wishing it would happen again. Even though I don't want to marry yet, and even though I know what…well, how guilty you felt after the first time. And if I keep hangin' around here, I'm going to keep after you until it does happen again. So I think it's best I leave and make way for somebody who'll think of marriage first and haylofts second. With me aside, other fellows might feel more wel- come around here." "But they aren't welcome, Aaron. You're the only one I want."

He reached a hand behind her neck and pulled her face against his neck. "I know that, Pris, and I want you, too. But wanting and marrying are two different things to a man. To a woman they're the same."

She felt the heat of her face centered now in her eyes, and tears spilled. "Don't cry for me, Pris, don't." "I know why you're saying all this," she cried, her voice muffled. "It's because of what I let you do last winter. If I hadn't held myself so cheap, you wouldn't, either." "That's not true," he argued. He had to make her see it wasn't true. "I'm the one at fault for that. I knew you couldn't…knew I shouldn't…"

Finally she said, "If I hadn't given in then, you'd be asking me to marry you now." "That's got nothing to do with it." "Wasn't I good enough?"

He pulled her roughly against him, put his arms clear around her shoulders, which were jerking quietly. "Jesus, Pris, don't do this to yourself."

And then, to comfort her, he lowered his mouth to hers. As she always could, she made his body surge with desire. She opened her mouth without thinking, and in that slacken- ing movement he lost himself. Her arms clung to his neck, fear of losing him a threat that hurt more than the slats of the corncrib digging into her back.

With his fingers between the wooden slats behind her head, he pulled the length of his body against hers, and she could feel what the kiss had started. One of Aaron's hands left the slats and found her breast inside the old woolen sweater, and he made a groaning sound, while his body betrayed him.

She pushed in denial against the hand on her breast, but he held her pinioned against the corncrib wall, her head firmly against the slats and his mouth holding her still. She struggled until she could twist free and gasp, "No, Aaron, not again! If you set out to prove you can make me want you, you did! But I can't."

His angry words cut her off. "I didn't set out to prove anything by you, and you know it! I'm just not made of a goddamn lump of stone, Priscilla. I can't turn my body on and off like you can!" "Just what are you aiming to do here, Aaron? Threaten to leave me so I'll give in to you again?" Her anger matched his, making her accuse him when she might not otherwise have done so. "That's a cheap accusation and you know it. It's hardly worthy of you." "Do you think just because I want to marry you, you have the right to act as if we're already married?" "I don't stop to make lists of rights-or wrongs-and maybe if you didn't, you'd quit trying to push me into mar- riage and give your body what it's panting for!"

She slapped him then, and it cracked through the April night, stunning them both into silence.

He broke it first. "I'm sorry, Pris. But a man has physical needs, and I'd say I've done quite well, pressing mine as little as I have." "Well, go press them somewhere else. Go try one of the chippies at the Bohemian Hall Saturday night. After all, their price is cheaper than mine. All they want is money. I demand marriage in return for my favors."

Meaning to hurt her, he backed a step away, bowed slightly, and said with quiet sarcasm, "Ah, yes, if favors they could be called."

He had hit his mark, and he heard her sharp, sucking breath of surprise and shame, and he wanted suddenly to grab back the words. But she was running up the drive to- ward the house, and it was too late.

She heard him call her. There was apology in his voice, but she was too humiliated to hear it. She heard only the words that cheapened what they'd once done together. They hurt more than the absent proposal ever had.