Chapter 13: Thursday

Rhonda took Eli at five-thirty on Thursday with a sleeping bag, a bingo marker and a look at me over her glasses.

"Kid, I've been sixty years on this earth," she said. "Don't tell me what you're doing tonight."

"I'm going to the cabin to review the plan."

"Sure you are."

Eli hugged my knees and told me to bring him a bottle cap.

I drove to the lake with the windows down and my hands damp on the wheel.

Kent's father had left that afternoon for the house on Chestnut Street.

The cabin sat dark under its tin roof, with one lamp on in the window.

Kent opened the door before I could knock.

He had showered, and his hair was wet, and he had no whistle.

"You're early," he said.

"I'm on time."

"I made soup."

"I don't want soup."

I walked in, shut the door behind me with my heel, and pushed him back against it.

He caught my face in both hands.

"Carrie."

"Say it again."

"I love you."

I kissed him so hard his head knocked the wood.

He lifted me by the thighs, and I locked my ankles behind him while he turned us toward the wall.

His mouth went down my neck, and he pushed my sweater up and dragged his teeth across my nipple through the lace.

I gasped and ground against the hard length in his jeans.

"Off," I said. "All of it."

We got each other undressed in the hallway, shoes and belt and one bra strap that tangled in my watch.

He laughed.

I told him to shut up and kissed him again.

The bathroom was the size of a closet, with a tin shower stall and a window over the lake.

He turned the water on and pulled me under it.

It was hot, and it hammered my shoulders, and his hands slid over every part of me.

He soaped my back, then my hips, then reached between my legs from behind and stroked me slick.

I braced my palms on the wet tile.

"Kent."

"Tell me."

"Put your fingers in me."