Chapter 3: Marcy

"I can't do this. I already miss you too much. Please come get me. Sammy, are you there?"

Marcy froze, looked in the direction of the answering machine and then at me. She wiped her tear-streaked eyes, showing concern.

"Aren't you going to talk to her?" she asked.

I was too stunned to move. Hearing Shirley's voice was not something I had anticipated when I formed the plan to invite Marcy to Pontiac and fulfill my promise to tell her my 'I got into a little trouble when I was fourteen' story.

"Eggshells," I muttered as we heard the machine click, signaling the end of the message.

"Huh?" Marcy asked as she disentangled herself from me. She had heard about the morning Shirley had wakened me from my nightmare, but what was going through my mind didn't register with her; I was walking on eggshells only this time I was awake.

"I didn't tell her you were coming," I said to explain my reaction to Shirley's call.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yes, I did. I withheld information from her."

"Sammy, you did nothing wrong. Don't you think she withholds information from you?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I've never thought about it."

"She does, believe me," Marcy assured me. She was on her feet now, taking our wine glasses to the kitchen. "Call her... now!"

Marcy went into the bathroom while I dialed Shirley's number at the dorm. I heard water running and assumed she was washing her face.

"Hello?" Her voice was crisp, expectant.

"I'll be right there," I said.

"Where were you?"

"I'll explain when I see you," I answered, wondering what I would say. I was relieved when I heard her say, "Okay."

I wanted Marcy to go with me to pick up Shirley, but she insisted that go alone. The two mile drive to her dorm gave me a few minutes to consider what I would say, how I would explain why I hadn't told her about Marcy's visit.

What did Marcy mean when she said that Shirley withholds information from me? Did she know about the sheet of paper with Shirley's name hyphenated with mine? Or, was it something else that she wasn't telling me?

Shirley was standing in the lighted doorway when I stopped the car in front of her dorm. I jumped out and went to her. She dropped the small bag and flew into my arms. We held each other without a word passing between us.

"You feel good," I said, moving my hands to her jean-covered ass and feeling her crotch rub against my leg as I stuffed my hands inside her back pockets.

"I couldn't sleep without you," she said, gently biting my earlobe.

"Does that mean you're going to move in with me?"

"It means I'm willing to try. Can we pretend it's the thirtieth of September?"

"I haven't told you my 'I got into a little trouble when I was fourteen' story," I reminded her.

"You can tell me on Saturday night after our date. Let's go home?"

Now I was really in the soup. Didn't she remember about my promise to tell Marcy the story before I told her? Why had I invited Marcy to come to Pontiac to hear the story? A promise is a promise, that's why.

But what did she say? 'Let's go home.' Wow, that sounds really good. I had to find a way to make things right between us. How could I ever have not told Shirley about Marcy's visit?

In the car, she held the small case on her lap, not bothering to buckle her seatbelt.

"I have something to tell you," I said, deciding to get it over with. If I hurried I'd have time to explain the circumstances before we reached the apartment.

"I have something to tell you, too. I love you Sammy Oldham, and I want to make love to you. Please forgive me for putting it off until I was sure. Nothing is going to change between now and September the thirtieth. I'm sure now."

I looked over at her and watched as she bounced the case on her lap. She was leaning back in her seat, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

The weight on my shoulders was becoming unbearably heavy. Should I tell her that I loved her or should I ask her if she trusted me? Would this be a good time to ask if Mrs. Samuel K. Oldham sounded better than Shirley Pennington, PhD.? What I wouldn't give for the next ten minutes to be over.

"Marcy's here," I blurted out as I parked the car next to the dress shop.

Shirley's response to the news that Marcy was there told me to forget about making love. "When did she come?" she asked, sweetly. She may as well have said, "The glove stays on!"

I didn't even try to explain why Marcy had come or that I had done nothing devious by inviting her without telling Shirley. As far as I was concerned it was an innocent miscalculation on my part. Marcy's visit was to be a surprise. Wasn't I entitled to have dinner and spend an evening with an old friend?

"She's pretty upset over breaking up with Press," I offered.

"That's too bad. When did she come?" she asked for the second time.

"She came this afternoon. We were going to surprise you."

Shirley turned, handed the small bag to me and scurried up the stairs. By the time I reached the door the two girls were embracing. I took Shirley's bag into the bedroom and when I came back they were seated on the floor with their backs to the couch, sipping wine, talking a mile a minute.

I joined them on the floor, leaning against my footlocker and tried to figure out what they were talking about.

"When do you start?" Marcy asked.

"Saturday afternoon," Shirley answered.

"Bummer, my flight is at one-thirty."

"That's okay. I hate goodbyes. Sammy will take you to the airport. We'll have lunch here. I can't wait to make a recipe Betsy gave me. Do you like..."

"Start what?" I asked, interrupting her.

Both girls looked at me and then at each other, grinning. Shirley scooted her ass next to mine and gave me a sip of wine.

"Olivia offered me a job in the dress shop. She needs someone to do alterations on Saturday afternoon," she said, moving back to sit next to Marcy.

"How come you didn't... ?" I started to ask but stopped when I saw her eyebrow go up; warning me that fair was fair. Marcy was right. She didn't tell me everything.

Marcy's mood was chipper and we never did return to the subject of her breakup with Press. Nor was anything more said about our failure to tell each other everything.

We talked about classes starting soon and laughed about little things that had happened over the summer. Every so often Shirley would scoot across the floor and offer me a sip of wine from her glass, which had been my glass earlier.

When the bottle was empty, we went to bed, Marcy on a sleeping bag in the front room, Shirley and I in the bedroom. The golf glove was missing but her T-shirt and panties may as well have been a chastity belt. Even our goodnight kiss was brief, but we went to sleep holding each other.

I must have overslept because I woke up alone in the bed, needing to piss. As soon as I stepped out of the bedroom I smelled cookies baking. I also heard voices coming from the kitchen and stopped to listen.

"I told him I love him."

"It's about time."

"I know I should have told him before. He tells me all the time."

"When's the big day?"

"Big night, you mean?" Shirley giggled. "It was going to be last night until..."

"Oh, god, Shirley, I'm sorry if I fucked things up between you guys. Sammy begged me to come and I couldn't refuse him."

"I know. And you didn't do anything wrong. It's just that it would make me more comfortable if we were alone in the apartment."

"I did fuck it up, didn't I?"

"Yes, I guess you did," Shirley giggled again.

"You don't think we were, you know? I would never want you to..."

"No, I know better. Remember, I trusted him before I admitted that I love him."

I sprinted toward the bathroom, making the floor squeak with every step.

Shirley appeared at the door before I finished taking a leak. She had a glass of orange juice in her hand and a sheepish grin on her face. Nothing was said about my overhearing their conversation.

After breakfast we showed Marcy how we logged into the Oldham network and traded emails with Suzanne and the people we had met the summer before. I was a little surprised to see messages to Shirley from a guy in human resources.

Marcy sat at the computer and watched the interchange between us.

"He just wanted to know if we got back to school all right," Shirley said to me when she saw how I was leaning over Marcy's shoulder to read the email.

"I assume he's new and doesn't know you're in love with Sammy Oldham?" I suggested.

"I assume you're correct," she answered, rubbing the back of my leg with her knee and smiling demurely. "Shall I tell him or do you want to?"

"I'll tell him," I said, putting my arms around her and pulling her close.

"Don't you dare unless I see what you write," she whispered in mock protest. I felt her warm breath against my ear.

Marcy turned in the chair to watch us. She must have noticed my erection and I was sure that Shirley felt it stabbing her tummy.

"Is it all right if I write: 'Shirley loves Sammy'?"

Her answer came haltingly. "That sounds... good. But it's..."

I interrupted. "How about: 'Shirley loves Sammy; Sammy loves Shirley'?"

She didn't answer for several seconds but I felt her cheek nodding before she whispered, "Much better."

Marcy broke us up. "You guys want to run or fuck?" she asked.

We cracked up. Shirley opted to run although I would have preferred the second choice.

Somehow, we wound up on the dusty river road and stopped at the Foster home where Shirley delivered her cookies. We didn't see Luke, but Edna invited us inside.

Edna passed out the cookies, one to each of us, and put the others on the top shelf in a cabinet. She poured each of the children a small glass of milk, and then apologized to us, saying she wanted to save enough for their supper.

It was apparent to me that the house made Marcy uncomfortable. Hell, it made me uncomfortable too, and I had spent my early years in a home where candles were only used when the electricity was turned off. It was obvious that Edna took pride in her home. There wasn't a speck of dirt to be seen and the children's faces looked scrubbed and their hair had been brushed. There was a vase of freshly cut flowers on the kitchen table.

If Shirley even noticed the barren walls and lack of furnishings she didn't let on. She spoke to each of the children, calling them by name and giving them individual attention. They adored her and Edna seemed to be enthralled with her too.

Shirley was floating on air, talking enthusiastically to Edna and the children, not taking notice when Marcy and I waved goodbye, saying we would wait outside.

"She's making the family one of her projects," I explained to Marcy before Shirley joined us. None of us had an urge to run any more that day.

We took Marcy to one of the school cafeterias for lunch and then walked around the campus, pointing out the various buildings, the student center and the dormitories. Shirley even showed us her room and introduced Marcy to Tammy, who had arrived back at school that morning.

Tammy and Shirley hadn't seen each other since the end of the last school year and had a lot to catch up on. We left them, both talking fast, interrupting one another. The last thing I heard was both of them exclaim at the same time, "I'm in love!"

"I'll take an earlier flight," Marcy offered as we walked down the stairs.

"Nonsense, I asked for you to come and you're not leaving until I say you can go."

"You don't need me, Sammy. Shirley wants to be alone with you."

"She also wants you to stay. She wouldn't like it if I agreed to let you take an earlier flight."

We stopped at one of the tennis courts and took a seat on a bench. Two couples were playing mixed doubles. I tried not to laugh when I saw the ball hit a crack and take an errant bounce.

"I already screwed things up by being here. She was going to have sex with you last night until she found out I was here."

"I know, but she really was good about your being here, wasn't she? She adapts well to surprises. That's one of the things I love about her."

"Are you sure about this, Sammy?"

I looked at her and then back at the court, watching an exasperated freshman retrieve her ball.

"I'm sure. I haven't felt this way for a long, long time."

"What's a long time, four years?"

I turned to Marcy. Our knees were touching and I couldn't help reaching over and touching her hair.

"You know me too fucking well. Yes, it has been four years since I felt this way."

Marcy reached for my hand and pulled it away from her hair. "Does she know you're not over Becky?"

I looked back at the court, watched one of the girls make an excellent return and withdrew my hand in order to clap my hands together. It was an automatic response and I didn't realize I was the only one applauding until I felt the four players' eyes upon me. Embarrassed, I turned back to Marcy and took her hand again.

"I'm over Becky," I said, trying to sound convincing.

Marcy smiled at me, knowingly. "Yeah, just like I'm over Press."

"I'm sorry we didn't get to talk more about that," I apologized.

"I can't wait until I get email so I can bug you about every little thing that happens to me," she laughed.

"That wasn't a small thing that happened to you. I wish I could be more help."

"You've been a big help. Seeing you happy did wonders for me. It gives me hope for the future."

We were still holding hands when Shirley caught up with us. It was fun seeing the tennis players watch as she took a seat on my lap and excitedly related what Tammy had told her about her summer romance.

"Are you going to miss having Tammy as a roommate?" I asked.

"We're going to stay in touch. I invited her to dinner next Friday. I'll make spaghetti and you can open a bottle of wine."

Marcy released my hand and rose to her feet. "I'm so envious of you guys. You're going to have a quiet place to study, get to sleep together and socialize with your friends."

Shirley got up and led Marcy away, whispering something that I couldn't make out.

We had Chinese take-out for dinner and I opened a bottle of chardonnay.

"School hasn't started yet and this is the third bottle. That leaves only twenty-one bottles to last us until Thanksgiving," I bemoaned.

"You guys are so lucky," Marcy said again.

We drank to Marcy beginning her freshman year of college and to Shirley beginning her part time job.

Shirley held her glass in the air. "This is to you, Sammy. You're beginning the beginning."

"Are you getting tipsy?" I asked. "What do you mean by beginning the beginning?"

She wouldn't admit she was tipsy. She attempted to make her statement sound sensible. "Tomorrow night we're going on a date, right?"

"Right," I agreed with her.

"The date will be the beginning of the beginning."

"Okay?" I said, dubious.

"You're going to begin at the beginning and tell me everything about the trouble you got into when you were fourteen."