“It sounds so dangerous!” Saffee says.
“Probably not as dangerous as sky diving.”
“You mean, jumping out of a plane? Don’t tell me you’ve done that.”
“A couple times,” he says.
“Why?”
“Just to see if I could do it. I admit, it was a little scary, but fun.”
Saffee is amazed. Risk avoidance has always been one of her priorities. She’s overwhelmed by the thought that she doesn’t know a blasted thing about what people call fun. For others, fun just seems to naturally happen.
On sudden impulse she says, “‘How high can the balloon go?’ Tom asked loftily!”
Jack laughs; she loves his laugh. “Bravo!” he says. “Good one!”
Saffee blushes and self-consciously glides her fork around the edge of her plate, capturing the last tangy morsels. After they compare suspect fortunes from odd little cookies, Jack removes an envelope from a pocket of his sport coat. “Read it out loud,” he says.
“Out loud?” Nervous, she makes a ragged mess of the envelope. She’s flabbergasted. It’s the same card she wanted to buy for him.
“Read it,” he prompts, leaning forward, watching her.
Turning a deeper shade of red, she reads . . .
When you entered my life
My world became more beautiful.
When she stops, he says, “Go on.”
You gave me your friendship
And now I know what it is like to be truly happy.
She doesn’t dare look up.
“Read inside,” he says.
She already knows what is there.
I Think You’re Wonderful!
Happy Valentine’s Day
Love, Jack
She meets his eyes. His expression says he intends the sentiment to speak for him. She remembers the card tucked in her purse and is furious with herself. She has misjudged his feelings and now will miss an opportunity to express her own. Presumably he is hoping she will also reveal romantic interest. She struggles not to show embarrassment as she hands him his card. What else can she do?
Jack opens the envelope to find a cartoonish picture of a towering ice-cream sundae. Saffee squints, wishing she were elsewhere. “‘I like you better than ice cream,’” he reads. Is that a look of disappointment? She quickly attempts to defend her choice.
“Because we bought that pint of chocolate and shared it at the union , remember?”
“Sure,” Jack says.
“Well, you saw how much I like ice cream!” Saffee says.
She drops her eyes to the gift of poetry he gave her. “I just didn’t expect such a beautiful, I mean, well, romantic card from you, Jack.” She smiles at him. “Thank you.”
“‘I like yours too,’ Tom said sweetly.”
She grins and sighs with relief. After a childhood where nothing emotional, good or bad, was handled well, maybe she’s learning a thing or two from Jack.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THE COCOON
I can hardly believe it, Jack. I was skiing! Buck Hill isn’t the Rockies, but I was actually skiing.”
Saffee is rarely this pleased with herself. She lifts her sock-feet up onto the dashboard and rubs sore ankles, chafed by ill-fitting rental boots. The pain is worth it. “I need more work on traversing, but don’t you think I pretty much mastered the snowplow?” she says, angling for a compliment.
Jack turns on the headlights as the brief twilight gives way to a cloudy darkness releasing buckets of snow held back all afternoon. He tells her she did great and sounds like he means it. The windshield wipers swish and scrape. Jack boosts the blades to their dizzying limit.
They pull onto the highway and pick up speed. Hypnotic flakes rush like pinpoints of light pelting the windshield, pulling Saffee into reflection. Today she did not shrink from challenge, in spite of repeatedly falling off the T-bar lift while small children around her had little trouble. She had persevered. Too many times she has said, “I can’t.” Today was different.
“Who would ever think that I could ski?” she says, more to herself than Jack.
“Seems to me you’re naturally coordinated,” he says.
She steals a glance at him. “Really? Do you mean that?”
“I think you could learn any sport you set your mind to.” Her heart swells and she sucks in her breath. She’s not used to such a thought.
Keeping his eyes on the road, he says, “Sometimes I get the idea you’ve been in a cocoon most of your life.” Whether Jack means it to be an observation or a question, it exposes her reality. She swings from the warmth of his compliment to embarrassment. She pulls her feet down from the dashboard. Cocky posture no longer seems appropriate. It is true. Most of her life she has lived in a stifling cocoon where normal things didn’t happen. Things like learning to play.