Megan Hart - Switch

brown, high up the concrete steps that had been set into

the bank. Halfway across on City Island, I saw the bright

red-and-white stripes of the bathhouse awnings at the

public swimming beach. I'd dip a foot in that water.

Maybe. But there was no way I'd ever swim in it.

"Left or right?" Eric said as he stretched one long leg, then the other.

Left would take us toward downtown and eventualy, the

highway, but we could walk down along the river if we

wanted instead of up here. Right would take us past

residential neighborhoods and the line of mansions that had

once been private homes but now mostly housed offices.

Oh, and the Governor's Mansion, which for some reason

never failed to fascinate me. I guess it was because such

an important building seemed out of place right out there in

the open, where anyone could stand in front of the fence

and look in. I felt the same way about the White House the

one time I'd been to D.C.

"Right." I nodded that way and watched him stretch. I

made an effort at doing the same, but since I never

stretched before any workout, it was half-assed.

Eric eyed me with a grin but made no comment. "Ready?"

"Sure."

There had been a heyday of walking when I was around

eight or nine. We'd been living in a cluster of trailers, too

few to realy be caled a park, with my mother's then

boyfriend, Bob. My mom had been laid off from her job in

the packing department at the Hershey factory, and for the

first time I could ever remember she'd formed a group of

girlfriends who did the sorts of things moms did on

television. Lunches where they dished over their men, and

television. Lunches where they dished over their men, and

trips to the mal where they walked and shopped but

hardly ever bought anything. Though my mom had never

carried an extra pound and wouldn't until after she had

Arty, they'd formed a group to walk around the

neighborhood to help get in shape. It was more an excuse

to get away from us ever-present kids as they gossiped,

but I'd often watched them from the concrete front porch

as they passed by on their rounds and wondered what

made them laugh so loud.

There was no laughing as Eric and I walked. I'd set the

initial pace, but his legs were much longer and we ended

up walking faster than I usualy did. Pride kept me from

asking him to slow, and I didn't have breath left for chatter.

We passed office buildings and finaly, Green Street,

where Harrisburg went from city to neighborhood most

drasticaly. We passed bikes and other joggers, most

heading the opposite direction. I was glad for the pace that

made talk impossible. Eric didn't seem the chatty type,

anyway. Arms swinging, he didn't walk so much as lope

along the sidewalk.

Somehow I didn't care about the sweat ringing my armpits

or dripping down my cheeks. I hadn't bothered with much

or dripping down my cheeks. I hadn't bothered with much

makeup either, and no woman looks her best in

sweatpants. With any other man I'd have been cataloging

my flaws and wishing I'd at least swiped my lips with gloss,

but with Eric it simply didn't matter.

Because I knew he had made himself come at my com

mand, and it didn't matter what I looked like or wore. I

had power over him. He didn't know it, but I did.

It took a lot of the pressure off in a major way. I didn't

have to worry if he liked me or what he was thinking. I

could find out any time I wanted, just by writing him a

note. And if I decided I didn't like him, this never had to

go beyond a walk along the river.

"How far do you want to go?" His question came close on

my thoughts, startling me.

I looked at my watch, calculating the distance we'd gone

and how long it would take to get back. I was going to my

dad's supposedly to watch the boys while he and Stela

went to some charity fund-raiser, though I knew my real

task was to figure out what burr had gotten into Jeremy's

britches. Stil, it was only lunchtime. The sky had stil been

slightly overcast when we left, but now the sun had come

out. The first realy good weather of the spring. I didn't

want to waste it.

"Another half a mile." I swiped the back of my hand across my face. "And I need to stop for a drink, too."

"Fair enough."

We walked on, slowing. The sidewalk ended just ahead as

the bank fel off much harder down to the river. Across the

street were a couple of restaurants.

"Let's stop at Taco Bel," I said suddenly, unable to resist.

Eric gave me a quick glance, but though I sought a smile or

some sign he was thinking about the last note I'd left, I saw

nothing to give it away. He nodded, though, and when

there was a break in the traffic, we headed across to walk

on the other side of the street.

The pause had slowed us both, so by the time we crossed

the parking lot to the restaurant I was cooling down. The

sun, so fiercely bright, had gone behind some clouds again,

and the wind off the river whipped us. It felt good, though,

drying my sweaty face. Eric held the door open for me.

Once again, the gesture from anyone else wouldn't have

Once again, the gesture from anyone else wouldn't have

given me a second thought, but I wondered if he'd done it

to be polite or from some other, secret need.

I was going to drive myself nuts thinking of this stuff, so I

shoved it aside as best I could and concentrated on the

menu board. It had been so long since I'd been to Taco

Bel they'd added a whole list of new items. I'd practicaly

lived off fast food for years because it was cheap, but

nothing up there realy looked appealing even when I

figured in the fact I'd walked al the way here and would

walk back.

"Go ahead," Eric offered.

I ordered a large diet cola and there was a moment of

awkwardness when he insisted on paying and I tried to

stop him but ended up conceding with a laugh. It was nice,

that gesture. I hadn't expected it.

"A soda's not going to break me, Paige." Eric flipped a

twenty at the cashier, who stared at it suspiciously and did

some strange things to it with a marker.

"Thank you, anyway." I took the drink, which I hadn't

realized was going to contain enough soda to fil a

realized was going to contain enough soda to fil a

fishbowl. The sweetness and carbonation hit the back of

my throat in a bubbly, fizzy splash of utter joy.

Folowing me to a table toward the front, Eric laughed at

my sound of delight. "That's the sigh of a true addict."

I lifted the humongous cup. "Is it that obvious?"

He waited for me to sit before he did. Pleasure, not

exactly sexual, purred through me. I could definitely get

used to this. He set his tray on the table and took the seat

across from me. Our knees bumped.

"Only to a former caffeine addict." He unwrapped his taco

and spread out the paper with his fingertips. "You sure you

don't want anything to eat?"

"I'm sure." The greasy meat and cheese might look good

but I knew I'd pay for it later. My stomach couldn't handle

that sort of junk anymore. I had the notes to thank for that.

Eric contemplated the taco. "I love tacos. They're life's

perfect food."

I laughed and sipped my drink. "If you say so."

"You don't like tacos?" he asked, stil not biting into his food.

"Oh, I love Mexican food. Just not from Taco Bel."

"So why did you want to stop here?" He pushed some