2. Shared feelings. Finding something. A moonlit night.
I woke up late. The curtains were closed, but enough light filtered around the edges to let me know that it was already late morning, at least. Yawning, I slipped off the rumpled bed and stumbled to the doorway.
Elsa was in the living room, standing at the bookcase in blouse and slacks, straightening up the books and adding new ones from the open box next to her. She turned to look at me, a smile tugging up one corner of her mouth. "Hi," she said.
"Hey," I echoed. "What time is it? Marn's gone off to school?"
"Eleven seventeen," Elsa said, nodding at the clock which she'd obviously put up earlier in the morning. "And yes, I got Marn off to school this morning. Then I came back and felt the need to start putting more things in order. And I've been doing it until just this very moment." There was something about her smile that seemed more Elsa than Elsa, if that makes any sense. I stood there, vaguely trying to puzzle it out, as she placed one last book on the shelf and came closer.
"Good morning," she said, and kissed my cheek. "Marnie finished off all the pizza for breakfast, but I can make you some toast if you like."
"Sounds good." I nodded, and started to step past her, only to find her in my way. Puzzled, I looked up at her, but she was just standing there, that smile still on her face.
"Good morning," she repeated.
Oh. "Good morning," I said, dutifully. "How did you, um... sleep?" It was only then that the strangeness of last night hit me.
"Wonderfully," she said.
"I, um..." I floundered for words. She brought a finger to her lips.
"Shhhh. Thank you."
"You're, um, welcome." It was all I could think to say.
She moved closer, and held me tightly. A hint of fragrance washed over me: perfume, shampoo, soap -- who knew? "Thank you," she said, quietly, in my ear. And clung to me. Making me realise that last night... wasn't over. Hadn't even begun. The surge of emotion that coursed through my chest almost buckled my knees.
"I love you, Elsie," I whispered. "Always."
"You shouldn't." Her voice was a soft breeze, almost as if meant to be heard by my heart, not my ears. But it was too late, far too late for that.
She gasped in surprise when she felt my arms close around her. She looked up, almost shyly, her brown eyes filled with light. I pressed my brow against hers, then lightly kissed the tip of her nose. "You can't tell me what to do, Elsie."
"I... I know. But—"
"Hush up." For a moment we just stood there looking at each other. She seemed so young, so alive. The deep brown of her eyes, the small dimple in her cheek, the tiny indentation where she was biting her lower lip. Her lips were a deep pink, not full but not too thin either, and curved in a nervous smile.
"Elsa." I kept staring at her lower lip, fixated. Moving closer, moving downwards, even as she moved up to meet me.
The phone rang.
I blinked, startled, then pulled back. The moment shattered. Elsa laughed lightly, pushing her hair back behind one ear.
"That'll be the phone company; I've been trying to get our service working properly all morning."
I looked down at my arms, still interlocked with hers. "Then you'd better answer it, hey?"
"Yes." Slowly, she drew back, separating from me. "You go get washed up. I can have breakfast ready for you whenever you like."
I nodded. She turned and dashed for the phone. I headed for the bathroom. For some reason, the notion of a cold shower was suddenly incredibly appealing.
* * *
She was off the phone when I got out of the bathroom. With a scarf tied over her sleek brown hair, she was vigorously dusting the window sills. A plate of toast and scrambled eggs was on the counter; after pouring myself a glass of Coke to go with it, I sat down at the dining table and started consuming.
All the while, though, my mind was racing along different paths, far removed from any place it had ever expected to go. The cold shower had helped clear my mind, just as the jangling tones of the phone had broken the strength of that... that weird
moment
(I refused to dignify it by analysing it any further, or attempting to define it).
In cold, purely academic terms, I could tell myself that no, this was just a temporary emotional lapse, and I had the strength of will to resist any further sorties into the realm of... of wherever that particular sortie had been leading. I was an adult, wasn't I? I knew what was right and... and what was wrong, didn't I?
Then why did the thought of... of stopping
whatever
it was that was happening... why did it make me feel so desolate? Why did I feel so alive now, when I thought of being in her arms? When I remembered holding her, kissing her hair. The smell of her.
I watched her, absently, as my mind came to roost on these inexplicable positives. Her slim figure, the way her body moved as she stretched out with the duster, the curve of her buttocks beneath the fabric of her slacks...
Oh God. Oh God, stop it!
I blinked, then lifted my elbow spasmodically and threw the glass of Coke in my face. It didn't help much, and when I'd cleared most of it out of my eyes, it was only to find Elsa there, looking at me in confusion.
"Gerald?" she asked.
"Sorry... um, just a bit of a drinking problem," I said, awkwardly.
She arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
"Well, no, but... you know." I shrugged, unable to talk about it. Not until I'd worked it out for myself.
"Oh, Ger, does
everything
have to be sexual with you guys?" She sighed, exasperated.
"No!" I protested. "That's, that's not it at all."
"Really," she said, looking... looking somehow disappointed in me. And that stung. "Well, what is it, exactly?"
"You don't know?" I challenged, and she faltered a bit. Oh God,
did
she know?
"That's... that's not what I'm asking," she managed. "I'm asking what
you're
feeling."
"You're my sister," I said, words springing to my mouth almost without passing through my head, it seemed. "You're my sister. Is it so wrong to... to want to hold you? To want what we had last night, to have you
need
me? To be there for you when you're sad?"
