50.

They lay on the bed together at Burke’s apartment, smoking. He had an arm around her. She had her head on his chest. Soaked when they got there, they had both showered. Burke was wearing white boxer shorts. Lauren had on one of his shirts. There had been no sex. She touched one of the bullet scars on his chest.

“Scars are looking better,” she said.

“They calm down eventually,” he said.

“They’re really quite faint,” she said.

It was nearly dawn. Through the rain the gray day was beginning to show.

“You okay?” he said.

She nodded. He wasn’t looking at her, but he could feel her head move on his chest.

“Why?” she said.

“Why what?”

“Why did you come for me?” she said.

“Seemed right,” Burke said.

“Do you love me?” she said.

Burke took in a lot of smoke and let it out slowly and watched it twine with the smoke from her cigarette as it rose. She waited.

“Yes,” he said at last.

“How long have you loved me?” she said.

“Long time,” he said.

“So why now?”

“It was time.”

“I need to know,” she said.

Burke took in more smoke and held it in his lungs for a moment before he blew it gently out.

“I don’t know if I can tell you,” he said finally. “I... since... the war...”

Absently he touched the scars on his chest. When he did, she covered his hand with hers.

“I been scared since the war,” he said. “I got hurt too bad.”

“You didn’t seem scared.”

“I was scared of caring about anything.”

“Because you could lose it.”

“Because I could lose it,” Burke said.

“And if nothing mattered, you could lose it or not lose it and it couldn’t hurt you.”

“Something like that.”

“Even your life,” Lauren said.

“Yeah.”

“So you didn’t care about anything, you wouldn’t have to be afraid of anything.”

“I guess.”

“So what changed?” she said.

“It was no way to live,” Burke said.

Neither of them said anything. They lay still listening to the rain.

“I think it had something to do with that colored baseball player.”

“Robinson,” Burke said.

“It did,” Lauren said, “didn’t it?”

Burke put his cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand, and shook another one loose, and lit it, and took a drag and lay back with the cigarette still in his mouth.

“Probably,” Burke said.

She didn’t speak, but he could feel her head nodding slowly against his chest.

“This will not be easy,” Lauren said after a while.

“I know,” Burke said.

“I’ve been rich too long with my father’s money. I have a problem with alcohol, with drugs, with sex, with men, with my mother, with my father...”

“But not with me,” Burke said.

“I have no money of my own, no place to live.”

“You can live with me,” Burke said.

“I can’t bear to go near my father’s house. I don’t even have clean clothes.”

“We’ll get some,” Burke said.

“And,” she said, “you’ve been in some kind of emotional hibernation since Guadalcanal.”

“Now I’m not.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Can’t.”

“But you’re hopeful,” she said.

“I’m willing to work at it,” Burke said.

“We will have to work hard.”

“We can do that,” Burke said.

It was full day outside Burke’s window, with the rain steady.

“I love you,” Lauren said.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me you love me?” Lauren said.

“I already did.”

“Do it again.”

“I love you,” Burke said.

She put her cigarette in the ashtray and left it there still smoking. She turned her face up toward him and put her arms around him.

“I want us to make love,” she said. “I don’t want us to fuck. I want us to make love.”

“Now?” Burke said.

“Right now,” she said. “And hurry.”

Burke reached across her with his free hand and stubbed out her smoldering cigarette butt. Then he said, “Sure,” and put his face down to hers. Several times as they made love she gasped, “Hold on to me. Hold on to me.” He wasn’t sure if she was crying.

Загрузка...