Chapter One

Becca

 

The day got cold so quickly. It was a sunny winter afternoon and I was more than three miles into the foothills wearing shorts and a T-shirt, but the forecast said nothing about this. Then again, the weather station was in the valley, a thousand feet below, where conditions could be very different.

A young woman in jeans and a jacket was on the trail ahead, apparently lost in thought as she gazed into the canyon. I'd seen few others up here and was nearing the loop's high point. I strode along, glad my hiking boots crunched on the dry dirt trail to give her warning.

She spun, surprised, and looked at me. I stopped ten yards away. Her dark hair was in a cute pageboy-style bob with a pink streak on one side, her skin exquisite except for two large red blemishes and some redness around her nose. She seemed distressed.

"Hi," I said, smiling at her as I looked closer. "Pretty day. Is everything all right?"

She grimaced, shaking her head while looking me up and down. "Aren't you cold?"

"My fingers are, a little."

She was wearing colorfully striped knit gloves, her hands seeming small. "You could hold my hand? It might help keep you warm. I was about to start back down. You're right, it's pretty up here with the air so clear. You can see all the way across the valley. I was zoning out." She held out her hand.

"Which way are you headed?"

"The way you came up."

This being halfway, I might as well turn around and walk with her rather than continuing around the loop alone. I took her hand, which didn't help much with warming mine while hers was inside a glove. She smiled.

"Would you mind walking back with me?" I asked. "I'll have to go fast to keep warm downhill. I didn't think it would get this cold." The wind was now in our faces.

"For a little while. Wow, your fingers are frozen." She pulled off her glove and took my hand in hers, which was delicate with slender fingers, almost childlike. Her fingernails were glossy, clear, and neatly trimmed.

"You have nice hands," I said.

"Thank you. Yours are so big." Her tone seemed inquisitive. Her jacket was open in the front, revealing broad, shallow breasts shaped like shield volcanos under her shimmery top, and a tummy that was either a little plump or perhaps muscular. She seemed to be wearing a camisole rather than a bra. She squeezed my hand and we started down.

"Do you live nearby?" I asked.

"I'm a junior at the college. The dorms are closed for winter break but I'm house-sitting for one of my profs."

"Two weeks?"

"Yes. Break just started. My prof is out of town so I have her house to myself. It's weird after being in the dorms for so long." She laughed. "All I have to do is clean, which is a big deal since she's kind of a slob."

I laughed, too. "Nice. I haven't seen you on any of the trails before. I would remember."

Her eyes dropped and she seemed suddenly shy.

"I mean, I love your hair and don't remember seeing anything like it up here."

"Thank you for the compliments. You're making me blush."

"And you're warming me; appreciating you is the least I can do. Would you like to switch hands? I don't want yours to get cold, too." We were walking briskly.

She let go, switched gloves, and took my other hand in hers. Then she reached across me for the hand she'd just released and held it in front of me. I moved it between us so she could reach more easily.

She sighed. "Are you a student? How would you know my break is two weeks long?"

"Med school. I graduated from the college last year."

"Ah. What kind of medicine?"

"I was thinking maybe dermatology, but we all take the same courses for the first two years so I don't have to decide yet."

"What was your major?" she asked.

"What's your major?" I asked at the same moment.

We both laughed. "You first," she said.

"Cognitive Science with a lot of biochem, though not enough to minor."

"That is so cool! I thought about that, but I would rather work with people than computers. Mine is Psych, with a minor in Art History."

"Any kind of history is fascinating to me. Doing both is so badass."

Her eyes dropped again. As we came around a bend in the trail, we were fully exposed to the wind.

"God that's cold," she said.

"Want to run for a bit? It should help us stay warm as long as we don't get sweaty. It's downhill, so we should be OK."

She nodded and we started jogging, slowly at first, still holding each other's hand. She put her glove back on. We had to synchronize our steps to keep together, which was fun once we got going - it wasn't something I'd ever tried before and her hand felt good in mine. She grinned at me and giggled. It took 25 minutes to reach the trailhead, then I had another 3/4 mile to walk home. It was warmer in the valley, and not nearly so windy. Her cheeks were flushed. We stopped running when we reached the trailhead and smiled at each other. She giggled again.

It occurred to me that I hadn't introduced myself, and didn't know her name. "I'm Chris," I said. "Chris Dillon. I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier, I ..."

"Becca," she said. "Nice to meet you, Chris Dillon. That was really fun."

"I enjoyed it, too, and you might've saved me a few frostbitten fingers."

She snorted. "Thanks, but that's hard to believe. You could've run down on your own."

"Maybe so, but coming down with you was much better."

She was a little out of breath. "How come you're not breathing hard?"

"I ran steeplechase when I was an undergrad. I wasn't very good, but sometimes when our top guys were at a big invitational, coach would let me race for the team at a dual meet. I even won a couple times. Glory Days, right? I still run, but honestly I prefer hiking."

"Track, ugh. I play volleyball," Becca said. "Usually I'm a defensive sub - not tall enough to hit or coordinated enough to set, but I'm okay at passing. And digs."

"I saw a few of your games when I was a junior. You would've been a freshman."

"Frosh," she said. "I'm not a man, in case you didn't notice." She frowned at me, hand on hip, but her eyes twinkled. "What made you go to our games? I would've been on the bench then ... frosh don't get many chances to play unless they're really good."

"I was seeing one of the other players. Do you remember Deb?"

Becca made a face. "She was such an entitled rich bitch. Oh, sorry if you liked her. That wasn't very nice of me."

"I came to the same conclusion. We went out for a month, which was probably too long. Um, Becca ... I live about 1/4 mile from here, in my old professor's house while he's on sabbatical. Would you like to have dinner? I've really enjoyed being with you and I don't get many days off from studying - it's winter break for me, too. We can eat out. On me."

She squeezed my hand. "Sold. Give me your address. I'll pick you up."

"I'm happy to drive."

She paused. "The professor who owns the house where I'm staying teaches Women's Studies. She advises us to take control of any part of a relationship with a man that might feel uncomfortable. And even though I've enjoyed being with you and you seem like a nice guy, I want control of this much, at least for now."

"Smart woman," I said. "Sometimes I can be a blockhead. I was surprised when you offered to warm the hand of a complete stranger, actually."

"You needed it, and you're cute," she said, and winked. I told her my address. "See you in forty five!" she said. "Dress nice for me and bring a change of comfortable clothes if you want to help clean, later." I barely had time to shower, shave, and change into nicer clothes before she drove up.

 

***

 

I'd heard of a local pasta place, run by an Italian family from a Tuscan hill town. Very small and intimate, in a nondescript building on a quiet street. I'd heard it had superb food with a very limited menu that changed every night. It seemed dangerously romantic, but Becca was game.

"Wow! I've never heard of this place. It's hard to imagine it's been here for years!" Becca wore a simple, elegant, high-necked dress that flattered her lithe, athletic figure.

"I think it's mostly grown-ups who come here. I haven't before but always wondered."

"You don't think of yourself as a grown-up?" Her glance at me was sidelong. "Just a boy, are you?"

"Someday I'll think of myself that way, but right now I'm just trying to keep breathing. Med school is pretty overwhelming."

She nodded. "I've heard that and I'll take your word for it." Her smile was sly. "Boy."

Hearing her say that sent a curious trill down my spine. I looked more closely at her in the dim light of the restaurant. It was getting dark outside. I gulped. In this light it was difficult to see her blemishes; all I saw was an attractive, poised young woman with a quick wit and a wonderful warm smile.

"What are you looking at?" She said after a few seconds. She sounded unsure of herself.

"I love your hair," I said, thinking fast. But I really did like her hair.

"Aw, thanks. It's inspired by my art history: Louise Brooks wore a bob like it a hundred years ago, though hers was longer. She was a famous dancer and actress, but lived a hard life. Later, she became known for her insightful writing. She was a brilliant, beautiful woman."

I argued with myself for a way to tell her that she was beautiful, too. "I really like the way your hair comes to a point on both sides. It looks very, I don't know ... sharp. Edgy."

"Good word. I've never really thought so much about how it looks so much as how it makes me feel."

"Which is?"

She looked into my eyes. Hers were warm and large. "I don't want to tell you. It's too soon, and really, I'm making this up as I go along."

I sat back in my chair. "I would love to hear whatever you're comfortable telling me."

She sighed. "I haven't had many good experiences with men. Boys, whatever. My Women's Studies prof taught me a lot about alternative relationships, but I've never been confident enough to insist on one."

"What sort of alternative relationships?"

She paused for a good ten seconds. "Relationships where the woman is in charge."

"Ah. Is that what you want?"

"I don't know. All I know is that I'm intrigued, and I've enjoyed spending time with you today, and ... yes, maybe I want to try."

"Tell me about this Women's Studies prof."

She told me her professor's name and I nodded. "She's lesbian," Becca said. "Shit, I shouldn't have said that, I'm such a blurt, it's ..."

"I think everyone on campus knows. In fact I think she wants everyone to know."

Becca smiled. "Yeah, okay, that's probably true."

We ordered. There were only three pasta dishes on the menu. She chose Spaghetti ai ricci. I wanted Crespelle alla Fiorentina. I'd never heard of either one before. She asked me to order for both of us.

"We're sharing," she told me.

"I'm glad. I've never had sea urchin."

"Now I'm not sure I want to share. But you will."

I nodded. "If that's what you want. So ..."

"Why do you look at me that way?"

'What way,' I could have asked, but it felt like she was being self-conscious about her blemishes. "Because I think you're beautiful," I said instead, and it was the truth.

Her eyes dropped and I could see tears welling. "That's not how you'll get on my good side," she said.

"I thought you might want me to be honest."

"I do, of course I do, it's just ..." she shook her head.

"I would love to hear you say whatever you're comfortable telling me."

"I can't trust you," she whispered.

"Why not? I like you, and want to know more. You are fascinating."

"Of course we are, because ..."

"It's not sex, Becca, no matter what your Women's Studies professor might've told you. I mean, sure, maybe after a few dates once we get to know each other and if we both want it, but right now I find you fascinating." It felt like I was babbling. "You're kind and caring and thoughtful. I think you're beautiful. You're smart, witty, daring, and more confident than you want to acknowledge. You're curious and fun to be with. You're a talented athlete and you seem to have my number, maybe because you study psychology. I'm grateful for the really nice time we had on the trail and I'm enjoying being with you now, and if all of this is going too fast we can always pick it up later, if you're willing. Your kindness inspires me."

"We only have two weeks," she whispered.

I didn't want to babble. "Let's enjoy them," I said.

She placed a gentle, warm hand on my cheek and smiled. She ended up sharing her meal with me, just as I shared mine with her, with a very nice tiramisu for dessert. There were no leftovers.