Rum Spring (23 page)

Rebecca continued to rub Dylan’s arms and back. She stopped when Dylan’s shivers subsided, but she didn’t let go.

“Thank you,” Dylan said after she freed herself from Rebecca’s arms.

“That’s what friends are for.”

Dylan glanced at the Jacuzzi and shook her head. “That was definitely not one of my better ideas.”

With her hair standing straight up on her head and her cheeks bright red from the cold, Dylan looked so cute Rebecca wanted to kiss her. Like a lover, not a friend. She had been fighting her feelings for Dylan all week. All week? Try all year. Should she keep fighting those feelings or give into them? Desire surged through her. “Do you—Do you want to go inside and warm up?”

“No, that’s okay. I’m much better now.” Dylan sat on a lounge chair and wrapped herself in the blanket. She lifted her face to the sun. “And I can’t go back home without a tan.”

“You’re crazy.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“If you’re not going inside, I am. There’s a hot shower with my name on it.” Rebecca gathered her things. She hoped—and feared—Dylan would follow her.

“Enjoy.”

Dylan watched Rebecca walk away. Then she sighed in frustration. She didn’t know what else she was supposed to do. She had tried being serious. She had tried being nonchalant. Neither strategy seemed to work. Every time she drew closer, Rebecca pulled away. How many times would Rebecca have to run out on her before she finally took the hint?

Give her a break. This situation is harder for her than it is for you. She has a hell of a lot more to lose. So stop trying to be the girlfriend she doesn’t want and concentrate on being the friend she needs.

She headed inside.

Upstairs, Rebecca undressed and stepped into the shower. She spun the temperature controls to their warmest setting and turned on the water. She immediately regretted her decision. The water was too warm. Too sensual. The shower spray’s gentle caress increased the ache between her legs instead of easing it.

Rebecca’s senses were on overdrive, flooding her mind with memories of her hands sliding sensually over Dylan’s body, filling her nose with the smell of Dylan’s apple-scented skin. She pressed a hand against the side of her neck, where Dylan’s face had briefly rested. Before Dylan had done what Rebecca hadn’t been able to do—pull away.

Thank God this is the last day, because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

She turned off the shower when the hot water began to grow tepid. Then she dried off and tied a towel around her body. When she opened the bathroom door, she saw Dylan waiting for her in the room. Just like the first weekend of her rumspringa. Her life with Dylan had come full circle. The revolution was complete. From the beginning to— Was this the end, or had she and Dylan been granted a new start?

Dylan’s eyes crawled up Rebecca’s body. When they reached Rebecca’s thighs, Dylan mumbled, “I’m sorry,” and averted her gaze. She began to shiver again but, this time, Rebecca didn’t think it was from the cold.

“Don’t be sorry. What did you tell me once? You don’t have to hide how you feel. Not with me.”

Rebecca waited for Dylan to meet her gaze, then she opened the towel and let it fall to the floor.

Dylan’s eyes darkened and her breathing quickened. Rebecca recognized the signs. Dylan wanted her. Still.

Dylan took a tentative step forward but didn’t move any closer. “Are you sure?” In the quiet room, her whisper reverberated as loudly as a scream.

Rebecca’s head said no but her mouth said, “Yes.” Her voice was calm, betraying none of her inner turmoil. As soon as she got the word out, Dylan’s mouth met hers. The only sound Rebecca could hear was the beating of her heart. Its rhythm matched the one provided by Dylan’s exploring tongue as it danced with hers.

She put her arms around Dylan’s neck as the kiss continued. Her skin tingled when Dylan’s fingers slowly slid across the bare skin of her back. The blood rushing in her ears sounded like waves crashing on the shore.

Dylan swept Rebecca into her arms and carried her to the bed, where she gently lay her down. She cupped Rebecca’s breasts in her hands and kissed them slowly. Reverently.

Rebecca arched her back when Dylan took one of her nipples into her mouth and gently sucked. “Yes,” she hissed. “Yes.”

Dylan covered Rebecca’s body with kisses, each one stoking Rebecca’s arousal to an even higher level. Dylan glided her fingers over Rebecca’s calves and up the insides of her thighs. Rebecca shivered as the delicate touch sent waves of pleasure rippling throughout her body.

“I need you, Dylan.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.” She peeled off Dylan’s sweatshirt, shorts, and the damp swimsuit underneath.

Dylan lay on top of her again, their bodies touching up and down. Nothing came between them. Dylan put her hands on Rebecca’s knees and urged her legs apart.

Their hips ground against each other, moving in slow, deliberate circles.

“I love you, Rebecca.”

“I love you, too.”

Rebecca sucked on Dylan’s lower lip, drawing it into her mouth. Dylan whimpered and raised herself to her knees. She gripped Rebecca’s hips with both hands, increasing the pressure. Her movements, once smooth, grew jerky as her body tried to find the release it so desperately sought.

Her back arching, her hips moving as if on their accord, Rebecca clutched at Dylan, trying to pull her closer. She was almost there. She guided Dylan’s mouth to her nipple and her eyes slammed shut as her body exploded.

Dylan fell over the edge, too, her cries mingling with Rebecca’s as they tumbled back to earth. Then they repeated the journey.

“Are you okay?” Dylan asked some time later.

Rebecca nodded that she was, but her feelings were all over the board. Though her body was satisfied, her mind was troubled.

Dylan wrapped a lock of Rebecca’s hair around her finger. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t want to miss this. I don’t want to miss you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Dylan, don’t.”

“So this was the last time?”

“It has to be.”

Dylan pulled Rebecca into her arms and held on tight. “I can’t let you go.”

“Everything ends, my love. Including us.”

“You look different,” Uncle Amos said as soon as Rebecca walked in the door.

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed.”

Did she bear Dylan’s mark? Had Dylan’s touch been burned into her skin? Rebecca put her things away and returned to the living room with a book under her arm. This one was from her old collection, though she would have preferred one of the books she had bought in Provincetown. Those were on the way to Philadelphia with Dylan. Rebecca had read them all during her vacation and longed to read more like them, but she didn’t know when or if she would be able to. Dylan’s offer of friendship was made before they had given in to temptation. Did her offer still stand?

Uncle Amos wrote something in the notebook on his lap and returned to the Bible in his hands. “Did you enjoy your time away?” he asked almost as an aside.

“I did, thank you.” Rebecca was surprised Uncle Amos asked about her trip. When she had told him she would be gone for a week, he hadn’t displayed even the mildest curiosity. He hadn’t asked where she was headed or when she would be back. She loved how he respected her privacy. She hoped he was able to say the same about her—especially after she told him about meeting Lewis. “Did I miss anything?”

“Your mother received a letter from Sarah. She has joined Abraham and Barbie’s church. Samuel went to the council and had the strictures against Sarah removed, which means she is able to communicate with her family once more. Even though she is welcome to come home if she wishes, she says she had no intentions of moving back. She intends to visit Michael as often as she can, but her life is in Oregon now. She is happy there in a way I do not think she could be if she were to return.”

Rebecca tried to absorb all that Uncle Amos had said. Now that Sarah had joined church, Rebecca was free to do so as well. But if she did, there would be no more private time with Dylan. No more weeks like the one they had just spent. No more days like the day before. Did she still want days like that? Yes. A thousand times yes. But those days were over. They had to be. But she and Dylan could still be friends. If they could only remember how.

“Sarah said to tell you hello,” Uncle Amos said, giving Rebecca the opening she needed.

“While I was away, I ran into someone who told me to give you the same message.”

“Really? Who?”

Rebecca tried to act nonchalant, even though she knew what she was about to say would have long-lasting repercussions. “Lewis Conrad.”

Uncle Amos didn’t say anything for a full minute. When he finally spoke, his face was closed off, not open like it usually was. He removed his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to alleviate the pain of a severe headache. “Was that the entire message?”

“Yes.”

“Was he well? Did he seem…happy?”

Afraid of what she might see, Rebecca could barely bring herself to look at him. Always small, he seemed like he was shrinking right before her eyes. “Yes. He has someone and they’re very happy together.”

Uncle Amos seemed surprised—and vaguely disappointed. “He is married?”

“Yes. His husband’s name is Alan.” Rebecca let that sink in before she continued. “I asked Mr. Conrad how he knew you, but he said I should ask you. How well did you know each other?”

“As well as two men can, I suppose,” Uncle Amos replied with a wan smile. “On this earth anyway.”

“How did you…begin?”

Uncle Amos’s smile grew wistful. “I was young and I knew my desires weren’t the same as everyone else’s. When I looked at Lewis, I knew he felt the same things I did. When I was with him—” He shook his head. “You’re asking me to remember things I’ve tried my best to forget. I am not ashamed of the way I am.” He looked at her. “The way we are, but—”

Rebecca finished the sentence for him. “Family comes first.”

Uncle Amos nodded resolutely. “Family comes first.”

“How did you know about me?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at Dylan Mahoney. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I know love when I see it.”

“Does Papa know about me?”

“I suspect not. He knows about me and he doesn’t approve. He has made his opinions on the matter quite clear. Like most of our brethren, he is convinced I can change, and I am certain I cannot. I will not.”

Rebecca had intended to ask Uncle Amos if he had loved Lewis, but she didn’t have to. The answer was as plain as the look on his face.

“Have you decided what you will do when your rumspringa ends?”

“I will be as I am now: like you.”

Uncle Amos dropped his head. “Perhaps you should aspire to something greater.”

“Are you saying I should leave the church?”

“The decision is not mine to make. It is yours solely. You have not been baptized yet. Before you are, make certain the decision you make is the right one. This is the one time I would preach it is all right to be selfish. When you make this decision, make it for you and no one else. Don’t think of me. Don’t think of your father. Don’t think of Dylan Mahoney. Think of yourself. Don’t ask me what you should do. Ask yourself what it is you want.”

“I want what I’ve always wanted: Dylan.”

“Then tell her so.”

Rebecca opened her mouth to reply but quickly closed it again. Her old reasons for staying were no longer valid. She could no longer say half of her belonged in the English world and the other half in her own. Something had changed in Provincetown.

Dylan had always had Rebecca’s heart. A year ago, Rebecca had given Dylan her body as well. When they were together on that last night in Provincetown, Rebecca had given her everything that was left.

She was Dylan’s. Mind, body, and soul. There was no denying it—and no reason to try.

She borrowed a pen and a piece of paper and began to write. She had to get in touch with Sarah. She had to tell her how she felt. Other than Uncle Amos, Sarah was the only one who could understand what she was going through. She and Sarah were closer than they had ever been. Now it was time to put that bond to the test.

Chapter Fifteen

Dylan stared at the envelope, afraid to even pick it up let alone open it. “I can’t.” She snatched the envelope off the counter and pressed it into Erin’s hands. “You do it.”

“I can’t believe you’re being such a chicken about this.”

While Erin searched for the letter opener, Dylan paced the way she always did when she was nervous. “Why shouldn’t I be chicken? It’s only my entire future we’re talking about here.”

Erin slipped the cutter under the envelope’s flap and slit it open. She pulled out the letter, unfolded it, and began to read. “‘Dear Ms.—’”

“Not out loud.”

Erin dutifully began to read silently, her eyes skimming over the words.

Unable to stand the wait, Dylan stopped pacing and turned around. “What does it say?”

“Hold on. I’m getting there. Received your application. Thank you for your interest. Blah blah blah. One of many worthy candidates. Gobbledygook gobbledygook. Okay, here it is. ‘Based on your stellar academic record, your admission to the University of Albany’s summer session has been accepted.’”

“I got in?”

“You got in.”

“I don’t believe it.” Dylan grabbed the letter so she could read the words herself. Seeing them didn’t lessen her shock. “I got in.”

During its summer session, the University at Albany offered a couple of courses Dylan thought would be beneficial to honing her journalistic skills. The first class was devoted to information literacy, the other class to narrative and descriptive journalism. The second class was the one Dylan really wanted to take. The weekly writing assignments and in-depth critiques of her work would give her a chance to see if she had a real future as a journalist or if she was just a small-town girl who knew how to concoct a witty headline and string a couple of sentences together.

Even though the summer session was limited to students who were enrolled at the University of Albany, Dylan had written an impassioned but (she thought) well-reasoned letter to the university asking for permission to audit the classes. She had included several writing samples and a letter of recommendation from her academic advisor to strengthen her argument. Then the interminable wait had begun. It had ended with an unexpected but incredibly pleasant surprise. Her letter-writing campaign had worked.