The Dance
“Diane.”
Her heart thudded hard in her breast. She knew immediately who addressed her. Since Ruby’s collaring he seemed ever at Diane’s elbow whether it be at the grocers, at AJ and Ruby’s, at the theater. Donnal.
It was pointless, she admitted to herself. His interest could only be transitory for despite the fact that
she
found
him
fascinating –from his sable thick hair and laughing, coffee-dark eyes to the breadth of his shoulders- she knew it would not be possible to hold him.
Shorter than Donnal by 5-6 inches, she had green eyes and straight brown hair cut short. But her figure…Diane despaired over her figure. Gravity and time had done unspeakable things and though she now spent religious hours in the gym, it was slow work, discouraging work.
Plastering a smile on her face though she had rarely felt less joyful, Diane spun on her heel. Donnal stood close, much closer than she had anticipated but she refused to step back. With a tilt of her chin, she looked into his amused gaze.
“Donnal, we hafta stop meeting like this.” She injected wry humor into her voice.
“Say the word, then.” Something quick and hot flashed in his eyes that had Diane swallowing hard, her grin wavering. “Name the day, Diane-love.”
Temper and hurt stole her grin. It was cruel of him to tease her in this way.
“What if the word is ‘never’?”
“Say it,” all humor evaporated as he invited her flatly, “look me in the eye, say that word and I will go.”
And he would, too. She read it clearly in his face, his stance. If she said the word, he would leave her alone for good. Intolerable thought.
“Saturday.” It popped out against her better judgment and she blinked in surprise.
“Done.” He said with a grin and pinched her chin between his fingers. “Courage, pet, it will be alright.”
“What am I? A cat?”
His right eyebrow shot up and his eyes sparkled with wicked humor. “Shall I stroke you and find out?”
She backed up this time, laughing and not incidentally pulling her chin from his grasp. “I scratch,” she warned.
“Promise?”
“Serve you right if I did.” Diane shifted uneasily, convinced that he knew to a hair’s breadth his effect on her.
“Saturday, 1PM. I’ll pick you up.” He laughed and departed.
A moth, she thought despairingly as she watched him leave, she was a moth to his flame and not a cat at all.
By Saturday, she had changed her mind; she
was
a cat. Anticipation turned her cat-twitchy. She paced catlike. Diane acknowledged ruefully when she caught herself hyperventilating that Donnal affected her as no other man.
He was Dangerous, with a capital “D.” She rolled her eyes and took herself to task for thinking in capital letters.
It was her doom, Diane decided grimly moments later as she breathed into a paper bag, to be at her worst whenever Donnal showed up. She winced inwardly as he parked his car and sauntered up the walk to her house, pausing at the bottom of her porch steps to absorb the scene before him.
Item:
woman of indeterminate years dressed in indigo cotton walking shorts and pale blue sleeveless blouse sitting on the top step.
Item:
small brown paper bag clutched in her left hand.
Item:
woman breathes into said paper bag while glaring defiantly at the man grinning appreciatively at her.
“Stressful morning, little cat?”
“You’re early,” she accused, lowering the sack.
He came up the steps chuckling and sat next to her. Diane’s heart rate spiked and she hastily resumed breathing into the bag. God! She could feel his heat seeping into her; she could smell the seductive combination of soap, fresh clothes, shaving lotion and his clean skin. She thought it was the sexiest scent ever.
“Trembling? For me?”
Until he pointed it out, Diane had not realized that she was shaking like a feather in the wind. She half hoped that Donnal would think her such a basket case he would give up his pursuit as a bad job.
“Actually,” she lifted her face from the bag to retort, “I just saw my latest power bill.”
“Know what you mean,” he said without missing a beat, “I think it’s time utility companies paid
us
to take the power off their hands, don’t you?”
As he spoke, Donnal slid his arm around her shoulders and urged her to lean against him in an easy intimacy that Diane resisted. She opened her mouth to tell him she had changed her mind about the date.
“You’ll try to back out now, hmmm?”
She snapped her mouth shut with such force that her teeth clicked audibly. He
had
to be guessing! The thought that he might know her so well after so short a time appalled her.
“Bugger,” she said.
Donnal threw back his head and laughed. His laughter was purely male, rich and infectious, and it drew the corners of her lips upward in a reluctant grin. She liked the way his amusement resonated in his chest and the way his arm tightened automatically around her as though he wanted her closer, to join in his mirth.
“Why are you doing this?” It popped out unbidden.
“You know why,” he retorted and then sighed, “and you are going to fight me every inch of the way, aren’t you?”
“I can’t let you win.”
“And I cannot let you lose.” Tenderness laced his voice and he nuzzled her silky dark hair. “Don’t worry, little cat. I love a good battle.”
If
that
was supposed to reassure her, it failed miserably. She buried her face in the bag and inhaled deeply.
Donnal drove her to his farm for an afternoon picnic. AJ and Ruby had already arrived. While the two men fired up the grill, Diane joined her friend in the kitchen. She put together a salad while Ruby laced marinated pork onto bamboo skewers.
After a few moments’ companionable small talk, Diane took a deep breath and asked, “Ruby, are you ever afraid of AJ?”
Ruby looked up from her task and regarded her friend a long, thoughtful moment. “I think it’s impossible for fear and deep trust to co-exist. I trust AJ with my life.”
“Even when he hurts you?”
“AJ is more careful with me than you know,” she said mildly. “Why don’t you ask me the real question, Diane?”
Diane blushed and muttered, “I thought I had.”
“You don’t fear Donnal, my friend. You fear the way he makes you feel. You are afraid to trust him because deep down, you are afraid you will be hurt. What you want to know is whether Donnal is worthy of your trust.”
Ruby, Diane acknowledged with a certain grim amusement, was bang on the mark.
“
Is
Donnal trustworthy?”
Ruby washed her hands and gave her friend a warm hug.
“I find him so. And I will tell you this: AJ says he has never seen his brother more single-minded or more determined to succeed.”
Diane’s heart thumped painfully in her breast as she sighed. “I’m not sure I wanted to know that.”
Ruby chuckled and squeezed her affectionately once more. “Anyway, what’s the worst that could happen?” she asked as she returned to skewering pork.
“That I take the risk, fall in love with Donnal and he leaves me.”
“Really?” Ruby piled the pork skewers onto a platter and went to the door leading to an outside deck. “I would have said that the worst would be to not take the chance and in consequence, miss finding the love of your life.”
“Oh, I get it,” Diane snorted and, carrying her bowl of salad, followed Ruby out the door. “Better to be sorry than safe, huh? Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Ruby chuckled. “Better to take a chance than to hide from life,” she amended.
AJ took the platter and set it on the table near the grill.
“Who’s hiding then?” he asked Ruby with a grin, brushing his knuckles along her cheek in an affectionate caress. She smiled up at him and for the first time Diane understood – really understood – what Ruby meant. Adoration and absolute trust glowed in her friend’s face as she gazed at AJ.
“Just girl talk.”
Diane was not surprised to find Donnal’s gaze on her when her eyes flicked his way. The similarities and the contrasts between the brothers as they stood side-by-side caught her attention at once.
Their shared blood was evident in the line of jaw and shape of head. They echoed each other, too, in their stance – a kind of loose limbed alertness – and in the way amusement tilted each head in the same way so that laughter crinkled the corners of their eyes before moving down to curve their lips.
The contrasts between them seemed therefore more pronounced, as though thrown into relief by their close resemblance.
AJ shaped his conversation with his hands, punctuated with a gesture, a flick of his wrist, a slash of his fingers. His hands were rarely still. As often as not, one or both hands rested on Ruby.