Once Upon a River Page 0,50
dam. My grandpa used to say he was stuck on the Stark.”
“Maybe you can take me for a row one of these days.” Michael was propped on one elbow. “The River Rose. I like how your boat’s name is a complete sentence.”
Margo had never rowed her boat with a man in it, and it struck her as a fine idea that she would take this handsome Michael with his hair parted in the middle up to Willow Island. She looked at Michael, fixed him in her sights. She moved closer and kissed him. The kiss she got in return was so mild that she wasn’t sure it’d happened. When Brian kissed you, you knew you’d been kissed.
“Talk to me,” he said and laughed. “I don’t kiss just any girl who wanders in here.”
She kissed him again, and this time he pulled away more slowly. She was surprised at how much she wanted to keep kissing him, though he was practically a stranger. She was feeling the same urgency she felt when she had a buck in her sights. Only she didn’t want to shoot Michael.
“Why were you out in the rain?” he whispered. The way he asked questions suggested to Margo that problems could be discussed and solved, that nothing was as dire as it seemed. She wasn’t able to answer him yet, but she considered telling him something else, something interesting—maybe that she’d once seen a heron carry a little snake up to its nest—but then he would want her to talk more, and she wanted to be silent with him. She wanted to know his smooth chest, his ribs, his solid shoulders, his delicate throat. His arm lay above the blankets, thin compared to Brian’s or Paul’s. This arm couldn’t hold her down, couldn’t put her anyplace she didn’t want to be. A girl could stand and fight a man like Michael, instead of running away. She would do with him only what she wanted to do. The kerosene lamp across the river dimmed, and a few minutes later it flickered and went out.
“What are you afraid of out there?” Michael asked.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” she whispered. Even if it was a lie, she liked saying it. She wrapped a hand around the back of Michael’s neck and kissed him hard, as though pulling the trigger of a rifle and holding it steady all through the shot. She pushed her fingers through his hair and felt along his shoulder, wanting to touch as much of his skin as possible all at once, to have his whole body of skin beneath her hands. She leaned across him, felt the curve of his back and his buttock, and continued down his leg until she felt him shudder and move toward her. Fresh air trickled through a window not quite closed. The dog sighed on the floor. From the end of the hall she heard the clothes and sleeping bag in the dryer. Michael worked his hand between her legs and her breathing collapsed into laughter—something that had never happened before. He rolled onto her easily, like waves onto sand.
Later, when she closed her eyes, she felt his affectionate gaze on her. As she drifted off, she thought maybe she had drowned with Paul and was now revived.
She awoke alone to light pouring through the thin curtains covering the sliding glass door; the sun was warm on her clean skin. Brian’s cabin had no southern exposure, and she usually slept with her clothes on. Margo sat up and saw her sleeping bag folded on the far corner of the bed. On top of it were her jeans, her dark blue turtleneck, flannel shirt, and sweater. Paper money was folded on top. Her heart thudded before she realized that it must be the bills and change that she had left in her pants pocket. Her Marlin was still sitting in the corner where she’d put it last night. She dressed and found Michael in the kitchen wearing a button-up shirt and sport jacket. She put her rifle next to the broom in the corner and sat at the table.
“I’m going to church,” Michael said. “I’m meeting with a study group afterwards. We’re going to explore how various skills can help those who are less fortunate. I’m going to talk about home improvement skills. Would you like to come? You could talk about fishing.” He leaned back against the sink with his arms crossed, a cup of coffee in one hand. She