Posts Tagged heat
She settled on some boat shoes she had bought the summer before. They felt a little stretched out and loosely dropped down her heel as she walked, but they would have to do. She couldn’t spend all day getting dressed for a hike.
Ala found him in the kitchen smearing some kind of preserves she didn’t recognize onto the two heels of the bread. There was also cheese wrapped in waxed paper, a cut up apple in a baggie, a bottle of wine and a wedge of pate wrapped in plastic lying on the counter.
She picked up the pate.
“Will this be good in the heat?”
He stopped spreading and looked at her.
“Are you afraid?”
She smiled and went into the pantry to find a bag. She put everything into a canvas satchel and zipped it closed. She carried it to the foyer, where she found her purse, and retrieved her sunglasses. She heard him locking the back door and her heart quivered. They certainly were playing house. He was taking the time to take care of a house that he was not even supposed to step foot in.
The car was sweltering and he immediately turned the dial all the way up so the cool air blasted their faces. She melted against the headrest as he drove past her parent’s house. She didn’t bother looking to see if they were home. She felt very adult and really didn’t need, or care, to know what anyone else was up to today.
He drove along the water for as long as possible, then veered toward the highway that curved toward the hills. She held her breath and inched her hand over to his. He snatched it up instantly.
He parked on the side of a very steep and rocky hill, partially covered with little green sprouts, and made sure to activate the parking brake. She grabbed the bag of food and secured the leather laces, which were more of a decoration than functional part of the shoe, before skipping to catch up to him.
She hung up and turned around. He was leaning against the archway.
Heat seemed to seep from her pores out of embarrassment. She tried to think of a way to explain that she was being checked in on by her mother. The look on his face did not seem to have concern for that issue, however.
“Ala, is there somewhere I can make a phone call?”
“Sure,” she said, realizing she had no idea which rooms had phones. She started to lead him down the hallway. There was a small den to the right that had some beige armchairs and an acrylic coffee table in it with a phone resting on top of it.
“Thanks,” he said, “Something just came up.”
She walked back into the kitchen and waited. This was it. His way out. He was surely talking with a dial tone right now, making up some story, just in case she was standing outside of the door listening in.
Of course the whole situation could not have been real. She was the person who followed a line, did not go on either side of it, jump ahead or lag behind, just stayed on the line. And normally it felt satisfactory. She could not get hurt by staying on the line. But nothing like him ever happened on the line either. He would be hard to forget.