After, she pushes herself back and looks into my eyes. I’m still crying, which is funny in an odd sort of way. I didn’t think I could have an orgasm while crying. After, sometimes, yes. But during? Not ever. Now I’m laughing and crying and I don’t even know exactly how I feel, except drained.
Esmé stands up, gathering clothes. Her eyelashes are still wet with her tears and she looks beautiful.
“Are you leaving?” I’m not sure whether I want her to say yes or no, but I want to know so I can figure it out.
“No, but I don’t want to spend the night on the deck.”
Dragging myself to my feet, I grab my clothes, and bundle them under one arm. “Let’s go to bed then.”
Frank is already inside, so I close the door to the deck and turn off the lights.
Esmé heads to the bathroom, but turns around to look at me when she reaches the door. “I’m going to take a shower. Do you want to take one with me?”
She doesn’t say it suggestively, but sort of ambiguously, the way I had asked if she was going to leave. Shaking my head, I wave her along. “I’ll go after you.”
Walking into the living room, I go over to the wall of pictures and look at the faces of my friends and family. It’s bizarre that I don’t have any pictures of Fran on the wall. I’m still standing there staring at the wall when Esmé comes out of the bathroom wearing my robe. Her hair is wet and sticking up all over her head. She looks fresh and alive and I can’t help leaning in to kiss her on the tip of her nose. She wrinkles it and smiles.
“Do you want to talk tonight?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t want to talk tonight.”
“Then let’s go to bed.” Holding out her hand, Esmé looks at me and waits for me to respond. I pause for a second before slipping my hand into hers. I want to talk, but I’m so tired. I let her lead me to the bedroom and help me into bed. My last thought before drifting into sleep is that I should have asked her if she was okay.
Chapter Eighteen
The front door slamming startles me out of sleep. Frantic, I reach over to the other side of the bed to find Esmé still curled up and deeply asleep. Carefully creeping out of bed, I pull on some shorts and a tank top and stumble into the kitchen. Sam is at the coffee pot pouring herself a cup.
“Man,” she grins. “It’s just not like you to not have coffee waiting for me. Do you know, I had to make a pot all on my own?”
“That must have been terrible for you.”
“You look like something the cat dragged in, ate, and then puked up again.”
“Thanks a fucking lot, my friend.” She ducks as I pick up a dish towel and throw it at her. “So why are you here?”
“Oh man, I had the craziest night,” she says, smiling.
“You and me both,” I sigh, sinking down onto a stool. Frank, who to this point has been sound asleep on the counter, opens one eye, looks to see that there is still food in his bowl, and goes back to sleep.
“You had a crazy night? What happened? Did you step on a hairball?” She chuckles at her own joke, while I roll my eyes.
“Give me a fucking cup of coffee and let’s go for a walk. You can tell me all about your night.”
She pours her coffee into a travel mug and takes one down for me. While she’s doing that, I go into the front room and write a note for Esmé, letting her know where I am. Taking it back to the bedroom, I tiptoe in and place it on top of the pile of folded clothes that she left on the chair.
Sam has both coffee mugs in her hand, so we walk out the door into the morning sunlight. Detouring over to the truck, I grab both of our walking sticks. I trade one of them to Sam for one of the mugs of coffee. Sam is grinning like the proverbial canary-eating cat. Gulping her coffee, she grins at me over her cup as we walk along the road and into the woods.
“So, you had a crazy night, too?” She smiles. “Did you stay up all night watching Dr. Who reruns again?”
“Oh God. Your humor is just too much for me to handle,” I laugh, smacking her on the arm.
“Well, do you want to go first?”
“No, you.”
We walk in silence for a few moments, and I’m about to ask her what’s going on when she suddenly turns to me and smiles. “It’s just...I’m not sure how to start.”
Shrugging, I continue walking without looking at her. To tell the truth, I’m not sure where to start telling her about my night so the longer she takes with her story, the more time I have to think. When we crest the top of the hill, she leans against a tree and takes a sip of coffee. Perching on a stump, I follow suit. Laying my walking stick on the ground, I lean back against the tree behind me. “Well?”