on watches as his wife’s twenty-one-year-old sister,
Heather, licks frosting off a birthday candle and pulls on the
hem of her leather skirt. He aches to kiss a dollop on her lower
lip, but her pink tongue darts out and catches it.
“You want one?” Heather asks, tossing a strand of
blonde hair from her eyes. He shakes his head no, not trusting
his voice. “It’s red, my favorite.” She picks
another one off his stepson, Austin’s, Spiderman cake and
pops it in her puckered mouth as the children run around in circles,
waiting for her to cut it.
“Just a minute,” she yells, causing all of them
to stop. “I’ll get to it.”
She takes the knife his wife, Sherry, hands her and begins cutting.
His stepson, Austin, watches as his aunt slices him a piece bigger
than everyone else’s.
“He doesn’t need that much, he’ll get sick,” Don
protests, finding his voice.
“Sure he does, it’s his birthday.” Heather
winks at Austin. “He knows how much he can handle,” she
says matter of factly.
Austin only eats half the piece leaving the rest on the table
to play with his friends, proving her point. A man should know
his limits and how much he can handle. Don pushes his own limits
constantly, but knows he can’t handle much more. He’s
already full of job, children, wife, church, everything he’s
supposed to have. So why does he want this girl in the tight
skirt?
“I must confess I’ve always had a crush on you,” Heather
had whispered one night when he’d taken her home from babysitting.
She’d been eighteen then, an adult by law, but still not
a woman. He remembered she’d had a scattering of pimples
on her chin and her algebra book balanced on her lap. He’d
laughed it off, not knowing what else to do. Now he wanted to
hear those words again in the low woman’s voice she’s
inherited.
Don hadn’t known his wife at this age, didn’t know
if her breasts had ever been so high, her skin so smooth. They’d
met after Sherry had already had her first child and lived with
a man other than him. He sometimes mourned what he’d never
known.
Sherry stands on the sidelines, watching. Her graying hair,
which she refuses to acknowledge, escapes from her ponytail and
the front of her shirt is covered with cake flour. When she thinks
no one is looking, she allows the corners of her mouth to drop.
Heather smiles and hands Don a piece bigger than his son’s.
He sees a hint of black lace and smells strawberries as she bends
over him. “Is it enough?” she asks, looking down
at the plate. He wonders himself. Is it enough?
“She’ll make a good mom.” Sherry comes up
and put her arm around his shoulders, squeezing harder than she
needs to, as her sister walks away. The smell of fresh sweat
clings to her and causes Don’s nose to wrinkle. They watch
Heather play pin the tail on the donkey with the children, spinning
them around until they stagger. “But I feel sorry for the
man she ends up with. He’ll have more than he can handle.”
He nods.
“You play too,” Austin yells and pulls him off the
couch into the middle of twelve screaming seven-year-olds from
his class.
Heather hands him the woven rope tail and puts the silk scarf
around his eyes. Don’s head buzzes as she spins him around,
her hands touching his arms, his waist. He tries not to think
about her being so close. Tries not to remember where he is.
She pushes him forward into the darkness. He hears the children
laugh as he stumbles in a circle, arms outstretched.
He hears Sherry’s call over the others. “No, over
here.” But he doesn’t listen, and keeps on his course.
He touches the softness of Heather’s sweater before she
raises her hands to stop him. She pulls the mask off and laughs. “You
lose.”
She puts her hand on his arm, steadying him back to his place
next to Sherry.
he
children gather around as the presents are opened. “This
one’s from me.” Heather hands him a large box wrapped in
Christmas paper, and topped with a crooked bow. Austin tears
through the paper and pulls out the skateboard he’s been
wanting.
“Thanks,” the boy screams, and jumps into his aunt’s
arms. She hugs his small body to her, and kisses the top of his
dark head.
Don can’t be mad at her for the gift. He’d wanted
to get it for the boy himself, but his wife said it was too dangerous. “Every
boy needs a little danger,” he’d said.
“Not my boys.” Sherry had put her hand on his cheek,
slapping him playfully.
He looks to his wife and is surprised at the smile on her face
and even more surprised when Austin opens his gift from them;
the safety helmet and padding to go with the board.
His wife shrugs at him.
arents arrive, and Don picks up a stack
of cake plates, and heads to the kitchen leaving Sherry at
the door to greet them.
He finds Heather alone, the sound of screaming children suppressed
by the walls. The room is cool, and he can see the outline
of her nipples through her sweater.
“I’ve seen you watch me,” she says, scrapping
a plate into the garbage can.
“No, I…”
“It’s OK, I like it.” She turns from him
and submerges her hands in the soapy water.
He walks up behind her trying to force his hands to stay at
his side, but reaches out and touches the tender spot of her
inner thigh where her skirt hits, wanting to know what he’s
been missing. He stays frozen for a moment. Her skin is as smooth
as he imagined, but cooler. He feels goose bumps erupt where
his fingers stroke.
She doesn’t move, but a soft sigh escapes from her mouth.
His hand reaches as high as he dares, fondling. She spreads her
legs, allowing him full access.
He feels guilty, but doesn’t want to be the one to stop.
He wants to see how far it will go. Wants to know how it feels
to be in her, to taste her.
“No.” She puts her hand on his, when he gets close
enough to feel her wetness.
He stops, holding his hand there a moment before taking it away. “I
should see if Sherry needs anything.”
on watches from a
crack in the bathroom door, as Sherry and her sister pick up
the living room, poised to rush in if Heather
tells. Ready to call her
a liar, to blame her, to stop her. His hand is still hot and he holds it
to his nose. Heat rushes to his face when he thinks about what happened.
He knows he should scrub the smell of her off, should wash any evidence
of the incident from his body and mind, but he is reluctant to.
“It went well,” he hears Sherry say. Sherry doesn’t
say anything about the high color on her sister’s cheeks,
or the brightness of her eyes. Heather doesn’t answer,
just puts the garbage in the bag as she walks around the room.
“Don, Heather’s leaving,” Sherry shouts.
“Bye,” Don yells through the bathroom door.
Don shuts the door and sits on the toilet seat. He puts his
hands in his head, trying to make the spinning stop. Trying to
stop thinking about what happened and what could have happened.
hanks
for your help.” Don hears his wife say to
Heather at the door. “I really couldn’t have done
it without you.”
He hears the click as the front door closes and the house is
quiet again. He feels better now that Heather is gone, and he
won’t have to pretend things are OK. The buzzing in his
head has dissipated, and he can breathe, until he thinks about
the next time.
Don flushes the toilet and turns the faucet on, letting the
water run a few minutes for time. The water scalds his hands
when he puts them under, but he doesn’t bother to turn
it down. He scrubs his hands with Ivory soap, hoping the sweet
smell will be enough to cover up the scent of Heather.
[END]
© 2005 Trish O'Brien Edwards - Contributor's
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