“If you want me to stop,” he said, with the last of his control, “tell me so.”
She didn’t answer, just moaned, but when he did touch her? She tensed hard.
He stopped. “OK? That slippery feeling—that’s just lube.”
“Do it … some more,” she said, and, yeah, that was pretty good, too.
If there was any better feeling than being inside a woman while she was coming, while you had the tip of your finger in there just a little, and she was calling out, backing into you, and writhing some, like she was trying to get free? He didn’t know what it would be.
Except maybe looking at that woman now in her soft, pretty dress and her soft, pretty hair, your baby in her belly, your bracelet on her wrist, and your necklace around her neck, with the padlock, because she wanted everybody to look at that padlock and wonder, and thinking about doing it all again tonight.
He’d never been a possessive guy. He’d had a good time and made sure a woman did, too, and then he’d gone on his way. But the things she stirred in him came from somewhere down deep. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t easy. But it was undeniable.
Oh. She’d asked him for something. To come into the back of the plane and talk to him. So maybe she hadn’t liked all that after all. Even though she’d sure seemed like she was going for it.
He followed her back there, got on the couch with her, and asked, “Need anything? Water? Juice? You staying hydrated?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s an hour flight. And you know, for a guy who babies me this much, you’re pretty demanding.”
“Well, yeah.” He took her hand. “That it, then? Was that too much?”
“What? No. Of course not. Did I seem like it was too much?”
“Well …” He knew Dyma and Annabelle couldn’t hear. He lowered his voice anyway. “Maybe a little. When you were sort of … twisting.”
“Because it felt so good, I could hardly stand it. I wasn’t expecting it to feel that good. How did I have all this inside me and never know it? It’s like … you opened the door to the secret garden, you know?”
“Oh, baby,” he said, “I know. So this what you wanted to tell me? Are you bringing me back here and begging me to do it all again tonight, just to make sure I’m as uncomfortable as possible today?”
She smiled. Sweetly. “No. I wanted your advice.”
“Oh. OK. Shoot. Keeping in mind that my expertise is pretty much limited to catching a football.”
“Harlan.” Her eyes were serious now. “Your expertise is so much more than that. You’re smart about people, for one thing. Smarter than any man I’ve ever known. Most men stay on the surface. You see so much further.”
Wow. That was a whole different kind of glow. He said, “Well, thanks. So—shoot, and I’ll do my best.”
“Dyma.” She spoke low, with a glance at the front.
“They both have headphones on,” he said. “Go.”
“You know that I’ve had … reservations about Owen.”
“Uh-huh.” This was going to be one of those dilemmas. His buddy, and his … whatever Jennifer was.
That brought him up short. Why didn’t he know what she was? Or did he know? He was going to have to figure that out, because it felt urgent.
For right now, he told himself, tell the truth. It’s only a dilemma if you’re lying, or trying to weasel out. So tell the truth.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.” And waited for the rest.
“Dyma’s graduating,” she said, then laughed. “Well, obviously. And it still seems like a big gap. Not just age. Life experience, too. Money. Everything. She’s never even lived on her own. But … she’s almost nineteen. How much say do I really have here? How much say should I have?”
He thought about that, then he did his best to marshal his ideas and said, “OK, a few things. First—at some point, yeah, a person’s grown. Not to say they still can’t be stupid, not to say they don’t still need somebody to set them straight, but you probably don’t get to actually tell them what to do anymore. Not really my area of expertise, though,” he added, “since I didn’t have much parenting after I was eighteen.”
“I forgot,” she said. “But you’re right, I think.”
“Sounds like you’ve talked to her a lot,” he said. “About making smart choices, and so forth.”
She laughed. “Probably way too much, if you ask her.”
“Also, Owen’s a great guy. I know he’s my buddy, but he’s objectively a great guy. I’ve never seen him do a really wrong thing. Not even a fairly wrong thing. And I’m pretty sure he’s crazy about Dyma.”
“So maybe,” she said, “leave it to take its course? I mean, I’m not going to tell them to go ahead and get busy now that she’s not in high school. I still think it’d be better if they waited, but the truth is, it’s not my call anymore. So maybe I just … don’t say anything else unless she asks me? Which she won’t.”
“Sounds good,” he said, then leaned over and gave her a kiss. “It’s great that you think about it that much. About what’s the right thing.”
She sighed. “I wish kids came with instruction manuals. You think that when they’re two, especially Dyma, most stubborn child alive. Then they get to be teenagers, and … whoosh. But OK. I’ve got a plan.”
It didn’t work out quite like that.
58
Transitions
When they got to the high school, Owen was waiting out front. Leaning up against the brick wall near the entrance, to be exact, surrounded by four or five young guys on the big and tough side and looking like the leader of the pack.
He didn’t say hi to Harlan for a while. That was because, as soon as he spotted Dyma—which was easy to do, since she’d given a shriek, clapped one hand over her mortarboard, and run to meet him—he was striding out of his group of admirers like the colossus he was, picking her right up off her feet, and kissing her breathless.
Yeah, he didn’t know how much longer they were going to wait.
Owen shook hands with Oscar, and clapped him on the back, too, holding his fire a little so he wouldn’t knock the old guy down. Oscar had managed to point out, in the short ride over here, that Owen had gone fishing with him on the weekend when he’d taken Dyma to prom. He hadn’t actually said that Harlan was a worthless pretty boy, but it had definitely been implied.
After that, though, and a kiss of Annabelle’s cheek and one for Jennifer, since she was his girlfriend’s mother—that still boggled Harlan some—he came for Harlan. He gave him a strong, fierce hug, pounded him on the back, and said, “How you doing, man?”
“Good,” Harlan said. “Good.”
Owen had called, after they’d found his mom, and offered to come out. He’d called a few times since, too, supposedly to pick Harlan’s brain about the Wyoming football camp he’d be running at the end of the month, which Harlan always went down and helped with. In reality, though, Owen had been doing that camp for three years now, and he didn’t have that many questions. It was an excuse to check on him, that was all.