March Madness

Seeing her standing by the edge of the parking lot as he pulled up told him it might be. She looked so pretty in her chic outfit, tight jeans and a suede jacket worn over a light blue blouse and brown, high-button shoes. He wore khaki pants, the kind with multiple pockets, and a corduroy jacket over a light sweater and black cross trainers. The forecast called for falling temperatures and possible snow. But that was much later, way after they would have left Charlottesville. As is, this was typical mid-March weather— breezy, partly cloudy, temps in the fifties.

She climbed in and snuggled against him. "I'm so excited to be with you," she said, and planted a quick kiss on his ear. "You said save it for the trip, remember." She giggled and buckled her seatbelt.

He smiled and held her hand. "I'm excited, too, Lindie. And I'm sorry again for what I said."

"Then you'll just have to prove it."

Her devilish grin told him she was up to something. "Okay, I'll bite."

"Don't bite, just...kiss me."

"Lindie, keep this up and you'll make me forget all about your probation."

"That would be wonderful."

With the engine still running, he yanked up the parking brake, leaned over and did as she requested. "You taste like peppermint."

"You like? It's the toothpaste."

*****

They settled in for the three-hour ride to Charlottesville. Wyatt drove while Lindie studied one of her textbooks for an upcoming exam.

Wyatt, cruising along I-66, glanced at her book. He shook his head, impressed beyond words, aware that he couldn't even begin to understand how to work all those problems and equations. "You're not smart, Lindie, you're fing brilliant."

Looking up, she said, "Hey, this stuff isn't easy, even for a Mensan like me."

He cracked a smile and nodded, thinking she was just being modest. "So what are you going to do with all that?"

"Teach, I guess, but that would require a few years of grad school to teach on the college level. Or, because my minor is computer science, I might go in that direction. Hard to say at this point."

"Guess you're not interested in doing what I'm doing." He smirked while keeping his eyes on the road.

She chuckled, knew he was being rhetorical. "Not my style. But thanks for asking."

When they exited I-66 onto route 29, Lindie slipped her text into her backpack. "This takes us right into Charlottesville, right?"

"Correct. It won't be long now."

"That was horrible what happened there last August, wasn't it?" She referred to the clash between white supremacists and demonstrators demanding the removal of Confederate statues. She asked him where he stood on the issue.

"Not being a Southerner, I'm not sure I'm qualified to comment," he said. "I do know that Robert E. Lee didn't support slavery. Unfortunately, he fought for the wrong side."

"Makes me wonder where Jefferson's allegiance would be had he lived at the time of the Civil War."

"With Virginia, I'm sure. He was a slave owner, don't forget, and somewhat hypocritical in his denunciation of slavery."

"Yes, but I hope there's no call to remove his statues," she said. "That would be going too far, a case of political correctness gone amok."

He nodded. "No argument here. Next thing you know, they'll demand that we tear down monuments to Washington, including the ones in Baltimore and DC."

Both were getting hungry by the time they reached Charlottesville. Their tour didn't start until noon, so they had plenty of time to grab some lunch. They stopped at Take It Away, a sandwich shop that Wyatt had researched earlier. During the last few miles to Monticello, they heard a disturbing revived weather forecast over the radio. The cold front that wasn't supposed to arrive until nightfall had picked up speed. Meteorologists were now predicting snow by early afternoon. After pulling into a parking space, Wyatt told Lindie that their tour could last more than an hour. That included the short film, the house tour and then a hike around the grounds. They agreed to go for it.

After the film, they joined over a dozen people for the house tour, conducted by a tall, late middle-aged, courtly gentleman with a soft Southern accent. He took them from room to room, giving them a history lesson, one he most likely delivered countless times, one so smooth and voluble that you'd swear he could do it in his sleep. Lindie was particularly impressed with Jefferson's ingenious copy machine (using two fountain pens writing simultaneously) and his lookout where he peered through a telescope to watch the construction on the University of Virginia.

"Wonder what Mr. Jefferson's IQ was," Wyatt said.

Lindie shrugged. "Probably off the charts."

Flurries began to fall by the time the house tour ended. Touring the grounds, they huddled together for warmth. They saw the slaves' quarters, the nailery and the family burial grounds. They wanted to stay longer; however, the snow was starting to come down hard and fast. People were jogging to their cars, brushing their windshields and then pulling away. Wyatt pulled his Mazda into a long line of cars making their way down the mountain's slick surface. Cars slowed to a crawl, some skidding as they went. "A relatively snow-free January and February," Wyatt said, "and now this."

Motorists, frustrated and angry, beeped their horns on a backed-up Main Street. The radio gave them an updated weather report. Snow was falling at the rate of over an inch an hour. Lindie checked the radar on her smart phone. "This front looks like it's going to follow us all the way to Baltimore," she said. "Maybe we should..." She shook her head. Wyatt would never go for what she was thinking.

The Mazda trudged along. "Maybe we should what?" Wyatt said, turning his wipers on full blast.

"Well, I mean, we might get stuck somewhere. So maybe we should...get a hotel for the night."

Wyatt stared straight ahead, watching the torrent of snow now falling. "Maybe we should. First, though, I'd like to at least make it out of Charlottesville."

He did, but it took nearly an hour to do it. Lindie stayed busy on her smart phone, investigating accommodations along their route. They were on Route 29, headed for Lynchburg. Traffic was relatively light—at this point, most people had the good sense to stay home. Still, it was slow going on a road where plows had yet to tread. "There's a Marriott and a few other places there," she said. She called the Marriott and booked a room using Wyatt's credit card. Then she texted one of her roommates to tell her she wouldn't be back until Sunday, if then.

Wyatt plowed ahead. He cringed inside thinking how his supervisor might react. Bad enough he took an offender out of state. Now he was about to shack up with her. Lord help him if Barry ever found out. He'd be looking for another job. The potentially deep shit he had dug for himself had just got deeper, just like the snow.

Lindie was of a different mindset. To her, this wasn't about dire consequences but romance, snowbound with a guy she was growing quite fond of. She looked up at him with her beautiful blue-gray eyes and patted his arm. "I feel so safe with you," she said. "I want you to know that."

Keeping his left hand on the wheel, he rubbed his other hand across her smooth face. "You are safe with me. The question is, am I safe with you?"

She understood right away what he meant. "Wyatt, if it ever comes down to me lying in order to keep you out of trouble, I'll do it. Don't worry, you ARE safe with me."

He didn't feel totally reassured. Not that it mattered now, not with these near whiteout conditions, so bad that Wyatt could barely make out the four-story Marriott's parking lot—or what used to be a parking lot. Close to a half-foot of snow blanketed the asphalt. Wyatt cut the engine and shook his head. "Can you believe this? Stuck in Lynchburg, Virginia with no change of clothes, no toothbrush and no way to get back for God knows how long."

She rubbed his shoulder. "We have each other. Doesn't that count?"

He hugged her, then swung open his door and jumped out. Lindie grabbed her backpack and followed. She started running behind him, then slipped and fell. Wyatt spun around and saw her struggling to walk. "It's—ohmygod, Wyatt, I can't put weight on it."

"I've got you," he said, and then scooped her into his arms, carried her for about fifteen yards to the lobby entrance and pushed open the door. Snow covered their head and shoulders by the time they got in.

After gently lowering her to the carpet, he helped her over to one of the two plush sofas. Two desk clerks were on duty, a man and a woman, both in their thirties wearing black blazers over black turtlenecks. Both looked clean cut, the type you might see in a church choir or at an Amway convention. The woman looked concerned. "Ma'am, are you okay?"

Lindie extended her leg, twisting her foot around. "I think so," she said. "It doesn't appear broken."

Wyatt brushed snow out of his hair and then showed both their IDs to the female desk clerk. "Does your wife need a wheelchair?"

Wyatt and Lindie looked at each other and laughed. Obviously, this woman missed the different spelling of their last names.

The male desk clerk, his short dark hair neatly parted on the side, did notice and chuckled after pointing out the difference to his desk mate. Wyatt filled them in on their situation after they inquired about their luggage. The male desk clerk advised them to grab a couple sandwiches from the hotel's bistro because the help would soon depart.

After receiving the room card, he took the advice, then returned and helped Lindie up. With his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, she hobbled to the elevator. "It's feeling a little better," she said. "Must have just twisted it."

They broke up in the second floor hallway over the desk clerk's error. "I guess if we were married," Lindie joked, "you'd no longer have to worry about your supervisor."

When they entered the room, Wyatt said, "Not bad for a hundred a night." Fully carpeted, it came with a queen-sized bed, sofa, love seat, desk, small fridge, and two dressers. It also had a balcony beyond the sliding glass doors. Wyatt parted the curtains and shook his head. "Fucking March...unbelievable."

Lindie plopped down on the love seat and checked the weather on her phone. "The bad news...we're in for about ten inches. The good news...it's supposed to move out of here by tonight."

Wyatt hung up their jackets to dry, then put their sandwiches in the fridge. He then sat on the edge of the bed facing Lindie who remained on the loveseat, brushing the wetness from her hair. "In his lighter moods, my supervisor would call me a rogue agent on steroids."

She slipped off her shoes, then extended her foot and rubbed it against his calf. "Your supervisor can call you what he likes. To me, you're a hero, my hero."

He shrugged. "How so?"

"By getting us here safe. A little wet but safe. And then carrying me over the threshold, so to speak. "

He felt she gave him way too much credit. He didn't feel like a hero, just a guy doing what he felt was right under unusual circumstances. He thought back to what she said in the car: 'We have each other.' So sweet, so romantic and damn did she look good right now—her hair, damp and disheveled, clinging against her face and on her shoulders; and those eyes, beautiful and full of affection for him, her probation agent of all people.

"You look so pensive right now," she said. "Anything wrong? I mean, besides the obvious."

"Just trying to process the improbability of all this—being snowbound in Lynchburg, Virginia with you. This was supposed to be a daytrip. One of life's many detours, I guess."

Carefully, she rose from the loveseat, stepped forward and sat beside him on the bed. Taking his hand in her lap, she said, "One of life's better detours. At least it is for me, because I can't think of anyone who I'd rather be snowbound with."

"I can't either," he said, taking her into his arms. The floodgates opened and out poured the emotion he'd been feeling for hours but was afraid to express. "I can't fight it anymore."

She pushed him down on the white bedspread. "Then don't. Start believing what I believe, that we'll be okay with this. Now kiss me, please. Just kiss me."

He did, warmly, passionately, and received in return what he could no longer hold back. He hardly knew her, and already he felt himself liking her more than what was probably good for him. The feeling was akin to sliding on ice and unable to brake, exhilarating but scary.

She came up for air and said, "You know, before the night's out, we're going to get naked, and I sure hope you're okay with that."

"Don't you have studying to do?" Her arm went up as if she was going to slap him. "Kidding, just kidding!"

"You better be!" She knew he was joking. She also knew how intense her feelings had grown since they left Baltimore. Sensitive to his concerns, she meant every word about lying for him if necessary.

She necked with him for a while, then did manage to get some studying done before she dozed off for a nap.

Wyatt spent his time watching TV and watching her, so pretty, so innocent in her dreams. He knew she could take care of herself. Still, he felt paternally protective, even a bit like the hero she had called him. No harm would come to her while he was around; and no supervisor, he then decided, would tell him to cease and desist. When she awoke, he bent over and kissed her. "You look so adorable when you sleep," he said.

Arching her back, she yawned, rubbed her eyes, then stretched out on the bed and reached out to him. "And you look like the man of my dreams, heroic and handsome and brave."

He lay beside her, leaning on his elbow. "Hungry?"

She nodded. "A little."

They munched on their sandwiches, washed down with the iced tea that Wyatt had picked up in the café. It was early evening. The snow had eased up and plows were clearing the road and parking lot. Wyatt padded over to the windows and parted the curtains. He saw the plows and even a few cars going by on route 29. "Looks like we'll be able to get out of here by tomorrow after all."

Lindie got undressed, then slipped under the covers. "So let's make the best of the time we have left. Care to join me?" She laughed when Wyatt said he didn't bring condoms. "You can't use that as an excuse, I'm on the pill. Now get over here. My body cries out for you."

He got naked and joined her. "I've never made love to a Mensan before," he said, kissing her stomach.

She brushed a lock of hair away from his eye. "That makes both of us, 'cause neither have I."

And so, in the peaceful darkness of a nearly vacant Marriott on a cold, snowy March evening, Wyatt Nichelsen embraced the beautiful and brainy Lindie Nicholson. His former inhibitions floated away like a feather in the wind. Understandably so, making love to this amazing girl, she with the firm little body and adorable face and honey-like scent and a mind that put her among the cognitive elite. He was living in the moment, this precious moment, unexpected and so wonderful that it made him forget what might happen when he returned home.

"To resist you is futile," he said, his hands exploring the unique contours of her shapely body, his tongue savoring the sweet scent of it, from her pouty lips to her delicious thighs. "You're getting the best of me."

"Oh, Wyatt," she purred, "my hero on this road less traveled."

It should have been awkward; first times with new people normally are. Then, when you add the taboo factor...But no, given the circumstances, they fit together surprisingly well. It got better as the night wore on, a night of wild lovemaking, but also one of tight embraces and sweet kisses and loving phrases spoken in tender whispers. "Perhaps the best twenty-four hours of my life," Lindie said come Sunday morning. "We have to start meeting like this."

"Yes, we have to," Wyatt said. "I just need to figure out how I can do it without getting fired."

They lounged in bed, holding each other until late morning, then showered together before checking out. Lucky for them, the cold front had veered sharply east, and the roads got better as they drove north. They stopped at a diner for breakfast and then arrived in Baltimore in mid-afternoon.

Wyatt pulled up to the Birmingham and parked. "I'm going to miss you tonight." He stroked her face, then kissed her tenderly on the mouth.

"I'll be lucky to sleep at all, thinking about you," she said. "What are we going to do?'

He shook his head. "I'm not sure. Hopefully I'll come up with something."

She left it at that, then entered the townhouse to find Helen and Sally Carson, her other roommate, lounging on the sofa in sweats watching one of the March Madness basketball games. Their school had just beat number one ranked Virginia, prompting Maryland fans that had no previous interest in basketball to watch. "So how'd your overnight with agent Nichelsen go?" Helen said. "Don't tell me you two slept in the same room."

Lindie plopped down on one of the lounge chairs and exhaled. "Same room, same bed. I might be in love."

"You're kidding!" Sally cried, her blue eyes wide with disbelief. A tall redhead that played on her school's volleyball team, she wore a green workout suit with yellow socks and sat with her feet up, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. "I mean, you're kidding us, right?"

Lindie shook her head, then raised her right arm. "No."

"Girl, are you fucking crazy?" Helen cut in. "He's your—"

"I know what he is. He's also one of the most impressive men I ever met. Hey, you were the one who thought he was so hot that day he was here, asking me what I'd do if I met him under different circumstances. Recall that?"

"The key phrase is different circumstances. Look, he's your PO. Are you sure he's not using you, exploiting you?"

"Hardly. He didn't tell me this, but I think a part of him wishes he didn't fall for me as well. This could land him in a lot of trouble."

*****

Nobody knew that more than Wyatt. He walked into the office on Monday morning full of angst. Barry Shaw, his thirty-something supervisor, knew he had gone to Monticello. More than that, he also knew, because Wyatt had told him, that one of his female offenders had purchased tickets for the same day and time. 'Well, if you see her,' Barry had said, somewhat amused, 'that counts as a community contact.'

Barry, wearing dark flannel pants and a red and blue striped tie over a white dress shirt, walked into Wyatt's cubicle of an office. "You got quite a bit of snow down there, didn't you?" He stood in the doorway, leaning his slim, five-foot eleven-inch frame against the doorpost, his arms folded against his chest.

"About ten inches," Wyatt said. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his neck, trying to appear relaxed.

"I heard about motorists getting stuck on the interstates, some involved in pileups. I was kind of worried about you. When did you make it back?"

"Sunday. The snow forced me to crash at the Marriott for the night. Luckily, the storm moved offshore." He forced a smile.

Barry shook his head sympathetically. "Well, at least you got to see Monticello. An amazing place, isn't it?"

"Amazing."

He started to leave, then turned around. "By the way, did you see that offender, that young lady you mentioned?"

Wyatt sat up straight. "Um, actually I did, so I'm marking it down as a community contact in the field notes."

"Yep, that's a legitimate CC all right. Must have been a little awkward, huh?"

"Ah, no, not really. We said hi. That's about it."

Barry asked to see her picture on his laptop, where agents entered their field notes, along with mug shot-like photos of their offenders. "Nice," Barry said, leaning over Wyatt's shoulder as he stood behind him. "Pretty girl."