Wilted Petals By: Sean Roberts
Author's Note: Thank-you very much to everybody who's written so far. Please send all feedback to seanr_13@yahoo.ca
Chapter 8
She likes her father's car better than her mother's. It is a large, dark green Lincoln with black leather seats. Like the chair in his office, sitting in it is comforting to her. The car is smooth, safe--it's his.
She calls her father when she gets on the highway.
"Can I keep it the whole day?"
"Sure."
She wants the convenience of her own car but hates driving. She plans to get one only when she really needs one. From her purse she pulls out her sun glasses. She lowers the window slightly and turns on the radio. It's a two-hour drive. She reclines the seat farther backwards. The car is old, the leather well worn. She is comfortable, her heart beating like a jack-hammer, in daddy's car.
It is almost noon when she pulls up to the cottage. She recognizes his car immediately. The red convertible, parked carelessly in the clearing in front of the house. The top is still down, the car dusty. She imagines him hurriedly leaving the car, running into the house. From the way he parked she knows he was in a rush.
She gets out of her car quickly, the need to stretch her legs removing all of her apprehensions about leaving it. Though she knows he could see the car if he looks out the window, she doesn't feel that he would be able to see her as long as she stays inside. She is nervous because for the first time since she has known him there is a certain seriousness about their relationship that makes her not know what to say to him. Whenever she has been with him--in person or on the phone--or even when she thinks of him, she has something to say to him. Something she wants to tell him or something she wants to know. But this time there is nothing. All she wants is for everything to be like it was before, but she doesn't know how to make that happen.
She takes two steps further from the comfort of her car, closer to the front door of the house. The driveway is surrounded by shrubs; large flower pots sit on the porch. Johanna steps amongst them as she approaches the door, her heart missing a beat as she hears the sound of her own knocking. She does it hard, confidently, knowing that she will not have the nerve to do it a second time if he has not heard.
She stands absolutely still, staring at the dark, wooden door, not looking around. When she sees movement she will know he is there, behind the door, and it will be too late for her to turn back. In her mind she thinks only about Jonathan, about what he will think of her having driven for two hours just to see him.
The look on his face is confusion. "Johanna?" he says. She nods, ready for anything but this. She wanted a concrete feeling to emanate from the way he says her name. She wants him to either be happy or angry or upset to see her, a simple emotion that she can deal with.
But mostly she wants him to be happy to see her. He is not--that much is clear--and she doesn't know what to say to him.
"You'd better come inside," he tells her. "I can't believe you drove all this way," he says to her as he leads her into the house. He takes her into the kitchen where he takes out a bottle of soda from the fridge and two glasses from the cupboard. Silently he hands one to her, their eyes meeting as she takes the cold glass from his hands. Staring into his glass, Jonathan takes a large sip and puts it down on the counter. He rests his left arm on the counter beside him. "What are you doing here?"
She does not sip the drink but it is very warm and she enjoys the temperature of the glass; the fact that her hand is now cold while the rest of her body isn't.
"I, I don't know. I just can't stand the fact that you're mad at me for something I didn't even do. Leslie stole it from me and left it in your house, I would never have shown it to you."
"Leslie told me what happened." He takes another large sip before putting his glass back on the counter.
"Listen, I came up here to be alone. So if you could just tell me what you need to tell me--"
"I just drove for two hours to see you and you're actually asking me to leave?"
Another sip of soda. "Yes. Is there anything else?"
"What exactly are you angry about?" Though he does not want to talk to her he cannot resist her. She is there in front of him, ready to hear anything he has to tell her. So he speaks.
"It's me, Johanna. You kept this from me for so long. We've become so close and you couldn't tell me about this huge part of your life. What is that supposed to mean to me?"
"It should mean that it's none of your business."
"This is exactly the problem. It's because this is how you feel about it. If this happened the other way around you would be just as upset as I am."
"No I wouldn't. What you want to tell me or don't want to tell me is up to you."
"Well I would have told you something like this."
"And I wouldn't have. And the only thing that should mean to you is that it isn't something I want you to know."
"Why not?"
"Because nobody knows. Leslie and me--we're the only ones. And look how you reacted when you found out!"
"I reacted that way because of how I found out, and when I found out. How long have we known each other?"
"What difference does it make? I've known people longer than I've known you and they don't know."
"But I love you." The sweating glass slips out of her hand and crashes to the floor, the brown soda spilling everywhere, surrounding her shoes and staining the white, tiled floor. Jonathan and Johanna are staring at each other, neither of them caring about the broken glass.
"That's why you're upset, isn't it? It's because you've been holding on to this hope that someday you'll have me. But it's gone."
"That's not why I'm angry."
"Jonathan I made the decision not to tell you, and I would still rather you didn't know. But this is the way things are, why can't you just accept it?"
"Why don't you want me to know?"
"Because of what happened. Because I lost you the moment you found out."
"Well I guess you didn't lose much."
"Why would you say something like that? You're the best friend I've ever had. I've always been able to count on you, you've always been there when I've needed you; you're the only person I've ever been truly comfortable with.
"I'm sorry that I can't go out with you but--"
"What does that have to do with this?"
"Because I want to go out with you."
"What?"
"I've wanted to go out with you for ages. I've tried to make myself attracted to you. You have no idea how much I want a boyfriend. I have Leslie. I love her Jonathan but it's not the same. I don't understand it but I want a boyfriend. I know I keep saying I'm not attracted to you but I'm not attracted to men, at all. I still think you're beautiful, Jonathan." She steps out of the puddle of soda, over a large piece of broken glass and steps up to him. He doesn't move.
She touches his cheek, just above his jaw. "Your skin and your hair, your eyes especially. Your lips. They're incredible. I can see the beauty in you Jonathan. I don't understand what's holding me back."
She removes her hand from his cheek. His breathing heavy, he stares at her. She watches him too, their eyes locked together, neither of them moving. He wants to step away, to go somewhere she can't see him, but he is unable to move.
"You just drove for two hours to see me. Why don't you just find out what you need to find out?"
She doesn't move or speak. But he watches her eyes, watching for even the slightest change. And then he sees it. He knows she is about to turn away from him, take a step backwards. He grabs her arm. Firmly. But gently as well, like in her dream.
Instead of pulling her towards him he takes a step towards her and moves his lips closer to hers. He allows his tongue to brush against her closed lips before wetting his own. He can feel goose bumps on the arm he is holding. His mouth opens for her. She is no longer thinking. The feeling in her stomach governs her next move. She takes his bottom lip into her mouth, feels his tongue caress hers. There is sudden darkness. There is no soda spilt on the floor; no cottage around her. No girlfriend back in the city or nightmares waiting for her to sleep so they can attack. There is no Jonathan. There are no lips or tongues. No arms or goose bumps. There is no Johanna. The darkness is absolute.
The simple pleasure of a kiss.
Finally he releases her arm. He looks at her only for a moment, scared of what she might be thinking; what she might be feeling.
"I'd better clean that up", he says, walking past her to the sink where he picks up a J-cloth. She watches him as he kneels down, beginning to soak up the spilt liquid.
"I need more Jonathan", she says. "I need to see more; I need to taste more. You have no idea how incredible that felt."
For the first time in a long time she's thinking straight. Leslie is no longer a part of her mind. The house she is inside is no longer frightening; no longer a foreign dwelling belonging to Jonathan. She feels like she's home.
Johanna bends over and runs her hand down his stretched arm. She kisses his arm, just below his shoulder.
"Are you okay with this?" she asks. "Because there's no guarantee that anything will change. You'll probably have me only this once and never again. Are you okay with this?"
"I don't know. Why are you doing this?"
"I'm doing it because I need to find out. And Jonathan you want me, and this is the only time you'll ever have me. I know it's not the best reason but--"
"You'll be betraying Leslie. No matter what comes of it someone will get hurt. It could be any of the three of us. It could be all three of us. And at that point there will be no turning back for us. Once we've done it ... I don't have to tell you Johanna, that we can't turn back time. But yes: I'm okay with this."
She gives him a blank look, and says "Okay" in a very neutral tone.
"Okay what?"