Page 15 of Playing Along
She clicks off and I pick up my pace, heading south. After about five minutes, I spot the tennis courts. While the courts themselves are enclosed by traditional chain link fencing, the area between the courts and the road sports the same wrought-iron fence at the front entrance. Great.
I study the fence for a few seconds, debating the merits of taking a running leap and hoping for the best.
I decide there are no merits to that plan and opt for a different strategy. Removing the hoodie I’m wearing, I form a loop with the sleeve, then head for the fence. My plan is to toss the sweatshirt up so that the loop lands around one of the fence rails, then use it to pull myself up. I miss completely on the first two tries, but the summers I spent on my grandparents’ ranch as a kid pay off big time on the third try, when I successfully lasso the rail with the loop I made on the end of my sleeve.
With a sigh of relief I grab hold of my sweatshirt and start to pull myself up, my feet slipping around on the iron rails. I’m praying the stitching holds on my sweatshirt so I don’t fall on my butt when I hear a noise behind me, then someone says, “Hey! Hey you there!”
Adrenaline surges through me and with an almighty grunt I pull myself the rest of the way to the top of the fence, then fling my body over it, sliding down the rails like they’re a pole on a playground.
“Hey!” the voice cries. “Hey you! Stop!”
I don’t look back, sprinting away from the fence at full speed. Two headlights shine at me, and I hold up an arm to shield my eyes.
“It’s me, get in!” Nora cries.
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I hop in the passenger seat, shouting, “Drive!”
The tires of my SUV squeal across the road as she floors it. There’s no one pursuing us now, and yet she continues to drive as if we’re being followed, the speedometer inching from 45 to 50 to 55 to 60.
“Nora,” I finally say, my heart having slowed back down to a more normal pace, “slow down. The last thing we need is to get pulled over for speeding.”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even seem to hear me.
“Nora,” I repeat her name. Nothing. “Nora!” This time I raise my voice, so that I’m almost shouting. Finally she turns to me, eyes wide. “Slow down!” I cry. It’s as if I’ve pulled her from a trance, with a nod she does as instructed, pressing her foot down on the brake so hard we both fall forward.
The tires squeal a second time, then we pull to an abrupt halt. I look over to see Nora breathing hard, her cheeks flushed.
“I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “I don’t know what happened. You just got in so fast and you shouted drive! And I don’t know…I thought, this is it–the police are coming for me. I’m going to spend the rest of my life behind bars.” Her shoulders start to shake with sobs and her head falls forward onto my steering wheel.
I should be practical right now.
I should be emotionally detached from this woman.
I should tell her to suck it up because the sooner we get back to my house the better.
What I shouldn’t do is reach over and pull her into my arms, holding her until her sobs quiet.
Yeah, I really shouldn’t do that.
I was already weak once tonight.
This time I’ll be strong.
But I must be a glutton for punishment because reaching out to her is exactly what I do. Holding her in my arms again after so many years, all the while knowing she’s still not mine, is the sweetest torture.
Like a complete sap, I don’t want our embrace to end, but end it does, her sobs quieting to soft sniffles, then stopping entirely. She doesn’t immediately pull away, though. Instead there’s a few beats where we just hold each other, then abruptly she pushes away from me, patting my bare arms.
“Jack!” she exclaims in dismay. “What happened to your hoodie?”
My heart sinks to the floorboard as I realize I left my hoodie dangling from the fence.
Chapter 7
Nora
“WE SHOULD GO back and get it,” I say to Jack, trying to outwardly maintain my composure despite the fact that on the inside I am completely uncomposed…or is it discomposed? Maybe decomposed? No…I don’t know. Whatever the opposite of composed is, that’s what I am. That long embrace with Jack brought back a whole slew of memories that I’m not comfortable thinking about when I’m trying to keep my thoughts toward Jack platonic.
Remembering how he used to turn our hugs into long, slow kisses isn’t exactly helpful on that front.