Zach opened Larry and Celine’s front door to discover Becca standing on the front stoop in the pale glow of the light mounted on the brick veneer. She glanced up at him with the sweetest tilt of her head and the shiest of half smiles, looking like a schoolgirl peddling raffle tickets to fund a band trip. He’d been expecting her so knew who it was when he heard the light tapping on the door. But now in his vision—framed against the autumn dark in this quiet setting, looking down for a moment, then back up at him with hopeful expectation, her hands clasped loosely in front of her—she seemed to him brand new, some gift from years ago he’d forgot to open and just came across at the back of the closet or tucked under the eaves in the attic. What’s more, not only was Becca brand new—a surprise gift—but so was he, suddenly in and through her shed of all the defeats and disappointments and demands of a broken marriage and a disassembled life under radical reconstruction. All those encumbrances simply evaporated beneath that shy but open-hearted gaze and the effortless physical beauty of this innocent standing before him on this new and neutral turf. He silently held one hand out to her; she took it and stepped up into the house.
Zach was babysitting Marie, the precocious seven-year-old daughter of Larry, Zach’s supervisor at his job in University Archives, and Celine, Larry’s young and ethereal French-born wife. Late in the week, Larry’d lucked into a pair of tickets to tonight’s Avery basketball game; and Zach had volunteered on short notice to babysit Marie. By agreeing to babysit, Zach had foregone the chance to attend any of the numerous concerts and parties occurring on campus on this clear cool Friday night; but he felt no sense of loss or sacrifice. He was happy to help out Larry and Celine, who’d frequently welcomed him into their home in this quiet residential neighborhood; and he adored the quick-as-a-whip Marie with her bossy nature and perceptive unabashed declarations. He’d figured to spend his night reading Tolstoy after Marie went to bed till Becca phoned shortly before he left his apartment and asked if she could join him later in the evening. He’d given her the address and left his Tolstoy at home.
Zach gently closed the door behind them and raised one finger to his lips. “She went to bed about fifteen minutes ago,” he whispered. “I think she’s asleep.”
Becca nodded and grinned. “Quiet as a mouse.”
He led her across the living room and down the hall past the dark dining room and the dimly lit kitchen toward the bright den at the back of the house. Just before entering the den, while still in the close confines and privacy of the hall, he turned to her and wrapped her in his arms. She hugged him back and pressed the side of her face against his shirt and closed her eyes. He pressed his face against the crown of her head, inhaled the scent of her hair, breathed in her fresh and redemptive life. They’d recently unmasked other routes to total merging, held those memories and promises close and dear. But this night in this place through this contact they discovered yet another point of union in what seemed, at the moment at least, a boundless supply of such opportunities—they discovered together youthful infatuation, passed that gift back and forth. Then they walked into the den. Becca shed her coat and draped it on the back of the chair, and they sat together on the couch.
The T.V. was on with the volume down low, tuned in to a comic series set in the rural South about a couple fast-talking, moonshine-running brothers with a souped-up flame-orange car and a sister who liked to wear hotpants above her long and oh-so-shapely legs. It was the latest version of Hollywood making money at the expense of the South, peddling clichés and stereotypes to a national audience long dismissive or ignorant of the region’s rich and complex culture.
Becca laughed ironically at the slapstick humor and the mangled accents. “You’d think they’d at least try to sound right.”
“Why? It’s all part of the joke—like the California hills that are supposed to be Georgia or the white suit on the portly mayor.”
“A joke on them or us?”
“Feeling a little regional sensitivity?”
“Rather not have the whole world think we’re all uneducated hicks that spend our time working on cars in jeans so tight they leave nothing to the imagination.”
“You talking about the guys or the girls?”
“It’s the guys working on the cars.”
“I mean the tight jeans—does it bother you with the guys or the girls or both?”
“Sex is sex, I guess; but I’m more used to it with girls. Since when did guys start advertising their wares in public?”
Zach laughed. “Not much for Women’s Lib, I see.”
“Not much for exhibitionism, male or female,” Becca said in earnest. “Best to keep one’s privates private.”
Zach nuzzled the side of her neck but kept his hands in his lap. “To be shared in private.”
She nodded. “Shared in private—some things shouldn’t be cheapened.”
“Good luck getting that genie back in the bottle.”
“Never got out—not in this girl.”
Zach gazed down at the lovely girl reclining beside him and striking an easy pose in perfect balance between wholesome beauty and overflowing sexuality. He restrained his impulse to engage her abundant gifts. “Thank you for being here.”
She rolled her head slowly against the soft cushions of the low couch back and smiled up at him. “No place I’d rather be.”
Marie stood in the doorway with a blanket over her shoulder looking so much like the vulnerable little girl she was but tried so hard to hide during the day. “I had a bad dream,” she whispered.
Zach jumped up and jogged to her. He squatted down to her height. “Are you scared?”
She shook her head. “Not anymore.”
Zach nodded. “That’s good. You want to sit with us a little while?”
She nodded sleepily, rubbing her cheek with her baby blanket.
Zach picked her up and carried her to the couch with her head resting on his shoulder. He set her on the couch next to Becca. Marie looked surprised at the presence of this stranger in her house. “This is my friend Becca,” Zach said. “She came by to help me watch over you.”
Marie studied Becca with a serious stare.
Becca smiled and opened her arms to the stern little girl.
Marie hesitated just a second then nodded. “O.K.,” she said and leaned back against Becca, tucked her head against Becca’s near shoulder and pulled her baby blanket up under her chin.
Becca wrapped her arms gently around the child.
Zach sat next to Marie but remained upright on the couch, not leaning toward the reclining girl. He patted Marie’s knee with his far hand. After a moment, he reached above the child, extended his arm along the back of the couch, and brushed Becca’s hair and cheek with his fingers.
Becca glanced across at him. Above the little girl, their eyes exchanged the love of innocents—that pure, that fleeting.
Beneath their gaze, Marie said without looking up, “It’s O.K. to touch her. Boys and girls who love each other can touch.”
Becca offered a quiet laugh and nodded.
Zach said, “Thank you”—barely a whisper, directed to all within earshot.