Michael's Arc

Chapter 9 of 9

Haydon did not speak. Michael watched the lamp throw a soft ring on the ceiling and waited. Her hand stayed flat on his chest. He could feel her heartbeat through his ribs. After a long minute she shook her head once against his shoulder, like she was pushing the thing back down. "Not tonight," she said. "Wednesday." "Okay." She tilted her face up. Her hair slid off her shoulder. Without her glasses her eyes looked darker and closer. He turned onto his side so they were face to face on the pillow. He put his hand on her hip under the blanket. Her skin was warm. "Stay," she said. "I'm staying." She pulled the blanket up over both of them. She hooked one leg over his. He traced a slow line from her shoulder down her arm to her wrist. She watched his hand the whole time. When his fingers reached hers she laced them together and held on. "I don't do this," she said. "I know." "I mean the after part. I usually want the room back." "Do you want the room back?" "No." He kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes. He kissed the bridge of her nose where the glasses usually sat. She made a small sound, almost a laugh. He kissed her mouth. She kissed him back slow, no hurry in it now. She pulled back a few inches and looked at him. "You're not what I planned for," she said. "That's fair. You weren't either." "I researched you, you know. After the first tea. I looked up your name." "Find anything good?" "A bowling league photo from four years ago." He laughed. She smiled, the small one, the one she saved. She fit her head back under his chin. Her hand went flat on his chest again. He kept his palm on the small of her back and did not move it. The lamp stayed on. Neither of them reached for it. He listened to her breathing get longer and slower. Her fingers loosened in his. He thought she was asleep. Then she said, into his collarbone, "Wednesday at the bar. Order me something dark." "I will." "Whatever I tell you, I want to keep doing this." He did not answer right away. He wanted to say the right thing and not a big thing. He rested his chin against the top of her head. "Then we keep doing this," he said. She nodded once against him. Her hand curled closed over his shirt that was not there. She fell asleep like that, holding a fistful of nothing on his bare chest. Michael did not sleep for a long time. He watched the ring of lamplight on the ceiling and counted her breaths. Whatever she was going to say on Wednesday, he had already decided his answer. That part was done. The waiting was the new problem.