Chapter 13 – Leap #2
“You know I hate to admit it, but I’m nearly ten years older than you.
I’ve watched a lot of people struggle in relationships and fail, and a few, succeed.
Covid has made me realize there’s more to life than my career, which could end any time for any number of reasons.
I don’t want to end up alone. I was attracted to you from the moment I saw you, and when being with you proved to be a challenge, I got even more interested.
Now, you’ve got to admit I care for you, because I keep trying to make this work.
This is the first relationship I’ve had where I haven’t wondered how much of it was who I am.
I know what lust and a one-night stand feels like.
I know what infatuation feels like. This has moved beyond both of those. ”
Grace didn’t respond immediately. “I don’t know what you want me to say.’’
“You don’t have to say anything. You have to do something. Not try; actually do. You’re going to have to take the risk, a leap. Trust, especially for you, is a risk, but we can’t move forward unless you do it. Have you noticed I’m not shy about saying I care for you and want to be with you?”
Grace leaned back
“What’s wrong?
“I’m thinking about that. I guess that’s true . . . Next, you’re going to say I don’t do that, right?”
“Right. I can imagine why that would be, but do you care?”
“You know I do.”
“How do I know? Maybe we’re just friends who like sex. Is it more than that for you?” He looked at her. “I know you like sex, but if there isn’t more to this, I’m going to get out. If there is, then you have to be willing to take the risk of saying it. Which is it going to be?”
Grace sat up. “You’re asking a lot.”
“What am I asking?”
Grace leaned back again and thought. She looked at him. “You’re asking me to admit I care. To admit it to both of us. To take that risk.”
“Yes. Is that so much? I say it.”
Grace exhaled and looked down. “Okay.” She looked up at Robby. “I care. More than I wish I did. There. We’re more than friends with benefits.” She looked away, then right back. “But it’s scary — to be in this close with another person, especially one so different, with so many unknowns.”
“For me, too. But, for this weekend, let’s lay aside worry and doubts, and enjoy being together now. Will you do that — not try — do? Take the leap?”
“You’re persistent. Yes. I’ll leap into this weekend.”
************
The day cleared off and by noon there were patches of blue sky.
“I think we need to get some exercise outdoors — just a little, don’t you think?
” asked Grace from the closet. “Even just a walk. You can wear a hat . . . Robby? She pulled the curtain back and saw him sitting at the table with big headphones and an open laptop — not hers — a better one. He was using a mouse. She went over and stood by him. He was listening to music. She couldn’t hear it distinctly, but she could hear the beat, like when a car goes by with big speakers and the volume way up.
The screen was covered with faders, and Robby was moving them with the mouse.
She realized she was looking at a soundboard, which she wouldn’t have known except for the interview she’d written up last night.
It was with a musician from home, a guitar player, whose band had been nationally successful about the time she was born and was still much loved, playing the occasional benefit and sponsoring charity events, mostly sports-related.
But this guitar player had opened a recording studio for underprivileged kids and that was the subject of the interview.
She’d been planning to tell Robby about it.
The stove needed more wood. She got shoes, put a fresh pot of coffee on the stove, got her jacket, and went out for wood.
“Sorry. I didn’t notice the temperature.” Robby was standing in the outer doorway, headphones around his neck, barefoot, black jeans, and an undershirt, looking about seventeen.
“It’s okay. Go back to what you were doing.” When she stood up with the wood, he was gone. She went in and fed the stove. The coffee was ready. She took her mug and walked behind Robby, sat in her chair, and pulled up the interview.
Robby lifted his head and removed the headphones. “That coffee?” Grace nodded. He came back with a mug and stood behind her, reading over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you’d interviewed this guy. I’ve met him . . . somewhere . . . a studio, maybe . . .”
“Please do read the whole thing when you have time and tell me if I got all the terminology right. It’s about his studio for kids. I can ask more questions if I missed something interesting. He would respond. Nice man.”
“I should look at what he’s done . . . might be helpful. Good writing too.” He leaned down and kissed her neck.
“If kissing necks were a pickup line, you’d score every time,” she said, staring at the screen.
“It doesn’t seem to be working this time.”
Grace lifted her chin, looking up at him. “What time did you get here?”
“8:30/9:00. Why?”
“It’s around 1:00 now. We were in bed for . . . I don’t know . . . 3 hours? I’m happy to go back, but I need something to eat, and I wouldn’t mind a little exercise — of the outdoor variety.”
“I’m for all of that. I’ll fix us something to eat. What do you want to do outside?” Robby was moving towards the kitchen.
“I know it’s cool, but the lake looks calm and it’s sunny.
We have a canoe. I don’t care about a long trip, more that we get outside.
How about that bay across from our point?
I remember seeing a slab of rock on one side of that.
I would love to lay on a rock in the sun and bake.
I could get in touch with the earth. Makes me smile just thinking about it. ”
“Then that’s what we’ll do. I don’t know about the baking part, though. Sounds more like your other home.” He looked at her. “Do you miss it?”
“I miss the house — the wide, cool, wood floors . . .” She looked out the window, “. . . the tall, old windows with deep sills. I miss the sounds — shrimp boats in the mornings, fog horns, the wind through the dry palm fronds out my bedroom window. I miss the feel of the sand under my feet, the warm rocks under my back, the breeze across the sheet at night. I miss those things. No people.”
Robby walked over to her, pulled her gently out of the chair, and held her.
By the time they got to the rock slab, it was almost 2:30.
The sun was past its peak which was still not as straight overhead as it would be in a few days, but there was not a cloud in the sky and when Grace laid back on the rock, she could feel the heat coming up through her knit top and corduroy shirt.
“This is heaven, Robby. I can’t tell you how much I love big rocks. So comforting.”
“I’ve never done this before, but it is relaxing. And so simple. Are you sure you didn’t somehow get Native blood?”
“Not likely.”
He was up on one elbow looking at her. Then he laid back down and reached over for her hand. They drifted off to sleep briefly, but once the rock started losing heat, they paddled back to the cabin.
***********
Grace put her brat on her plate and picked up her napkin. “How do you eat these things without spraying yourself down?” She wiped her face. “Can you tell if it’s in my hair? Nevermind. I don’t care. If you do, you can get it out.” She picked up the brat again.
Robby looked across the table at her and smiled.
“You missed a spot above your eyebrow.” He reached across and dabbed the spot with his napkin.
“There’s no way to eat them that isn’t messy, unless you pierce the casing before you grill them, but don’t do that, especially around my family.
I was taught from an early age, ‘Don’t pierce the brats and don’t boil them. ’ You lose the juice and the flavor.”
“Well, I like them, even if they’re messy. I’m glad it’s not just me.”
“That’s a thing I like about you. You don’t care about being perfect. You’re real. I’ve seen a lot of the opposite.” He took a sip of his beer. “It can be a shock when you wake up the morning after — you want to spike your coffee, not to mention question your state of mind the night before.”
Grace laughed. “You should write a book at some point.” Robby nodded. “Hey, do you know if there’re any guests here?”
“I don’t, but you could go up and ask.” He was thinking about the hammock. “Tomorrow. Why?”
“Because I think — if there aren’t any guests — we should ask Nan, Jim, Billy, and Kirsten down here for a cookout — or what y’all call a barbecue, which is inaccurate.” Grace pursed her lips.
“I love that statement. I don’t know what part to comment on first. Let’s start with what’s your argument with barbecuing?”
“My argument is hopeless. I’ve tried before to educate non-Southerners on the finer points of barbecue.
It’s a waste of time. Y’all are not educable on the subject.
In a nutshell, barbecue is most often a noun, something you eat.
It’s not primarily a verb.” No response from Robby. “See? That didn’t do a piece of good.”
“Yeah. You’re not going to make much headway with that up here. Wiser to pick your battles . . . which brings me to the other part of your statement I love — the Kirsten part. How are you proposing to handle that? Do you think she’d even come?”
“I think there’s a chance. She’s been in awe of your band since she was practically a child.”
“Not your best line, lover of mine — you’re making me feel like Keith Richards. I’m not that old; she’s not that young.”
Grace laughed. “That’s not that long ago for her — you’re an ingrained part of an impressionable period in her life — and don’t remind me of how young your groupies are.
I’m just saying she’s got to be torn . .
. between having a chance to spend an evening with her longtime idol versus holding tight to her new-found white supremacism. ”
“So, you’re just gonna ask her?”