Sheet Music - A Rock 'n' Roll Love Story

Annie smiled and looked away.  Several minutes passed and the silence hung heavy between them.

“Annie, let me ask you something,” he sighed, “and I want you to be completely honest with me.”

“Okay, but don’t get mad if you get an answer you don’t want to hear.”

“If I had the lab reports in my hands right now and all the tests were negative, would you let me make love to you?”

“No.”

“You answered that awfully quick.”

“I guess I did.  Maybe it’s because I’m that certain of my answer.”

“Why?”

“I told you before, it’s going to take time.  Point blank, I’m not ready to be intimate with you.  Frankly, I can’t believe I’ve progressed this far in a week.”

“What do you mean?”

“A week ago, I had to fight the compulsion to vomit whenever you entered the room.  Now, I’m actually sitting beside you and you’re holding my hand,” she answered, as she eyed their clasped hands.  “That’s progress.”

“Vomit?”

Annie shrugged her shoulders and smiled.  “That’s probably exaggerating a bit,” she said, glancing away.  “But I couldn’t stand the sight of you.”

His eyes drifted back to the sidewalk.  She could see the tightness in his jaw and wondered what he was thinking.

“I thought you weren’t going to pressure me?” she asked.

“I’m not.”

“Then, why am I sitting here feeling like you are?”

He turned toward her, studying her face as if the answer were written on it.  “I don’t know.  I…never mind.”

“What?  Say it.  Don’t hold back now.”

He shook his head in frustration and glanced out the window.  “It wasn’t my intention to pressure you.  I told you a long time ago I express myself best through my music and through…touch.  It’s my nature.  How am I supposed to make things right if you won’t let me touch you?”

Annie shrugged.  “I guess you’ll have to find another way, because the touching option isn’t going to happen.”

His eyes dropped to their entwined fingers.  “I love you,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“Do you?” he asked.

She squeezed his hand. “Yes, I do.  I can feel it, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me to get past what you did.”

The traffic began to move and Annie noticed Taylor's apartment building pass by the car window.  “Let me ask you something, Michael.  Where is our driver taking us?  We just passed Taylor's apartment.”

He smiled at her.  “I’m taking you out for an early dinner to celebrate.”

“Oh?  And what are we celebrating?”

“You coming back to Boston with me.” “I haven’t given you an answer yet.”

“I know.  I was hoping you’d say yes.  Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t mind staying at Taylor’s place but I’d rather be sleeping in my own bed.  And, it would be even better if you were sleeping in it beside me,” he said, squeezing her hand.

He raised her hand and kissed the fingers.  “So, will you?”

“Will I what…share your bed?”

He nervously nodded.  “Not just the bed, Annie, the whole house.  I want us to be together and I want the baby to have her own room.  You said it would take time to repair the damage I caused.  Well, we need to be together to do that.  Right?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you’ll come?”

“Yes, I’ll go, but on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You won’t pressure me to be intimate with you.”

“Deal.”

His eyes dropped to Sammi suckling and he smiled.  “You know, I never thought I’d be jealous of a baby eating lunch before,” he chuckled.

She shoved him playfully on the shoulder.  “You’re pressuring me again.”

“That wasn’t pressure,” he teased.  “I was merely making an observation.”

“Yeah, okay.”

It was late when they arrived home and Bonita was already in bed.  Annie quietly made her way up to the master bedroom to settle the baby while Michael went to the kitchen to check his mail.

Annie had her back to the door when he entered.  She was setting the baby in the cradle Bonita had left for them.  He came up behind her and set his hands on her shoulders.  She bristled at this touch.  Dejected, he stepped away and sat on the end of the bed.

“If it will make you feel more comfortable, I can sleep in one of the other bedrooms,” he stated glumly.

She spun around and faced him.  His hands were clasped between his spread thighs, weariness creasing his face.

“I’m not going to ask you to leave your own bedroom.”

He closed his eyes and flopped back on the bed.  “After all this time, you still don’t consider this your bedroom too?”

“That’s not what I mean,” she replied, moving into the bathroom to change.  When she returned to the bedroom she was dressed in loose-fitting boxer shorts and a t-shirt.

“You shared my bed in New York and that worked out okay.  I have no problem doing the same here.”

He rolled to his side and propped himself up on an elbow.  “Okay, then I guess we’ve got a deal.  I’ll stay.”