Snowstorm

Snowstorm
Part Four

"You talk like your a hundred years old," I said, as he finished poking around in the fireplace and set the iron rod aside with the others, "You've probably never looked better in your entire life."

"So says you," Alan replied, with a trace of his good humor, settling back next to me against the sofa.

I glanced across and retorted, feeling my cheeks flush a little as I said this; "So says about a billion women..."

"Maybe they should get their collective eyes checked," he said, "I know I'm not as handsome as I was in my twenties and thirties..."

"Haha," I said, with light sarcasm, "You know you're still hot. How can you not know this? Maybe you should get your eyes checked..."

The record spun to an end and sudden silence filled the room, save for the crackling of the fire. I watched Alan rise and step over to the turntable, pick the needle up without scratching the record and set it aside.

"Any requests?" he shot over his shoulder before bending down to open the cupboard, that held, I noticed, a few dozen records housed within their sleeves. "Just don't ask for Brittany Spears or... The Backstreet Boys..."

"Hey! I may be young, but give me some credit for having better taste than that!" I cried, mock cringing, "I don't know... play what was on before... do you have any more of that?"

"Tom Waits?" Alan asked, and nodded, "I have a few of his records... let's see... hmm... all right, I think this will do..."

I sat back and closed my eyes. The warmth from the fire along with the music, the audio on low enough to talk over it, wafting from the stereo, lulling me into somewhat of a sleepy state. I yawned and forgot to cover my mouth.

Not that I cared, it was just something I noticed. Sometimes, I notice the most asinine things. I heard Alan walking across the room and fiddling with the dials on the radio once more. I didn't think he'd get anything but more static.

I was correct, of course, and turned my head towards the window, opening my eyes to see the snow drifting downwards, covering the land outside in more and more whiteness. It was so white that it almost appeared to be daylight outside.

"I'm going to check on the phone lines again," Alan said as he left the radio upon the countertop and walked across the room to the phone. I didn't think he'd get anywhere with the phone either.

A few moments passed and he gave me a look that meant; "I had to check..." before placing the phone back on the cradle. It was at the moment the radio fizzed to life and the words of the reporter chilled me to the bone. “.... Wreckage of the car..." a bit more static, it was hard to make out what she was saying, but I got the gist of it, "...bodies of two young...." I closed my eyes and drew my legs upwards, bending my head into my knees to hide my face.

I covered my ears with the afghan and tried to block out the sound of the woman's voice. Reporting on the death of my sister and her husband in such a cold, heartless manner. "...Seem to have been..." I couldn't listen to anymore... I didn't want to hear their names. Alan was heading back to radio in a hurry to turn it off, I knew. "...Mr. and Mrs. James..." I jumped up and, brushing past Alan, I think I almost knocked him over in my rush; I ran into the guest room and slammed the door.

I heard the soft rap upon the door and wondered that he didn't just come in. It was his place, after all. But, I answered my own question. He was too much of a gentleman to come barging into a room uninvited. Especially the room of a distraught young woman. I had the afghan I'd taken from the living room pulled up over my head as I lay curled, fetal-position, upon the bed.

It took awhile for my dry sobs to die down until I was just hiccupping and shuddering. It was after the third knock that I finally sniffed loudly and bade him enter. "I'm sorry about that," he said, as I lay still under the blanket, watching him through the holes in the blanket, "I should have remembered..."

"It's not your fault..." I said, though my voice was hoarse from crying, "We both wanted to know when the snow would stop...I...just forgot..."

I felt his weight as he sat upon the bed next to me. The touch of his hand upon my hip, over the afghan, a slight squeeze, "I know that we don't really know each other...I mean, we've only just met....but if there is anything...." I could tell that he was trying to comfort me and find a way to help me, and the way he was faltering in his words was so endearing to me right at that moment.

I felt as if I could do one of two things. Either burst into another round of useless sobs or turn around, wrap my arms about his neck and hold on for dear life. Actually, I did both. Again. I wouldn't blame him if he was extremely relieved to be rid of me when this was over.

"Beth..." I heard him murmur my name near my ear as one of his hands came up to stroke my back lightly, gently, as if I were something breakable. I wanted him to hold me tighter, I clung to him as tears streamed down my cheeks and dampened his shirt once more.

I am not sure how, exactly, it happened. They say that grief and pain can make a person do things they would never do, under normal circumstances. All I knew then was I wanted to forget I ever even had a sister named Katherine or her husband Thomas. I wanted to forget about that fateful drive up the mountain...forget about the crash...forget my part in their deaths. Forget everything.

I know, in retrospect, it was an extremely horrible thing to do. But, at the time, I didn't think of it as using him. Or of anything, really. I wanted escape... and he was there... and I was there...and everything just seemed to fade into the background when he held me and whispered those words in his raspy voice near my ear, tickling the fine hairs near the side of my throat.

My mouth found his rather clumsily. It's not like it is in the movies, at all, when two people come together for a kiss for the first time. No, there's a lot of awkwardness involved. At first, I could tell, he didn't know what to make of my sudden advances. It took him completely by surprise.

His mouth was unmoving beneath my own even my tongue dived between his lips, forcing them apart and tracing across his front teeth. I pressed my lips hard against his own, wanting nothing more so badly in my entire life. With a sudden gasp, he shoved me away. The look in his eyes was one of confusion mingled with slight regret and a touch of yearning. I had felt his arms tighten about me for the split second before he let me go.

"We can't do this, Beth," he said, at last, to my lowered face. I knew I'd made a mistake. How could I have been so foolish? Of course he wouldn't want me? I was just a child...young enough to be his granddaughter...to him. He had a woman of his own, his own age, with which he shared intimate moments.

Why in the world would I think, even for a moment, that... I heard him sigh and felt his fingers cupping my cheek before drifting downwards to tilt my chin upwards. "Beth. Look at me. You don't have to feel bad about..."

"Please..." I said, swiping away the errant tears. Damn them. Traitors. "Just for tonight...stay with me...I don't want to remember...I don't want to think about..."

"Beth..."

"Please, Alan..." I said, my fingers digging into the material of his shirt, twisting the fabric, "Help me..."

"I...Beth...we can't..." he faltered; I was nearly in his lap. The afghan tangled between. His hands were still upon my upper arms, where he'd grabbed me to shove me away. I felt him tremble slightly and knew that it was difficult for him to have shoved me away to begin with.

I looked at him through tear-hazed eyes and saw the only person in the world who could save me, at that moment, from everything. I felt as if the planet and all it's horrors would come crashing down around my ears if he denied me this one, tiny... speck of...

"I know what's wrong," I said, dropping my hands to my sides, balling them into fists, "I know I'm not pretty...not nearly as pretty as...as..." as the women he’d shared screen-time with, I’d be about to say. I turned about and flung myself against the pillow, feeling as if I were thirteen years old instead thirty-three. God! What else could I do to show my immaturity? Throw a tantrum in the middle of the room?

"Beth, It's not...will you stop that and look at me?" he said, and I sniffed, my face still turned away, "Look at me!" I flashed, suddenly, upon one of his more recent movie characters, a rather popular one with the women online I knew, at that sudden, commanding tone, and rolled over. I sat up and he smiled to soften the harshness of his words. "You are a very attractive young woman, Elizabeth Michalson." I nearly laughed at his use of my full name. I knew by the expression on his face, however, that laughter would have been extremely unwise, "I took note of that when I saw you passed out on my front porch..."

"Then...why...?" I asked, scrubbing at my face to rid them of the last of my tears. I knew the tracks down my cheeks much make me look more the child than ever. It was not a look I was going for, at the moment. Not at all. "Why didn't I make a move, is that what you were going to ask me?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow.

A lock of his sandy, grayish hair fell across his forehead and I itched to reach up and smooth it back. I nodded, slightly, feeling my face heat up once more. "Beth? Do you really think I would stoop so low as to try to seduce a woman who's clearly been through hell?"

"No," I admitted, "No... You’re right. I'm sorry..."

"No need to be sorry, Beth," Alan said, "I'm the one who should be apologizing. If I've led you on in any way..."

"Of course you haven't!" I cried, "Oh, god! It was all my stupidness! Alan, I am so..."

"Now, enough of that!" he snapped and I sniffled, looking at him, "No more apologizes from you. It's not your doing..."

"Alan?" I asked, after a few moments had gone by in silence. Well, sniffling, hiccupping silence at the very least, with the fire snapping in the grate in the other room.

"Hmm?"

"Would...would you still stay with me?" I knew it was a long shot, but I had to take it. I really did not want to face the night alone, not after what I'd heard on the radio. Not after...well, I couldn't make-believe that they were still alive any longer. Not with that woman's voice and her words to the contrary echoing over and over inside my head. "Please? Please, just hold me..."

I think it was my tone or something in my eyes when I turned them upwards to lock onto his own, that did it. He gathered me up into his arms and I rested my cheek against his chest, listening to his heart beating steadily. I closed my eyes, "Just for tonight..." I whispered, and felt his hand touching my hair lightly, lightly.

His touch upon the back of my head hardly felt real, but I relished the feeling of his gentleness as I clung to him as the snow continued to fall outside and the night ticked cruelly by.

"Shhh..." he hushed me, when I tried to speak again and we were laying side-by-side upon the bed. I scooted back into his warmth and he curved an arm about my waist, pulling me near, whispering in my ear, stopping me from bursting into another round of damnable tears, "Beth...I'll stay with you...don't worry...it's going to be all right...shhh..."