STEPPING UP
PART THREE
By Riley and Jo
“Not dumb.” Holli moved without thinking, walking close and
reaching up. Steve’s head lowered to her shoulder and she
cradled him there, wanting only to comfort him. They’d made
jam for Auntie Tara, but they also made jam to learn how to
blend themselves together. Her hand smoothed the back of his
hair and she slowly rocked him in her arms.
“Are you still afraid?” She whispered. “Afraid that everything
will disappear?”
“Sometimes.”
“Now?”
“No,” he pulled away and drew in a deep breath, releasing an
aching sigh from his chest. “Not right now. How did I get like
that, Holli? How could I let that one moment in my life, affect
my whole life?”
“Not your whole life. Steve, your life isn’t over, even though
Pittsburgh has been trying to kill you.” Her eyes twinkled
teasingly and he grinned. “Everything changes. We all grow
up, grow out of our losses and mistakes. At least, that’s what
I want to believe.”
Then Holli suddenly stepped back, blinked, turned away
then back, her eyes glowing and deep in his.
“What?” He blinked back.
“I think Aunt Tara was right. Love is easier. I know that now.
She was right.” Holli stepped further away, an arm's length
away, then even further, her eyes never leaving his. “In fact
Steve, I don’t think falling in love has ever been easier for me
in my whole life. How did you do this to me?”
Steve cleared his throat. “Um . . . I don’t know. Um . . . maybe
by not having sex with you every single minute I wanted to . . .
I . . . we . . . you and me . . . maybe by not doing that . . . we
found an easier road? Maybe?” In two slow, long strides he
had her in his embrace, his face nuzzled into her shoulder.
“But I know what you mean about it being easier . . . but
Holli . . . this might be so much harder.”
“How?” She was shuddering, trembling at the astounding
revelation that it didn’t require hot, physical stimulation to
feel so much for him; a stranger not seven hours earlier, now
the love of her life. He did it, Steve and Auntie Tara’s strange
theory made it happen for her. So simple. Love really was so
much easier than sex. He’d opened his heart and she simply
slid right into its warm depths.
“It could be real hard, Holli,” he murmured. “You . . . here
in Pittsburgh. My life . . . New York. Fuck, Holli. What the
hell have we done?” His voice was deep, fearful, but his lips
were moving to hers.
She carefully extracted herself from his arms. “Wait . . .
wait. We need to think this through. I need to think this
through. I need . . . I need . . . please don’t be upset with
me, Steve. But I need to be alone.” She turned to leave then
called from the hallway. “Just for a little while . . . I just
need to be alone.” She slowly climbed the stairs to her third
floor bedroom. “Just for a little while,” she mumbled into
the pillow as she curled on her bed.
Not five minutes later, she heard it. The sole wind chime
singing softly to the rising evening breeze floating up the
hill from the rivers to her Auntie Tara’s front porch. That
single chime was slowly, systematically becoming a symphony
of chimes and she smiled through tears, knowing Steve was
on the porch, replacing all the wind chimes for her. Putting
them back where they belonged. Hanging them so that she’d
know they hadn’t disappeared from her life. To confirm that
he too hadn’t disappeared.
*******************
After he rehung all the chimes, he gave each of them a little
tap to set them swinging. Then he went back inside the old
Victorian house and looked around. So, Holli's Auntie Tara
was never coming back? The muscle under his lower left
lid twitched slightly. Well, he knew all too well what that was
like. He didn't want Holli feeling that deep feeling of...vacancy
...in her life.
Tara had evidently liked candles. They were everywhere, in
little votive holders, in wall sconces, in a candelabra here and
there. He lit them all. All of them. Then he turned on the
lights of the Christmas tree, standing gaily in its corner all
bedecked in summer finery of bird's nests, tiny bird houses,
and various flowers.
Going into the kitchen, he found a container of cookies,
popped them into the microwave just long enough to get
them warm so their scent would fill the air. What else?
Ah! There was an old phonograph player in the parlor.
Quickly running his hand through the records, he chose
one, put it on to play, then went and positioned himself
by the newel post at the bottom of the main staircase as
the strains of "When You and I Were Young" wafted
through the cookie-scented air.
********************************
Cookies. Music. Wind chimes. Was it possible that Steve
was absolutely perfect? Lord, Holli hoped not. What
would life be like with the perfect man? Loving? Kind?
Supportive?
Holli grinned and went to her dresser mirror. Life was a
long way off. All that mattered were the two weeks she was
sure of. As she fluffed her hair and dabbed tears from her
cheeks, she also refreshed her attitude. If it was only to be
two weeks, then let it be the best two weeks she’d ever
shared with another human being. She glanced into her
closet and quickly stripped off her jeans and blouse then
tugged a soft flowery dress over her head. Bare-footed and
flowing with soft fabric, she slowly descended the stairs.
Steve stood at the bottom sporting the sweetest smile she’d
ever seen on a man, even her father. As she stepped down,
he slowly stepped up to meet her in the middle.
“So,” he whispered, taking her hand and guiding her to the
candlelit parlor. “Looks like love is easy, and we’re willing
to take the hard road to have it.”
“Are you sure, Steve?”
He led her to the settee and knelt at her knee. “Yes, sweet
Holli. I think it’s time for me to step up and take a real
chance. I’d like to take that chance with you. What do ya
say we just take it one step at a time? Start with this very
night? See where Aunt Tara leads us from there?”
Her mass of yellow curls bounced with her nod and she
couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, Steve. Let’s do that.”
****************************************
For some reason, since he was kneeling there beside
the settee, he just quietly leaned his head forward and
rested his cheek on her lap. He wasn't even able to put
words to why he did it. He would never have done it with
Monica. That he knew. It was a quiet thing and spoke of
a deep level of trust. How had he come to that in less than
a day? He had no answer, he just knew that it was so. He
closed his eyes, and slid his arms around her legs, under
her knees, and just rested his head there on her thighs,
feeling this odd yet very, very comfortable sense of "home."
Tara's old record had run through several songs and was
now playing 'Danny Boy." He knew the words, but where
he was, as he was, for the first time he 'felt' the words. "And
you will kneel and tell me that you love me...and I will sleep
in peace until you come to me." It gripped his heart somehow
that for the lovers in the song, it was too late. Too late. How
much of his own life had he wasted, let slip away because of
his fears and his lacks? He had come to Pittsburgh knowing
that he was not whole, knowing his being lay scattered in pieces
...somewhere. Could it be possible he would find them all in
one place, all in...this...place? He had never expected anything
like this, anyone like Holli. He squeezed his arms more tightly
around her legs. He didn't want it to be like the song. He didn't
want it to be too late.
A tear snuck out between his lids, starring the lashes on his
cheek. He couldn't remember when he'd felt so emotionally
vulnerable. Maybe it was all those memories of Bethie that had
flooded back earlier. Maybe it was that neat Auntie Tara had
died and he didn't even get to meet her. She had entered into
his life with her wind chimes and her candles, her music and
her grapes, her house and especially her great niece. Maybe
he was crying because Holli had lost her. Maybe he was crying
for himself. Maybe one cut one's fingers a bit when gathering
the broken shards of one's being. Maybe it was...everything.
******************************
Holli’s hand hovered over Steve’s head, less than an inch from
touching him. His gentle caress around her legs was as far from
sexual as possible, and she was feeling something deeper than
lust for him. Within her own pain and loss, she was expanding
to include his. When finally her hand settled tenderly on his hair,
she sensed a connection so strong she was almost compelled to
pull away.
Fear had dominated her entire life. Not the kind of fear that
paralyzes; the kind that niggles at the back of the brain and
infects everything. She feared the ghosts she knew dwelled in
Auntie Tara’s old house, but in truth, they had never hurt her.
Only she had hurt herself by avoiding the house and her
wonderful great aunt for so long. She had feared the stupid
wind chimes that had somehow become the most beautiful love
melody and would always connect with Steve’s black eyes in
her heart. She had feared losing her marriage, having built it
on the only thing she thought was solid. Sex. That fear had
come to pass and she was now single. Looking down at Steve’s
lowered head; resting sweetly on her legs, she was never so
grateful that her marriage had failed.
Slowly his face rose and his eyes met hers. An intense,
silent dialog followed that sealed her soul to his.
“I need comfort,” his troubled eyes said.
“And I will offer it to you,” her heart answered.
“I’m offering you the same,” the glow of his welling tear spoke.
“I love you, Steve,” Holli’s soul whispered to him.
“And I love you,” he said aloud.
Her mouth lowered to his and as they kissed. Steve rose from
his knees, his arms wrapped tight around her waist and brought
her to her feet with him. “Let me love you, Holli,” his voice was
a gentle breeze against her lips. “Let me comfort you and let me
hold you. I know this is right, sweetheart. This time, I really,
really know this is right.”
Holli grinned into the kiss. “Can you make it to the third floor
this time?”
Steve chuckled and looked down into her lovely face. “I’d follow
you to heaven, Holli.” With a smooth snap, he swept her up into
his arms. “But this first time, I want to love you on the violets.”
He carried Holli up the stairs and she snuggled her face into his
neck, taking in the scent of him. The scents of warm cookies and
candle wax, of grape jam and aftershave. Of Steve. The man she
loved. Really loved. Because Holli agreed with him. This time it
was really, really right.
********************************
He carried her up the stairs and into his room, laying her atop
the violet-covered bedspread. For a long moment he just stood
there beside the bed, looking down at her. Never had he been
so happy to see...violets. It was part and parcel of this unique
day that had changed and was still changing not less than
everything. How could he have gotten up in his old apartment
this morning and not KNOWN the universe was about to tilt?
You'd think something so enormous would come and plaster
itself across your consciousness. But, no, it had all taken him
by surprise. All of it. And now here he stood in a room filled
brimming with violets...a room he thought of as HIS room...and
Holli lay on the bed looking up at him, waiting for him.
Again he fell to his knees beside the bed, taking her hand in his,
pressing it to his lips. "Sex is easy," he whispered. "Tara knew
what she was saying. But I am not going to have sex with you,
my Holli." He smiled, kissing her palm twice then pressing it
to his cheek. "I am going to...love...you." He closed his eyes,
his breathing matching itself to the beating of his heart. "I...I...
don't know, truthfully I don't...that I have ever done that
before. With you," he took the forefinger of his other hand,
tracing first the outline of her brows and then her nose,
"everything is new." He was actually trembling slightly.
He wanted this woman. Every part of him wanted every part
of her. Yet...still...it was different from ever before. Despite his
own need, he discovered an even greater need to give to this
woman.
He had been sitting on his heels, but now he straightened up,
leaned forward, and put his lips up under the curve of her
chin, moving them slowly down and down till they found and
followed the curve of her collar bone. He was aware of the
sense of a low vibration pulsing throughout him and the
thought came to him that his cells were...humming. The
corners of his lips curved in a small smile and he lifted his
head just enough to look at her face. His smile broadened.
How he loved her crinkly blonde hair as it spilled over the
pillow. He moved to his left, cupping his hands around her
face, smoothing the hair back with his thumbs. His lips found
her eyes, worked softly down her cheeks to her slightly parted
mouth. He entered it, his tongue and hers meeting in a smooth
and flowing ballet of motion. He took his time despite the
rapidly increasing sense of urgency in his core. No, he would
not let it be like that. No.
Sliding up onto the bed beside her, his hands moved down her
torso, curving over her hips, softly pushing her skirt down and
down as they went. He kissed her ribs, one by one, wanting to
know every part of her as she, in her movement, was knowing
him. There was an actual quiet beauty to their movements, an
interflow of being, punctuated by little gasps and sighs. He
moaned way back in his throat with the joy of her touch, with
the joy of touching her. And when they were done they were
still not done, but lay pressed together, him still inside her,
still enfolded and he whispered in her ear, "Oh, God, I love
you...I do love you, Holli Tittswell."
"HOLLI!" The masculine voice hollered up the stairs,
followed by clumping feet. "Holli! You up there, Sweetie?
It's Dad. Just wanted to be sure you were all right alone
here in the house, baby."
********************************
“Oh shit!” Holli hissed and snapped to her feet, searching
for her clothes.
Steve squeezed his eyes tight. “Yeah, oh shit is right!”
Gathering violet speckled sheets he tried to cover
himself as they listened to Holli’s father walk right past
the closed door and begin to climb to her room on
the third floor.
They stilled then shared a wicked grin. “This will be
fine, Steve. Just stay right where you are.” She shifted
and straightened her dress then pointed at him. “Stay
there!”
His eyes twinkled and he pulled the blankets to his nose.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Holli slipped out the door and closed it silently, stood
at the base of the stairs and called. “Dad? Dad, where are
you?”
His head leaned over the banister above. “There you are,
Sweetie. I was worried about you.”
“Um . . . I’m fine . . . I was . . . in the garden.”
He reached her, ran a thumb over her flushed cheek and
his brow curled. “Are you okay, Holli?”
She led him away from the room where Steve was no doubt
shaking in his shoes, or in this case, his sheets. Dad followed
but she caught him turn a quick, quizzical glance at the closed
door.
“Yes, Daddy. I’m fine. Just a little shaken, that’s all. I made
jam in honor of Auntie Tara today.”
“Aw, Sweetheart. I know she’d have loved that.” He followed
her into the kitchen and tugged her hand to sit at the table
with him. “Maybe we should get someone else to stay here
right now, Holli. With the viewing and funeral and all.”
“No, no. The B&B has a guest. This is fine. He . . . um Steve
. . . he’ll understand if I have to leave for family things. I told
him about Auntie Tara.”
“Steve? Baby, I’m not sure if I like you staying here all alone
with a male guest. Who is this Steve guy? What do we know
about him?”
Just as she was about to form an answer, who walked into
the kitchen, but the male guest himself. Holli gave him a
grimace but Steve smiled and reached his hand out to her Dad.
“Hi, I’m Steve Moran. You must be Holli’s father. My
sympathy for your loss, sir.”
*****************************
"Steve," Mr. Tittswell said, shaking the proffered hand.
"Where you from, Steve?"
"New York, Sir. I'm here on a photographic assignment
to record the streets of the city that are actually steps."
"The paper streets, eh?" Mr. Tittswell nodded.
"Paper streets?"
"Yeah, streets only on the map, yet still legal streets." He
smiled, indicating a chair by the kitchen table. "What do you
know about them, Steve?"
"Not much...yet..., Sir," Steve said wryly.
"Call me Norm," Mr. Tittswell said, leaning back in his
chair as Holli watched, a bit open-mouthed while her father
proceeded to demonstrate his familiarity with Pittsburgh's
paper streets. Who knew?
"There are 712 of them," Norm continued, "with a total of
44,645 treads. Do you know how many vertical feet that is,
Steve?"
"Um, not really," Steve allowed, glancing in amazement
at Holli, who stood snickering behind her father.
"Well, my brother and I, we used to play on 'em when we
were kids. Sorta became a hobby of mine. That's
24,108 vertical feet. Higher than some peaks in Tibet,"
he said rather proudly. "San Francisco, you know they
boast about their hills and all?" He eyed Steve. "You
know how many step streets THEY got?"
"No, Sir...um...Norm."
"350. That's it. 350. Pikers. That's what they are.
Pikers!"
He studied Steve. "How'd you hurt your face?"
Holli spoke up quickly. "He fell down the flight of steps
from the third floor, Dad. Just when he arrived this
morning."
"Good God!" Norm bellowed. "Not like Aunt Tara!
Holli, I told you this place was spooked. I think you'd
better come back to the house 'stead of staying here."
"I can't, Dad. I'm keeping the B&B open right now for
at least another two weeks." Straightening her shoulders,
she added, "I want to." Her eyes flicked quickly past
Steve's. "Auntie Tara would want me to."
"Two weeks, eh? Well, be careful, baby, on those damned
steps." He looked back at a rather bemused Steve.
"Where you plannin' on startin' with the picture taking,
Steve?"
"I hadn't actually worked that out yet, Sir...er...Norm.
Do you have any suggestions for me?"
Norm smiled, grabbed a napkin, pulled out a pen and
started to sketch. "This," he jabbed his finger a bit east
of where they were now, "this is called the Southside Slopes.
Sixty-seven of your paper streets are right there. If
you start down in the Flats by the Mon, you'll find a series
of nearly 700 steps taking you up to the crest."
"Flats by the Mon?" Steve repeated helplessly.
"He means the level area near the Monongahela River,
Steve," Holli explained.
"Look for Yard Way," Norm added, shaking his head
knowledgeably, "it's the longest paper street. Has 317
steps to it." He grinned. "Best bring a cane and a
cardiologist."
He looked at his daughter then back at Steve. "You
married, Steve?"
"Um, no, no, I'm not," Steve stammered.
Norm cocked an eyebrow at Holli. "Sure you don't
want to come back to the house with me?"
"No, Dad. I'm fine here. Truly I am."
Norm stood, looked at the jam jars, and asked, "Can
I take one home to your Mom?