In His Arms

Rashad took his eyes off the road for a couple seconds and glanced over to see if she was serious. She seemed sincere, and that felt good.

“It’s not that impressive, but thank you. Anyway, I like being able to do my own thing rather than cutting and pasting all the time. I figure the more I know about drawing and the better I am at it, the more I can do and the better my work will be. My goal is to do more computer-based drawing, but you have to start with the fundamentals.”

“They have all of that at the Corcoran College of Art and Design. I wanted to take Digital Design I, but their prices are incredible, even to audit.”

The excitement in Michelle’s voice seemed to light up the car with energy. Rashad liked that.

“I checked there, too,” Rashad said. “It’s only more expensive because they offer regular college courses at regular college prices. The Art League offers some range, as well. We’ll have to see what’s listed for next semester. Why aren’t you taking this at Howard? It could be part of your regular tuition.”

Michelle sighed heavily. “I wish I could. I might be able to take a class or two later on, but now I can’t. I just started back at school, and they only took some of my credits. So to get out in the time I want, I have a full part-time load. I’ll see as I go on.”

“Hey, do you know where we are?”

“I have no idea.”

Both of them laughed again.

“I might have to meet you before our next class so you can follow me in.”

Michelle held her hand up. “No need. I have a zillion D.C. area street maps. I can’t thank you enough for the ride home. Not everyone would have offered.”

“It’s no problem, really. I’m not that far from you, and it’s my pleasure.”

“Still, thank you.”

Rashad heard the earnestness in Michelle’s voice and acquiesced.

“You’re welcome.”

Then he had a thought. “If you ever need a ride again, or if you ever want to carpool and save on gas, let me know.” It would be great to ride with her on a regular basis, get to know her better. He had to stop and remind himself that she was married.

“Okay, I will. But for now, I just want my car back. I’m lost without it, and I didn’t want to miss our first class, so I’m learning even more about the Metro.”

“And you already know that pretty well.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I take it you haven’t been in D.C. long. Did you come for school? How long have you been here?”

“You know,” she said, “you don’t have to make small talk. I’d appreciate the ride home regardless.”

“I want to know. You seem very nice, and it’s good to know someone in our class—just in case I need to get a homework assignment or something.”

That wasn’t all that Rashad was thinking, but it was all that he could say without the risk of offending her. He couldn’t let on that he was taken with her smile and her laughter and... What was he doing? The woman was married.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her peering at him, trying to determine whether he was actually interested or just chatting.

“Okay,” she finally said. “I’ve been in the D.C. area for two years.”

The laughter started low in Rashad’s throat and bubbled up to the surface, getting louder along the way until it finally broke free.

She gave his shoulder a light swat, but she was laughing, as well.

“I’m sorry. Two years, and you only know the Metro?”

“Well, I didn’t have a car the whole time. And I have work and—”

“You mean you haven’t gotten out very much.”

“Okay, no. I haven’t.”

Rashad wanted to say that he would make sure she got out more, but he didn’t know how to say that without implying what he really meant—that he wanted to take her out. He shook his head, pondering it.

“Street maps, I told you. I have street maps.”

Both chuckled again.

“And I do know where we are now.”

“That’s because we’re in Greenbelt now—we’re almost at your door.”

“Well, yes.”

She smiled, and he loved her smile.

“What’s your address?”

When she said the number and street, Rashad realized that they really were almost at her door. He got a rather let-down feeling. Strange.

He drove through the maze of buildings in the apartment complex until he found hers; then he pulled up to the walk to let her out.

“Again,” Michelle said, “I can’t thank you enough. Really.”

“De nada. I’ll see you in class next week—homework in hand.”

“Yes, you will. It was nice meeting you, and I’m glad to know someone else in the class. Let me grab my portfolio from the backseat so I can go get to my son.”

“Sweet dreams.”

He shouldn’t have said that; he should have simply said goodbye. But somehow this woman made him think of just that—sweet dreams. Now he had to figure out why.

“Good night,” she said.

On the way home, Rashad was aware of the quiet in the car, the absence of the energy that Michelle had brought to it. He pulled into his garage, turned off the engine and followed the walkway to his front door, still wondering what kind of spell had come over him.

He picked up his mail from behind the mail slot in the door and turned on the living room light. He looked around the room with new eyes and saw that he would be pleased to have her in it. His Ralph Lauren leather living room set had a high shine, and the Amish wood pieces matched it perfectly. Nothing in the room was frilly or feminine, but that was to be expected.

Unfortunately, nothing in the room was child-friendly, either. For the first time, he noticed the beveled edges of the glass coffee table, the sharp corners of the end tables and the points protruding from the wrought iron magazine rack. Ouch. There were also breakable things everywhere—the sculpture on one of the end tables, the glass he’d left on the coffee table that morning, the picture frames on the other end table.