They come to the moment of decision. They are separated by few feet and miles of silence as they say their individual goodbyes to Roderick and Tamara on Tuesday morning.
"Okay," Tamara says, sniffing. "Stop hugging me. You're messing up my make up."
"You been hugging me," Marlowe retorts, her voice raspy with feeling.
"Anyway," Tamara intones sarcastically. She widens her eyes and swipes away smeared mascara. "I don't know why I'm crying like this. I'll see you for the Fourth, right? You're coming back, right?"
"Of course." Marlowe flushes guiltily when Tamara eyeballs her. "For real, Tam. I've been listening to you." She smiles wryly. "I'm gonna do better. That's all there is to it."
Tamara's pleased smile dissolves into tearful trembling lips. "One more," she pleads, stretching out her arms to receive Marlowe yet again. Tamara is a true daughter of the mother goddess; she can't help but to love and desire love in return. "Girl!" she exclaims, sighing. "I'll call you when we get back. But go for it, you hear me? Just go for it," she whispers fiercely against Marlowe's ear.
"Go for what, Tam?" Marlowe whispers in return.
"You know what I'm talking about."
Marlowe pulls away, startled. "Huh?"
Tamara frowns tightly. "You know what I'm talking about," she repeats through gritted teeth when Marlowe simply blinks at her, feigning ignorance. Tamara raises her fingertips to the nape of her neck as though scraping a loose hair into place. She points over her shoulder and then nods toward Lucas and Roderick.
"Tam?"
Tamara spins around. Roderick is looking at her strangely. She wiggles her fingertips at him and then pretends to pat her hair into place. "Hey," she sings out. "You ready?"
"Whenever you are."
Tamara blows him a kiss before turning back to Marlowe. "I'm not as dumb as I look. I didn't go to college as long as you, Miss Thang, but I can see what's right in front of my face, okay?" She bends over and scoops her purse up from the floor. "I don't know what the problem is, but get over it," Tamara says soberly. She smacks Marlowe's hip with her purse. "Life's too short. You should know." Tamara turns and joins her husband. "Oh, bye baby," she croons, pulling Lucas into a hug. She holds onto him and does a little motherly sway.
"Goodbye Tamara," Lucas says. He smiles broadly. He'd have to be heartless not to love Tamara.
"Mo!" Roderick barks. "Thought you were gonna get away, huh?"
"I was hoping," Marlowe retorts.
"Get over here, girl."
Marlowe cocks her head to one side. "You come this way. I'm the elder around here."
Roderick swaggers toward his sister, sizing her up. He stops in front of her, frowning, with a glimmer in his eye. "Why you got to be so hard, shorty?"
"Why you got to be so tall, softy?"
Roderick grins despite himself. "Gimme some dap." They share a complicated handshake, testing each other's grips. Unexpectedly, Roderick tugs Marlowe into his arms. "I better see you on the Fourth. Woman, do not make me come to D.C. to get you. Seriously."
"Okay Rod." Marlowe whacks her brother on the back. "Love you, boy."
"I love you, too. Sometimes." When she tries to pull away, Roderick picks her up like a log and carries her toward the gate. He sets her down next to Lucas. "Put this thing on a plane, please. And make sure you ask for a security check."
"Bye Rod," Lucas says, waving.
"See you later. As in, on the Fourth."
Many have been the times that Lucas has gritted his teeth through the languid ceremony of Southern greetings and goodbyes. This time he hungers for more. His appetite for affection is at an all time high, and the Atlanta Hartsfield airport is too small a space for Marlowe and his hunger to coexist. A head on collision is imminent.
"I have to go. My flight boards in fifteen minutes and I have to take the concourse train." Marlowe glances at her watch before reaching into her purse and pulling out a PDA.
Lucas blinks, taken aback. This is the first time he's seen her like this. She's already back in Washington, D.C.; he's already losing her. "I'll walk you," Lucas offers.
"You sure?" Marlowe asks absently. She swaps her PDA for a rugged yellow cell phone and begins hammering on the buttons, checking her messages. There are several. "Don't let me hold you up."
"I'm not going anywhere." He clears his throat. "Not until 10:42."
"Right. Let's roll then." She bustles confidently through the airport and Lucas follows along next to her, observing. Marlowe has returned to her element. She's in control again; she's comfortable again. She doesn't ignore him so much as that the thought of him doesn't occur. In her other life, the real life from which she has taken leave, there is no Lucas Klein. Even Roderick and Tamara are much smaller figures there, just people that she loves in passing when she looks at their photo on the refrigerator door. This is how holidays are skipped over, how cards end up at the bottom of the desk drawer, dusty and unanswered. The real Marlowe Ross gives priority to those in need. Since she rarely acknowledges her own needs, she takes the needs of others for mere whims.
Lucas doesn't know these details, but he does know that he's losing sight of her. Every time someone cuts between them, she disappears for a moment. For a moment it is as though he imagined her, as though he has been keeping company with the ghost of Marlowe Ross yet again. His gut twists like he is falling down very fast. Indeed, he will soon fall back into his other life, the world in which Marlowe Ross does not exist.
Suddenly, Lucas grabs Marlowe's elbow and hauls her out of the corridor traffic.
"What's wrong?" Marlowe exclaims, flipping her cell phone closed. She clicks it into the holster that she just fastened to her belt.
Lucas pulls her to a stop in front of a replica of an old fashioned photo booth. He pulls back the black velour curtain and turns to Marlowe with a soft, almost nostalgic gleam in his eyes. "Take a picture with me."
Marlowe snorts. "You've got to be kidding me."
Lucas loosens his grip and slides his fingers down her forearm to her hand. His palm presses against hers. "Please. It won't take five minutes."
Marlowe can't look at her watch because it is on the wrist that he's pulling. "Better not because five minutes is all I got." Lucas climbs in first. When Marlowe sits down next to him, their shoulders collide uncomfortably. "Sorry," Marlowe mumbles. She scoots forward and perches on the edge of the seat. "You ready?" she asks, her impatient finger hovering over the start button.
"I was born ready," Lucas quips.
Marlowe presses the button and leans back, composing herself. When the ready light doesn't come on, she leans forward and presses again. "It's broken," she declares, clicking the button repeatedly.
Lucas frowns. "Stop hammering on it," he says gruffly.
Marlowe slowly turns her annoyed gaze on him. "It don't work, boy. It ain't my fault. Go to the information desk and ask for your money back."
Lucas' face goes still and then pink with embarrassment. "I didn't put any money in," he murmurs.
She purses her lips and glares at him. "Born ready, huh?" Marlowe sighs, digging into her pocket. "You have any change?"
After examining his wallet, Lucas says, "Twenties, a five, and three quarters."
Marlowe wiggles her hand impatiently. "Be right back." She closes her fist over his change and gets out.
Lucas rolls his eyes heavenward and then drops his head against the cold aluminum panel of the booth. "Stupid," he whispers tersely.
When Marlowe returns, she presses the button and plops right down. She jumps when she feels Lucas's arm behind her back and his hand squashed beneath her. "You're touching my ass," she snaps through a pearly white plastic smile.
Lucas snatches his hand away and quickly tries to swing his arm over her head. He misses.
CLICK.
"Ouch!" Marlowe snarls, pressing her hand to her curly head. "Your watch ripped my hair out!"
"Jesus." Lucas' hands immediately go to her head. His fingers tangle into her curls as he turns her face toward him, examining. "You okay?"
"Forget it," Marlowe grumbles, grabbing his hands to push them away. "It's no big deal."
CLICK.
A shriek of irritation surges out of Marlowe's throat. "These are some sorry ass pictures. Let go!" She flings his hands away. "Have you even smiled once, Mr. Born Ready?!"
Lucas' eyes darken with storm clouds. Feeling perverse, he turns to the camera and produces the toothiest, cheesiest fake smile that Marlowe has ever seen.
CLICK.
She laughs; she can't help it. She shakes her head, snickering, and then reaches up to smooth her errant curls back into place. "Classy," she murmurs, eyeballing him.
Lucas' eyes skate over her face, absorbing her softened expression. He leans in and presses his grateful lips to her cheek.
CLICK.
Marlowe smiles and then stares at Lucas as though seeing him for the first time. His eyes are clear and crowded with feelings: embarrassment, disappointment, longing. It is the longing that makes him real to her, that makes him more than the composite of things she has learned about him in the past few days. Longing can't be questioned or considered; like love, it can only be accepted or declined.
Her mouth moves toward his bearing a tentative answer to his question; Lucas moves forward to receive it. When they touch, there are no fireworks. Instead, warmth slowly builds between them as their lips connect, separate, and connect again. They reconstruct their first kiss over and over, making it slower, sexier, perfecting it. They taste new laughter and old tears; their tongues duel with the legacies of past loves and slay them. New claims are written in skin and scent and soft sounds of pleasure.
Harsh heavy breathing fills up the tiny compartment when finally they part. "I have to go," Marlowe murmurs apologetically.
Lucas' heavy lidded eyes are almost black with desire. Swiftly he kisses her again, colliding with her, filling her mouth with his intentions. Their lips push and pull fiercely until Marlowe pulls away, licking his taste from her bruised lips. "I have to go," she repeats, stammering. Without another word, she snatches her purse, draws back the curtain, and disappears.
