I took the leftover cheese, crackers, and wine back to the kitchen. There wasn’t much wine left, so I poured the remainder into my glass, then put the bottle in with the recyclables. I hummed a folk tune while I put the cheese in a baggie into the fridge and the crackers in a baggie in the pantry. I had done what I could to get and keep Steve’s attention. If I could get him to lead for the rest of the day, I could make this a delightful afternoon for both of us.

After putting the dishes, forks, and Steve’s wine glass in the dishwasher with the breakfast things, I added detergent and started a light load. As it began to fill, I leaned back against the counter and sipped the wine while listening to Steve bag his whites. I wonder if he liked to be ridden? Smiling, I wondered if he had ever been ridden? How a delicious hombre like my Viking was still available was a pretty puzzle, but if he could learn to love what I liked, I was going to stake my claim. I sure hoped he liked to be ridden.

Steve called out from the laundry room, “OK! I’ve got my stuff bagged. You ready?”

“Ready when you are,” I called back as I grabbed the washcloth I had draped over the faucet, gave the counter a quick wipe down, and then hurriedly swigged the last of the wine. Not quickly enough, though. Before I could put my wine glass down, Steve came around the corner with a bag of laundry over each shoulder.

“You finished off the wine?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“There wasn’t much left. You had most of it.”

“Well, maybe. But I weigh a good bit more than you. Tell you what – let me drive us both, that way we won’t have to take both cars.”

¡Aroyho! Then he’ll have me at his mercy, and he can work his will on me! “But you’ll have to make an extra trip! You know I have to drive to work tomorrow.”

“That’s alright. I’d hate to see you get pulled over or anything.”

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind the extra trip.” I made it a question.

“Sure, no problem at all. I have plenty of room in my car. It’s a Taurus.”

“Oh. OK, then.”

I opened the dishwasher door to add my wineglass, and was greeted by a cloud of steam. I heard Steve snort as I squinted to see where I could fit it in. I found a place, inserted the wineglass, then reclosed and restarted the dishwasher. Standing up, I looked into his grin and said, “Alright, maybe I could have planned that better. Now let’s get over to your place and try to finish up.”

Steve followed me into the living room, waited while I picked up my purse and keys, and then we went to the front door. Steve’s hands were full, so I opened the door, let him out, then pulled my two bags of laundry into the hallway. I reached inside to hit the light switches, pulled the door shut behind us, and tested the lock.

Steve smiled as he watched me go through my routine. “You don’t leave much to chance, do you?”

I bent over to pick up my laundry bags. “It’s different for girls, Steve. How many guys get raped? You read about it happening to women all the time.”

Steve’s smile broadened. “You can’t rape the willing.”

I stood up and faced him. “That’s not funny, Steve! How would you like it if half the people in the world were bigger and stronger than you, and a lot of them thought you couldn’t get by without their help?” I was surprised at how irritating I found his quip. I picked up the other bag. “You lead. You know where you’re parked.”

We walked without talking down the hall to the stairs. The only sounds we made were the rustling of laundry bags and the clack of the heels of my shoes. As I followed him down the stairs, I noticed that his hair was starting to thin.

I pressed the buzzer to unlock the door; Steve pushed it open with one of his bags and then held it open for me. He looked back to me with his face carefully neutral. I didn’t want the silence to go on too long and become awkward, so I figured I’d give on this one. As I walked in front of him, I stopped, stood up on tiptoe, and kissed him lightly on his lips.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” I said as I eased back down. “I know you didn’t mean anything – I overreacted.”

Steve smiled and visibly relaxed. “Yeah, men and women have different attitudes towards rape. I was joking that you can’t rape men because men always want sex. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d take it the same way. Sorry about that.”

I followed him to the rear of his car, where he beeped the trunk open, put his bags in, then turned and held out his hands for my laundry. When he hesitated when I held out both bags to him, uncertain which to take first, I stretched out my right to him. Steve paused briefly when he noticed the weight as he took the bag, put it into the trunk, then took my last one and helped it slide down between the others. I waited while Steve closed the trunk. He took the cue, walked to the passenger side, and opened the door for me. Fair enough, I knew my steps in this dance, so I sat down into the passenger seat before turning my body. The seat fabric pulled at my skirt as I swung first my left and then my right leg inside – flashing a bit of thigh.

After Steve closed my door, while he walked around the car to his side, I took a quick look around me. Surprise, surprise! He kept his car as neat as he dressed; no fast food leftovers here. Steve opened his door, sat down, and as he closed his door I said, “Very nice! I try to keep my car tidy, but you obviously take pride in keeping your car clean. I’m jealous! You didn’t get up early to take your car to a carwash, did you?”

“Not today,” he said while finding the ignition with his key. The engine kicked in, and when Steve buckled his seat belt, I did the same. As we backed out of the parking space, he looked over at me for directions.

“Just reverse the way you came in. Straight down to the end there, then turn right to get out of the parking lot,” I said while pointing. “Turn right to get on to Redden Road, then left on to 404. You know the way from there.”

Steve guided the car out of the apartment parking lot, along the half-block of Redden Road, then across the northbound lane and median strip of 404 before making a left and joining the southbound traffic. While he did that, I took the opportunity to review the car’s insides. Clean, neat, and tidy. Even the floor mats were clean, and the dustless dashboard must have been wiped down recently; so “not today” probably meant “yesterday before Mass.”

He noticed my review and said, “Do I pass inspection?”

I smiled and said, “You could teach ‘Car Cleanliness 101’ if you wanted.” Before I drive us anywhere in my car, I’ll have to clean it up. It’s not that I’m a slob or anything, but this looks like new.”

“Thanks. I do try to keep up appearances. I guess I should thank my folks; they kept things neat and clean at home, and I’ve wanted to stay with their tradition. Dad’s on the Newark police force, and he likes to keep things orderly.

¡Arrestar! Time to change the subject. “Does he keep fit, like you do? I’ve noticed that you don’t have a lot of flab on you – at least on the bits I’ve seen.”

Steve turned and looked at me long enough that I wanted to tell him to watch the road. “Anna, I’ve seen just about all there is to see of you, and I like the places where you’re plump. So, tell me how you keep that fine-looking body of yours in shape, then I’ll do the same.”

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. I wanted to change the subject, but I hadn’t anticipated that at all! “Umm … well, sure. I have a treadmill, and each morning, after I brew my coffee, I take a half-hour walk. It’s not like I’m a Health Nazi or anything, but I feel flat and stodgy when I skip my morning walk for a few days.”

“Good for you! What treadmill did you get? Did you get a good price?”

“It’s a Nordic Trac 1200. And yes, I think so. I waited until they put the exercise machines on sale before bringing in the new models – the ones with all the bells and whistles. I can’t afford those.”

“Very cool. Where do you hide it? I didn’t notice it when I was washing my clothes.”

“You wouldn’t have. It’s in my bedroom. Now tell me how you keep fit.”

“Much the same as you. I rent a house, and I’ve fitted out the second bedroom with my treadmill and some weights. Nothing fancy, mind you, but it saves me a drive to and from a gym. After you start drying your first load, I’ll be happy to show it to you.”

Some time ago, a politician with a sense of whimsy had a miniature lighthouse built where Clementine Street merges with Route 404. This marks the northern edge of Georgetown. From there almost all the way down to the Penitentiary, nearly four kilometers, the 404 is one long strip mall. The fertile, flat farmland of lower Delaware lies hidden behind the signs and the shops where almost anything is for sale.

However, when you wait for the traffic lights to turn green at the intersections where the east-west roads cross the 404, a brief glance in either direction shows that this garish excess is just a thin, commercial crust along the sides of the highway. Visible just beyond the parking lots and behind the stores are neatly tended fields and orchards. Agriculture, the foundations of the state’s economy, is never far away.

You can see farms behind the Penitentiary, isolated from it behind tall fences crowned with razor wire. In all my trips up and down Route 404, I’ve never seen any activity behind them, on the inside, where the prisoners live.

“You can tour those facilities if you want, you know.” Steve’s comment showed he was paying attention to me.

Looking back, smiling, “So long as I’m on this side of the fences, I’m fine with them just the way they are.”

“A very sensible attitude,” he replied as we turned right onto a residential road with homes on the left and a maize field on the right. What looked to be a McKenzie D-18 Watering Arm was slowly pivoting across the field, raining on schedule. I was pretty sure it wasn’t one of mine as I didn’t recognize this farm.

“Someday I’m going to ask permission to play under one of those while it’s on. It’ll be a blast!”

Turning my attention back to Steve as he made a left into the development, “I doubt you’ll get permission. The insurance on those things is high enough already.”

“Well, here we are,” as we pulled into the driveway on the right side of a modest, one-story house, and then parked. Gesturing back towards the farm, “I didn’t think of that. It is a serious piece of farm equipment, isn’t it? How’d you get to know about them? Are you in Agriculture Sales?”

“No. I program them.” Seeing the surprise on his face, I nodded towards the house. “I’ll tell you all about that after we start my laundry drying.”

“Oh. Yeah. That’s right. Let’s get that going.” He turned off the engine and opened the door.