Rapture

"You do need another drink," Georgianne said when Sean had gone upstairs. "Come on."

"I've had more to drink this week than I have in the last year," Jeff remarked, following her into the kitchen.

Georgianne poured two more tall vodka-andtonics. They touched glasses to toast each other once again. Jeff leaned back against the counter, Georgianne beside him at a slight angle.

"1 told you yesterday that you'd done well," he said. "Meeting your husband last night, your daughter today, seeing you in your home and how you live, I have to say it again, kid, only more so."

"Thanks, Jeff." Georgianne looked down at her drink, which she held in both hands at her waist. You know, I told Sean last night, on the way home after dinner, that the reason you and I were such good friends in school was because I always felt safe with you around. We all did. Even Mike. You know the kinds of things he could get up to-I think he felt freer and could be a little wilder as long as you were there, because you knew how to take control when things started to get out of hand."

Jeff shrugged, but he was deeply touched. "I'm glad we never had to test it." He took her hand, squeezed it, held on. "Twenty years later," he joked softly, "and I'm finally getting to hold hands with you. How about that?"

Georgianne smiled back at him, then tugged gently. "Come on. I've got to sit down. The drink is catching up with me."

They returned to the living room and sat together on the couch. Hands still held between them, they stretched out their legs on the coffee table. Jeff was beginning to feel dizzy, but not from the drink. The back of his hand, holding hers, rested lightly against bare thigh where Georgianne's shorts ended. The feeling was devastatingly wonderful, but at the same time he was a little frightened by it. What was happening? Was she seriously flirting with him? It was another bizarre echo of a past that had never occurred-on the couch with Georgianne while her old man slept upstairs. This time her husband, not her father. Jeff felt anything but self-possessed now. This moment was precisely what he had wanted and dreamed of so many times. But he didn't know what to do with it.

"How has it felt being back here?" Georgianne asked. "Make you think at all about moving back to Connecticut?"

"No, not really," Jeff replied, glad to have something to say. "Where you are, here, is the nicest place I've seen. But the old Brass Valley is even more depressed, and depressing, than it was when we grew up there. Besides, I've made a home for myself in California that I can't see myself leaving, not in any foreseeable future."

"It doesn't really matter where any of us lives," Georgianne said. "As long as we live well in ourselves."

"Right."

Side by side they sat, close, comfortable together. It felt so very good, but Jeff was afraid to turn and look at her. Afraid of what might happen. But suppose that was what she was waiting for ... ? Could he be reliving his own unnecessary hesitancy?

Jeff finally turned to say something, but the words were lost as he was transfixed by Georgianne's madras shirt. The top three buttons were undone. They had been that way all evening, he realized, but now the image meant something more to him. She still wore a shirt like a high-school girl-open like that but with no cleavage visible. It seemed peculiarly girlish, and Jeff couldn't explain why but he thought it was the most beautiful, telling quality that Georgianne possessed. He knew he should look away, but he couldn't move his eyes. Georgianne gave no indication that she was aware of how intensely poignant this moment was for him. She simply held his hand and gazed absently at her drink. Finally, he leaned forward, his face closer to hers. She looked up at him and smiled.

"I should be going," he said.

And cursed himself silently. Even now, he thought, you're hesitating, hoping she'll take the initiative and kiss you. He felt desperately miserable. At the same time, he couldn't believe that Georgianne really wanted him to try anything. She had made the point about feeling safe with him. The wrong move now would destroy that. He had waited twenty years, and now he had come this close to her; he could wait a while longer to get the rest of the way.

"Think you'll make it here at seven?" she asked.

"Yeah, somehow."

They stood up and walked across the room to the front door. Georgianne stepped outside with him.

"Thanks for a great meal and a great evening," he said.

"Thank you," Georgianne responded. "For last night, and for coming tonight."