Along for the Ride

The sun was bright, but with a heat that was comfortable, like a soft, warm blanket around her body as she moved through it. Her steps slowed as she grew close to his figure. She took the time to observe his body’s movements as he forged a path through the pale yellow stems. He wore a green fatigue T-shirt. It was fitted on his muscular shoulders and back and then hung down loosely over his slim hips and the baggy canvas trousers he wore. One hand trailed in the pampas, and he watched the moving stems as he passed. In his other hand he held a sketchbook.

Georgie was just wondering if she should leave him alone to his sketching, when he slowed down and turned to face her, as if he had been aware of her approaching presence. He stopped and waited for her to get nearer. He reached out his hand to hers. They walked in silence for a while, and then he drew to a pause. “The light here is marvelous. It reminds me of home.”

“Austria?”

“The countryside, yes. I used to go to my grandmother’s house in the summer. Although she was a farmer’s wife, she gave me more freedom than I had at home ... she encouraged my curiosity for creative art. I used to sketch in a landscape very similar to this when I was younger.” He looked around him, devouring the sight.

There was something so very keen and alert in him, a hunger for sights and experiences. It was this, perhaps, that kept Georgie so finely tuned to his attentions. There was always a suggestion of intensity welling inside him, a need to discover sensation and experience, both dark and light. Today, here in this spot, it was as if he had tapped the surrounding landscape into his body, its pagan forces and its natural strength. She stared at his face, taking in the look of his angular features, his strong jaw line. His words about his home made her ever more curious about him, this strange, enigmatic man who had filled her life so thoroughly.

He turned back to her, his eyes sparkling azure, the sunlight streaking through his hair. He drew closer to her when he saw her expression. “Can you feel it, Georgie?” He moved the sketchbook to trace the horizon. “All around us ... nature.”

She nodded. “And here ...” Her free hand trailed up the line of his chest. “I feel it most of all here.” They stood looking at each other, enjoying the nakedness of their mutual attunement. Then he led her again, away from the path and toward the longer grass in the woods.

Her diversity continued to fascinate him. She could be blatantly sexual without seeming to realize it, and it always made him hanker for more of her. She looked like a pagan earth goddess to him, all ripe breasts and wild, untamed hair.

He watched her as they walked, eyeing her floating dress and her hair wavering as she moved. He paused when the grass reached knee height, and threw his sketchbook to one side.

“I came to the woodlands to discover its secrets, and now a fey nymph has crossed my path.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be lucky?” She smiled at his remark, tossing her hair back.

“It is, for me.” He closed on her and grabbed her hands behind her back. “But will the nymph think so when I am done with her?”

Georgie chuckled and winked. “The nymph crossed your path with the intention of conquering you, and I feel sure she’ll see it through.”

Cal smiled and kissed her.

“I used to come here when I was little, and I dreamt dreams of woodland creatures back then, seeing this day, perhaps.” She pulled him down into the sticky stems. She shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked at him. “Please, tell me more about your childhood in Austria.”

He didn’t want to break their mood and stared at her silently, unable to form anything acceptably nonchalant in reply.

When he didn’t say anything, she sat up onto one elbow. “Your grandmother -- tell me more.”

That made it easier for him. Was she so astute, or had it been luck?

“She was my focal point growing up; then she died. I was fifteen.” He picked a stray strand of grass from her hair.

“And your parents?” She was asking cautiously, as if sensitive to his discomfort.

He shrugged. “My father left us when I was small, for a new wife and family. My mother became a recluse; she only left the house for church.” He shook his head, chasing away the memory of her coldness before it got ahold of him the way it used to.

Georgie stared at him, her fingers stroking his arm.

“She blamed me for his leaving ... no, that’s wrong. It was more that when she saw me, I reminded her of him, I think.”

Georgie nodded.

“It wasn’t a harsh childhood by any measure, but it was only when I was with my grandmother in the county that I felt truly welcome.”

“Did you see your father?”

“For a while, yes. But there were new children; it was awkward ... I was happiest with my grandmother, and when she died, I lost that.” He lifted his face to the sun. He hadn’t spoken about this for years, but it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as it once had. Either time or Georgie was helping. He glanced back at her and smiled. “Well, I’d had enough of all the awkwardness that existed with the rest of them, and I left. I got a job working in the kitchens of a hotel in Vienna, and I stayed there until I won my scholarship to art college. Other artists became my friends. I didn’t need a family for whom I was only a reminder of broken dreams.”

She stared at him for an age, her expression heavy with thought. “Is this the real reason why you don’t do favorites, Cal?”

She was very astute, oh, yes. He lifted one finger and tapped the end of her nose. “You are an inquisitive woman, Georgina Montgomery, and if you weren’t so damn beautiful, I wouldn’t let you get away with probing my innermost thoughts like this.”

“I know that.” She smiled. “Well, I know the bit about being inquisitive and probing.” She captured the end of his finger in her mouth playfully, bringing his attention firmly back to her and distancing the rest of the conversation.