Gwynne Forster - Private Lives

“We’ll sit out here while you shop.”

“I…uh…I’d hoped you would go in with me.”

He was waiting to be asked. “Wait here.” He tied Jack to a canine hitching post, told the dog to sit and went back to Allison.

“I hope somebody at the general store will be able to hook up this stove,” she said as they headed back to Indian Lake. “If I touch it, I’ll probably blow up the house.”

He took that as a cue that she didn’t want to ask him to do it and he decided not to offer. He was getting fed up with their cat-and-mouse foolishness. But he wished she’d lighten up and accept that he would gladly do whatever he could to make her life easier.

He saw a fast-food restaurant off the highway and drove into its parking lot. “Will a scoop of ice cream ruin Dudley’s dinner?”

“Probably, but he seldom gets out…Why not? He’ll love it.”

He put the car in Park and turned toward the backseat. “Say, buddy, I’ll buy you some ice cream, but you have to promise your mother that you’ll eat all of your dinner.”

Dudley clapped his hands with glee. “I will, won’t I, Mommie? I’ll eat everything.”

“If your mother tells me that you broke your promise, I’ll be very disappointed in you.”

“Oh, no, you won’t,” Dudley said. “I’ll eat all of my dinner. Can I have chocolate?”

“You may, indeed.” He tried to imagine the expression on Allison’s face as she gazed at him. If he were egotistical, he’d swear that she admired him. He shook it off. “You want to stretch your legs?” They got out of the car and Dudley surprised him when he grabbed his hand and said, “Can you go with me to the bathroom before we get the ice cream?”

He glanced at Allison, realized that Dudley’s request had surprised her as well, and said, “Sure,” as casually as he could. The boy had already become attached to him, which could become difficult the longer he was around Dudley.

As they walked away from the car, he said to the child, “I’m glad to go with you, but why didn’t you ask your mother?”

“’Cause she has to take me to the ladies’ room and I don’t like going there. I want to go to the men’s room.”

“You’ll soon be old enough to go to the men’s room by yourself.” What else could he say? He remembered how much he’d hated it when his mother took him to the ladies’ room. They found Allison leaning against a bubble gum machine in the front of the restaurant.

“It’s different, Mommie,” Dudley said as they approached her. “You oughta go see it.”

“He wants chocolate ice cream,” Brock said, changing the subject to one certain to engage the child’s attention.

Allison wasn’t talkative by any means, but as they ate their ice cream, he noted her unusually quiet manner. Distant. He’d almost call it standoffish. “What’s the matter, Allison? I’m not trying to undermine your authority or to make a place in his life. But I love children, and when they turn to me, I’m not ever going to push them aside.”

“I don’t think that. It’s…This is moving so fast, as if it’s going to have a life of its own and as if I have no control over it. I had a life that I didn’t control, and I don’t want that again.”

He could see that something ate at her constantly and if she said otherwise, he wouldn’t believe her. He’d thought that she could be hiding out in Indian Lake. What other reason would she have for secreting herself and her son away from civilization?

“I don’t want to control you or anyone else, Allison. I assume you’re familiar with the words no, don’t, stop and leave. You can use any of those words with me and I’ll understand.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. You can control a person in many ways, including by being nice, all the while using subtle means to keep that person in line. Some people are skilled at it.” She stopped eating and leaned back in the chair. “Did you see Alfred Hitchcock’s Gaslight?”

He nodded. “I saw it. Did you experience something similar?”

“Not similar, but just as vicious.”

“Mr. Lightner, shouldn’t we go check on Jack? Suppose somebody steals him?” the worried little boy said.

“I pity the person who’s stupid enough to try that. Jack can definitely hold his own. All the same, we’d better go.” He reached over and stroked the back of Allison’s hand. “I’d like you and me to have an understanding. As far as I’m concerned, a casual friendship between us is unlikely. Are you ready to go?”

She nodded. “I hope someone at the store can install my stove this evening. Otherwise, what will Dudley and I eat?”

“Use the one you have tonight, and tomorrow we’ll get a guy who installs appliances. I’ll get a dolly from the hardware store and put the stove in the corner of your kitchen.”

Later that evening Brock defrosted a Swanson TV dinner for his supper. Alone, he thought about Allison’s reluctance to accept his friendship, even when he offered help that she sorely needed. It wasn’t as if she had the option of calling a handyman. There was no one for maybe miles around who could help her if the man in the hardware store didn’t come to work. He’d install the stove, but only if she asked him.

Early the next morning, the birds chirped and a soft cool breeze energized him. He sat on his back deck with Jack at his feet thinking of Dudley and of how easily he developed affection for the child. He didn’t need further proof that he would enjoy fatherhood. The raspberry bushes rustled in the breeze and he remembered a white wicker basket that he’d put in his pantry the previous summer. He went inside and got it. He was looking at what seemed like a bushel of raspberries and because Allison liked raspberries, he figured he’d pick some for her that were really fresh. In less than half an hour, he had filled the basket with large, plump, sweet berries. After forcing himself to wait until ten o’clock, he put the leash on Jack and patted the dog’s rump. “Come on, boy.”

A seemingly harassed and frazzled Allison answered his knock at the door. When she saw him, she put her finger to her lips for quiet.

“Hi,” she said. “Dudley’s in his room doing his math assignment and if he hears your voice, that will be the end of it. Come on in.”

“You didn’t call someone to install your stove,” he said, sensing the reason for her frustration. She shook her head. He handed her the basket piled high with raspberries. Her eyes sparkled.

“I picked these for you a few minutes ago and my fingers are all scratched up. Don’t I deserve a kiss?” She clutched the basket as if it held diamonds. He took it from her and put it on the table beside them.

“Look at my fingers,” he said, pretending to beg for sympathy. “Don’t I deserve a kiss?”

A smile crawled over her face. “You do, but I think it’s best that you and I avoid playful kissing.”

He sobered at once. “Let me tell you, Allison, when I kiss you, there will be nothing playful about it.” A gasp escaped her lips as she sucked in her breath. “That’s right, and it’s what I want to do to you right here and right now.”

She stared at him and moved her lips, but not a word escaped her mouth. “Come here to me, Allison.”

Her trembling lips parted. “Brock. Brock, I…”

Her arms seemed to rise of their own volition as he stood gazing down at her with desire ablaze in his eyes. She couldn’t stand it. She needed him and had from the first time she saw him.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he said, the soft words barely audible.

Her only thought was that he was tantalizing, all man, and she wanted him. Somehow, he had her in his arms, his fingers pressed into her flesh, and he continued to stare down at her. Why didn’t he do something?