Maggie awoke to the sunlight glowing golden through the blinds; Steve
curled up against her, large and warm. She'd been so restless last night,
but once he came to her and lay down in her arms, all her unease had
slipped away. That single act of trust, his admission of need, had been
all it took to settle her mind about the way things ought to be. She would
stay with him, whatever it took, and be a friend until he was ready to
decide how he felt about her.
She put out some clothes, went into the bathroom, and quickly showered. She dried her thick, dark hair with a towel, and then wrapped another towel around it. Sliding on her luxurious terrycloth robe, she used it to dry her arms, shoulders, front, and thighs. When she went back to her room, she instantly felt Steve's eyes upon her.
She looked at him and said, "Good morning."
Instead of answering right away, he sat up, stretched and scratched, and said, "It has potential."
She looked at him for a moment, and while she saw no mirth in his eyes, she saw no bitterness either. He meant exactly what he said; there was the potential for it to be a good morning. Honestly, it was more than she had expected.
"Do you want to shower while I order up breakfast?"
He though a moment and said, "That sounds like a good idea. I am a little hungry."
"Is that a little hungry as in a bagel and cream cheese or as in the big blond gringo has eaten nothing more than some toast and chicken soup in the past twenty-four hours and he's ready to chew the leg off a table?"
He smiled at her feeble joke, and when she saw the twinkle in his eye, it made her heart soar.
"That's a little hungry as in a western omelet, toast, sausage, juice, and strong coffee would be most welcome."
"Bueno, comprendo. Go wash yourself, and I will call down."
While Steve was showering, she placed his order and requested French toast and juice for herself. Then she changed into a celery green chenille sweater and matching jeans. She dried her hair and put on a touch of makeup. The food arrived just as she finished, and she had barely uncovered the meal when Steve came back into her room in tight, faded blue jeans, and a dark green turtleneck under a green, white, and gray plaid flannel shirt. He was tucking the shirt into his pants as Maggie sat two chairs up to the room service cart, which she intended to use as a table, when she looked down and saw that he was barefoot.
She felt something twist inside her. For some reason she could never figure out, bare feet on an otherwise fully dressed man turned her on like a switch did a light. She took two deep breaths, in…and out, and knew it wasn't going to help. Excusing herself and leaving Steve alone with breakfast and his confusion, she went to his room and found him some socks and shoes.
Returning moments later, she lied, saying, "The floor is cold. Te vas a resfriar." Tossing the footwear to the floor beside him, she continued, "Put them on."
He looked at her, amused at her motherly attitude, and said, "¿Resfriar?"
"To catch a cold," she told him.
He nodded and smiled, and again, she felt unutterably happy.
"All right, Mom." He complied willingly.
They ate together in silence, the only sounds the slight clinking of flatware against dishes or the sound of swallowing.
Having finished his breakfast, Steve poured himself another cup of coffee, leaned away from the table, crossed his legs, and tried to look relaxed. After a couple swallows, he could bear the silence no more.
Nervously, he asked, "So, uh, Maggie? What did you have in mind for me today?"
When she looked up, Maggie noticed that Steve suddenly became intensely interested in the rim of his coffee cup. Recognizing the defense mechanism for what it was--a means to avoid meeting her eyes in case she said something that he didn't want to hear--she took no offense as he seemed to almost ignore her as she spoke.
"All of these are suggestions only, and you can say no to any of them or all of them. ¿Comprendes?"
"Uh-huh."
"I thought maybe we could go for a walk through town, just to see what it's like. This is where she grew up, and I thought it might make you feel like you knew her better."
"Ok. What else?"
Steve didn't seem too distressed with the idea, so she decided to go a little further.
"I found information in the local newspaper about her. Things she did in school. If we go to the library, we can get those articles on microfilm. I thought you might like to read about what she was like as a kid."
"Uh-huh," he whispered. "Or?"
He had drawn his lower lip between his teeth and was chewing on it thoughtfully. Maggie noticed that his breathing had quickened a little. She knew this was all difficult for him, and she hated to see him hurting, but she felt he could handle a little more, and she knew, sooner or later, he would have to face it anyway, so she continued.
"We could go to her school and talk to some of her teachers, or we could go see her parents and maybe meet some of her friends."
Steve's head snapped up, his expression troubled, his eyes clearly revealing pain.
"Maggie, I can't do that. There's no way I could possibly do that. Please don't make me to do that." He sat shaking his head, his voice pleading.
She refused to allow him to get carried away. She could see already that he was running through all the most horrible possible outcomes in his mind, and she would not permit him to get all worked up over ifs and maybes. Crouching beside him, she squeezed his shoulder with one hand, and helped him still the trembling coffee cup with the other.
"Cariño," she said gently, "We don't have to do any of these things. I was just making suggestions. It is up to you. ¿Qué quieres hacer?"
Steve stood up and set his coffee on the table, leaving Maggie still crouched by his chair. She stayed where she was, reluctant to disturb him more, as he went to the window and looked out.
After a long, tense silence, he said, "Ah, Mags, I don't know what I want to do."
She went to stand beside him, still saying nothing. She didn't touch him, she didn't look at him, and she didn't speak; but she was *there* for him. She listened for several minutes as he struggled to calm himself. They looked out the window at the garden for a long while before she heard his ragged breathing even out.
Then she said, "Or we could just watch the grass grow."
She cast a sideways glance at him, and saw him close his eyes and shake his head at her bad joke, a slight smile on his face.
When Steve finally spoke, his voice was a little sad, but fully controlled.
"I owe you an apology, Maggie."
"¿Qué?" She looked at him askance, plainly confused.
"I was wrong to come to you last night, Maggie, to come to your bed just because I didn't want to be alone. I'm sorry."
"Steve, amigo mío, it is ok."
"No, Maggie, it's not, I…"
She sighed in frustration and interrupted. "Steve, you were *right* to come to me when you needed a friend. The fact that I was in bed at the time is completely…no importa. It doesn't matter. I was glad to be there for you. I will always be glad to be there for you. You did nothing wrong, and we will say no more about it."
He turned to face her then, and gave a sheepish smile.
"Thanks, Maggie."
They watched the garden for several more minutes, then Steve said, "Let's take that walk. Maybe then we can go to the library."
She put out some clothes, went into the bathroom, and quickly showered. She dried her thick, dark hair with a towel, and then wrapped another towel around it. Sliding on her luxurious terrycloth robe, she used it to dry her arms, shoulders, front, and thighs. When she went back to her room, she instantly felt Steve's eyes upon her.
She looked at him and said, "Good morning."
Instead of answering right away, he sat up, stretched and scratched, and said, "It has potential."
She looked at him for a moment, and while she saw no mirth in his eyes, she saw no bitterness either. He meant exactly what he said; there was the potential for it to be a good morning. Honestly, it was more than she had expected.
"Do you want to shower while I order up breakfast?"
He though a moment and said, "That sounds like a good idea. I am a little hungry."
"Is that a little hungry as in a bagel and cream cheese or as in the big blond gringo has eaten nothing more than some toast and chicken soup in the past twenty-four hours and he's ready to chew the leg off a table?"
He smiled at her feeble joke, and when she saw the twinkle in his eye, it made her heart soar.
"That's a little hungry as in a western omelet, toast, sausage, juice, and strong coffee would be most welcome."
"Bueno, comprendo. Go wash yourself, and I will call down."
While Steve was showering, she placed his order and requested French toast and juice for herself. Then she changed into a celery green chenille sweater and matching jeans. She dried her hair and put on a touch of makeup. The food arrived just as she finished, and she had barely uncovered the meal when Steve came back into her room in tight, faded blue jeans, and a dark green turtleneck under a green, white, and gray plaid flannel shirt. He was tucking the shirt into his pants as Maggie sat two chairs up to the room service cart, which she intended to use as a table, when she looked down and saw that he was barefoot.
She felt something twist inside her. For some reason she could never figure out, bare feet on an otherwise fully dressed man turned her on like a switch did a light. She took two deep breaths, in…and out, and knew it wasn't going to help. Excusing herself and leaving Steve alone with breakfast and his confusion, she went to his room and found him some socks and shoes.
Returning moments later, she lied, saying, "The floor is cold. Te vas a resfriar." Tossing the footwear to the floor beside him, she continued, "Put them on."
He looked at her, amused at her motherly attitude, and said, "¿Resfriar?"
"To catch a cold," she told him.
He nodded and smiled, and again, she felt unutterably happy.
"All right, Mom." He complied willingly.
They ate together in silence, the only sounds the slight clinking of flatware against dishes or the sound of swallowing.
Having finished his breakfast, Steve poured himself another cup of coffee, leaned away from the table, crossed his legs, and tried to look relaxed. After a couple swallows, he could bear the silence no more.
Nervously, he asked, "So, uh, Maggie? What did you have in mind for me today?"
When she looked up, Maggie noticed that Steve suddenly became intensely interested in the rim of his coffee cup. Recognizing the defense mechanism for what it was--a means to avoid meeting her eyes in case she said something that he didn't want to hear--she took no offense as he seemed to almost ignore her as she spoke.
"All of these are suggestions only, and you can say no to any of them or all of them. ¿Comprendes?"
"Uh-huh."
"I thought maybe we could go for a walk through town, just to see what it's like. This is where she grew up, and I thought it might make you feel like you knew her better."
"Ok. What else?"
Steve didn't seem too distressed with the idea, so she decided to go a little further.
"I found information in the local newspaper about her. Things she did in school. If we go to the library, we can get those articles on microfilm. I thought you might like to read about what she was like as a kid."
"Uh-huh," he whispered. "Or?"
He had drawn his lower lip between his teeth and was chewing on it thoughtfully. Maggie noticed that his breathing had quickened a little. She knew this was all difficult for him, and she hated to see him hurting, but she felt he could handle a little more, and she knew, sooner or later, he would have to face it anyway, so she continued.
"We could go to her school and talk to some of her teachers, or we could go see her parents and maybe meet some of her friends."
Steve's head snapped up, his expression troubled, his eyes clearly revealing pain.
"Maggie, I can't do that. There's no way I could possibly do that. Please don't make me to do that." He sat shaking his head, his voice pleading.
She refused to allow him to get carried away. She could see already that he was running through all the most horrible possible outcomes in his mind, and she would not permit him to get all worked up over ifs and maybes. Crouching beside him, she squeezed his shoulder with one hand, and helped him still the trembling coffee cup with the other.
"Cariño," she said gently, "We don't have to do any of these things. I was just making suggestions. It is up to you. ¿Qué quieres hacer?"
Steve stood up and set his coffee on the table, leaving Maggie still crouched by his chair. She stayed where she was, reluctant to disturb him more, as he went to the window and looked out.
After a long, tense silence, he said, "Ah, Mags, I don't know what I want to do."
She went to stand beside him, still saying nothing. She didn't touch him, she didn't look at him, and she didn't speak; but she was *there* for him. She listened for several minutes as he struggled to calm himself. They looked out the window at the garden for a long while before she heard his ragged breathing even out.
Then she said, "Or we could just watch the grass grow."
She cast a sideways glance at him, and saw him close his eyes and shake his head at her bad joke, a slight smile on his face.
When Steve finally spoke, his voice was a little sad, but fully controlled.
"I owe you an apology, Maggie."
"¿Qué?" She looked at him askance, plainly confused.
"I was wrong to come to you last night, Maggie, to come to your bed just because I didn't want to be alone. I'm sorry."
"Steve, amigo mío, it is ok."
"No, Maggie, it's not, I…"
She sighed in frustration and interrupted. "Steve, you were *right* to come to me when you needed a friend. The fact that I was in bed at the time is completely…no importa. It doesn't matter. I was glad to be there for you. I will always be glad to be there for you. You did nothing wrong, and we will say no more about it."
He turned to face her then, and gave a sheepish smile.
"Thanks, Maggie."
They watched the garden for several more minutes, then Steve said, "Let's take that walk. Maybe then we can go to the library."