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Authors: John R. Maxim
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nodded. “Okay. Next trip out we’ll go camping.”
“No, tonight. Let’s go home and get my gear.”
They did go camping. They talked for hours on end. And he told her a dozen well-rehearsed lies that he’d used as a cover for years.
He acknowledged that he’d sometimes carried a pistol but only when abroad in wild country like this. His work with NAFTA often took him to places where snakes and wild animals like that lion were common. There were also bandits who called themselves rebels and who’ve made a cottage industry of kidnapping foreigners and forcing families or employers to pay ransom. Personally, however, he had not had any problems.
“Just as well,” he added. “I’m not good with guns.”
“You were in the army, but you’re not good with guns?”
“Claudia, I thought we were talking about handguns. Soldiers hardly ever fire them, let alone get proficient.”
“And you’re not.”
“I’d do just as well throwing rocks.”
While camping, they caught a few trout and they cooked them. Over coffee, he told her a bit more about Alicia. He said he knew that he ought to be over it by now. She’d been dead for about thirteen years. She’d been a freshman at UCLA when he was a senior at Boulder. She went to a party in the posh Brentwood suburb and somebody slipped her some drugs. She was not used to drugs, never touched them before. She went into convulsions, died later that night.
“The person who gave her the drugs...was he punished?”
“There were several involved. They were all brought to justice.”
“Was your mother still alive?”
“She had died the year before. She’d been ill for some time. The only good thing I can say about her dying is that she didn’t have to suffer through it.”
She took his hand. She caressed it. “I’m very sorry, Adam,”
She was looking at the back of his hand. Her fingertips ran across two of his knuckles. She had noticed before this that they were mis-shapen. She seemed about to ask what had happened to his hand, but she shook off the thought as unimportant.
“But, thank you, Adam. I’m glad that you told me. It’s better than carrying it inside you.”
They did make love. Shyly, awkwardly, at first. They had joined two sleeping bags by the zippers. Afterward, they said little. They just held each other. Then they fell asleep looking at the stars.
They woke up at first light and they made love again, this time with a bit less self-consciousness.
So, he thought.
He marveled that a body so firm, so athletic, could become so incredibly soft and so yielding. It was tender, it was shy, it was giving, it was everything. But after the second time, as they held each other, she gave his shoulder a squeeze. With a sad little smile, she said, “It will get better.”
Surprised, he answered, “That gets better? Better how?”
She said what women say. She said, “Shhh. It’s all right.”
He touched her face. “Claudia... you just lobbed a grenade. In my mind, I’m thinking how lucky I am and how wonderful that was for me. But I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I? Have I?”
“I...thought it was the other way around.”
“That you disappointed me? Are you out of your mind?”
“I didn’t?”
“You couldn’t. Not in any way, ever. Especially not making love.”
She said, “You’re sweet.”
“But you’re not buying it. Why?”
She said, “Look, Adam, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not one of these women who has sex and then critiques it. But I did hope that this would get us over the hump…” She winced. “Sorry, Adam. Bad choice of words. But I don’t think you had your heart in it.”
She was right, of course. But so was he. Claudia wasn’t the problem.
If his heart wasn’t in it...not 100%...it was because a part of him felt like a rat. It was all the lies, the half-truths, the evasions.
She deserved so much better than that.
EIGHT
He hadn’t lied when she asked about his sister. He had
“No, tonight. Let’s go home and get my gear.”
They did go camping. They talked for hours on end. And he told her a dozen well-rehearsed lies that he’d used as a cover for years.
He acknowledged that he’d sometimes carried a pistol but only when abroad in wild country like this. His work with NAFTA often took him to places where snakes and wild animals like that lion were common. There were also bandits who called themselves rebels and who’ve made a cottage industry of kidnapping foreigners and forcing families or employers to pay ransom. Personally, however, he had not had any problems.
“Just as well,” he added. “I’m not good with guns.”
“You were in the army, but you’re not good with guns?”
“Claudia, I thought we were talking about handguns. Soldiers hardly ever fire them, let alone get proficient.”
“And you’re not.”
“I’d do just as well throwing rocks.”
While camping, they caught a few trout and they cooked them. Over coffee, he told her a bit more about Alicia. He said he knew that he ought to be over it by now. She’d been dead for about thirteen years. She’d been a freshman at UCLA when he was a senior at Boulder. She went to a party in the posh Brentwood suburb and somebody slipped her some drugs. She was not used to drugs, never touched them before. She went into convulsions, died later that night.
“The person who gave her the drugs...was he punished?”
“There were several involved. They were all brought to justice.”
“Was your mother still alive?”
“She had died the year before. She’d been ill for some time. The only good thing I can say about her dying is that she didn’t have to suffer through it.”
She took his hand. She caressed it. “I’m very sorry, Adam,”
She was looking at the back of his hand. Her fingertips ran across two of his knuckles. She had noticed before this that they were mis-shapen. She seemed about to ask what had happened to his hand, but she shook off the thought as unimportant.
“But, thank you, Adam. I’m glad that you told me. It’s better than carrying it inside you.”
They did make love. Shyly, awkwardly, at first. They had joined two sleeping bags by the zippers. Afterward, they said little. They just held each other. Then they fell asleep looking at the stars.
They woke up at first light and they made love again, this time with a bit less self-consciousness.
So, he thought.
He marveled that a body so firm, so athletic, could become so incredibly soft and so yielding. It was tender, it was shy, it was giving, it was everything. But after the second time, as they held each other, she gave his shoulder a squeeze. With a sad little smile, she said, “It will get better.”
Surprised, he answered, “That gets better? Better how?”
She said what women say. She said, “Shhh. It’s all right.”
He touched her face. “Claudia... you just lobbed a grenade. In my mind, I’m thinking how lucky I am and how wonderful that was for me. But I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I? Have I?”
“I...thought it was the other way around.”
“That you disappointed me? Are you out of your mind?”
“I didn’t?”
“You couldn’t. Not in any way, ever. Especially not making love.”
She said, “You’re sweet.”
“But you’re not buying it. Why?”
She said, “Look, Adam, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not one of these women who has sex and then critiques it. But I did hope that this would get us over the hump…” She winced. “Sorry, Adam. Bad choice of words. But I don’t think you had your heart in it.”
She was right, of course. But so was he. Claudia wasn’t the problem.
If his heart wasn’t in it...not 100%...it was because a part of him felt like a rat. It was all the lies, the half-truths, the evasions.
She deserved so much better than that.
EIGHT
He hadn’t lied when she asked about his sister. He had
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