Alice sat on the floor, her back slumped against the front of the couch, like a defeated child.   Her eyes held a mixture of pleading and despair as she looked up at me and spoke.

“The storm is really raging out there.  Why don’t you stay until it lets up?”

I slid my arm into my jacket sleeve.  “It won’t let up tonight.  I might as well get back while the street lights are still on.”

“Please, Terry, I…I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to you.  Every day I realize how dependent I am on you.  If something happened to you, I’d lose everything.”  She stopped cold.  “The deal, I mean.  The deal would fall through and I’d lose everything.  Please stay.”

I wanted to stay.  I wanted her to need me.  I pulled on the other sleeve and looked at her reassuringly. 

“I’ll be fine.  I’ll be back in the morning.” 

I took a few strides toward the door.  Behind me, I could sense she was pushing herself up off the floor and stepping toward me, her voice shaking.

“It isn’t the storm I’m afraid of.   I’m just trying to get you to stay.  The truth is I’m having an attack of loneliness.  I just need you to stay and talk to me.”

I paused and looked back at her.  I shouldn’t have.

Her voice was breathless.  “You understand loneliness, don’t you?”

How many nights had I paced in hotel rooms, thumbed through meaningless paperwork, cruised the porn sites on the laptop, prowled the bars, searching for someone.  Someone to share the darkness.   Someone to feel close to for a moment.  Yeah, I knew loneliness. 
 
“If you’ve got a blanket and pillow, I’ll just bunk on the couch, then.”  I slid my jacket off and laid it on the chair.

Her eyes lit up and she sighed in relief.   Strange to have that affect on someone.   I was used to disapproving glares and disappointed silence.  Other than getting a hostage back, I couldn’t remember the last time someone seemed happier because of something I’d done.

Carrying the blanket and pillow in from her room, she laid them gently on the sofa.

“Sorry I can’t offer something more comfortable.  As big as this stupid house is, it doesn’t have a guest room.”

“I’ve slept in many a fox hole in my time.  This is plenty palatial.”

She smoothed the blanket.  “I can’t imagine the things you’ve seen in your life.”

“You wouldn’t want to.” I spoke too quickly and sounded dramatic.  I didn’t mean to.  But there were things I wished I hadn’t seen, too.  I wanted to shelter her, even from my memories. 

Curling into the love seat, she suddenly looked embarrassed.  “Thanks for staying.  Do many of your clients have meltdowns like this?”

I’d seen this before, and I had a standard spiel.

“Everyone handles it differently.  Some are emotional right from the start.  Others try their best to be strong all the way through the process.” I paused and smiled, as scripted. “Sometimes they have a crack in the armor, usually around sun down.  But it knits back together when the sun comes up.  Then they resume their brave face.”

The spiel didn’t work.  She was beyond bullshit comforting.  Fear was in her voice. 

“Do you think the deal is falling apart?”

“We’re still in play.”

“But something is wrong.”

“Alice, we’re still in play.”

“You promised not to bullshit me, you know.”

“I’m not.  This happens.  Not often, but it does.”
 
Shifting nervously, she asked the question I knew she’d had in the back of her mind.

“How many people have you gotten back?”

I’d heard this one before, too.  “I don’t want to answer that, because the next question is how many have I lost.  And this isn’t the best time for that conversation.”

“Terry, really.”

“You need to trust me when it gets tough,” I used my deep, confident voice.   “I’m actually good at this.  We’re still in play.”

“But..”

“Alice,” redirection was the best course, “if I’m here to distract you, we need to talk about something else, okay?”

Her question unanswered, she resigned to mine.   “Talk about what?”

“Whatever will hold your interest.”

I stretched out on the couch.  Never noticed before how comfortable it was.   The pillow smelled like her hair.  I turned my face away from it. 

She pressed herself into the corner of the loveseat and pulled the quilt over her legs.   “Okay.  Tell me about your family in Australia.”

Could she see my shoulders tighten?  Probably not.  I usually hid tension well.

“Like what?”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“One of each.”

Why did she have to ask about my family?  She waited for more.  I didn’t feel like elaborating.

“Mother and father?”

“One of each.”

It felt strangely like interrogation.  Was it my training that kept the answers so short?

She pressed a little further. “Who worry incessantly, but are terribly proud of you.”

I felt myself wince and tried to keep from gritting my teeth.
 
“Not at all.  Quite the opposite, actually.”  Silence.  She’d want an explanation for that.   

“Like a lot of families in Australia, my ancestors originated from Ireland.  Brits and Irish don’t get on too well.  So when I joined the British Army, it became quite feasible that I could be sent to Ireland to fight distant relatives.  My father doesn’t distinguish between distant and close relatives.”

 I gripped my upper lip in my teeth, remembering. 

“He said I was so hungry for adventure that I’d kill my own family for it.”  Fucking bastard.  “Told me to get out and not look back.” 

I took a long, deep breath, just to be sure my voice didn’t falter.  

“So I did.  Age 21.  Left.  Never been back.”

Felt like I was there again.  I could almost smell my mother’s cooking and my father’s cigar.

“They don’t even know I have a son.  Truth is I don’t even know if they’re still alive.  I tried to contact my sister a couple of times, but she … she didn’t respond.”

Alice spoke gently.  “So you do know about loneliness.”

Should I tell her I think my father’s probably dead?  That he coughed long and hard at night, trying to purge the years of tobacco?  Should I tell her that when I said goodbye to my mother, she was wearing the apron I had given her years before?  I pulled myself out of their kitchen and looked at Alice, too long.

Her eyes narrowed in a curious sympathy.  “I know you said you aren’t close with your son.  What do you do for a sense of family?  Do you have a woman somewhere?”

“No,”  I scoffed.   What a preposterous thought.  “My lifestyle isn’t conducive to that kind of stability.”

“So what do you do to fight loneliness?”

I looked down and felt myself frown before I could hide it.  Maybe I could lie to her.  Say I was pining for someone.  That I didn’t need physical touch.  Maybe I could convince her I was nobler than that.

“Ah,” she purred.  “You sample the local delicacies.”

So she knew.  She knew I wasn’t any better than that.  “That’s a polite way of putting it.” 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” 

I couldn’t look at her for a moment.  I didn’t want to see the disappointment that must have been in her eyes.

“I’m not embarrassed.  I just … I would rather have been the kind of man you could think more highly of.”

“Terry,” she whispered, “I think we’re both beginning to realize just how highly I think of you.” 

I could hear my intake of breath as my eyes darted up to meet hers.   An awkward silence followed.  Did she mean to be that direct?  Then suddenly I couldn’t look at her.   I studied the fabric on the couch.  

She broke the silence, with a forced lightness to her voice.

“Does it help?  The local delicacies.  Does it help?”

Ah hell, what’s the difference?  She knows I’m a low life; I might as well confess.

“Sometimes,” I shrugged.   “If I’ve had enough to drink and all I need is physical contact, then the sex is enough.”

She shifted in the loveseat again.  “But it doesn’t always help?”

Should I tell her the truth?  Should I confess it all?  Would she understand?

“Sometimes it makes it worse.  Leaves me feeling cold.  Empty.  Angry.”

“Angry at what?”

“At myself.” 

She was staring at me.  Nobody had ever looked at me that intently, not while I was talking about myself, anyway.   It was like I had her full attention, like someone was finally listening to me.  So I talked.

“I figure there’s this whole level of human relationships I’m missing out on – having someone you care about, who cares about you.  Real, human contact.” 

There was an honest frustration in my voice, and I just kept talking, like the words wouldn’t stop. 

“And I’ve structured my life so that all I get is a pale imitation of that.”  I grit my teeth, and whispered it before I could stop myself.  “I just wonder sometimes what it would be like to hold someone who…. who mattered.”

Another awkward silence.  Jesus, what the hell did I do now?  What was she supposed to say to that?

“Maybe we shouldn’t be talking like this.”  My voice sounded hollow.

“Why not?  You said whatever would hold my interest.  You certainly are.”

“It’s just too … personal.”

“We’ve talked about a lot of personal things before.”

“Never sexual things.”

She smiled.  “I thought we were talking about loneliness.”

I suddenly felt like getting out of there, like right now.   I pushed myself up into a sitting position to look out the window.

“Maybe I should just go.  It’s letting up a little out there.”

“No, Terry, please,” she spoke quickly.  “I need you to stay.”

 “It isn’t me you need.  You just need someone to talk to you.  I’ll go over and get Norma and bring her back.”

Alice sprang out of the loveseat and crouched next to me on the sofa, blocking my attempt to rise.

“No,” her voice was shaking again. “You’re the only one who’s been through this before.  You’re the only one who understands what I’m going through.  Please, Terry.  It’s you I need.”

How long had I wanted a woman to say that to me?  How many times had I imagined Alice saying it?  She needed me.  Christ.  I felt my body heat rise and knew I was losing control.

I took a breath and spoke resolutely.  “We shouldn’t allow ourselves to get this close.  There are boundaries that are necessary for …”

“We are this close.”  She moved toward me.  I could smell her hair.   “If we weren’t, you wouldn’t have told me about your family.”

I licked my lips and tried to think.   I needed to push myself further from her, but my arms wouldn’t move.

Her eyes pleaded with mine.   “I know you probably set up some boundaries between you and the families you help.   But we’ve crossed some of those already, haven’t we?  We’re closer than that.  Look, couldn’t we drop out of the K&R rep and client cycle and just be two people who need a friend?  Just for tonight?”

 “It’s not a good idea.  I should just head back.”   I could hear my breath quicken. 

She was trembling.  How could I not see that before?  God, if she cries, I won’t be able to pull away.  But her voice was strong, as angry as it was desperate.

“If you go, the loneliness will swallow me up tonight.  And it will swallow you, too.  Even if you pick up one of those delicacies from the bar, you’ll still feel the emptiness.  You know it.”

“Alice,” my arms finally found the strength to move, “I shouldn’t stay.”

She reached her hand out and laid it on my shoulder and it held me like a magnet.   Her touch was warm, like pulling a blanket up over you on a cold night, a comforting, calming blanket.   It felt … I don’t know how to say it … like it was healing part of me.  Like if I left it there, it could warm my whole body, my whole heart. 

She spoke so gently, her voice almost like a hum.  “Just lie down and let me lay beside you.  We could hold each other a while.  We both need it.”

Lay down together?  Jesus, God, what was I thinking?  I called on all my strength and pulled away from her, wrenching myself from that warming comfort, from that healing hand.

“I don’t want us to do that.  It’s a bad idea.”

I needed to stand up.  I needed to walk away.  Now.  Just get up.  Just walk away.  But I couldn’t move.  Had her eyes ever shined this blue?  Had her skin ever looked this smooth?

She smiled nervously.  “Thought you weren’t going to bullshit me.”

I could hear myself almost panting.

“I’m not bullshitting.  It’s a bad idea.”

The hand that had touched my shoulder so gently moved up to my cheek. 

“That part might be right.  But don’t say you don’t want it.  You want it as badly as I do.”

She was wrong.  I wanted it more than she did.  I wanted it more than anything.  I’d waited my whole life to feel that touch, something that healed rather than hurt.  I covered her hand with mine and slowly pulled it away. 

“That’s why it’s a bad idea.”

Could she hear my heart pounding?  Her hand felt so soft.  I couldn’t let go of it.  I couldn’t look away from her.  Her eyes seemed to swallow my gaze.

“When’s your next chance gonna be, Terry?  To hold someone you care about, who cares about you.”

She didn’t even need to touch me now.  That blanket of healing was wrapped all around me and I was covered in her.

“Someone who matters, Terry.  You told me that for a reason.  You want it to be me.  When’s your next chance gonna be?”

I wanted to wrap her in my arms.  I needed to feel her against my chest.  If I could just close my eyes, break the spell of her hold on me.  I needed to explain why this couldn’t happen.  I needed to remind myself.

Maybe I could just pull away and leave.  Maybe we could forget everything I’d said.  Maybe she hadn’t really sensed how lonely I was.  Maybe I could leave without touching more than her hand.  I felt myself crumbling.  I needed her to break the spell.  I wasn’t strong enough.

“Alice, please.”

She leaned into me and whispered next to my ear.  Her cheek brushed against mine as she spoke.  “Just hold me for awhile.  You’ll see what it feels like.  You’re aching to know.  Just hold me.  It’s all I want from you.”

I closed my eyes and breathed in her scent.  All she wants is to be held, by me.  All she wants is to do the very thing I’d dreamt of night after night.  To hold her.  Just to hold her.  I could stop at that.

I couldn’t let go of her hand.  I felt her other hand push gently against my shoulder, urging me back down onto the couch.

She edged down slowly and slid along beside me, pulling the blanket over us both.  I allowed it.  I couldn’t find the strength to stop her.  She laid her head on my chest and stretched her arm across my stomach.  I finally let go of her hand and wrapped both my arms around her.  I opened my eyes, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

She caressed my face with the back of her fingers, then her full palm.   “When your strangers touch you, does it feel like this?”

I couldn’t speak.

She laid her hand on my chest.  “Your heart is beating so fast.”

“It’s the altitude,” I lied. 

She smiled.  She knew.  She was healing me.  I could feel my heart open and fill up with her.

And then it hit me.  I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t allow it.  I spoke quietly but insistently to her.  I wanted her to understand.

“I can’t get close to you.  I don’t get close to people.  It’s what makes me good at my job.  It gives me objectivity so I can negotiate without emotion.  I just don’t ever get close … to people.  You understand?”

She pressed her hand into my chest and whispered.

“You’re afraid to.”

“Not at all.”  I spoke quickly, so it would seem more convincing.

“You are.  But why?  What’s so scary about it?”

Fear.   She was right.  I didn’t want her to be, but she knew it.  She knew what was inside me.  She’d looked that deeply into my eyes.

“I …” I could feel my throat tighten a little, choking off my voice. “I hurt people.”

There, I said it.  It sounded hollow.  Hurt.  Hardly seemed to capture what I’d done in my life.

“In what way?” she whispered.

I wanted her to understand.  I wanted her to know how awful I was.  Then she’d push away from me and not want to be close again.  And I could resume life as normal.

“I was a terrible son.  I was an unfaithful husband.  I am an absentee father.  Those are the only three people I got close to, and I’ve hurt them all.”

There.  Now she knew.  Now she’d realize she needed to pull back to protect herself.

“In what way were you a terrible son?”

I saw my father’s face, and that look as I left.  That desperate heartbreak tinged with anger.  That devastation.

“My father hated the British.  So I joined the British army.  That’s why I joined.  To hurt him.  To intentionally hurt him.”  I could see his face so clearly.  Hear his voice so loudly, like it was ringing in my ears.

“I wanted to pay him back, you know?  For every time he took a belt to me.   For every time he told me I wasn’t good enough.  For every time he patted my brother on the back in front of me.”

I took deep breath.

“I wanted him to know what it felt like to be hurt by someone you love.   I wanted him to feel it.  So I did the thing I knew would hurt him most.  The one thing that would break his heart.”

Suddenly, I remembered him laughing.  Not at me.  Just at some joke or something.  A happy, bellowing, heart felt laugh.  And I felt my face tighten and my eyes squeeze shut.  I didn’t want to see that side of him.  I wanted to keep the side alive that I hated.  But there he was, whether I shut my eyes or not.  The memories were still clear.

“The thing is … if I could take it all back now, I would.  It cost me my relationship with him.  My future with him.”

There he was laughing, happy, hugging my mother, smiling at me. 

“He just did the best he could, you know?  He just raised me the way he was raised.  The belt kept him straight; so maybe he thought it would do the same for me.  Maybe he thought if he told me I wasn’t good enough, I’d try harder.   Maybe my brother did deserve a pat on the back now and then.  But I hurt him and it cost me.  It cost us both.”

Alice just laid there in my arms, listening.  She didn’t pull away.  She didn’t tell me what a shit I was.  She didn’t rationalize it away as some normal teenage rebellion.  She just took it in, gripped my ribs, pressed her arm against my stomach, and held me tighter.

I felt a tinge of wetness seep from the corner of my eye.   She wouldn’t see it.  But I could feel it.  I resented it but I welcomed it.  And it surprised me. 

She was … healing me.  That blanket of her essence had draped over my anger and my disappointment in myself and was healing me. 

I suddenly saw Henry’s face and wanted to call him.  I thought of things to say to him, so different from the awkward silences that plague our phone conversations.  I thought of things I wanted to do with him when I got back to London; games we could go to, parks we could wander through.  I wondered about his life, about his friends, if he had a girlfriend, if he had a favorite team.  I felt a grin sneaking up on me, and I touched my smiling lips to the top of her head. 

But I said nothing.  She knew now.  She knew how awful I was.  And she wasn’t letting go.  And I knew I wouldn’t hurt her.  I would do what I needed to do.  I would not disappoint her.

I would get him back.  No matter the cost, I would get Peter back for her.  It would be my gift to her.  It would be my gift to myself.  To know I could be close to someone, and not disappoint them.  And not hurt them.  She would be the first.