Wake (79 page)

My hat is the only piece of clothing I remove myself. I push it back with trembling hands and leave it on the counter.

And then I can’t feel her next to me. “Willa?”

“Here.” She’s about to step into the shower. I hear the sound of the curtain rings moving against the bar.

“Give me a second.”

“Take your time.”

It’s a little sad that I’ve done this so many times that I can do it in the dark now: place a patch over my Hickman to keep the water off it. My hands are still shaky, but I manage just fine. And then there’s nothing to do but shower.

I stand outside the tub for a good thirty seconds before Willa reaches around the edge of the curtain and tells me to take her hand.

The second the skin of our palms connects, I want to pull away. I’m not ready to be physically bare in front of her, even in the dark. I feel weak and ashamed and I want to run out of the bathroom and leave this behind.

Her gentle hand pulls me into the tub. Willa is screwing with my inner compass. I’m afraid of her, but she’s the only thing that can comfort me right now. I would push her away, but then I wouldn’t be able to fal into her arms and block out the world.

Neither of us makes any attempt to really shower. We stand under the spray, close enough to feel the droplets bounce off each other and the animal scent of warm breath between us.

“Where do you want my hands?” I’m tempted to tell her to keep them to herself, but I know that’s not what she wants to hear. I reach out slowly and find her arms, and then her wrists. Her hands hang there, relaxed and pliable as she waits for my instructions.

I can’t do it. I don’t want her to touch my naked body. I don’t want to be ‘seen’ in this way. The raw exposure of it overwhelms me, and my throat burns with the threat of tears. Al that keeps her from seeing everything I’m ashamed of is the darkness and a few inches of space. She’s so close, and she knows so much already. To press her body against mine would be to know more, and yet she’s still willing to give me control and space.

I press the backs of her little hands against my mouth. It’s all the intimacy I can afford to all ow her—as if this wasn’t already the most intimate moment of my life. The shower spray disguises the few tears that escape.

“Jem?”

If I answer her I’ll end up in pieces like a nervous wreck.

“I can leave if you want.”

Please don’t leave me alone right now.

She feels me shake my head with the hands I still hold against my face. Even in the dark, it’s obvious how close to the edge of composure I am. I am so…
fucking…
scared. Willa goes up on her toes to kiss the backs of my hands and then says, “I want to show you something.”

Slowly, like she’s trying not to spook me, she pulls our hands away from me and puts them on her. My hand comes to rest on her abdomen.

“Feel that?” She traces my finger along a ridge of smooth scar tissue, almost four inches long. “I had appendicitis.”

My hand gets brushed along her hip as she turns away from me, and then she’s redirecting my hand to her lower back. There are more scars here, scattered like pockmarks.

“I broke a jug and slipped and fell on the shards. Fourteen stitches in all.”

She repeats this recital elsewhere, calmly and patiently. In the darkness, she acquaints me with each and every one of her flaws. Not for one moment do I get the sense that she expects recompense.

“Where do you want my hands?” she says when she has run out scars. I find her wrists again in the dark. This woman will never know her own capacity to move me.

I place her hands on my waist. I know she can feel the way my hipbones jut out for lack of body fat, but that seems less important now. Willa won’t judge me.

I need to give her something, but the words won’t come. I make do with a hand on her chest, slowly tracing the shape of a heart over her breast.

“I love you too.”

I bite down on my lip to the point of pain, trying to hold myself together. My head dips forward until it rests against Willa’s, and I wrap my hands around her neck and collarbone. She’s so small , so warm. I want to tell her how profound this really is, but I can’t; maybe she already knows.

I hold onto her under the spray for a long time. True to her word, she never moves her hands. I can’t thank her enough for that.

“Willa…”

“Shush.”

“You’re beautiful.”

She goes up on her toes to kiss my trembling lips. “If I tell you the same, will you promise to believe me?”

I bite down on my lip again and shake my head. Whatever delusions of my adequacy she might have, they’re borne of ignorance. She didn’t know me before. She doesn’t know what a shell I am of my former self. I’m ugly compared to him, the person I was a lifetime ago.

“One day you will ,” she says with muted confidence. The water is starting to go cold, so she shuts it off.

Willa gives me one last kiss and tells me to wait here.

I start to panic again as she steps out of the shower. Is she going to turn the light on? I hear her get a towel out of the cupboard and gather up her clothes off the floor. The light comes on, and a second later the door closes.

It’s with trepidation that I peek around the shower curtain. Willa is gone, but I can hear her getting dressed in my bedroom. She must have turned on the light just as she stepped out. She was being generous with my privacy.

I know almost instinctively that I will never be able to repay her for today. I’m not sure I want to. Feeling that exposed, that emotionally raw… maybe this is one of those once-in-a-lifetime things, because I don’t think I could go through it again. Not even for Willa.

And yet, I’m glad I had it with her. I couldn’t have had this with anyone else.

*

I take my time getting dressed. Physically I’m no different, but parts unseen are raw and worked over. I turn to sweats for comfort and my softest hat. As I look through my closet for a shirt I hesitate. Willa asked me to wear a t-shirt earlier, and I denied her. It seems silly now to have tried to hide my arms, having just shared something so intimate with her. I fish a t-shirt out of my drawer and put it on.

It’s been so long since I’ve worn short sleeves that it looks a little strange to me. I stand in the mirror for a minute, studying the way my arms look, pale as they are. My new hairs are short and soft, hardly visible unless you look closely, but knowing Willa, she’ll probably notice.

Elise still has her
Harry Potter
marathon going in the front room. I poke my head in, but Willa isn’t with her. I find her in the living room, lounging on the couch with her feet up and a folio of sheet music on her lap. She skims the pages, even though she can’t read music. Maybe I’ll play for her, later. She smiles when she sees me coming and holds her arms out. Her fingers make little grabbing motions like she can’t wait to touch me, and she isn’t wearing her gloves.

“Hi.” I lean over her for a kiss. Her hands go right to my arms, reveling in the bare skin.

“I’m sorry I was stubborn about it, earlier.”

“You’re beautiful.” She grins and pecks my lips. I sit against the armrest of the couch and Willa shifts to sit between my legs. Her back rests comfortably against my front and I wrap my arms around her. I should have been able to give her this upstairs. Orgasms and cuddles are like Oreos and milk—they just go together.

“Thank you.”

“I meant to ask, did it hurt?”

“No,” I whisper. “You were very gentle. It felt…amazing.” I kiss her ear and I can hear her smile.

“Try that when you’re on your own.”

“What? Blowing myself?”

Willa giggles. “I guess you were too distracted to notice my hand.” Without further preamble she turns around and shoves her hand between my legs, pressing firmly on the stretch of skin behind my ball s. “It gives your muscles less room to move, and less opportunity to ejaculate the wrong way.” She kisses my cheek. “It would hurt here, right?” Her fingers trace the line from my groin to my abs, and I nod. “It’s muscular. Months of resting and no sex—ejaculation involves muscle contraction, you know. You’ve got to keep it in shape or it strains.”

“How do you know this?”

“My pervert counselor. Learned all kids of cool stuff about muscles and reflexes.” Willa smiles apologetical y. “I had one hand here, too.” She puts the heel of her hand at the base of my abs, right below the spot that usually tightens and hurts when I come. “Support the muscles properly until you’re back in shape. Try leaning on a pillow or something.”

I take her hands—the small hands that never hesitate to touch me and never hurt me. I kiss Willa’s forehead and tuck her head under my chin. I think about how Ava reacted, how my body would freak out most girls, and know this could have gone horribly. I want to thank Willa for being so understanding and even a little bit pushy, but I don’t know how to say it without sounding corny.

“You’re about to ruin the moment, aren’t you?” she says with a cheeky smile.

“I’ll try to control myself.” I reach for the folio of sheet music she had earlier. “Come on. Let’s play.”

Sunday Arthur is even more of a goofbal today than he normally is. He wants to talk about mothers. Something about honoring the Virgin Mary.

“Let’s discuss the significance of mothers to our lives. It doesn’t have to be a biological mother; maybe just someone in your life who is a mother figure.”

No one really knows what to say to that, which shows how hopeless Arthur is as a group leader. The girl whose brother died in a drunk driving accident says that her mother has been severely depressed ever since. The porn addict’s mom made him come here because Jesus cries every time he rubs one out while watching free amateur video of shaved pussy.

“She escaped her mother,” I say of Willa.

“He’s afraid of hurting his.”

Arthur is in the middle of scolding us for not speaking about our own issues when Michael chimes in: “I think my mom is disappointed with me.” I’ll have to remember to thank him for changing the subject.

Willa and I take off as soon as Group ends. No labyrinth today—we have other places to be, and an arbitrary anniversary to celebrate. We take off to The Circle for lunch, and the restaurant looks even better in the light of day, with the early afternoon sun shining through the tall front windows. Some of the panes are made of stained glass—they throw rainbows on the bookshelves.

Willa and I sit at our usual table—yes, we can have a usual table after only eating here once—and she scoots her chair to the side again. I was so nervous last time I brought her here. It wasn’t a date, but I wanted to show her a good time. I wanted to make her smile and hear all about her life, even the mundane details, and I wanted to do corny date things like play footsies with her. Anything to make her see me as a real guy.

I start making up for that night by looping our ankles together under the table. Our joined hands rest on the edge of the placemat. Willa suggests the tofu spring rolls and I whisper that she looks beautiful. I should have told her that on the night of our non-date too, but I didn’t want to push my luck.

The waitress comes by to take our orders. Spring rolls for Willa, split pea soup for me.

“Happy anniversary.”

Willa obligingly clinks her water glass with mine. “Are you one of those people that needs an occasion to be happy?” she asks.

“No. Just you.”

“You’re such a sap.”

I lift our joined hands and kiss the back of hers. “What do you want to do on the hike today?”

“Anything we want.”

I like the sound of that.

*

We stop at the grocery store to pick up bottled water and snack food for the hike, and then we’re off along the highway. Willa even lets me drive. It’s warm enough that we can roll the windows down. I keep one hand on the wheel and rest the other on her denim-covered thigh. Willa is in her weekend outfit, regardless of the fact that we were just in church. I love seeing her in loose plaid and faded black jeans.

Willa’s hand mirrors mine on my thigh. Her fingertips trace little patterns around the inner seam, teasing me.

“That tickles.” I pull off onto the narrow road, into the bush.

“Does it?”

Once we’re under the cover of trees, out of sight of the road, Willa leans over and starts to undo my pants.

“What are you doing?” I reach down to stop her. She leans down and plants a row of kisses on my thigh, leading up to—

“No, Willa.”

“Would you rather wait until we’re parked?”

Maybe?

“Why is it suddenly always sex with you?” The words sound like more of an accusation than I meant them to, and just like that, her dead look is back. Willa takes her hands off me, sits up, and stares straight ahead out the windshield. Her face is like stone.

I shift into park at the end of the road and shut off the engine.

“No more hiding, remember?” I put a hand under her chin to turn her toward me and she slaps it away with a sudden violence. In a blur she’s out of the car and the rusted door slams behind her. Shit.

I follow her out of the car. “Willa.” She’s pacing around the narrow dirt road, looking pissed off and running her hands along her scalp. “Can we talk about this?”

“Are you mad that I pushed you?” she demands.

“No, but—”

“Or is this more of your stupid clinging to the guy you were before cancer?”

“Willa.” I approach her carefully and lay my hands on her shoulders, trying to contain her. I might regret that in a moment. “I’m not blaming you for anything. But it feels like all you want is sex, and I
need
to move slower than that.”

She has such a strange expression. It’s like she’s sorry and confused all at once. “Emotional cripple, remember?” she says, pointing to herself. “I don’t know how to have a relationship without sex. God, I am fucked up.” She shrugs my hands off her shoulders and paces some more. I don’t want her to beat herself up; not when we came here to have a good time.

“We match then, don’t we?” I don’t think she’s ready to joke, but she hums in acknowledgement.