An Excerpt from Where Home Is
Where Home Is
by Karen J. Hasley
"Domesticity-is that what it's called? More like the ordinary affection of day-to-day life, which anyone can appreciate. Why would it surprise you that I can be as charmed by such tenderness as the next person?"
Later, among the sculpture, Douglas commented, "Now you really do surprise me. Not a blush."
At first I didn't understand what he meant but then realized I was giving a statue of a nude man the same scrutiny I gave patients.
"I'm a doctor, Douglas. I don't think the human form holds many surprises for me any more. In my first year of medical school the professor wanted all the women students to leave the room so he could set up a screen behind which we would dutifully stand so we wouldn't be exposed to the naked male body." I gave an undignified snort. "As if that would have done at all! We women just refused to leave. Period. It was either continue in front of our maidenly eyes or cancel the class and fall behind, so the professor gave in. Very ungracefully, I might add, and with constant pointed asides about how progress had ruined women."
"You're a woman of the new century, Dr. Davis." I couldn't decipher Douglas's tone and chose to respond lightly.
"Not so new any more with the first decade behind us, but times are changing. I predict female suffrage in America by the end of the next decade."
"Women will never have the vote," he said to goad me, and we spent the next hour in sporadic, pleasant argument.
We walked through Grant Park, most of its classic gardens just beginning to green while a few early daffodils lined the paths and brightened the shadowy spots under trees. Without quite knowing when or how, I found my hand tucked under Douglas's arm and my shoulder pressed against him. The tilt of my hat's brim forced me to come closer still to speak to him so that I caught his fragrance, something clean with a touch of spice, very pleasant.
As we sat on a park bench together, the warmth of the sun made me lethargic, almost sleepy, and I felt like resting my head against his shoulder to take a quick nap. I was that comfortable. We both stopped speaking and just sat there very close in the sun. As if from far away I could hear the persistent buzzing of a bee, laughter, a baby's cry, almost as if there were two worlds, Douglas and I the sole inhabitants of ours.
He brought his mouth to my ear and said quietly, "I find myself thinking about you most of the time, Katherine, picturing you with your hair down, wanting to see the gold flecks in your eyes catch the candlelight again, my own enchanting Warm Woman, everything about you honey and velvet. Is it too much to hope that you give a passing thought to me now and then?"
I liked the murmur of his voice in my ear and his breath against my cheek. Combined with the languid warmth of the early spring sun the moment seemed very seductive, and when I turned my face to his to respond, he kissed me. A practiced, possessive kiss but very enjoyable, nevertheless, even if it unsettled me. Nothing like the fumblings of adolescents but something else entirely. You're not a child anymore, I thought, and reacted to his kiss on a level that was definitely not childlike: instinctive, passionate, lingering.
The laughter of a real child invaded our world, and I snapped away from Douglas, hoping no one I knew was enjoying the park around us. How would I ever explain my conduct? Being kissed on a park bench would not become Hull-House or enhance the professional image I wanted to cultivate. Douglas stood up and raised me with a hand under my elbow.
"It's all right." His eyes glinted and I detected humor in his voice. "No one saw us." Then, as if nothing had happened, he began to talk about something completely inconsequential and guided me along the pathway to the curb where Fritz waited. "I thought something light for supper. Sandwiches and fruit, perhaps. Fritz, we'll go to Leonie's."
Inside the motorcar I sat quietly, not interested in supper. Instead, I scrambled for my composure as I mentally examined my unexpected response to his kiss with the same scrutiny I might give a specimen under a microscope.
"You didn't answer my question, Katherine, although I admit I didn't give you much opportunity to reply. Is it too much to hope?"
I turned my head toward him, remembering his question very well. "I do think of you, Douglas, but to be truthful only now and then. I have a full schedule and a busy life." If my response disappointed or annoyed him, the emotion didn't show on his face.
"Perhaps that will change. Perhaps I've given you more to think about."
I turned away and settled myself more comfortably in my seat, repeating the thought I'd had before: Douglas Gallagher was very practiced with women and had demonstrated more technique than real emotion in his kiss. Just the opposite from me, I thought candidly, and smiled at the humbling realization.
"Perhaps," I agreed.
End of Excerpts
Copyright © 2008 Karen J. Hasley.
All rights reserved.
