The Law of Moses (14 page)

“So let the wall of sound fall down around you.” Gigi was speaking directly into my ear, yet I could barely hear her, as if we, too, stood inside a waterfall that was so loud all other sound disappeared.

I let myself get lost in the sound. Lost in the best way. Freed from myself, from my head. From the pictures.

I saw those towering walls of water held back by the hand of a God who could do all things, a God who had done as one Moses asked, long before I lived. And I asked Him to do it again. I asked God to release the water. And Molly disappeared completely.

Georgia

MOSES STOPPED GOING to school for good after the cops pulled him out of class because of the painting he’d plastered under the overpass. I stayed away from him for four weeks. For almost a solid month, I kept my distance. And he never sought me out. I didn’t know why I thought he would. But there were rules about this kind of thing, weren’t there? You didn’t have sex and then never call, never come by. You didn’t take someone’s virginity in the most epic, earthshattering way and go about your business. Or maybe he did.

But I knew he had felt what I felt that night. I knew he did. I couldn’t be the only one. And those feelings were wearing me down. The desire, the overwhelming need to do it all over, to let him cover me and make me do all the things I had sworn I wouldn’t do again was getting the best of me. I was absolutely miserable, and the Wednesday before Thanksgiving I couldn’t stand it anymore. I drove to the old mill and found his jeep, parked up close to the old rear entrance. He had to be about done with the clean-up he’d been hired to do. But he was here now, and I scribbled a note on the back of a service check-up I found in the glove compartment of Myrtle and I wrote –

Moses,

Meet me at the barn when you’re done.

~Georgia

I didn’t want to sign my name, but I wasn’t even confident enough to assume he would know it was me without my signature. Then I put the note under his windshield wipers, the words facing down so that if he missed it when he came out, he could almost read it right through the window, sitting in the driver’s seat.

Then I scurried back to my house, made sure I smelled like roses with fresh breath and clean undies and I tried not to think about how pathetic I was, how disappointed I was in myself as I put a little mascara on my lashes, staring into my own eyes, purposely not seeing myself.

I waited in the barn for an hour. My dad came out once, and I almost gave myself away, turning with a huge grin only to see him instead of Moses. I was instantly filled with terror that my dad would know something was up and disappointment that Moses still hadn’t come. There was a storm coming and as the weather turned colder, we often brought the horses in for the night. Lucky and Sackett, along with Dolly, Reba and Merle—the horses my parents used exclusively for equine therapy—were cozy in individual stalls, all of them brushed down and better groomed than they’d ever been. They gave me cover, and my dad fell for it. And I felt like a harlot when he headed back to the house, not a worry in his greying head, thinking his tomboy daughter was safe from the neighbor boy. Sadly, I probably was. But he wasn’t safe from me. And yet, there was not enough shame to make me leave the barn.

He didn’t come. I waited until midnight and finally wrapped myself in one of the blankets I’d spread over the straw, blankets I told myself we could sit on while we talked. And I fell asleep alone in the barn.

I awoke to the sound of rain against the tin roof, warm, comforted by the stirring of the horses and the smell of the clean straw beneath the blanket that had come loose while I slept. It wasn’t especially cold. The barn was cozy and sturdily built, and I’d flipped on the space heater before I’d succumbed to sleep. The light above the door was just a bare bulb, and it threw a mellow light across the floor as I opened my heavy lids and considered staggering to the house and crawling in bed or just staying put. I’d slept in the barn before, many times. But those other times I’d brought a pillow and I wasn’t wearing a lace bra that cut into my sides and jeans that were a little too tight to substitute for pajama bottoms.

It was when I sat up, shaking straw from my hair, that I saw Moses, just sitting in the far corner on a low stool my dad used for shoeing the horses. He was as far away from the horses as he could get, and thankfully, none of them seemed especially alarmed by his presence. But I was, just for a moment, and I let out a startled squawk.

He didn’t apologize or laugh or even make small talk. He just eyed me warily, as if watching me sleep was what I had summoned him for.

“What time is it?” I whispered, my voice scratchy and my heart heavy. He just made me feel so damn heavy.

“Two.”

“You just got home?”

“No. I went home. Showered. Went to bed.”

“You’re sleep walking, then?” I kept my voice light, soft.

“What do you want, Georgia? I kind of thought you were done with me.” Ah. There it was. A flash of anger. Quiet, brief. But there. And I reveled in it. My mom always said negative attention is better than no attention at all. She was usually talking about foster kids who acted out. But apparently it also applied to seventeen-year-old girls who were in love with boys who didn’t love them back. That thought made me angry.

“Do you love me, Moses?”

“No.” His response was immediate. Defiant. But he stood and walked toward me anyway. And I watched him come, my eyes roving over him hungrily, my heart a huge, needy knot in my chest.

I didn’t argue with him because I knew that’s what he was going to say. And I had already decided that I wouldn’t believe him.

He squatted down beside the square bales I’d turned into a love nest. But he said he didn’t love me, so maybe my bed needed a different name. I laid back down and pulled the blanket around my shoulders, suddenly chilled and incredibly tired. But he followed me, hovering above me, his arms braced on either side of my head as he watched me watch him. And then he closed the distance and kissed my mouth chastely. Once, twice. And then again, not so chastely, with more pressure and more intent.

I breathed deeply and wrapped my hands around his neck, bringing him into me. I soaked in his scent, the sharp tang of paint mixed with soap and the red striped, candy mints his grandma kept in a bowl on the kitchen table. And something else too. Something I had no name for, and it was that unknown part of him that I wanted most of all. I kissed him until I could taste it in my mouth and when that wasn’t enough, I pulled it through the palms of my hands and the brush of my skin against his as he moved his mouth to my neck and whispered in my ear.

“I’m not sure what you want from me, Georgia. But if this is it, I’m willing.”

Georgia

WHEN THE SUN STARTED to push pink fingers against the little barn window that faced east, Moses rolled away from me and started pulling on his clothes, his eyes on the window and the dawn. It was November, and the sun rose sluggishly. It had to be after six. Time to go. My parents would be up and about soon, Mom probably already was. Thanksgiving dinner was a big job. Moses and I hadn’t spoken much in the hours he’d stayed with me. I’d been surprised that he’d stayed at all, even sleeping for several hours before waking me again with kisses and warm hands, convincing me there was no way I could ever live without him. He had stayed silent throughout, and his silence now was almost more than I could take. I wondered how he’d learned to push the words away, to drown them, to not feel them pounding against his head and his heart, begging to be spoken. I told myself I could do it now. I could be as quiet as he was. At least until he left the barn. But as he walked toward the door, the words broke free.

“I think you do love me, Moses. And I love you back, though it would be easier not to,” I said in a rush.

“Why would it be easier not to?” he shot back quietly, as if he hadn’t told me he didn’t love me without hesitation. He could say he didn’t love me, but he didn’t especially like being told he was unlovable.

“Because you think you don’t love me. That’s why.”

“That’s one of my laws, Georgia. Thou shall not love.”

“That’s not a law in Georgia.”

“Not this again,” he sighed.

“What would make you love me, Moses? What would make you move to Georgia?” I waggled my eyebrows as if it was all just a big, funny joke. “I’ve told you I would go red. I told you I would let you in my head. And I’ve given you everything else I have.” I felt my voice catch all of a sudden and a flood of tears rushed toward my eyes like a dam had burst with those words. I turned away immediately and busied myself with folding the blanket that now smelled like him. I folded and straightened and then pulled on my boots while Moses stood frozen, six feet away. At least he hadn’t left, though part of me wished he would.

“You’re upset.”

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

“That’s why I have that law,” he whispered, almost gently. “If you don’t love, then nobody gets hurt. It’s easy to leave. It’s easy to lose. It’s easy to let go.”

“Then maybe you should have had a few more laws, Moses.”

I turned my head and smiled at him brightly, not sure if I was pulling it off. My nose stung and I was guessing my eyes were too bright. But I chattered on with forced cheer.

“Thou shall not kiss. Thou shall not touch. Thou shall not screw.” But I didn’t say screw. I called it like it was, as much as it felt like acid on my tongue. It wasn’t that to me. It was love, not sex. Or maybe it was both. But at least it was both.

“You found me, Georgia. You chased me. You wanted me. Not the other way around,” Moses said. He hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t even sound upset. “I didn’t break any of my rules. You broke yours. And you’re mad at me because of it.”

He was right. He was absolutely right. And I was so wrong.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” I said quietly, not daring to look at him. “You and Kathleen are coming over for Thanksgiving, right? We eat early so we can eat all day.” I was proud of myself for my composure. I despised myself for not kicking his ass.

“Yeah. Eleven, right?”

Small talk never felt so fake. I nodded and he waited, watching me. He started to say my name, and then he sighed and turned away. And without another word, he left the barn.

“Sunrise, the smell of straw, Thanksgiving dinner, a hot shower, a new day.” I whispered my list of greats, trying not to let the tears fall, trying not to think about what came next and how I was going to get through the next few hours.