Chapter 9

Bob had a rough night. In his opinion, he'd acted like a cave man, and ruined all possibility that there could ever be anything good between them in the future. That it had happened at all was suggestion there could have been that tantalizingly sweet future. How it had happened had taken it all away from him.

He could have blamed it on a lot of things, but he didn't. He took responsibility for it himself.

Had Bob known what was going on in Cecelia's mind, he might have been a bit less hard on himself. The real problem was that she didn't stay around long enough to talk about how she felt about it.

Part of the evolution in her attitude was that, when she got home, she expected what happened to show on her, like some scarlet letter. She expected her mother to take one look at her and scream "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" When, instead, her mother simply glanced at her and said "How did the tests turn out?" she was flatly amazed that what had happened apparently didn't show.

"Not so good," she said softly.

"What does that mean?" asked her mother.

"It means we have a lot of work to do," said Cecelia. "We have to do better."

"I know you can," said her mother supportively, and then went back to her knitting.

In her room, Cecelia reflected on how different her mother's reaction had been to what she had expected. In fact, ALL of this losing of her virginity had been different from what she had expected. It HAD gone poorly, just like this last week of instruction, and she had an unproven suspicion that it had gone poorly for the same reasons.

The more she thought about it the more she saw parallels between how suppressed or repressed emotion had affected both the way Bob taught and the way her defloration had gone. In both cases their emotions had affected the situation negatively. In one case, it had caused a lethargy in Bob that had bled over to the kids. In the other it had caused them to rush forward, when they should have taken their time.

As she got into bed she thought it was almost funny that her main complaint about losing her virginity was that they hadn't taken their time. She had already adapted to the idea it was gone, and she didn't miss it. She was also quite sure she'd never be sorry it was Bob Hawkins who was her first, even if it had ended unhappily.

As she put her head on her pillow, Cecelia thought that mourning the fact that she hadn't thought out losing her virginity wouldn't fix anything. And mourning the fact that her stubborn attitude toward how she felt about Bob had affected the kids wouldn't solve anything.

Just before she drifted off to sleep, her last waking thought was that both situations COULD be rectified with more thorough planning and preparation.

Because his gardens were so extensive, Bob used an under-layment covered by mulch, to avoid most weeds. But there were always a few that defeated the black porous cloth he put around most of his plants, and he always had weeds to pull. In a way it worked out for him, because whenever Bob was down about something, pulling weeds seemed to soothe him.

He was jerking them with a vengeance Saturday afternoon, thinking of each one of them as his own traitorous penis when he heard a car drive up the driveway. A glance told him it was Cecelia, and he wondered why she was there.

He had no problem standing today, because his prick had been limp ever since he had hurt the woman he was very afraid he was in love with. He knew nothing could come of that, and it was a much more settled knowledge than before, when his fantasies were still somewhat alive. He'd blown it. Cecelia specifically hated cave men who did exactly what he'd done, and you don't get second chances from women like Cecelia.

She got out, dressed in shorts and a tank top, with sandals on. Her hair was in a French braid again. She looked completely normal, completely beautiful, and his heart ached. She had a plastic shopping bag hanging from her hand again, just like last time.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he returned.

"You still mad at me?" she asked.

He goggled. "Me? Mad at you? You can't be serious."

"I should have told you I was a virgin," she said.

"I should have asked," he barked. "I did the very thing you said you hate. I mauled you."

"I know," she said. "But what's done is done. You didn't really hurt me. Well, actually, it hurt like hell, but not for long."

"I am so very sorry," he moaned. "I know I can never make it up to you, but..."

She held up a hand. "It was a mistake, OK? Everybody makes them. We were both at fault. How about we just forget it, OK? I don't want to relive that every day for the rest of the summer. And this thing between us is affecting the kids, so we need to get over it because of that too."

"I don't know if I can," he said softly, brushing dirt off his hands.

"Of course you can," she said. "I have a plan, actually."

"A plan?"

She held up the plastic bag. "I brought my swimsuit. You said I could use the pool any time, remember? So come swimming with me and we can talk about my plan."

"Swimming," he said, his voice dull. He'd wanted to see her in a bikini before, but it would only cause problems now.

"You know, where you get in the water and splash around?" She smiled.

He was astonished she could be so forgiving, and the last thing he wanted to do was offend her again.

"Look," he said. "You go swimming. When you're done, get dressed and we can talk."

She tilted her head at him, as if she were evaluating him in some way. Then she reached in the bag and pulled out a black handful of cloth. She put the plastic bag on the ground and held out the cloth. It was one-piece swimsuit.

"It doesn't show that much, Bob. And I'm not afraid of you. We're both adults, remember? We can work this out. We NEED to work this out."

"I thought we did," he sighed. "But what we worked out didn't work very well."

"I thought a lot about that," said Cecelia, "and I think I know what went wrong. Come on. I want to tell you about my plan. I think it's a good one, but I need your input."

"OK," he sighed, standing up.

"Where can I change?" she asked.

"Pick any bedroom upstairs," he said. "I'll meet you out there."

She picked a bedroom that had a window looking out on the pool. She got undressed and performed one small chore that required she be naked. Then she put on the suit she had brought to swim in, adjusted it just the way she wanted it, and then waited by the window. She didn't move until she saw him walk out in surfer's baggies and dive into the pool. Then she put on a short robe and, barefoot, headed downstairs to the pool.

Bob had swum four laps by the time he saw her come out of the house. She had on a short terrycloth robe that would double as a towel. He berated himself mildly for being so out of practice at this kind of thing that he'd forgotten to bring towels out.

He swam to the shallow end and stood up, figuring she would get in that end and they would talk while she soaked in the cool water. She took the robe off and his jaw sagged loosely.