Chasing Peace (11 page)

I meet his gaze, something going soft inside me. “I wish you
could stay.”

“No. I think you’re a bit like a rabbit in the woods. If I
sit quietly and don’t make any threatening movements, you’ll eventually come
near. If I come after you, you’ll just run away.”

“I wouldn’t run.”

“Maybe not today, but you’ll run the minute you feel
threatened and I don’t want to be the one who threatens you.”

He’s right and I’m not quite sure how he understands me so
well.

“I’ll see you Tuesday,” I say.

My eyes blink wide as he pulls me close, one hand still
holding mine, the other wrapped around my lower back, right where it curves out
heading toward my shoulders. Time slows. His pupils flare as he leans close, my
lips part, apprehensive and impatient at the same time. I can feel his belt
buckle against my belly, right where my shirt and pants meet, the metal icy
against the heat of my skin.

Our lips connect with a wisp of contact before pulling away.
Our kiss brief and not nearly enough, but I’m apprehensive. I didn’t want to
find Boston appealing, yet he is. My hand shifts up his arm and across his
bicep as our breath mingles, our eyes unite. Boston leans his forehead against
mine, our eyes still ensnared. His are questioning and I want to answer yes.
His nose nudges my cheek, his breath now sighing across my jaw.

My hand pulls against the back of his shoulder, almost
imperceptibly and we fuse together. He pulls me tight, not a lick of air
between us.

I help, using his shoulders for leverage, his jacket soft
and smooth under my fingers. His lips concentrate on my lower lip, tugging and
nibbling, his tongue flicking before tracing the inside edge. My tongue meets
him there, twisting and snapping and undulating as we strain closer, tumbling
into one another.

Boston pulls away, suckling my slick upper lip gently. “I
really … have … to … go,” he says between nibbles, but he doesn’t let go.

My thoughts are circling and random. I want to move away; I
want to stay. I want to invite him in; I want to chase him away. I don’t know
where we are, but I don’t want to be anywhere else. As my thoughts settle down,
I know my feet are hanging free. The press of his body, strength of his arms
and my arms clinging at his shoulders hold me suspended.

“Put me down.” I want it to be a command. Instead it sounds
more like a breathless plea. I’d be giving away the store if I didn’t move away
from Boston so I can think.

Of course he doesn’t drop me or just bend his knees so I can
reach the floor. Instead Boston lowers me by degrees, my body slanted against
his. My breasts squashed to his chest, my nipples scraping on the way down. His
thigh pressed between mine taunts me as I slide to the floor with agonizing
leisure.

“I’ll see you Tuesday.” He grasps my upper arms and leans in
to press a quick hard kiss against my swollen lips. Then he disappears. I don’t
remember the door opening or Boston going out. He may as well have vanished.

Boston walked me from logic to philosophy on Tuesday and
Thursday. He never said anything about that day or that kiss or my plea that he
“love me” from the night before. I didn’t bring it up either. Did I mention I
don’t want a relationship?

I locked the door behind me. It’s Saturday. The crisp lemon
light makes everything it touches a little more bright and cheerful. Today is
football day at Central and I’m going to the game with Boston. I’ve always
enjoyed football. Logan played and I went to his games. One of my mom’s
husbands watched football on Sunday’s like a religion, turning me on to a game
of brute force and finesse, luck and strategy, individual performance and team
success.

Parking near Boston’s dorm, I spot him waiting for me. He
smiles as I approach, although it’s more like a grin. I recognize the wide and
dopey smile and know exactly how he feels. I’m warm inside knowing his smile
looks just like mine.

“Hey beautiful.” His eyes glimmer, brightened by the
sunshine that makes everything a little more clear and sharp. We come together,
our hands grasping like lovers in a movie.

“Hi.” That’s all I got out before Boston’s lips devour mine.
His tongue traces the inner edge of my lower lip before plunging deep. He holds
me close while I try to get even closer, my tongue seeking out his, twining in
dance, yearning for fulfillment.

I lose myself in his kiss without shame although I’m usually
embarrassed by public displays, but I can’t think about that right now.

We stand in place, absorbed in each other and the sensations
we create together while time moves on without us as it does every time we kiss.
A horn honks, breaking into our intimacy. I watch Boston as we pull apart. His
eyes are cloudy and his brow puckered as he looks around.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask interrupting him.

His eyes clear when they land on me. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Smiling and lacing my fingers with his, I pull Boston along
behind me.

“There’s plenty of time you know. Student seating is never
full until the first quarter and my roommate went home for the weekend.” He
wiggles his eyebrows with suggestion.

“First quarter? Pfft,” I say waving my hand in dismissal. “I
don’t want to miss kickoff or even the coin toss.”

“Football fan huh?”

“Kind of. One of my mom’s husbands really enjoyed football
and I sort of got hooked.”

“One of her husbands? How many does she have?” He pulls a
face while asking, with eyes wide and a leer that tells me he’s teasing.

We’d touched on this before and I laugh at what he’s
implying. As far as I know my mom always divorced before marrying the next man.
“Had is the operative word. Mom has had five husbands.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of step dads. Do you keep in touch?”

“Nah, but Mel and I were close. He taught me about football.
The rest weren’t very memorable.”

“Didn’t they help to raise you?”

“Not really. Most split when they found out Mom couldn’t
stop drinking. A couple who drank as much as she did found another woman as
quickly as they’d found her. They moved on, leaving her behind.” I push on my
hand, tension bursting from my wrist although I can barely hear it with so many
people around.

“Mel told me once that in football the ball is the most
important. Keep your eye on the ball, protect the ball and everything else will
take care of itself.”

“Seems like a pretty simplistic explanation,” said Boston,
not yet grasping what took me another stepfather to understand.

“That’s the thing. At ten years old I thought Mel wanted to
keep football simple. Later I understood he was trying to tell me something
more.”

“We should focus on what’s most important.” He grins like he’d
just passed a test.

My heart jumped. “He told me that during the last game we
watched together before he moved out and my mom found a new husband.”

A sibilant whistle came through Boston’s front teeth as he
exhaled.

“Right?” I said. “So now you know my mom’s dark secrets,
what about your parents?”

We slowed, ambling along, others passing us by on the
sidewalk. Finally I stop, pulling Boston over to the side, out of the flow of
people heading to the game. His eyes had lost focus and he didn’t answer my
question. “Boston? Are you okay?” I shook his arm, his body jiggling and loose.

“Huh?” His eyes finally come to mine and focus again.

“Where did you go just now?” I wrapped my arms around his
bicep and pushed off to begin walking again. The soft, cool leather of his
jacket soothed and comforted as my mind raced through the possible reasons why
Boston might have zoned out like that.

“Go? Nowhere.” He shook his head as if clearing his
thoughts, a frown between his brows. “I’m just thinking that my parents’ lives
revolved around my brother and nothing worked out.”

“Maybe he needed them more than you did.”

His voice is distant and soft, “Maybe.” Boston’s eyes stare
straight ahead as he walks fast now with fists jammed into the pockets of his
jeans.

I cling to his arm rushing to keep up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to pry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He slows to a more normal pace as if finally
remembering I’m walking along beside. “I don’t usually talk about it. I guess
it’s still hard.”

I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything.

We arrive at the stadium, passing from the bright, warm
sunshine to the cold dank concourse. A chill floods over me like a premonition.
The flow of people moving like cattle usher us along. Boston knows where we’re
going. He leads the way, keeping his fingers laced with mine so we don’t become
separated.

When we step back into the light, the crisp air and warm
sunshine wash away the tension. We find seats in time to watch the captains
head out for the coin toss and then stand for the national anthem. Boston stands
tall and rigid, saluting the flag. For some reason that made me proud.

Central focused on the ball and scored first. We cheered,
sang, jumped around and enjoyed every moment of the game. Undercurrents still
flowed and we did our best to ignore them.

Boston got hot dogs and soda at halftime. We tried to sing
Central’s fight song along with the marching band, but ended up laughing.
Central won, bringing their record to five and one for the season.

On the way back to Boston’s room I asked, “Did you play
football?”

“Not competitively, just to pass the time.”

“In the Army?”

“Early on, then later there wasn’t time.”

“What did you do later?”

“Ordinance. The Army figured out I can follow wiring like a
roadmap.”

“Wiring?”

“Defusing bombs.”

“Oh my God. That’s dangerous.”

“There was a time I didn’t much care. I suppose that made me
even better.”

“I’m sorry Boston. Is that where you got this?” I paused to
trace the scar near his ear.

“No.” He grinned with a fond memory. “A friend and I were
playing with some black powder we found in his dad’s garage. It didn’t always
explode as we expected.”

“And that makes you happy why?” I felt a little churlish
worrying about the younger Boston taking foolish risks.

“Pissed off my parents.” He smiled and shrugged as if he
hadn’t a care in the world.

“A grab for attention?” Those moments he faded away on the
way to the game made more sense now.

“I suppose maybe.”

Back in his room, we hang out for a couple hours before
work. Sitting on his bed, our backs propped against the wall sharing his ear
buds I go back to earlier in the day. “I’ve never told anyone else about my mom’s
many husbands.”

“I never told anyone I thought my parents’ lives revolved
around my brother.” He ducked his head, avoiding my gaze as he said it. “They
were helping him fight terminal cancer. I shouldn’t be jealous, but I guess I
am.”

Reaching for his hand, I lace my fingers with his, squeezing
and holding tight while bowing my head and peeking past the hair curtaining his
face. It feels like we’re dating and that means I’ll eventually have to tell
him about Emma.

* * *

“Are you happy?” Annie probes as we have lunch together in
the cafeteria.

“I shouldn’t be.” The question pushes me back. I see Emma
before me instead of Annie. Emma’s death left behind an overwhelming sense of
guilt. I smooth the back of my hand, releasing the pressure in my wrist. I
shouldn’t be enjoying myself, yet I am. These past weeks with Boston have been
the best of my life.

“You are, aren’t you?” she crows as if uncovering some great
truth.

“I am.” I can feel the silly grin on my face, my cheeks high
near my eyes. My heart has lift in my chest like a hot-air balloon. “We can
talk about anything or nothing,” I add as if that clears it right up.

We’re sitting together in the far corner, windows on both
sides. Annie’s beaming like a proud parent. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thinking about Boston makes me smile.” I swirl my spoon in
my soup, watching as it disappears and resurfaces amidst the vegetables and
chicken and broth. “I know it’s dopey,” I shrug, hunching low over the table
and ducking my head, “but I can’t help myself.”

“Sounds like more than just happy,” she crows, pointing her
breadstick in my direction. “I knew it. You guys are the perfect couple.”

I roll my eyes, but my smile softens the implied skepticism
of the gesture. “Hey, maybe you can help me Annie.”

“I’m a font of relationship knowledge. I’m sure I can help.”

I cringe at the hard sarcastic edge to her voice. “What’s
the matter Annie?”

“I’m sorry. It’s nothing.” I haven’t seen Flynt in a while
and hearing about you and Boston made me a teensy bit jealous for a minute
there.”

“Flynt? That’s your guy?”

“Yeah.”

“It must be hard being apart?”

“Yeah. What did you want to ask?”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah I’m sure. Now what did you need?”

“Well … we went to the football game on Saturday and Boston
got a little weird when I asked about his parents,” I offer, trying to soften
the subject.

“You know he doesn’t get along very well with his parents,
right?”

“He said something about that.” I wonder for a minute if I’m
spending too much time worried about my own problems to see that he has
problems of his own. “Hey,” my head snaps up. “How do you know about his
parents?”

“We’ve had breakfast together a few times.”

“Oh.” My eyes narrow.

“No need to worry about that. Boston really likes you. He
wouldn’t bat an eye in my direction.”

“I’ll have to pay more attention next time we talk.”

“You know Sterling,” she pauses, waiting for my eyes to come
back to hers. “When you really care about someone, you’re more concerned about
protecting them than protecting yourself.”

“Hmm.” It’s all I have to say.

As we gather our trays and head to the conveyer, my mind
goes to Emma. I cared more about protecting her than protecting myself and
still I failed her. I feel like I’m unworthy of happiness, like I should pine
away, flagellate myself, deny any joy in my life. However, when I cry,
overwhelmed by sadness, missing Emma with every molecule of myself and feeling
as if my heart is broken, clenched in a massive fist and squeezed until I can’t
breathe, I feel like Emma is sad too.

Our feelings often matched, happy together and sad together.
Emma would like me to be happy and right now Boston makes me happy. Boston
deadens the voices and feelings and beliefs that haunt me.

* * *

“On a day like today, I almost don’t need coffee.”

Boston laughs at my declaration as he pulls open the
sandwich shop door. “We could always skip it.” He smirks, leaning against the
edge of the door while holding it for me.

He knows wild horses can’t pull me from my daily java
addiction. I didn’t like coffee before Boston. He turned me on to the many
nuances of great coffee. Now I’m hooked.

“I said almost!” Laughing up at him, I pass from the crisp
autumn sunshine to the dim interior.

Boston’s eyes crinkle as I go by; his pupils flare, a grin
pulling at his cheeks.

It’s Halloween and for the first time in several years I
feel like I might enjoy the holiday. I’m not dressed up, but I’m not hiding in
my home trying to avoid the parties and revelry either. The last Halloween I’d
dressed in costume had been a day from hell. Today I’m buoyant with warmth and
lightness bubbling up from within. Halloween doesn’t feel quite so sinister now.

We order our coffee at the rough-hewn counter, and Boston
laces his fingers with mine as we step aside. “Annie and Julie are here. Let’s
go say hello.”

I might have objected if I were paying attention to anything
other than Boston. Instead I let him pull me between tables, skirting occupied chairs.

“Hey guys.” He leans in, kissing Annie’s cheek before moving
to kiss Julie too.

It makes me feel a little weird, especially because he’s
never greeted me with a kiss to the cheek. I’m not quite jealous, but I could
be.

I smile at Annie, and she shrugs tossing her head back as if
to say I shouldn’t worry about it. Boston pulls away from Julie, and as I look
back to say hello, my stomach drops as if slipping over the edge of a water
slide, except my mouth goes dry too.

Blonde curls behind her left shoulder look so much like Emma’s
that I’m frozen, forgetting for a minute that Emma is gone. The curve of her
cheek, the tilt of her head, the jacket that’s not Emma’s, but could be. That’s
the funny thing I’ve discovered about college. Life here operates in its own
realm, isolated from the rest of the world so that I can almost forget the
agonies of my past, the reality that exists in the world outside.

My gaze moves back to Julie, and she smirks at me like the Grinch
ready to snatch away my greatest pleasure and, of course, I believe it. History
has taught me to believe it.

I can’t force the words past my tongue dry as the autumn
leaves skittering around outside. Instead I nod, feeling less than confident.
My arms creep around my middle hugging myself as if in self-preservation.