Chapter 12: Stairs Only

The freight lift took me up at two in the morning, and the cab took me home.

I came in through the kitchen with my shoes in my hand and started up the front stairs in my socks.

I was halfway up the first flight when I saw him.

Cal was sitting on the landing in the dark with his back against the wall and his boots on the next step.

I stopped. It was too late to do anything else.

"You're climbing," he said.

"I'm sleepwalking."

"On the stairs."

"They're the only place I do it."

"That's half a flight," Cal said. "I'll round it up to one. Two hundred dollars."

"I'm asleep, so I can't be held to it."

He laughed, quietly, and it shook his whole chest.

Then he stood up, came down two steps and lifted me into his arms.

"Stairs," he said. "Carried."

"It's the policy."

"I've always respected the policy."

He took the second flight at an even pace.

At the top, I put my mouth against his collar and said, "Flat ground."

"That isn't the policy."

"Fragile people amend policies."

"Fragile, are you?" His voice dropped. "Careful, I'm told."

"Shut up and carry me."

He carried me down the hall and into my room.

He didn't turn on the light, and he shut the door with his heel.

He set me on my feet beside the bed, and I took his face in both hands and kissed him.

He kissed me back hungrily, and our teeth knocked once, and neither of us stopped.

His fingers found the hem of my sweatshirt, and he held it there, waiting.

"Take it off," I said.

He pulled it over my head, and my T-shirt went with it.

For a moment he only looked.

"God, Birdie."

"I know," I said, and my voice shook. "Do something about it."

He put his mouth on my shoulder, and then lower, and then on my breast, slowly, and I made a sound that I'd never let out in daylight.