Lynn Bulock - The Harbor of His Arms

Didn’t the woman ever get tired of arguing? Alex picked up as many plastic sacks of groceries as he was sure he could take in one load and straightened up from the car trunk. If he took any less she’d only load herself down, sure that she needed to pull her weight in every endeavor. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever met anybody this stubborn. His aggravation probably made him close the trunk a little more forcefully than he should, but he had to get rid of some frustrations somewhere.

Independence was a wonderful thing, especially in a situation like the one Holly found herself in. When she didn’t have anybody around it was good that she was self-reliant. But Alex was pretty sure self-reliance could be carried too far. Why not take the help when it was available and offered? Holly seemed to push him away for no reason. If positions were reversed and he normally had a family to support on as little as he knew she was getting by on, he’d welcome a little help once in a while. Did she really expect a week or two of pork chops instead of hot dogs would spoil those kids for life?

What he remembered about Holly told Alex that she hadn’t always been this way. The way Kevin had talked about Holly, she’d seemed a little more willing to compromise, to give in, to share the burden with others.

Toiling up the apartment-house stairs, arms laden with groceries, Alex flashed back to his own childhood again. He remembered how routine his mother’s life and his own had been during those long periods when his dad was at sea. Not that routine was bad, especially for little kids. They seemed to thrive on it. He knew he had, but life alone with his mother had somehow often slipped from routine to much too quiet.

The celebrations that took place when his father came home along with the rest of his ship’s crew always made the old man seem like an even more special individual. And come to think of it, the celebrations also helped to mask, for years, how drab their lives were when he was away. What Jim Wilkins couldn’t see didn’t exist, and Alex knew his mother made sure that his father saw just what she wanted him to when he was on leave.

The door to Holly’s apartment was wide open when he reached her floor. He knew she was probably only seconds ahead of him, but still her carelessness aggravated him. Hadn’t they just talked about this? He went through the open door and pointedly kicked it closed behind him without saying a word, making enough noise to remind her to shut it next time.

“I heard that,” she called from the kitchen. “Real subtle.”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” he called back.

Her face was flushed when she turned to meet his entrance into the kitchen. “What did you want me to do, shut it in your face so that I’d have to come unlock it again when you knocked? Your expensive ice cream would melt on the countertop while I did that.”

“Better melted ice cream than unwanted visitors.” Alex put down his pile of bags on the kitchen table. “I shut the trunk, too. It’s more work, I know, when we’ve got another load of groceries to bring up here. But you have to stop announcing to the world what you’re doing, Holly.”

She looked at him from her place sorting canned goods from the sacks. “I know all that, Alex, really I do. But can’t you realize what this does to my life?”

Her violet eyes held traces of harried fear. The expression made Alex want to put an arm around her, find a way to drive away the concern that wrinkled her smooth skin. “I know we weren’t really any safer before you came to town. But I could fool myself into thinking we were. That all the ugliness had been left in the big city along with the constant memories of Kevin’s death. That maybe, just maybe, I could raise my kids in a normal environment where I wouldn’t have to fear for their safety, and my own, every waking moment.”

It was the sadness in her voice that finally pushed him to action. Alex crossed the small kitchen and put his arms around her, knowing she’d fight the embrace but needing to offer it anyway.

“I’ll do anything I can to make it better,” he told her, meaning every word of it as he wrapped his arms around her thin shoulders. Surprisingly she didn’t struggle, but leaned against him. The action caused a thrill of shock to course through him, compounded by the myriad thoughts that crowded his brain at the same time. What made her smell so good—mildly floral with a hint of some kind of spice? Who knew that her dark hair would be so soft, with her head fitting so well under his chin as he pulled her closer?

Merely offering comfort to another human being had never caused feelings like this in him. For once Holly was accepting his help, and it was nearly killing him to give it to her. He wanted to pull back as if he’d touched hot metal instead of the pliant woman who nearly melted in his arms.

“You mean well,” she murmured. “And I want to believe you, really I do. It would be so easy if I could believe you. But I know I can’t. What I need is some kind of superhero, Alex, and as nice a guy as you are, you’re no hero.”

For her he wanted to be one. But Holly’s warm body this close to his was causing some very un-heroic feelings to assault him. Even as Alex used one finger to tilt her chin up so that their gazes met, he knew he was proving her right. He was no hero if he wanted this badly to comfort them both with a kiss. Still, she didn’t fight him, didn’t protest at all as he drew ever closer. When their lips met, the actual contact was soft and incredibly sweet. It was all he could do to stay standing upright, not crush Holly between himself and the kitchen cabinets in a much more fervent embrace.

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