Knight In Black Leather by Gail Dayton (people reading books .txt) 📗

He shook his head. "No way. I'm staying right here."

"Suit yourself. Of course, this means I'll spend all evening getting grilled about you. Who you are, what you do, how you wound up at my house. On and on and on and on..."

"Won't work. You're trying to make me feel sorry for you, but I'm still not going."

"I said fine, didn't I?" Marilyn pushed him back to give herself room to stand and headed for the front closet. "I'll take pictures. Maybe I can just pass around a few pictures of you and shut them up that way."

"Still can't talk me into it. But go ahead and take your pictures. Should we fold the bed out for a pose? You got a timer on your camera? We can take one of us together."

"On the sofa. Not the bed." Marilyn found the camera bag on the middle shelf and got it out.

"You're no fun." He pretended to pout.

"Never said I was. I think the last pictures on here are left over from Christmas." She turned the little 35mm camera on, pointed it and took a picture.

She flatly refused to open the sofa bed for the picture Eli wanted. But she did figure out how to work the very basic timer and managed to get a couple of pictures of the two of them, without cutting off their heads and feet to take a picture of their stomachs like Mom always did.

When she got them printed, Eli took one and mailed it to Pete. He left a few dollars in the envelope where he got the stamp. He'd taken to hiding money in places around the apartment--in her dresser, or the sugar canister--because she wouldn't take it when she went to the supermarket or anywhere else.

He slipped another photo out of the stack, one of the ones of him and Marilyn together, where she was laughing at something he said. That one went in his gear. He knew better, but he couldn't stop himself.

Eli knew better than to go to her mom's party with her, too. But as Saturday crept closer, his guilt level grew. Or maybe it wasn't exactly guilt, but if it wasn't, he didn't want to think about what it actually was.

"I'll go to the party with you." It was Saturday morning and Eli sat in his wheelchair, fresh from his shower, the plastic bags still around his casts, while Marilyn pulled their breakfast toast from the toaster. The minute he spoke, he wished he hadn't, but couldn't take it back.

She stared at him in surprise. "You don't have to. I don't mind."

"I mind. You have to face this--this family inquisition thing because of me. I should be there to face it with you. So you don't have to do it alone." He should take the out she gave him. He didn't do moms. Or any relatives. But here he was arguing her into it. He'd gone nuts.

The look in Marilyn's eyes changed, softened somehow, and she got this little smile that was part happy and part sad. It made Eli ache somewhere down deep inside in a place he didn't know he had, much less could ache like that.

"Thank you, Eli," she said after a minute. "I'd like that."

Her sudden acquiescence surprised him. He'd expected her to argue more. So, did the fact she didn't, mean she really wanted him to go and was glad he'd offered? He hoped so, but wasn't sure.

He wished he was glad he'd made the offer. He wished he was glad she accepted it. He wished he could stay home tonight. He truly did not want to go to this party. But if Marilyn needed him, if she wanted him there, he would go.

So, at six o'clock that night, he found himself fighting his way into jeans with one leg split open almost to his ass and a long-sleeved T-shirt stretched to the limit over his cast. He shaved carefully and put his good earring in, the tiny diamond stud he wore on the right side above the little gold loop on special occasions. Then he vacated the bathroom and twiddled his thumbs while he waited for Marilyn to get dressed.

She looked classy in that red sweater he liked. It made her look soft, approachable. Touchable. But of course he didn't dare, not after the way she'd reacted to his kiss.

She thought kissing him was a mistake, jerking away from him like she'd touched a snake. He didn't have any business kissing her, grabbing her like some asshole the way he did, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. And for a minute there, in the middle of the kiss, Marilyn had kissed him back.

She'd melted into him, gone all soft and womanly and kissed him back. Till she remembered who she was kissing. She promised to think about doing it again, about maybe doing more, but he knew she wouldn't. It didn't have anything to do with how old she was or how old he wasn't, no matter what she said. It was all about Eli and who he was, and that was no kind of man for Marilyn.

On the drive over to Marilyn's mom's house, Eli got to hold the present--a box of fancy perfumed powder. Mom lived east, practically to Monroeville, in an old suburb built up and down steep hills. The houses that backed up to Mom's street sat at the top of fifty-foot unbroken flights of stairs. Marilyn said she and her friends used to watch deliverymen wrestle appliances up those stairs for fun.

Her mom's house sat flush with the street, with the backyard descending in steep railroad-tie terraces from the daylight basement level. Eli caught a glimpse of it as Marilyn wheeled him up the sidewalk from their parking place three houses down. It took some effort to get him inside the house once they reached it. She helped him hop up the few steps to the porch, then left him balanced there