Hunter Hill University: Reaching Rose Part 37

"Really? Why?"

"Because you're good. Even before your accident I'd heard of you. You're amazing."

"Thanks, but...I don't...you still compete?" I ask, to get her off the subject of me. Plus, I can't remember if she told me it was something she did now or in the past. She doesn't look too old to still be in compet.i.tion.

"No. I stopped when I started studying for my PhD. Too much. But I'd love to put on my pointe shoes or tap."

I find myself smiling. I haven't put on a pair of tap shoes in so long.

"You like tap. I can tell by your smile. Dance with me, Rose."

"I don't have my shoes...or...or my leg." I say, embarra.s.sed.

"Oh. Well, next time you go home..." She shrugs. "Maybe you can get them."

I feel bad, because she looks disappointed. "Thank you, Professor Sherman, I appreciate it."

"Please...call me Lindsay. I'm only twenty-six. I hate Professor Sherman. Or worse, Dr. Sherman. In cla.s.s, I guess it's okay, but when we're not in cla.s.s, please, call me Lindsay. And think about my offer. You'd be doing me a favor. I hardly dance anymore. And I'm not one of those dancers who enjoys solos. My adrenaline rushes when I dance with other dancers. Love it." She smiles, and I see the young girl she probably is when she's not teaching psych courses.

"Thanks, Lindsay. I'll think about it."

"Great."

Out in the hall, Ben is standing against the wall. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Thanks for waiting."

He holds up the container of chocolate pudding. "Thanks for this."

"Yeah, I guess you should eat it soon or...get it in a refrigerator."

"So...do you wanna go somewhere to sit?"

"Uh. Yeah. The courtyard?"

"Sure. Or I can buy you coffee?"

"Um, no. It'll...it'll be too busy. The courtyard's fine."

As we walk down the hall, from my peripheral vision, I see his hand reach out a little, but then he pulls it back and sticks it in the pocket of his leather coat.

"Are you sure you accepted my apology the other day?" he asks when we sit down. "Because it didn't seem like you did."

He holds up the pudding again. "Unless...this means you did."

"I did."

"Good. 'Cause I am sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. I'm sorry. You just found out bad news and I made it about me. That's what I do these days. I'm sorry."

"s.h.i.t. I get it. I'm always thinking about myself now too. Mostly pity parties." He shakes his head and turns so that he's fully facing me on the bench. He puts the pudding down in the triangular s.p.a.ce between his legs. "I think you're great just the way you are. What I said the other day, that was because of my fears, Rose. But I can understand how you'd think if I didn't want this for me, I wouldn't like it for you. Which, well, I wish things were different for you, but it doesn't bother me either way. Geez, Rose, I'm rambling. No matter how I put it, it sounds wrong. I hope you..."

"Ben. It's okay. I understand."

He sighs. "So can we start again?"

After a moment's hesitation, I say, "Let's just deal with what's going on now. You have a lot in front of you. I'm here for you...like you are for me. Can that be enough for now?"

His smile is sad - his usual lately. "As much as I'd like to return to kissing you, I guess this is gonna have to be enough...you're right. I need the distraction though, Rose. You are the only good thing in my life right now." He takes me in both his arms and holds me, right here on the bench.

I feel like I should be holding him.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" he asks, still keeping his arms snug around me, the position of his legs making it awkward.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. It's Valentine's Day." He lets go and sits back.

"Oh."

"Rose Duncan, will you be my Valentine?"

"Uh. Well. Wouldn't that negate the whole let's-put-our-relationship-on-hold thing we just talked about?"

"You talked about?" He lifts his brow and smirks.

"I talked about. Okay. But..."

"Rose. What's really going on? It's not for my benefit that you're holding back. What is it?"

I slide a little away from him and sit back against the bench. "It's...I can't...it's hard for me to express it...I just...you...your decision not to lose your leg." I look at him. I want to see his reaction to what I'm saying. "It made me realize that you...may find me...needy or pathetic or...unattractive...less than normal, I guess."

"Oh, Rose. Rose." He reaches for my hands and turns toward me. "You are not less than anything. You are more everything than anyone I know. You gotta believe me." Ben runs his thumb up my wrist then slides his whole hand up and down my lower arm. "I told you...you missing a portion of your leg has no bearing on how I feel about you. The decision whether or not to have mine cut off in no way reflects how I feel about you." He nods and closes his eyes. "But it is a terribly difficult decision to make."

"I'm sure it is. I'm sorry. I don't think I could make that decision either...even knowing what was ahead for me if I didn't...have it amputated."

"Listen...let's forget it. Tomorrow...if you'll let me take you out...no talk of me...and the cancer. 'Kay? I don't want to think about it for a day. I have two weeks to decide. Tomorrow doesn't have to count." Both my hands are in his again. "So how 'bout it, Rose? Be my Valentine. Please?"

I smile.

I nod.

"Sure."

36.

BEN.

On Sat.u.r.day morning, I show up for practice as usual. I'm not sure if it's psychosomatic or not, but my knee is hurting more today than it has since my surgery. It affects my pitching and the guys take notice.

"What's going on, Falco? You're playing like a girl," Brian says. They don't know I have cancer.

"I know some girls who play better than you, you f.u.c.king p.r.i.c.k," Jax says to him in my defense.

Jax doesn't know, but I'm sure he figures something's up.

"You okay?" he asks after Brian shoots expletives back at him and walks away.

"Yeah. Doc says it's normal after surgery."

He nods, but he knows I'm lying.

I grin and bear the pain through the rest of practice, go home, and take a shower, then show up at Rose's door by one in the afternoon...holding a six-pack of refrigerated chocolate pudding in my hands.

"Hi," she says with a smile as bright as her green eyes.

"Hi." I hand her the pudding, which I'd attached a big red bow to before I got out of the car. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Thank you. You're sweet. Happy Valentine's Day back."

I follow her into the kitchen so she can put the pudding in the fridge. "What would you like to do today? I know sometimes you're not up for going out, so...you can decide."

"Whatever you want. I'll go out today. I'm okay with it."

"Really? Well...I know a cute place we can go for lunch if you want."

"Okay."

"C'mon. It's up north. I found it online when I found The Treemont."

We get in my car and head up Route 23. I put the country station on for her, but I keep it low enough so we can talk.

"Are we going toward my house?"

"Pretty much. Why?"

"Would you mind if after lunch we stop there? I'd like to pick up a couple things. We don't have to, though."

"No. It's fine. We can go before or after. Doesn't make a difference."

She runs her hands slowly up and down her thighs. "You must be starving from practice. Let's go to lunch first."

"Lunch first," I repeat. We drive a little while and then I say, "So I've been listening to your country music. It's not bad."

She chuckles. "I'm glad you approve."

"So where does your country music fit in with this musicology cla.s.s? Or doesn't it?"

She chuckles again. "I like how you call it my country music. Like I'm the only one it belongs to."

I glance her way. She's both stunning and adorable when she's mid-laugh.

"As for the musicology thing, I think all music fits in, as you say. I think someone's mood lots of times determines what they'll listen to. Like, when I first came home, I don't think I wanted to listen to any music truthfully. The first time I listened to country music after the accident was that day in the car with you. I put on some cla.s.sical music a couple times, but...that's what was already in my CD player."

"Cla.s.sical?"

"I was dancing to it."

"Dancing? Was this...after?"

I don't hear her answer, but I quickly look her way and see she's nodding.

"I thought you haven't..." I don't finish the sentence. Don't know if I should go there.

"I've...been trying."

"Really. That's awesome."

"No. It's quite sad actually. I trip all over myself."

She's laughing, so I chuckle along. "At least you're trying."

She shrugs.

"So where does cla.s.sical music fit in with the mind?" I ask just because.

"Everywhere, I'd imagine. It's so complex. It can be angry. It can be joyful. Sad. Cla.s.sical music is amazing. That's why I dance to it. It moves me. When I was happy, I'd sometimes practice to "The Marriage of Figaro" by Mozart. When I was sad, I might have practiced to Petterson. He's pretty dark. Lately...I've just been practicing to whatever was in the CD from...before."

"Why?"

"Because I can't find my rhythm yet. And it really doesn't even matter anymore."

"So have you been practicing regularly?"

"No. Plus no one knows I've been, so please don't mention it to my family."

I turn to her again. "So I'm the only one who knows?"

"Yup." She smiles.