Reaction (3 page)

Several panicked introductions presented themselves in my mind:
I just ran into your roommate; How are your aunt and uncle doing; It’s so cool and rainy today
; but there was an uncomfortable sense of ease or aimlessness in his manner that made the muscles in my mouth slacken. Why couldn’t the knots in my stomach do the same! And why hadn’t I worn a coat? I was shivering violently.

Gladly, he took the floor. However, I didn’t feel so glad when his next sentence was, “What are you doing here?” Reactively, my face looked to his.

It might have been the long separation, or the yellow fields, or the crisp wet air, but the sight of him standing there, so beautiful, so rugged, so male….

“Um, I just…I was in the area.”
Stupid, stupid!

I thought I saw the corner of his mouth tip, but his bland expression returned a second later.
So much for playing it cool
, I reflected again with a snarl.

His next question was not as abrasive and even sounded sincere, but he was staring off into the distance again when he asked, “You feeling better?”

“I’m good,” I told him, nodding as if to verify the words as a little niggling of guilt hit, weighing me down a bit. It was the same feeling I’d get every time I used to fib to him. I hadn’t remembered that feeling until just now. I reminded myself that as of last week, when he came to visit at the hospital, he knew the truth: there was no “happy” family life, my mother was dead, and my stepfather was a drunken convict. So apart from him knowing I’d kept those secrets from him, there was no reason for me to feel the heaviness anymore.

Looking back, I realized how stupid it was of me to lie. I definitely brought it upon myself. Granted, it surely wasn’t the first time in the world an eighteen-year-old exaggerated to a hot boy about her family life. And really, we hadn’t dated for
that
long. When our relationship had turned serious and it was time to come clean, I was ready and going to tell him. But time is a funny thing. You think it will last forever, but it doesn’t. That time, it was taken away much too abruptly. And now, after almost three years, the lies had become a way bigger deal than they ever should have been.

“You look better than you did last week,” he said.

I wondered how he could possibly know that since his eyes still hadn’t completely met mine. He was right; I certainly had looked gaunt and pale for several days after they’d taken me off the machines. Even now I was still a little underweight, but at least my color was back. I was strong too. And I had never lost my spirit.

“Thanks,” I told him, but he didn’t seem to be listening. He was still staring off to the left toward the house. I decided he was purposely avoiding eye contact to help me feel more at ease. That was so like him. He could always read my emotions; he used to tell me I wore them on my sleeve. Really, I wanted to kick myself in the shin when I realized how nervous I must have seemed with my hands yanking on themselves and my body completely stiff, as if my feet were mortared to bricks.

But anyone could see how electric the air was between us, so rather than be too hard on my shins, I began to coach myself,
Play it cool, Heather. Stick to the game plan. Take it slow, remember?

“Uh,” I picked up quickly before he could say something, “Okay, well, I should probably head back—”

At last, his eyes shifted, holding mine for a moment and then wandering over me in a slow assessment that was too casual to make judgments about. When his eyes finally met mine again, they seemed to pierce right through me, all the way to my center. I’d forgotten how dazzling they were.

For a moment I was caught off guard—wanting nothing more than for him to grab me into his arms and hold me, kiss me to breathlessness, tell me how much he needed me—but I quickly fell back into character and continued, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Guess where I’m living? In a basement apartment right next to—”

My words slowed a second time when he again looked toward the house. This time I couldn’t help but follow his eyes across the distance.

My body jolted back a bit at the sudden sight of someone standing in the big front window of Nick’s aunt and uncle’s home, watching us. The figure was too far away to recognize, but it certainly wasn’t his aunt.

It took a moment, staring toward the house in confusion, before understanding began to sink in, the world beginning to tilt in an odd, awkward, uncomfortable way, the ground beneath my feet not quite so stable anymore.

I transferred my squinting eyes to the golden fields for a brooding minute in hopes they would make it false if it was in fact true. “She’s with you?” I didn’t mean to say the words out loud, but when they came out, I heard their truth. They struck me like a plunge into icy waters.

Of course she’s with him. Why wouldn’t he have someone in his life? It’s been three years. How could I have possibly thought for a second that he wouldn’t? That I could just march back into his life like nothing happened, like everything’s the same, like he’s been asleep for three years too?

A speechless affirmation was his only response.

How had I not known? How dumb could I be?

Though it still didn’t fully sink in, I now knew we were thinking very differently at the moment, were in two different places, were two massive worlds apart. Still, his silent treatment and the insinuated rejection somehow found a place right under my skin. Immature, but all I wanted to say was:
Then why are you wearing my hat!

I stopped myself short, yet couldn’t help ask in the most offhand tone I could manage, “So, are you married too?”

His unsmiling eyes once again caught mine, and for one long and charged moment we studied each other. I almost thought he was going to take me in his arms and lock me up like he used to whenever the joke was over, until he answered, “This winter.”

He could surely see the news sinking in, see the sharp prickles of unchecked emotion. I found myself staring at the dead ground so I figured my neck muscles must’ve given way at some point. The rock sitting there was a safe, neutral object to focus on though; something to secure myself to, when all around me was the disintegration of an already laughable life. Really, the situation would have been pathetic if it wasn’t so hilarious. It would be possible not to fall apart if I could just get myself to concentrate on one thing only: holding back my utter amusement. He’d never seen me completely lose it. He wasn’t about to now. His sympathy would be as unwelcome as the girl watching from the window. Yes, his pity would kill me.

The only thing I could think to do to prevent the chuckles was to bite into my lip. I clamped down with such ferocity I feared I might draw blood. But I had to stop because it was kick-starting my emotions, which were on the verge of congregating in my eyes. My head felt dizzy and I could feel my cheeks turning splotchy from the strain. Laugh? Scream? Leave? Plead? What does someone do when they’re on the verge of losing something they can’t possibly lose? Something they can’t live without? Something that kept them fighting for their life for three whole years? Something that’s more like Heaven than anything on earth.

No. This can’t be happening.

My head remained bent and when I finally went to speak, my voice cracked, “Wow.” And then a few giggles slipped out, causing his eyes to find mine. Quickly I cleared my throat, and persisted, “Congratulations.” My head nodded as if to crank the air with some enthusiasm.
Keep it together
, I told myself. But my throat was clogged with all sorts of emotion. “That will be…and your family…they must be so—” The hitch in my voice came right then. But I fought through it, pushing the words, “They must be so—” My rambling stopped short.

Before I knew what was happening, he’d captured my chin. Softly, his gloved hand lifted my face so that our eyes met. I tried to turn away, tried to see if the girl in the window was still watching, but he prevented me. There was nothing I could say, nothing to do, and nowhere else to look but in his eyes. In them, I was instantly lost.

“It’s going to be okay,” I heard him say, his face holding mine.

His words found an easy path to the part of my heart that needed it most. And the way he said them, with such confidence and peace.

I reminded myself to breathe and assured myself that he was right, he was always right; it would be okay. It would all work out somehow. The engagement could be called off. It happened all the time. Yes, that was what he was telling me. And his hand on my chin, so still, so certain, confirmed this.

But then, in the next thought, I remembered his super-human composure, even in the most complex circumstances, remembered the subtle hints in his silence, remembered the look of uncertainty he used to give when I’d shy away, and then I saw the tiny flicker of regret in his eyes. Suddenly his firm hand wasn’t a declaration of his commitment to
me
, rather to someone else. He was telling me to be strong, to let go, let him go, and to move on with my life without him.

“I better get back to work,” he said, his eyes still fastened on mine.

With my awkward-stiff nod, he let go of my chin. But instead of withdrawing, his hand worked its way down to my naked shoulder. The pad of his gloved thumb stroked lightly along my shoulder blade. Without a doubt, it was a goodbye gesture. But it was also purposeful, provocative; and who would have guessed that a leather glove could cause such a blaze of sensation? Though I told it not to, my tummy twisted in all sorts of loops.

I had never held false notions about my recovery process; I knew it wouldn’t be easy. But while hobbling back to my car, I found myself glancing back to the field as if to suggest him responsible for the chaos not only in my stomach, but also in my head. Yet as my eyes circled to catch one final glimpse of the male figure sinking back into the field—the man who once told me that real love is timeless, the man I’d been fighting for from my deathbed for three intense and unrelenting years and therefore the man I was now doomed to love with a ruthless permanence, a man who wasn’t married
yet
—I came across the home instead, and the female in the window. The farmhouse was close, and the girl was still standing in the middle of the window, watching me.

I turned away fast, but slow enough to catch the warning in her eyes.

Chapter 2

Creed had to lean down when we hugged, and I wasn’t short by any means. I had to remind myself that growth spurts—even huge ones—weren’t uncommon for guys Creed’s age. Keeping in mind that we were both twenty-one now was also a little disconcerting. At eighteen I was considered an adult, but twenty-one’s when I was supposed to
feel
like an adult. I didn’t feel anything close to it.

After the hug on the duplex doorstep, I walked into Creed’s apartment. His roommate was also tall, of Italian descent, an obvious intellectual, and familiar looking. And when he strolled out of his bedroom and joined us in the front room, he was introduced as, “Peter, he works at the aviation school in architecture and design for commercial aviation.” I placed him instantly as a student teacher in one of Nick’s previous architecture classes.

“I think we’ve met before,” I told him. “Last semester—” When my words registered, confusion crossed my face; I hadn’t anticipated a slip like that. “I mean, a few
years
ago—”

“I remember you,” he said. “You used to date Nick Richard’s, right? I haven’t seen that guy in forever.”

I nodded, hoping to dart past the topic.

With a wily smile, he went on, “So, you single now?”

“And off limits to you,” Creed piped in unexpectedly. “I’m serious, man,” he persisted. “I don’t want her thinking the guy living in the house above her, and my roommate for that matter, is going to come on to her every time she comes over. Got it?”

Peter raised his hands and made like he was backing up. “Whoa Turbo, cool the jets. Squeeze a stress ball or something. I didn’t even ask her out.”

“And you’re not going to.”

They were facing each other; not exactly facing off, because anyone could tell that Creed was the only determined one.

Peter continued, “Now that I think about it, didn’t I hear something about Nick getting hitched?”

I flinched, both of them turning to me as if I was the fresh target. “I’m not sure.” I shrugged a heavy shoulder, quietly flabbergasted the conversation was going there. But college towns were like that, everyone knew everyone’s business, especially if you traveled in the same circle, and apparently we did. “I dated him a long time ago,” I added. “And we weren’t even that serious.” It felt good and vengeful to say so, even if it wasn’t true.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched Creed study me with a skeptical expression and I knew exactly what was coming. Creed was just like me; we couldn’t hold in our thoughts if our lives depended on it. All the same, I was surprised and bothered—especially with his roommate right there—when he said, “That’s not how it sounded when you called for him at the hospital a few weeks ago."

My response didn’t skip a beat. “I must’ve been confused at the time. Anyway, it’s no big deal, I don’t even remember it.” As convincing as I could, I smiled casually at both of them and then turned to leave. “Well,” I said to the door, “See you guys later? I’m headed to campus to register for school.”