"So you want me to sleep with Gwen to prove it to you?"
She looked dazed. Then a smile that was angelic came and went, and getting up with an effort she sat there with slumped shoulders, her hands in her lap. "I don't know," she said. "I can't go to my room and think things out, like I used to do. I guess I'm not good at thinking on the go. I don't know where I'm going in the first place, not really. Like you said, you go somewhere to get away from someplace. So we leave here just to get away from here, and we'll leave Top's just to leave it, and not because there's some wonderful place waiting to take us in and keep us." She looked up at me judgmentally. "You don't let your tires cool off, do you?"
I liked that. I sat down next to her and picked up her right hand. How small it was, and smooth and soft. It was like I was holding her soul. Its pulse and its warmth and the grasping movement of its fingers were all telling me about her, about what she wanted, but also about her doubts and fears and her indecisions. So I didn't really learn anything that I didn't already know, except that her soul had not lost all of its innocence.
She whispered, "I bet she heard us. I don't hear her talking, do you? I bet she heard me telling you to sleep with her." And I said, "It doesn't matter. If it's just sex she wants, then it doesn't matter whether she heard us or not."
"Shh.." Moira kissed me on the cheek. "I'll be embarrassed. I already am. Maybe you shouldn't. Mother said once, 'Men can't pretend they have a headache. They have to do it even if they'd rather not.' Isn't that funny? You can't tell Gwen you have a headache. And you certainly can't tell her you don't want to sleep with her. I got you in a mess, didn't I?"
"It's what she wants. A mess. It'll sort itself out. You're right about finding out if you like apples better than oranges. But there's always a victim. The orange that gets left in the bowl."
She brought her mouth close to my ear. "Do you WANT to sleep with her? You shouldn't if you don't really want to. It wouldn't be fair to her."
"Let's stop sending mixed signals to each other, shall we? I'd rather sleep with you. But if you can handle it, yeah I'd like to bang her if that's all she wants. But I think she wants the entire package."
"How can you know, unless she wants to go with you to Morgantown? Will she leave her house and her dogs and everything, leave them just to be leaving? No, she'll want to bring you back here or maybe some other place, but she won't want to do the ladybug on the leaf thing. You're right about that. A woman needs a home. I wish I had my own place. I wish you could take me there, a destination that's not just an excuse, but a home." She started crying.
There are few things a man dreads more than his girl crying on him. I squeezed her hand, but that's all. It might have been enough, I can't say. I couldn't imagine her reading my soul by the touch of my hand, and if she did, what did she learn that she didn't already know? Chapped, calloused, tobacco-stained, smelling of oil and high octane. A cynical and fatalistic hand, that's what had hold of her wistful and not completely disillusioned one. Hard meets soft. Which has the stronger influence?
I heard Gwen pouring dog food, the pattering of paws. A minute later there was country music, played at a low volume. Moira had stopped crying. She was listening to the song.
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