Chapter 21: Face Down

We drove home with the windows cracked and the heater on, and neither of us said a word for several blocks.

The truck smelled of coffee and cardboard.

Drew drove with one hand on the wheel and the other palm up on the seat between us.

I put my hand in it.

"You didn't look at the clock once," I said.

"I turned it off at six."

"You what?"

"The dash clock. I pulled the fuse. I thought, tonight there won't be one."

I laughed so hard I had to put my head down on his shoulder.

On the Queensboro Bridge, I kicked off my heels.

By the time he parked in the yard, I was laughing and crying at once, and he turned off the engine and let me.

He came around and opened my door.

I slid down into his arms in my green dress, and he carried me up the stairs.

"I can walk."

"I know you can."

He did not put me down until we were in the bedroom.

The lamp was on.

He set me on my feet and turned me around, and I felt his fingers at the zipper along my back.

He drew it down an inch at a time.

"This dress," he said into my shoulder.

"Joy picked it."

"Joy's a menace. Joy's right."

The green silk slid to my feet.

He kissed the back of my neck, then my spine, one vertebra after another, and his hands came around my waist and held me.

I leaned back against his chest and felt how hard he was through his trousers.

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