Page 30 of To Save Him

The stairs were silent now, signaling that Brandon was at last on the ground floor.  “Wow.  Kimberly, you look really nice.”

My cheeks flushed again and I turned slightly, not trusting myself to look him completely in the eye.  “Thank you.”  But I caught sight of him as well…and he was wearing his suit with the red tie that I’d bought him a couple of weeks earlier.

“Hey, you guys match.”

Had I planned it subconsciously?  I was helpless to find any words, but Brandon said, “Yeah, I guess we do.”

This was going to be an awkward evening.  Why the hell had I decided to wear that dress?

As I looked Brandon over finally, I felt my mouth water.  He really was a dream.  Had my mother warned me twenty years earlier that I’d someday find someone half my age irresistible, I’d have laughed at her and denied it with untold vehemence, but it was happening…and I had it bad for this young man, in spite of the fact that those feelings weren’t reciprocal.

I was still a mother, though, and when I noticed his tie was crooked, there was no stopping myself.  I walked the few feet to him and took the knot of that tie into my hand, adjusting it so it was straight.  I was overcome in that moment with the overwhelming urge to instead use my grip to pull his face into mine.  So why I looked at him then, I’ll never know, because I was sure my eyes would give me away and probably scare the hell out of him.

But instead of scaring him, I could tell by the clarity in his eyes that something else was happening here.  For a brief moment, it felt like just the two of us in some kind of bubble, away from the world, away from our problems.  It would be so easy to close that gap, to touch my lips to his…

“He looks great, mom.  Geez, I don’t know why you guys look like we’re going to a Christmas party or somethin’.”  His words helped me feel grounded and I gave Brandon a weak smile, patting him next to his lapel as if urging myself to step away.  “See, me?  I’m dressed like I’m going to a concert.”  I turned to look at my son in his Anthrax t-shirt and faded blue jeans, and he made the metal devil’s horn sign with one hand, banging his head—as if he were going to attend arockconcert, not a school one.

“There’s no mosh pit at the high school, JR.”

He grinned.  “There’s room for one.  I could just start doing it.  I bet a ton of people would join me.”

“I’m sure they would.  Let’s go.”

We walked out to the car in what was now darkness, aside from the porch light we’d turned on.  The daylight had been lasting longer, but it was still too early in spring for it to be light this late.  I pointed my key fob at the car to unlock the doors, but before I could cross over to the driver’s side, Brandon asked, “Do you want me to drive?”

I paused, because I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t driven my family somewhere.  Yes, I’d taught Annabel to drive the year before, but it didn’t feel the same.  To be able to give the keys to someone else, to entrust him to take care of me and my family…that made me feel warm and almost loved.  And I wanted to give it a try.  Smiling, I handed Brandon the keys.  “Sure.  That would be nice.”

“Cool.  Maybe we can crank the music, man,” JR said as he yanked the back door open.

“Nice try,” I said, opening the passenger door as Brandon walked to the other side of the car.  That he hadn’t offered to open my door for me set my fluttering insides at ease.  See?  It was just one-sided, just me, in spite of the weird exchange in the house.  As for offering to drive, he was likely getting used to handling my little car.  It might have been older and it might have been a family car, but it was still fun to drive.  It handled well, had a lot of power under the pedal, and JR was right about one thing—the speakers were amazing, definitely made for a “cooler” car.

The ride to town was uneventful, and I found myself relaxing as we got closer.  I had to tell Brandon which roads to turn on to get to the high school, home of the Winchester Bulldogs, and the only high school for miles around.  Other little Colorado mountain towns sent their high school kids to this one via bus, and it was the extra kids that made the school able to offer a more varied curriculum than they otherwise would have been able to.

As was always the case when it came to any extracurriculars, the parking lot was full—not as full if it had been a football game, but our town still supported the school in all its endeavors.  We had to walk a little way across the dark asphalt.  The evening was cool, and I wished I’d put on some sort of jacket then, but I knew it would have “messed up” my look.  I knew it would be even chillier when we left the concert, though, and that was my concern.  JR seemed unaffected by the temperature and Brandon had his suit jacket, so I was the only one bothered…and I wasn’t going to say a word.

Once in the auditorium, we managed to find three seats together near the front.  As was usually the case, all the prime seats in the middle had been snatched up early, and so most of the available seats were in the extreme areas that would require either squinting or craning the neck or looking up.  I didn’t mind looking up—at least from where we were, I’d be able to see the details in my daughter’s face.

JR was looking around, and I couldn’t tell if he was trying to find friends or Liam, but when he glanced back at me, I could tell he’d seen someone he hadn’t wanted to see.  I cocked my head in question, but he just gave a slight shake of his head and a half smile before opening the program on his lap, pretending to become absorbed in it.  I looked up at the stage—bare for the most part—and wondered how long this concert would last.  Annabel had been in choir every year, and all concerts had been a minimum of two hours but usually three.  I wasn’t tired, so I wouldn’t mind any length…and if JR had been telling the truth about only a little homework left, we’d be okay.  I glanced over at Brandon, kind of out of my line of sight because of the way the seats were turned to face the stage, and at first I’d guessed he was deep in thought—he held his chin in his hand and was glancing down—but I was pretty sure he was staring at my knee.

I had to ask myself if that was significant in any way as I felt my body grow warm.

For one magnificent second, I allowed myself to believe he was looking at my knee on purpose, in a way only a desirous man might, and I closed my eyes to let the sensation wash over me.  When had been the last time I’d felt wanted, needed, desired?  Far too long.  So long that the sensation felt foreign but not unwelcome.

What might a man be thinking when he gazed upon a woman’s smooth, shaved knee?  I could only imagine, but I knew the kind of things I’d thought when glancing upon Brandon’s bare torso weeks ago, and those ponderings hadn’t been innocent, any more than the way he might be looking upon the bend in my leg.

But he didn’t shift his gaze in the short time I allowed myself to feel a thrill, leading me to believe that his glance was absentminded and that there was definitely nothing covetous nor desirous about it.  I tried to will away the flushed feeling to no avail, at last experiencing relief as the house lights dimmed and the stage grew bright, taking my attention away from my inappropriate—and unfounded—emotions.

 

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