Chapter 9 #2
I lift the other foot. I do the same. Same route.
Same slowness. Her bandaged hand is draped over the side of the tub.
I bring the cloth to the inside of her wrist, above the bandage.
I wash the inside of her wrist. I wash the crook of her arm.
I come up the underside of her upper arm to the armpit and I wash the armpit.
I set her arm back in the water.
I take the cloth to her face.
She opens her eyes when I do. I go slow. I wash her forehead, her temples, each cheek, under her jaw, around her mouth, the small stitch of scar at the corner of her lower lip. I do not touch her lip. I touch everything around her lip. Her eyes stay on mine.
I take the cloth down to the water and I lay it on the rim.
I sit back on my heels.
"That's the bath," I say.
"That's the bath."
"Okay."
She does not move.
I do not move.
We are looking at each other.
Her right hand comes up out of the water. Slow. Wet. She reaches for my left forearm, where it is along the tub rim. She takes my wrist in her fingers and she turns it so the scar is up.
She runs her fingertips along the ridge of it.
I feel it in the back of my neck.
"Warehouse collapse. 2019”
"What came down on you."
"A beam."
"Was anybody with you."
"Dani pulled me out."
"Dani?”
"My friend. Dani Serrano, lead firefighter.”
"Tell me about it sometime if you feel able to.”
"Sometime, I will.”
Her fingertips keep moving along the scar. She follows it up to the inside of the elbow, to where it stops. She turns my arm back over so the ridge is down. She holds my wrist a count.
She looks up at me.
"Max."
"Yes."
"I have never had sex with a woman."
"I figured you probably hadn’t.”
"I'd like to."
I feel the whole room go still.
"With me?” I say. I say it to be sure. I say it because I am a woman who asks plain questions at the door of a room she does not yet have the key to.
"With you," she says. "Yes. With you."
I let her wrist stay on mine.
"When?” I say.
"Tonight. I haven’t stopped thinking about what it might be like to have sex with you.”
"Okay."
“Is that a yes?”
"Yes, Evangeline."
The water in the tub has gone still. The candles are steady. The light from the bathroom window is the afternoon light now, long, warm on the tile.
"There are things I'd like to do," I say. "Tonight. I want to talk about them first."
"All right."
"Not in the tub."
"All right."
"Not right now."
"All right."
"After the tub I'll get you in a robe and I'll put you by the stove and I'll make tea and I'll sit across from you. I'll say the things. You'll say yes or no to each one. What you say yes to, we do. What you say no to, we don't."
"Okay."
"I want you to know I am not going to feel anything other than good about whatever you say no to."
"I know."
"I want you to say it even if it feels rude."
"I won't feel it's rude."
"I know you won't. That's not who would feel it's rude."
She lets the smallest smile move the corner of her mouth.
"You sound like you do this for a living," she says.
"I do not do this for a living."
"All right."
"I do my job for a living. I have not wanted anyone in this tub in a long time. I want you in this tub. I have things I enjoy sexually and I want to do it the way I am going to say I want to do it. That's all."
"All right."
"Let's get you out."
She lets my wrist go. She pushes herself up out of the water.
The water runs down her. I don't look at her body although I do want to.
I look at her face. I stand. I pick the big folded towel off the bench.
I hold it open. She steps out of the tub onto the bath mat, one hand on my shoulder for balance, and she steps into the towel, and I close it around her, and I do not hold her against me.
"Okay," I say.
"Okay."
I dry her shoulders through the towel. I dry her arms. I rub her hair once, light, with a second towel, and I leave it.
"Robe," I say.
"Bedroom."
"Yes."
I walk her to the bedroom. I take her robe out of the closet. It is mine. Gray. Soft from washing. I hold it open. She steps in. I close it around her. I tie the belt.
"Sit by the stove," I say. "I'll make tea. Then I'll talk."
She puts her hand on the lapel of my henley.
"Max."
"Yes."
"Don't say sorry for any of the things you're going to say."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Don't sound like you're sorry, either. I want this.”
"I won’t,” I say.
"I don't want you to be careful with me. Not in the way that means small. I want you careful with me in the way that means you looked at me first."
"Heard."
"Okay."
She goes to the stove.
I stand waiting a half count after she's gone. I put my hand flat on the side. I let my eyes close. The scar on my forearm hums. My mouth is dry. The pulse in my throat is going the way it was going in the armchair.
I am going to take this beautiful woman to bed tonight.
I am going to do it well.
I am going to do it the way I have never done anything with anybody in my life, because I want her more than I have ever wanted anyone.
I go to the kitchen. I go make tea.