Making Faces(62)

“In the dark, with you, I forget that Beans isn't going to come walking in here and interrupt us. He was always sneaking girls in here. I forget that Grant won't fly up that rope like he's weightless and that Jesse won't try his hardest to kick my ass every damn day because he secretly thinks he's better than I am.

“When I came in today, I almost expected to find Paulie asleep in here, curled up in the corner, having a nap on the wrestling mats. Paulie never went anywhere else when he sluffed. If he wasn't in class, he was here, sound asleep.” A sob, deep and hard, rattled and broke from Ambrose's chest, like it had grown rusty over time, waiting to be released. Fern wondered if Ambrose had ever cried. The sound was heart wrenching, desperate, desolate. And Fern wept with him.

She reached toward the sound of his pain and her fingers brushed his lips. And then she was in his arms again, her chest to his, their wet cheeks pressed together, their tears merging and dripping down their necks. And there they sat, comforting and being comforted, letting the thick darkness absorb their sorrow and hide their grief, if not from each other, then from sight.

“This was where I was the happiest. Here in this smelly room with my friends. It was never about the matches. It was never about the trophies. It was this room. It was the way I felt when I was here.” Ambrose buried his face in her neck and fought for speech. “I don't want Coach to bring in a bunch of guys to replace them. I don't want anybody else in this room . . . not yet . . . not when I'm here. I can feel them when I'm here, and it hurts like hell, but it hurts so good . . . because they aren't really gone when I can still hear their voices. When I can feel what is left of us in this room.”

Fern stroked his back and his shoulders, wanting to heal, like a mother's kiss to a skinned knee, a bandage to a bruise. But that wasn't what he wanted, and he lifted his head, his breath tickling her lips, his nose brushing hers. And Fern felt desire drown the grief.

“Give me your mouth, Fern. Please. Make it all go away.”





“You'll have to help me undress, you know, and I don't think Ambrose can handle it. The sight of my glorious naked body takes some getting used to.”

Ambrose, Bailey and Fern were at Hannah Lake. It had been a spontaneous trip, prompted by the heat and the fact that Fern and Ambrose both had the day (and night) off. They'd hit a drive-thru for food and drinks, but they hadn’t gone back home to get their suits.

“You won't be naked, Bailey. Stop. You're scaring Ambrose.” Fern winked at Ambrose and said, “You will have to help me get him in the water, Ambrose. At that point I can hold him under all by myself.”

“Hey!” Bailey interjected with mock outrage. Fern's laughter peeled out and she patted Bailey's cheeks.

Ambrose got behind Bailey and hooked him under the arms, lifting him so Fern could slide his pants around his hips and down to his feet.

“Okay. Set him down for a minute.”

Bailey looked like a frail old man with a bit of thickness around his mid-section. He patted his belly with good humor. “This little baby helps me float. It also keeps me from falling over in my wheelchair.

“It's true” Fern said, pulling Bailey's shoes and socks from his feet. “He's lucky that he's chubby. It gives his trunk some support. And he really does float. Just watch.”

Fern set Bailey's shoes neatly to the side and removed her own sneakers. She wore shorts and a turquoise tank top and made no move to remove those, unfortunately. Ambrose unlaced his boots and unzipped his jeans. Fern looked away, a rosy tinge climbing up her neck and onto her smooth cheeks.

When he was standing in his boxers, he picked Bailey up in his arms without a word and started walking toward the water.

Fern pranced along behind him, shooting instructions about how to hold Bailey, how to release him so that he wouldn't tip forward and not be able to turn onto his back.

“Fern. I got this, woman!” Bailey said as Ambrose released him. Bailey bobbed, almost in a sitting position, butt down feet floating up, head and shoulders well above the surface.

“I'm free!” he yelled.

“He yells that every time he's in the water,” Fern giggled. “It probably feels amazing. Floating without anyone holding onto him.”

“Kites or balloons?” Ambrose said softly, watching Bailey. Floating without anyone holding onto him. Those were the very same words he'd used when Fern had asked him the question long ago. How foolish he'd been. What good was flying if there was no one on the other end of the string? Or floating when there was no one to help you back to dry land? Ambrose tried to float, but he couldn't seem to keep his legs from falling like anchors. He resorted to treading water instead, and the symbolism didn't escape him.

Bailey crowed, “Too much muscle? Poor Brosey. Bailey Sheen wins this round, I'm afraid.”

Fern had found the sweet spot and was concentrating on keeping herself afloat, her pink toenails peeking above the surface of the water, her eyes fixed on the clouds.

“Do you see the Corvette?” Fern lifted her arm out of the water and pointed at a fluffy conglomeration. She immediately started to sink and Ambrose slid a hand under her back before her face slipped beneath the water.

Bailey wrinkled his nose, trying to find a car in the clouds. Ambrose found it, but by that time it had shifted and looked a little more like a VW bug.