“Who would have thought a big city girl can play the banjo like that!” I cheer Jane on as her fingers fly over the strings so fast you can barely see them. She doesn’t pay me any heed, her face contorting with every change in chord, she is so concentrated.
“She’s full of surprises,” Bo says, squeezing my feet, shooting me a sweet smile and turning back to the band.
I don’t look at the band anymore, though. Now I watch Bo. I stare at him for a long time. He is smiling, not his usual devilish self, but the relaxed sort that says he is in his element. It’s easy to picture him here, in this place. He belongs in this wild. It’s a part of him.
Goodness but he is beautiful! Fireflies and embers light up his features and I think that I don’t ever want to go a day without this, without seeing his face, without being able to openly look at him this way. Tomorrow I will have to look away, but tonight he’s still mine.
Bo turns to me and our eyes meet and we speak without words. His smile fades slowly as he looks at me. I can feel it, the day coming to an end. So is our time together, our short, barely lived story almost over.
He pulls my face towards him, his warm hand cupping my jaw, his fingers in my hair. Our lips, just barely parted, interlock. It’s a soft kiss. Even when we separate, his hand remains and he puts his forehead against mine.
“I need you.” His voice conveys so much emotion that I know that what he’s asking for is more than something physical. I nod, and though my brain warns me against it, we stand quietly and walk into the house.
I am fully aware that I shouldn’t do this, even as my heart pushes me to take his hand and allow him to lead me through the back doors and up the creaky wooden stairs to our bedroom.
The large space is warm despite the windows that lead to the second story gallery being left open. The filmy white curtains blow in the slight breeze and fill the room with the scent of the fire down below along with the music and other strange sounds unique to the bayou.
I begin to undress the moment I hear the door close behind me, and I turn to see Bo doing the same. I make no pretense at hiding my nakedness from him, baring myself completely in the low light created by a single lamp. There is no reason to cover myself, he has loved every imperfection, every scar and stretch mark.
Bo leads me to the old bed and pushes aside the mosquito netting. I get in and lay on my back, opening my arms and legs to him.
He comes to me slowly, almost carefully. Our eyes connect and I search for something, I don’t know, a hint of the same emotional chaos I am feeling right now perhaps. He’s doing the same with me, searching, asking. His eyes never leave mine when he positions himself at my entrance and pushes himself in, painfully slow.
I take in a breath as he slides in because he’s so deep, not only physically. He’s inside me in a way that I never intended for him to be and he puts me in a hold that I can’t break.
He kisses me then, slowly taking something from me, my soul perhaps. I can’t push him away. I want to tell him to stop. This isn’t fucking. The kisses are too deep, the caress and the thrusts too slow. It feels more intimate than any sex I have ever had. We are making love and beyond anything we have done, this is where I think the truest betrayal lies. But my need for this connection to him is so intense that instead of pushing him away I cling to him more.
He comes inside, his mouth on mine, his fingers entwined with my own. After he’s done Bo rolls over onto his back, taking me with him, all the while he’s still inside of me.
I am straddling him now, and knowing that he’s climaxed already, I take my time simply enjoying the feeling of him beneath me, between my legs. I bend down and kiss him slowly, his mouth, his neck, gently pumping my hips as I do.
His hands rove over my back, my buttocks and legs. He shuts his eyes when I kiss the lids and leaves them closed, a contented look on his face.
I run my hands over his chest, and commit every hill and valley and little freckle to memory. I note the curve of his lips, the length of his eyelashes and the gray hairs that mingle with his black ones in just the right places.
He’s not as hard as he has been, but it’s enough to still keep the connection. I don’t know if it bothers him, this exploration of mine, I’m guessing not since he’s making no effort to stop it.
“You didn’t come,” he whispers.
“I don’t need to. Will you just hold me?” I surprise myself with the request, I’ve never liked cuddling. I climb off him and he brings me down closer to him.
We lay on our sides, facing each other. His breath is warm on my face and he kisses me softly, on my cheeks, my nose, each eye. I let him.
When my mother left my father, I was there as witness. Putting the pieces of his life back together seemed like an impossible task. I love my mother, but it was so hard to understand how she could leave a man like my dad. He loved her beyond anything.
I still remember that day like it was yesterday. She was wearing a flowered dress and she mouthed bye as her cab drove her away to the airport.
Forever I rejected the thought of ever leaving Owen. Even after his affair, I had a hard time with the idea. But now I can see how someone can be blinded, even crazed, to the point of saying the hell with everything! I feel that way right now, laying here the way we are.
For a minute, I entertain the idea of grabbing Mia and leaving, of running away fast and far with Bo.
In a moment of sudden clarity, I jump away from him and out of bed. He looks as surprised as I am.
“What’s wrong, chère?” he asks as I throw on my clothes.
I stop and look at him, so sexy, hair tussled, naked in those messed up sheets, and I say. “I don’t know.” Only I do. Bo consumes me to the point of insanity.
He looks confused when I leave him and head to the kitchen for some cold water and some sense.
17
We have set the alarm for five thirty. The hardest thing about leaving this early isn’t necessarily the waking up part, but the part where I don’t get to say goodbye to anyone. We pack up our belongings as quietly as we can, and I glance longingly into the darkened room before I close the door. We’ve given this old house yet one more story, one more secret for its walls to keep.
It’s so quiet and calm now, everyone gone or sleeping. I leave a thank you note I hastily wrote for Nate and Jane, telling them how much I appreciate that they made me a part of their family for the day. I place it on a long buffet table in the main hallway, but before I walk away from it Jane pops out of the kitchen and grabs it.
“You weren’t thinking of leaving without saying goodbye!” she cries.
“I thought you’d be asleep.”
A very sleepy Nate comes around yawning and rubbing his eyes. “She wouldn’t let me sleep in. I would have been all right not seeing his ugly mug this early. No offense.”
“None taken,” Bo says.
“Nate!” Jane snaps.
“But of course I’m glad to see you off, chère,” he corrects, sounding so much like Bo.
“Aw, thank you. You didn’t have to, but I am so glad you did.” I open my arms to Jane and we embrace. “Thank you for everything. I wish you and your family the best.”
“You promise to keep in touch?”
“Will you send me pictures of the baby?” I whisper
She nods.
“And you know you always have a home here. You’ll let Bo bring you back, won’t ya?” Nate asks.
Jane elbows him, “What?” he complains.
Neither Bo nor I respond to that. I give Nate a hug goodbye and they watch us from the door as we load up and drive away. I wave to them until the house disappears from sight.
* * *
It takes us much less time to get back to the Quarter. It’s always that way with time when you don’t want something to end. We drop off the rental, then walk back to my room.
Bo sits on a stuffed chair while I finish packing up. He doesn’t say much, mostly playing with his phone. I glance his way
occasionally, wondering what he’s thinking. He looks at ease, not bothered in the least, which sort of bothers me.
“Well, I guess I am done. Shall we?” I ask.
“Yup,” he says, grabbing my bag out of my hand. We don’t quite make it to my room door before he turns to me.
“Just once more?” he asks. The luggage is already on the floor, as is my sling bag. His lips are on mine hard and heavy, and he’s pulling off my shirt. “Take it off. I want to touch all of you.”
I comply, yanking at it all. Just once more. Maybe this time it will finally be enough.
The coupling is desperate, needful, at least on my part. We don’t take our time because we don’t have any.
“Tell me you are mine, Cris. Say you are mine. Say it!” His demand takes me aback a little. “Say it Cris,” he pushes when I don’t answer.
“I am, I’m yours.” I say it because we both know it’s true, at least right then it is. God, maybe even forever. And in my mind, I try desperately to freeze time before it’s over, wishing with my entire being that I could.
Both Jessica and Owen said they’d regretted the instant they’d slept with someone else. That they wished it had never happened and tried their best to forget, to put it behind them.
I don’t want to forget. It feels too right and I am sorry that I don’t regret it.
I hold on to Bo with all my might, closing my eyes tightly, recording deep in my mind everything about him. The way he feels, the way he smells. His warmth and the weight of him on my body. I don’t want to let him go. Everything inside screams at me to hold on forever, that this is where I belong.
“Bo,” I whisper. There is a knot in my throat that prevents me from speaking anymore.
He doesn’t say anything, but I feel him shaking and his arms tighten around me. His face is buried in my neck and he is taking deep breaths.
When he finally comes up he looks into my eyes for a long time. He looks pained, like he is feeling the same way I am.
He rolls away and puts his fist to his brow. He’s upset.
“Bo?”
He gets up without looking at me and punches the wall before going into the bathroom. “Fuck!” he curses and slams the door shut.
I am lying there naked, unsure of what just happened. It takes me a minute to muster up the courage to get into the shower with him.
We wash and dress quickly, not one word uttered, and race to the airport.
18
I hate this time of year. It’s not the glitter and gold and red of the Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving, or the winter wear or all the commotion on the streets that brings me down, but the way the sun hangs low in the sky even at its peak. The shadows cast through the brown trees and the chill in the air, it all signals the end of everything that defined that year. Like something is dying and all you have left are the memories to hang on to.
Driving away through the streets of the French Quarter, leaving the wrought iron rails, hanging ferns, music, food… there is a heavy weight on my chest that makes it hard to breathe. I feel like I am leaving a part of my soul behind. Like some part of me is dying.
I look next to me and see Bo, and I know it’s not the winter, it’s not the Quarter that I am leaving behind. It’s him.
He is sitting to my left in the back seat of the yellow cab, looking out the window too, pensive, lost in whatever thoughts are going through his mind. I want so badly to reach out and touch him.
I am not naïve; nor am I blind to my own feelings. I know exactly what I feel for him. I’m in love with him. Beyond anything I’ve ever felt. There is a need for him, everything him, that is bone deep and all consuming. To know that he is going from my life forever…
There is a blaze within my heart, an ache so great I can hardly breathe. Not since Owen’s affair had I felt anything even remotely close to the loss I feel now.
I turn away from him and bite my lower lip to keep from screaming from the agony of it. If only we had met under different circumstances. If only I hadn’t set those boundaries that I now so desperately want to cross. He came into this knowing he couldn’t fall in love, it was only sex, and only for a short time. I did too. At least my head did. If only my damned heart had been in on it.
Bo helps me with my bags when we arrive at the airport, taking my carry-on for me, and we walk side by side to the gate, sitting next to each other while we wait for our flight. Still no word. Is he ready for this to be over?
My heart is both breaking and filled with joy. Breaking for Bo, the man I love and am about to leave behind, to see but never again touch. Filled with joy that I will see Owen soon, the man I love. Strange to say it, but it’s true.
I am not surprised when we are seated on the plane next to each other in one of the rows with extra leg room. Bo had gone up to the counter and I suspected he’d changed my seat.
He gives me the window and I am glad for it. Bo holds my hand as we take off and squeezes it, then lets it go as soon as we are in the air. I stare out into the sky, watching the white fluff come and go, not really seeing at all. In my mind, I am still in the Bayou, still there with Bo, wrapped in him.
The landing is uneventful, with Bo taking my hand once again, then letting go the moment the plane has made full contact with the runway.
He brings my bag down for me from the overhead compartment and we start to walk down the aisle towards the door. I am so sad. It’s all come to such an abrupt end, and without a goodbye.
Then suddenly, just before we reach the front of the plane where the pilot and flight attendants are waiting to thank us for flying with them, I am pulled to a stop.
Bo turns me around and holds me roughly by the arms. He looks so angry it startles me.
“So this is it?” he asks.
I’m genuinely confused by his question. Confused but excited. “I don’t understand. You always knew this was just a one-time thing.”
The woman behind us is clearly annoyed that we’ve chosen this moment to have what should be a private conversation. “Excuse me! You people getting off?”
Bo gives her a look that makes it clear he’s not in the mood. The woman shrinks back, but I can still hear the complaints being mumbled by everyone else in line.
During all the time we’d been together, not once did I see this side of him. Serious, determined and in charge, the carefree Bo is gone.
The male flight attendant, the same one from our original flight to New Orleans, strongly urges us forward. “Please, if you two can make your way.”
Bo pays him no mind. “Fuck that one-time shit, Cris. It was never going to be just one time anything.”
He’s looming over me, his nostrils flaring. It’s a little frightening to see, though the very feminine part of me comes to quick attention.
“But, you agreed,” I say in a mousy voice even I can barely hear.
“I agreed to be with you in New Orleans. I never agreed there would be an end. For almost a year I’ve waited for you, Cris. If it wasn’t because my mother kept me away, I would have come for you sooner. She insisted you were happy and that I would destroy your life. But I knew, I fucking knew, that you were supposed to be with me. I felt it in my gut.”
I’m speechless, standing there hanging on to every word, my mouth open.
I realize then, that the cabin is quiet now. No one is pushing to move forward anymore; they are all as consumed as I am in this deReillytion of love.
Dear lord, he is declaring himself!
I can hardly wrap my mind around what is happening.
“You’ve known since you met me? I didn’t know you’d noticed me.”
“I noticed. Less than five minutes you stood in front of me and I couldn’t get you out of my mind. It was like a picture that blinded me to everything else. I would go over every bit of you again and again, from the jacket you wore on a hot day, to the bun in your hair. You had no make-up on, and I wondered how anyone could be so flawless. You were the most goddamned beautiful woman I’d
ever seen and I wanted you out of my head.
“I tried, trust me I fucking tried. But I knew there was a reason I couldn’t, because you were meant for me. Then you came to me, I don’t know why and I don’t care, but there you were asking me to be with you.”
Someone in the background coughs and everyone looks back with irritation at the disruption.
“I don’t know what to say,” I tell him because it’s true. My thoughts and emotions are all jumbled and torn.
“Don’t say anything. Go back to your life and tie your loose ends, because there is no way in hell I am going to let you go. Not now.”
I stand there as motionless as the rest of the crew and passengers, in complete disbelief, unable to utter a word, when just as suddenly as he stopped me, Bo turns me and pushes me forward.
We continue to walk, too fast, it’s all too fast. I see the end of the walkway and then we are in the terminal and there are hundreds of people racing past us, herding us towards the baggage claim.
Owen is there with Mia. I am still reeling from everything that I can barely register what is happening. My ears are deafened to anything but the sound of Bo’s footsteps so close behind me. It feels like my ears are full of water and everything sounds so far away.
“Mommy!” Mia screams and hurls herself out of Owen’s grasp, running towards me heedless of anyone. She jumps into my arms and I catch her. She is warm and smells so sweet. I had never been away from her for so long.
“I missed you, my little love, I missed you so much!” I tell her.
“I love you, Mommy!”
Owen is there beside me now, and I think I see new lines on his face. He seems so tired. It is so awkward and I wonder for a moment if this is what it will be like from now on. I knew it was a risk.
The Affair: Cristiana’s Full Story Page 16
