Lighting the Flames (18 page)

And she got to watch
Jeremy walking. She knew wine was affecting her thinking a little,
but it didn
’
t seem like such a bad idea to look at him as much as she
wanted. And she wanted. A lot.

It was so dark she
couldn
’
t see much of him. The moon was hiding behind low clouds
that made everything, even the sound of their breath, more quiet.
They hung in the sky, fat and thick, so low she thought she could
reach up and touch them. She could barely see the puffs of white
each time Jeremy exhaled. Her own breathing was faster than normal.
It was a straight-uphill climb to their cabin and it always made
her breathless.

The path Jeremy followed took them to the back door,
and they left their parkas, boots, and scarves draped over folding
chairs and across hooks on the wall so everything would dry by
morning.

The absence of any
light inside and out made it seem like the middle of the night,
except that Gen knew it wasn
’
t much past nine.
There were no lights from the city to reflect off the belly of the
clouds. There were few lights on at camp, either. It was quiet and
still, the loudest sound that of her own heartbeat.

Everything seemed unfamiliar. Even Jeremy seemed
unfamiliar. And new.

She watched him rub one hand over his head, ruffling
the hair that had been pressed flat beneath his cap as he stepped
easily over the puddles on the floor. She had to leap over the cold
water and chunks of snow melting around them, and when she jumped
toward him, he caught her, one hand on her arm, the other on her
waist.

Gen looked up at his
face, familiar and different, so similar to the person
she
’
d known for years, so different now that he had a beard and
led services and knew what he was doing, and even more different
because he
’
d kissed her, and she
’
d kissed
him.

She looked closer. He
had little creases by his mouth that she knew
weren
’
t from laughter. Was he stressed out? Was work bothering
him? She wanted to reach up and trace the curve near his mouth with
one finger. Was she was the reason he looked a little
unhappy?

He let go of her
without a word, and she followed him to the front room. Within
minutes he had a fire going, and she sat on the couch, her heels on
the edge of the cushion, her chin resting on her knees. She
wasn
’
t drunk, but she wasn
’
t sober. Her thoughts
slid into one another like little kids on ice skates.

“
Cold?
”

She looked up at him
and shook her head with a smile.
“
Thankfully, no. I
should drink wine all winter.
”

He laughed.
“
Not sure
how good for you that would be.
”
Then his face changed and he looked
down at the floor for a moment.

“
What
’
s wrong?
”

“
I,
uh
…
I
have a candle up here. For you. I know the one you lit earlier is
in the dining hall, but I brought one for you. I know
you
’
re not supposed to light one after the Shabbat candles, but
I thought you
’
d
—”

“
A
yahrzeit
candle?
”

He nodded.
“
I thought
maybe you
’
d want one here, too, in the cabin.
”

“
You
brought me a candle?
”

He nodded again.

She stared at him, and
then, slowly, nodded back.
“
Yes, please.
I
’
d
like that.
”

The candle he brought
didn
’
t look so different from the one she
’
d lit in the dining
hall, which would spend the night on the stove, where it could burn
all night without any risk of accidental fire. The cabins were
different, and she
’
d have to blow it out before she went to bed, but
having the light with her, having a candle that meant
he
’
d
thought about how she might feel
…
it was like
he
’
d
brought her blankets and warm socks.

He held the glass in his hand while she lit the
candle within, then put his arm around her, holding her against him
as the flame moved over the wick and the light grew between
them.

“
I
already said kaddish during services.
”
Her breath stirred
the flame as she took the glass in her hands.

“
You
want to say it again?
”
His voice was rough and low, but
moved over her softly.

She nodded. And when
she began the first lines of the mourner
’
s prayer that she
knew as intimately as her own breathing, his voice joined hers,
their murmured words entwined into one sound that surrounded them
both.

He took the candle
from her hands and put it on the stone shelf above the fireplace,
and then lowered his other arm so that it rested around her
shoulders. It took Gen a moment to realize that
she
’
d leaned into him, become almost absorbed into his embrace.
The grief she had expected to feel didn
’
t come. Looking up at
the flickering light, her head resting on Jeremy
’
s chest, she
didn
’
t feel anything but safe, and warm, and curious.

Eventually they moved to the couch, and Gen curled
her legs in front of her while Jeremy sprawled out with his feet
toward the fire like he usually did. But instead of looking at the
flame on the mantel or the fire in the hearth, she watched him. He
watched the fire, and she watched his face.

She
hadn
’
t had that much wine, but she
’
d had enough to
recognize it was the reason she didn
’
t want to look away.
It removed the familiar lines between them and dissolved the
boundaries that kept him at arm
’
s length. The wine
loosened the division that came with their friendship, but even
better, it destroyed the brittle, awkward tension that since
they
’
d kissed had come to rest on their years of familiarity and
locked her into patterns of behavior that didn
’
t fit
anymore.

“
What do we have going on tomorrow?
”

“
It
’
s Shabbat, so not much,
”
she replied.

“
I
put some sleds at the top of the hill, so if people want to go
sledding, the equipment
’
s already there and
no one has to carry it.
”

“
That was good thinking,
”
she replied around a yawn.
“
A few of
the families are more observant than the others.
”

“
And
there
’
s late wake-up tomorrow, too.
”
He closed his eyes
and tipped his head back against the wood frame of the
sofa.

“
Best part of Saturday.
”

He smiled in response, his eyes still closed.

So Gen looked without
stopping, without chastising herself, almost without blinking. She
didn
’
t want a split second of interruption. The light played
over his features, highlighting one, then another. Maybe watching
him intently would be like staring at the flames in the fireplace,
and his face would appear in the darkness behind her lids when she
closed her eyes.

The glints of gold and red in his beard were
fascinating, and she stared at his lips, wondering again, was he
stressed? Was something bothering him so that the lines near his
mouth were tense and deep?

“
What?
”
He looked at her, one brow raised.
“
Why are you staring
at me? Do I have icing on my face?
”
He ran one hand over
his beard, wiping his mouth.

Rushing through the now-absent boundaries that
usually held her back, she reached out one hand, and touched his
face.

He froze.

Her fingers stroked down his cheek, and she dropped
her feet to the floor so she could move toward him. He stayed
still, eyes open. She moved closer, stroking her hand over his
beard, then into his hair.

His mouth opened, maybe to say something that would
stop her, but she stopped him first by kissing him.

A beat, a breath
later, he pulled her onto his lap. She fit entirely within his
arms, curled across his body. Both her hands were in his hair and
she didn
’
t plan to stop kissing him until she no longer needed to
breathe. Maybe not even then. Their kiss was fire and heat sliding
between them, followed by the overwhelming rush of feeling his lips
move over hers. His hands moved across her back, into her hair,
pulling her closer so that more of her body touched his. Then he
tipped his head and the slant of his lips lit her from
within.

His chest, his arms, everything she could reach and
touch and feel, was hard and hot. But his clothing, his hair, the
way he held her, was soft, and she wanted to run her hands over his
skin and explore every contrast, like mapping a trail so she could
find her way back.

Then she felt a shock
of cold air against her face. He
’
d moved away. She
opened her eyes and saw his look of horror. An even worse burn
moved over her face, the shame and flush of humiliation.

“
Gen, I
…”

She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting him, and
she saw him fixate on her mouth. He frowned, a furrow between his
eyebrows. Then, dark tension descended over him and she knew he was
upset.

She started to climb off his lap, and he let her,
but then he took her hand and pulled her toward him so her face was
closer to his. She stiffened, unsure.

“
Gen, you have no idea, none at all, how much I
don
’
t want to stop.
”

She held her breath.

“
But
I don
’
t want you to kiss me because you had something to drink. I
want you to
…
because of you.
”

The burn grew worse,
and she was pretty sure her hair was going to turn from brown to
bright red any minute. He was right. It was the wine. But also,
it
wasn
’
t
. The wine
wasn
’
t in her way, or guiding her actions. The wine got her out
of her own way.

But before she could explain that to him, he kissed
her cheek, close, so close, to her mouth, and whispered good night.
Then he stood and went into his room.

A moment later, she heard a small click.

He
’
d locked the door
between their rooms.

The sound of it echoed in her chest until the fire
burned down to ashes. She blew out the candle in the jar, went into
her room, curled into her sleeping bag with the fabric over her
head, and finally, after staring into the black darkness that
showed her nothing, she fell asleep.

Chapter
Six

Saturday, December
20, 2014
—
28 Kislev 5775

Shabbat
—
fourth night of Hanukkah

Saturday
morning
’
s late wake-up was perfect for almost everyone. A thin
layer of snow had fallen overnight, and clouds remained in the sky.
The morning light was dull and easily ignored in favor of an extra
hour of sleep.

The staff cabin was quiet when Gen opened her eyes.
She knew Scott was probably somewhere else in camp. But Jeremy
could sleep through anything, including Scott jumping on his bed to
wake him up. Maybe he was still asleep.

After a
moment
’
s hesitation, she stood up and tried to open the door
between her room and Jeremy
’
s to see if it was
still locked.

It
wasn
’
t.

But the room was
empty. His bed was made, which was weird, and his clothes were
piled near his duffel bag, as if he
’
d made a
semi-organized gesture toward the idea of packing.