Chapter Three
I woke when she started getting out of bed. She was oddly modest, gathering the cast-off blanket around her as she went into the bathroom. I stretched and glanced at the clock. Jesus, 5:32 a.m. and she was up?
There was enough light now that I could see as she came out of the bathroom and went to her closet.
"Abby," I said softly, "come here."
She stopped and when she turned to look at me I could see that she was crying.
"Abby," I said again, "come here, baby. What's wrong?"
She came, slowly, still holding the blanket tightly up to her throat.
"Sit baby," I urged her, wondering what was going on.
She sat, but hunched away when I reached up and laid my hand on her shoulder.
"What is it?" I asked, gently pulling her down to me, overcoming her resistance.
"It was nice, wasn't it?" she said in a small voice.
I chuckled.
"Abby," I said, "it was more than 'nice.' But why the past tense?"
That seemed to open up the floodgates and now she was crying in earnest.
I pulled her down, holding her as well as I could around her arms crossing her breasts, and her hands holding the blanket tightly to her throat.
I kissed her but there was no response.
So I held her, waiting for the storm to pass.
When I felt her relaxing I leaned back and propped myself up onto one elbow.
"What," I said, trying to put some firmness in my voice, "is going on?"
"Davey, I know what I look like, and what my age is, and, well...................."
I smiled.
"You're serious?"
"Well, yes," she said.
"And just what," I asked, unable to keep the building laughter out of my voice, "is it that you, as you put it, 'look like'?"
"Davey," she said, and I noticed the diminutive affectionate name again, "look at me. God, I'm horse-faced, snaggle-toothed, big assed, varicose veined, big-footed, and homely."
I couldn't stop the laugh and that started her crying again.
I was still laughing as I grabbed her into my arms.
"You have that litany down pat, don't you? You forgot," I said, holding the laughter for an instant, "a broken-down old bag." And I erupted into laughter again.
"Dammit," she said, and I could hear anger in her voice now, "it's not fucking FUNNY!"
"Oh Abby," I said, holding on to make sure she couldn't use any of that martial arts training she had shown me last night, "it's beyond funny. It's fucking HILARIOUS!"
I hung on as she struggled and then as she started giggling.
The storm passed. I got onto my knees and grabbed at the blanket she still held so protectively at her throat.
"Stop it silly," I said, pulling a little harder.
With a quick sigh, she closed her eyes and relaxed her grip.
I pulled the covers away and just looked.
And liked, very much, what I saw.
She blushed and that made her even more attractive to me.
I laid down next to her, the blanket now on the floor, propped my head on my palm, and smiled at her.
"Okay," I said, "let's see. It was 'horse-faced?'"
She held my eyes and nodded.
My fingers traced the outline of her forehead at her hairline and followed the shape of her face around her chin and back up to where I started.
"How about," I said, holding her gaze, "a pretty oval face with a thin nose, delicate mouth, small ears, and absolutely beautiful eyes framed by a wonderful mane of auburn hair."
She started to say something but I put my finger to her lips, shushing her.
"Snaggletoothed?"
And she giggled a little.