Far From Me Pt. 03

"Ya, but I alreaty tolt them I vas going to ask you. It's okay vith them."

He took a big gulp of his beer. "Alright, I didn't really know what I was going to do when this thing was over. I guess afterward - if you want - I could take you back to Paul and Juliette's. Did you want to leave right now? I don't know about you, but I think I've had my fill of community spirit for the night!" He smiled, but he wasn't really sure she understood his sarcasm.

"Ya, I voult like that."

He finished the last of his beer. "Okay, but I need to say goodbye to Paul and Juliette. It would be rude if I left without thanking them."

"Ya, you shoult. Vhile you talk, I vill use the restroom." She turned and sauntered sexily away.

He saw Paul and Juliette talking to the Booster Club President Frank Schmidt, and he had to wait for a minute or two for the appropriate moment to intrude on their conversation, but when someone tapped Frank on the shoulder, he saw his opportunity and stepped up. "Hey you guys, I think I'm going to take off. Ingrid... ah... she wants to talk to me, though I don't exactly know why. Anyway, we're going to... ah... go... back to my place. I'll give her a ride home later, if that's okay with you."

Paul looked at Juliette, but remained silent. "Sure, that's fine, Tom", Juliette said with a knowing grin. "Ingrid told us she wanted to speak to you."

"Is that okay? I mean..." He was very embarrassed and didn't know how to explain himself.

"She's a big girl, Tom. She can decide most things for herself." Juliette answered matter-of-factly.

"Okay, if you're still up, maybe I'll see you when I drop Ingrid off. Oh, and Paul, thank you! Thank you both!"

"For what?" Paul placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Where would I start? Just... thanks for being my friends!" He smiled bleakly, shook hands with Paul and gave Juliette a hug, then turned away.

*****

It had been almost six months since he'd first met Ingrid Eriksson. In all that time, he'd never once been alone with her... until now. As they walked the narrow sidewalk that led from the street to his porch, he let Ingrid walk a step or two in front of him.

That was on purpose. Because his house sat high on a hill - at least 25 feet above the street, they had to traverse two sets of steep steps before reaching a landing and the front porch. He thought maybe he should take her hand to help her, but he feared that might send the wrong signal, so instead he lay back a bit to make sure that if Ingrid lost her footing and fell, he'd be there to catch her. He didn't want her to get hurt.

That same scenario had played itself out last fall when his neighbor had been trying to deliver a package addressed to Lara that had been mistakenly delivered to her next door. The neighbor, a nice, elderly woman named Lorraine Buenning, had broken a bone in her hand when she caught her fall, and she had to go to the Pine Creek Medical Center to have some metal pins surgically implanted to insure the bones healed properly.

Lorraine rented her house from the same landlord that he and Lara did. Since he'd done her a number of favors - carrying bags of groceries into her house, even mowing her lawn once - Lorraine liked him. That was a lot more than could be said for the landlord. Lorraine sued the guy in small claims court for her medical expenses. Even though the landlord had tried to blame the accident on Lara and him (as well as Lorraine herself), she prevailed because the judge determined that the steepness of the steps had caused Lorraine's fall.

All of that had happened in late September, long before it snowed, and now, despite his best efforts to try to keep the walkway clear, some of the steps still had a little ice on them. He was fearful that if someone fell now, he could be blamed.

Though he hadn't done so on purpose, he soon realized that trailing behind Ingrid had its advantages. The view was something to behold. Both her breasts and her ass were bigger, fuller, and more curvaceous than her sister's and, from his current vantage point, the latter was on full display. When he fell several steps behind and below Ingrid, he momentarily looked up to get a brief glimpse of a pair of blue, lace panties peeking out from underneath her cheerleader skirt!

He couldn't believe that. How could she have worn something so revealing while performing in front of a couple hundred townspeople? For modesty's sake, the cheerleaders were supposed to wear royal blue, spandex, athletic shorts under their skirts when they performed. Though they were short and tightfitting, they were socially acceptable - the same type of shorts that girls volleyball players wore during their games and practices. Besides, most of the time the shorts were covered by their pleated skirts.

There were only two possible explanations for Ingrid's exhibitionism, and both were equally alarming. Either she had flashed a good portion of Monteboro while performing all those jumps, kicks, and splits, or she had removed her spandex shorts afterward - perhaps when she used the restroom while he said his goodbyes to the Nagy's. If the latter was true, he wondered about her intentions.

Embarrassed by his "Peeping Tom" act, he quickly caught up. When they reached the landing, he opened the porch door to let her in. Then, he unlocked the front door, and the two entered his living room. That night was the first time he'd ever locked his house. He wasn't sure why he'd done so, but for some inexplicable reason he had.

"Make yourself at home, Ingrid. Can I get you something to drink: a soda or some coffee or tea?"

"Do you have any vine? If you vant to, I voult share some vith you," She removed her leather jacket and tossed it carelessly onto the arm of the couch.

He was nervous about the request. Paul had told him - and he'd seen firsthand on numerous occasions - that the Nagy's allowed Ingrid to drink alcohol when she was in their home. They saw their role as proxies for her own parents, and considering that Ingrid was an adult and her parents let her drink when she was back home in Sweden where it was legal for someone her age, they decided they were okay with her imbibing during her time in America, so long as it was in their house when they were there. But this was different. She was still underage in Pennsylvania, and now she was in his home.

That wasn't the biggest issue, and he was less troubled by Ingrid asking him for a little wine than he was by the potential havoc that inviting her to be alone with him could cause. He realized that decision was probably a mistake.

For the past three months, he had been going through all of the classic stages of loss - the kind of loss that logically results from a sudden and emotional breakup. He was not only psychologically ill-prepared to address his emotions, but fearful that they left him vulnerable to more threatening feelings were he to open himself up to another relationship. One look at Ingrid in her cheerleader outfit made him think that might be where things were headed.

It remained to be seen whether his vague suspicions would be borne out, but in the meantime, he had to decide about letting her drink. He considered trying to talk her out of the wine, but then decided that it would be too awkward. Besides, he was trying to smooth things over with her, not start a fight. "Alright, I think I might have a bottle here. Is red okay?"

"Ya, I like ret better."

He went to the kitchen and, perusing a lower cabinet, found a couple of bottles of a red blend from California that he'd bought at the only liquor shop in town a few weeks earlier. He hadn't tried it yet, but, according to the cashier, it was supposed to be good. He found a corkscrew, opened one of the bottles, and then recorked it. Then, he grabbed two wine glasses and went back out to the living room. "One bottle left!" he lied.

Ingrid was standing in front of his record collection in the open dining room which was immediately adjacent to the living room. She was inspecting the long, low shelves that ran the length of one side of the room. Because he and Lara didn't buy a dining room table, they used the dining room as a kind of entertainment room. It held his sizeable collection of vinyl records and CDs, his stereo system and speakers, a Sony TV and VCR, as well as a loveseat and two chairs.

"You have a lot of music", she commented.

"Yeah, I do. I've been buying records, ever since I got my first paper route when I was about 10", he answered with a smile as he set the bottle and wine glasses down on the coffee table in the living room. He took a seat on the couch, uncorked the bottle, and poured both glasses half full. "Would you like to pick something out to listen to?"

"Ya, vhat vas the name of that singer that ve vere talking about a few months ago? The one who playt the country music, and tiet of trugs? Remember, I tolt you he vas popular in Sveten?"

"Oh yeah, Gram Parsons!"

"To you have some of his recorts?"

He got up and entered the entertainment room. "I do - almost everything he ever did. Tell you what, why don't you sit down and try your wine, and I'll pick out one of his records to put on."

"Okay", she smiled and returned to the living room.

He decided on Parson's second solo album Grievous Angel, one of the two records that introduced music fans to a previously unknown female vocalist by the name of Emmylou Harris.

He flipped on the power switch on his amplifier, put the record on the turntable, and lowered the tone arm. As the music began, he brought the record cover back to the living room in case Ingrid wanted to look at it. Without saying anything, he set it on the coffee table and took a seat opposite her at the end of the couch.

Despite his worries, he decided not to wait around for her to address the issues between them, so in a brash move, he cut to the chase. "So, what do you want to talk about, Ingrid?"

She took a drink, and then stared at him, holding the bowl of her glass with both hands only a few inches in front of her face. It seemed to serve as a sort of barrier, perhaps a subconscious form of self-protection. "I'm sorry for vhat I tit, Tom... vith Lara. It vasn't right, and I shoultn't have ton it."

"Well, you didn't do it alone. Lara made a decision, and she knew exactly what she was doing. I guess I don't really hold you responsible for what Lara decided she wanted... or needed. Anyway, she admitted it all to me when I took her back to Chicago before Christmas, and knowing her as well as I do, my impression is that she sort of pushed the envelope with you two... I mean, I'll be honest, I think she took advantage of you, Ingrid. Right or wrong, I put most of the blame on her."

"Ya, maybe, but I vent along vith it. I knew it vas over between you two, but you titn't know, and so I mate it vorse, much vorse. I hope you vill forgive me."

"I forgive you. Besides, you're right I should have known, but..." He wanted to stop the conversation before it went any further. He was already regretting having allowed it to proceed as far as it had. "Let's just forget about it. What happened happened, but it's over now. Besides, I owe you an apology, too. I assume you already know this, Ingrid, but if you don't, I might as well admit the truth, no matter how embarrassing it is." He paused. "I... I slept with Erika... the night of your party. And I know I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, too." He took a drink and stared at her.

"Ya, I knew. Erika... she tolt me. Ve tell each other most everything, I guess. Ve're pretty close."

"Anyway, I think that makes us even." He smiled. He really thought it might end right there.

Ingrid took another drink, but didn't say anything for several minutes, and the earlier awkwardness between them returned. Both pretended to be listening to the music, but when the faux live medley of "Cash on the Barrelhead" and "Hickory Wind" ended, and the first melodic strains of Parsons and Harris' achingly beautiful rendition of Boudleaux Bryant's "Love Hurts" began, Ingrid took another small sip of wine and then abruptly asked, "Vhat tit Lara tell you about us, Tom? Vhat tit she say happent?"

It was a brutally direct question, and he didn't want to answer, much less what to say if he did. He paused and took another drink. "Ah... well, that's complicated. We were in the truck for a long, long time, and it went on for hours. But if I remember correctly, I think the main thing was... that she wanted to make me jealous, and she thought the best way she could do that was to use you. I'm sure she didn't say it in exactly those words, but I think that's she was getting at."

"Vhy? Vhy tit she vant to make you jealous?"

He took a deep breath. It was a painful topic, and though he needed to discuss it with someone, he clearly wasn't yet ready to do so, and certainly didn't think Ingrid was the right person with whom to do it, even if he was ready. He paused, thinking. "She thought you paid too much attention to me. I think she was jealous. I guess that she wanted to redirect your attention somewhere else. Somehow, someway, she got it in her head that you liked me, and she wanted to punish me for it."

She tilted her head in confusion. "I tit like you. I thought you knew that."

This is getting worse, and I'm digging myself in deeper, he thought. Irrationally, he decided he could still extricate himself through feigned naïveté. "Yeah, but she thought you liked me in a... what's the right word? ...in a... romantic, not a platonic way."

What he was saying was trivializing Ingrid's feelings toward him. Back in the fall, she'd clearly evidenced more than just a desire for friendship with him. But he thought that playing dumb might dissuade her from something more dangerous.

She stared at him with the most perplexed look he'd ever seen from her. Then suddenly, she was out with it, and he soon realized that his naïveté was more than an act. "Vhy are you acting like you ton't know how I feel, and I ton't know how you feel? I know that Erika tolt you vhat I said about you. I'm not attractet to girls, Tom, ant I never vas! I vanted you, and you vanted me. I coult see that Lara vasn't fucking you, so I thought that flirting vith you voultn't hurt anyvone! Besites, I coult tell you likt it."

He was shocked. Her statement had unearthed a lot of issues, but it was what she'd said about her sexuality that elicited a response. "Then why did you have sex with her?" He'd laid all his cards on the table.

She took another drink and appeared to be thinking. "I'm young. Young people, like me, ve vant to experiment. I hat never been vith a voman, and I vontert vhat it voult be like. But I realize now that it vas a mistake. I'm ton vith girls." She set her glass down on the coffee table and, leaning toward him, touched his shoulder with her outstretched hand. "Look, even after vhat happent between you and Erika, I still vant you, ant, be honest, you vant me, too!"

Without touching her, he put both of his hands up in front of him, not so much to ward her off, but instead to suggest he was washing his hands of the whole thing, "Oh, Ingrid, I... I don't... I don't think that's a very good idea."

"Vhy not?" she said with frustration. "I see how you look at me, and I know vhen somevone vants me. You vant me, Tom; I know it!"

He continued shaking his head. "No, no, no. Jesus, Ingrid, haven't we both fucked things up enough? Let's just leave well enough alone."

"Vell enough!" she said contemptuously, removing her hand from his shoulder as she shook her head with distain. "You've been valking around vith a sat face for three months. Vhat is 'vell enough' about that? Besites, Lara ant Erika are gone - there is no vone left to be hurt."

"What about me?"

"Vhy voult you get hurt?" At that very instant, Gram and Emmylou were answering for him: "Love hurts/Love scars/Love wounds and marks/Any heart not tough or strong enough/To take a lot of pain, take a lot of pain/Love is like a cloud, it holds a lot of rain/Love hurts/Ooh, love hurts."

That, it seemed, should have sufficiently addressed her question, but he could tell she wasn't listening to the song, and he knew he'd better explain. "Because I'm not in the habit of having sex with people that I don't have feelings for, and once emotions get involved, someone always get hurts. I don't know why, but it's usually me. I guess I'm a wuss." He took a drink of his wine and stared deeply into Ingrid's piercing blue eyes.

"Look, you're right, Ingrid, it's silly of me to act like I never thought about us, about being with you. I did; I admit it. But, I know myself well enough to know that if we have a physical relationship, I'll start falling for you." He paused. "And if I'm going to be completely honest, that's already happened."

She smiled with self-satisfaction and paused momentarily. "Look, Tom, I'm leaving soon." She slid to her right until they were nearly touching each other. "You von't see me after that. You tolt me you voult miss me. Ton't you think you vill be sat if you never fint out vhat coult have been?"

"Maybe, and maybe I'll be sad if I do find out." He smiled wanly.

She shook her head with frustration. "Ve're frients, ya? Ve shoult have some fun. Vhy can't frients have sex ant stay frients?"

He laughed, "Well, that's the million dollar question, and if I knew the answer, I'd be 'King of the World.' But it just hasn't seemed to work out that way, at least not for me or anybody I know."

"Then ve can be the first!" she pushed out her chest with the word "Missiles" emblazoned in cursive across it, and unleashed a big, beautiful smile. He knew in that instant that he was a goner. Suddenly, her gorgeous face was serious again.

"Look, I'm not going to say that I'm in love vith you just so you'll have sex vith me, because I'm not. But, I like you, Tom. I alvays tit, and from the first time I met you, I vanted to be vith you. I vas jealous vhen Erika got to you before I tit, but then she tolt me about your night together - that you vere very goot, that you're a vonterful lover - ant now I really vant my chance vith you before I have to leave."

He smiled nervously, and with great embarrassment. "So... you're proposing sex without any commitment? Just the physical act, right?" He looked doubtful.

"Ya."

"Just this one time? Is that what you're saying? Just once?"

"No, it toesn't have to be just vonce. Ve'll see how it goes, but I know ve will have fun." He looked doubtful. "Look, Tom, I'm still here for two more months, but, I titn't vant to vait too long, before I sait something to you. After vhat Erika tolt me, I knew I voult have to talk you into it... just like she tit!"

He smiled and put down his glass. "So, you two gossiped about me, huh?"

"Ya!" Ingrid paused, smiling. "She sait that 'you veren't...' vhat vas the American phrase she used? '...very kvick on the traw!'" she giggled, leaning into him and rubbing her breasts against his left arm. He felt a flow of blood and started to get hard.

"Quick on the draw! What is that supposed to mean?" he chuckled.

"Just that you're not very... vhat's the vort? ...assertive - that you titn't vant to make the first move and that she hat to get things started. That's all! But..." she paused, and with a big grin giggled, "...she also tolt me that you are... ah, I probably shoultn't say this..." She laughed again, "...that you're big!" Ingrid's gaze left his face, and, for just an instant, her smiling eyes swept across the growing bulge in his crotch.

He blushed. Erika, he now knew, had shared every intimate detail of their night together with Ingrid. In a brief, distracted musing, he wondered whether, like her sister, Ingrid's unscheduled visitors also entered through the back door. His reverie produced another powerful surge of blood.