It Happened on Maple Street

And he was sad because Tara had moved on.

In July of 1981 I agreed to spend the night with James. We’d been engaged for almost two years, and other than the one night he’d lost control because of my teasing, he’d never once treated me with anything but decorum and respect. He still hadn’t graduated from college. He’d changed his major instead. And transferred to a university close enough to my folks’ house that we could see each other on a regular basis.

He’d said being apart from me was killing him. I was glad that I still made him happy.

I’d left the church. So much for my great faith. It couldn’t withstand me feeling dirty every time I went to service. I was a seductress who drove men crazy. Not a good little church girl.

And maybe, just maybe, I was a tad bit angry at the God who’d allowed that night on the country road to happen. To James. And to me.

Anyway, getting on with my life, I enrolled in classes, too. I was certifying to teach so that I could make a living until I could earn money with my writing. I figured I’d start out with magazine articles or something. Until I could write my Harlequin romance. Until my heart could feel the romance again.

I was hoping that sleeping with James would not only relieve some of his pressures so he could study and get good grades instead of being distracted by me all the time, but would also bring back my heart. My desire.

We were going to Columbus for the weekend. Just the two of us. I packed my bag. I said goodbye to my folks, who knew we were going to Columbus for the weekend and hadn’t said a word, and climbed back into the car where James had lost control that night eighteen months before. I didn’t want to go with him.

I didn’t want to sleep with him.

But I loved him. Not like I’d loved Tim. Not with that all-encompassing, stop-the-world magic. A girl got that kind of love once in a lifetime. If she was lucky.

I’d been lucky.

And now I was with a man who was good to me. And who was happy with me. A man who I enjoyed. Who was a good companion. An entertaining conversationalist. A man who liked the same things I liked. Who wanted the same things I wanted.

A man who, in spite of my shortcomings, believed in me. James believed I really would sell a book to Harlequin someday.

He hadn’t said a word since I’d gotten in the car. We were on the highway, speeding toward Columbus, and we hadn’t even kissed hello.

“Are you having second thoughts?” I asked. Because I was and it would be a whole lot easier if he was, too.

“No!” He glanced at me, took one hand off the wheel to hold mine. “Of course not. I’ve been looking forward to this day for three long years.”

I’d been looking forward to a wedding, first. But while James was in school, he could still be on his mother’s health insurance, and we couldn’t afford to get our own.

I was working at a fast-food joint at night, in management, that provided mine.

“It’s going to be great,” James said now.

And I had to be honest with him. We were partners now. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“What?” He glanced my way again, frowning now. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I’m just . . . I don’t feel . . . it.” I’d been raised not to talk about such things.

“Well, thanks,” he said, his voice grumpy. “Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

I’d hurt him.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not that I don’t want you. I’m just . . . scared, I guess.”

“Oh,” he relaxed back against the seat and sent me the sweet smile I was more used to seeing on his face. “Well, that’s understandable. The first time’s usually not as good for girls as it is for guys. But I’ll go slowly. I promise. And then the second time, you’ll like it as much as I do. You’ll see.”

I didn’t see. But I was going to be his wife. I was going to have to sleep with him at some point. It might as well be now.

Funny, I thought, forty-five silent minutes later as James pulled into the parking lot of the hotel we’d chosen. I was a girl who exuded to the point of making guys crazy with desire, but I felt nothing at all.

James carried in our bags—two duffels—and I about died of shame and embarrassment as he set them on the floor of the lobby and checked us in. I was certain the two women behind the desk were watching us with knowing eyes. Knowing what we were going to be doing in that room.

If James hadn’t picked up the bags and motioned me to follow him, I’d have bolted.