“I mean, if you want to try it, I could show you, maybe tell you about the massages my mom does to help when his arthritis is really painful.”
The attention he gave me then was a little unsettling and I didn’t know what to make of it. There was a smile, though it was a little forced and a fire lit in his eyes, the means of which I couldn’t quite make out. As a habit, I slouched a little and rested my elbow on my bag while Isaac kept on watching me. Suddenly the bag slipped from the table, and I nodded thanks to Isaac when he grabbed it for me, our fingers touching for a second before he handed it over.
Every move I made was a weak attempt to distract myself from how closely he watched me, how I must have seemed like the oddest person in the world to him. He’d only been away from Georgia and all the realities of that life for a year. I’d overheard Lenny pleading for Isaac with Mr. Welis, the cleaning crew manager. He’d fussed at Isaac being late, something Isaac swore had happened because he’d gotten the bus schedule wrong. Lenny promised their boss that Isaac was still adjusting, still trying to figure out where he fit in here in D.C. or if he fit in at all. Mr. Welis was a nice man and hadn’t been too irritated by Isaac’s tardiness. He’d even been the one to ask if I could help Isaac with his application despite how loudly Isaac had complained. It had taken a solid month for Isaac to return the “good afternoon” or “have a nice night” greetings I sent his way. It had taken another month for him to give me direct answers when I asked them, trying to start up our first real conversation had provoked a response under his breath containing an insult I was sure he didn’t mean for me to hear.
“Damn woman could talk the devil right out of hell.”
“Well, that’s true, I guess, but I wouldn’t want him following after me.” That little unexpected come back had made Isaac smile, and gave me my first full glimpse at the way his face would light up, how his odd eyes sparkled when he wasn’t sullen and ignoring the world around him.
“You think that would help me?” he asked me now, wiggling his hands to remind me of the offer I’d made. “That is, you don’t think it would be a waste of time?”
“Not at all.” I twisted around in my chair, abandoning the task of packing away my things to face him. Our knees almost touched and I pushed down the hem of my skirt more closely to my knees before I held out my hands. “Extend your fingers, as far as they can go, just like this.” I stretched my fingers until the ligaments felt tight, then balled them into little fists that whitened the tips of my knuckles.
Isaac made an effort, covering a wince with a half-smile when he tried mimicking my stretching movement. Then that half-attempted smile disappeared and two of Isaac’s fingers locked up, making him curse low under his breath.
“You okay?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I didn’t do much thinking at all. I only reacted as how my parents had taught me. You see someone in pain, anyone at all, and you do your best to help them.
Isaac froze, body utterly still when I grabbed his hand. His fingers did not relax, neither did any other part of him as I held his hand between my fingers rubbing out the joints and knuckles, focusing on the movement of my fingers as I kneaded his brown skin with the pads of my thumbs. He didn’t try pulling away from me, but he also didn’t seem too eager to relax under my touch, something that caught my attention when I turned over his hand, working the massage on his palm. A long, deep exhale went from him then, gently moving the hair along my forehead. It was only then that I looked up from my work, coming to myself with a small shock at what I was doing.
“Miss Riley…” he finally said, gaze moving over my face like he was trying to map my features, to gauge the slightest hint of warning or caution that might have surfaced. But there was nothing there, I knew that: nothing but surprise at how forward I’d been, at how many assumptions I’d made without his permission.
I eased his hand down, laying it on the table before I swallowed and pulled away from him, unable to keep the shaking from my fingers or the tension from my belly. It was an awkward, strange moment, one that I’d never had with Isaac since I’d barged my way into his life with stupid smiles and dumb questions about the weather and what he used to clean the floors.
“Isaac… I’m so sorry. That was forward of me, and I don’t usually…”
“I… I think maybe I liked it.” His expression was a little amused, the corner of his mouth twitched and he lifted the massaged hand, stretching the fingers and knuckles as though my brief touch had done some good at least. “Fact, I’m sure I did.”
“Oh…”
The air in that small room went a little still, like nothing else moved around us, not the flickering of the lights overhead or Lenny’s low humming a floor below where he was mopping the marble tiles around the Reference section. The sound was soft, plainly heard from the open balcony below.
In that moment, I could only look at Isaac, a million thoughts and wishes floating through my mind, pumping the blood thick in my ears. Hopes came rushing to the surface, silly, stupid things I knew would never happen, like Isaac telling me who we were didn’t matter or, better still, like him taking my face between those big palms before he moved closer, close enough to level his mouth over mine.
“I know… I mean, it was rude…”
“It feels better.” He stretched his fingers again, ignoring my apology as he leaned forward, sending a jolt of surprise through my body when he got close enough that I could see just how thick and long his lashes were, that he had the faintest scar along his left cheek. He reminded me of a feather floating from the sky on a still, cloudless day where no wind rustles the trees and the air is thick with heat. Isaac moved in that same, minutely still movement, fractions of inches that made up the single stroke of his thumb over my cheek and the slow, smooth sweep of him touching my face like I was something unusual—an alien he thought he’d never see up close.
I wanted to melt into that touch. I wanted him to stretch those fingers again, rest his palm against my face to have the smallest hint of what his touch would do to me; if it would cool or heat me, devour me with sensation.
“Isaac…” It was the smallest whisper of a word, something that felt like a promise I wanted to make, but he blinked at the sound and his face shifted to an amazed, shocked wonder as though he’d only just realized what he was doing. When he pulled his hand away, I wanted to stop him, bring back that touch without him arguing. But Isaac was stubborn and there were those hard-lost habits he held onto like deep-rooted beliefs.
“I appreciate you helping me ease the pain and with my application essay, Miss Riley.” He stood up, backed away from the table and my chest ached, Isaac’s dismissal a real thud of pain inside my heart.
“Isaac, wait a second, please.”
He’d nearly made it to the stairwell, tucking the rolled-up Cullen paperback into his back pocket. He didn’t turn, not right off and let me come a little more than ten feet from him before he faced me.
“You got a fella, don’t you Miss Riley?”
That stopped me cold and I did my best to ignore the flush I felt warming my face. “How-”
“Folk talk around here. Folk who see you smiling at me, the same folk that tell me I need to steer clear of you, especially since you got that Trent fella picking you up most Saturday nights, taking you to places I could never go.” He took a step closer, but it felt miles from me, those passive accusations that were nothing more than the truth thickening the space between us. “Lincoln ain’t that big of a campus, Miss Riley. Janitors like me and the fellas who trim the hedges at your dorm, their cousins and women who clean out the bathrooms, they all talk. They all tell me about you because they know we here, all alone, so you can help me get into Lincoln.”