“A hundred years ago…” I glanced at the tent to make sure that Will was indeed asleep. I cast Reid an uncertain sideways look but welcomed the change in subject. It appeared Reid felt the same, for the intimate vulnerability hovered as thick as the fire’s smoke, consuming us both.
He rubbed his chin. “I’ll keep it clean.”
“Sure, why not?” I shifted on the log.
He sipped his coffee. “Truth or dare?”
I shook my head. “What, are we twelve?”
“I spy?”
I gave him another look. “Finn loves that one.”
“Okay…spin the bottle?”
I laughed now, nearly snorting my coffee. “You don’t know any campfire games, do you?”
He smirked. “No clean ones.”
A strange sense of déjà vu lingered around the edge of my mind, and it caressed my spirit as I smiled involuntarily. The movement of those underused muscles around my mouth was foreign, and I winced, but that was from the soreness in my cheek. Reid had made me smile more in this past week than I had smiled in a year. Our indecisiveness reminded me of a Saturday night when Harrison and I were flipping through the lame offerings on TV to find a movie we both agreed upon. Sometimes we’d spend more time looking for something to watch than actually watching it.
I saw where Reid was going with this. I had my own assessing to do. “What do you miss while you’re on walkabout?”
He ran a hand through his thicker hair. “Walkabout?”
I grinned, subtly weaving a few fingers through my own tousled locks. I missed my hairdryer. “Aging myself from outdated movies.” I lifted an eyebrow.
“Well, I’m old then, too. Dated but entertaining movies about Australian walkabouts and large knives. Remember that?” He flashed a smile.
I nodded. “You’re not getting out of this question, Mr. Gregory.”
“Diversions don’t work on you, do they?”
“Nope,” I said.
“Okay, I miss reading the newspaper comics.”
“The comics, huh? No crossword puzzles or, or…”
“Deep thought-provoking articles at breakfast? Nah. I do love to read those types of books, but a guy’s gotta have fun or he goes mad with all that philosophizing and prophesizing.”
I rubbed my chin in feigned examination, pulling my best detective voice as the caffeine from the coffee kicked in. “The classics or new comics with twisted political bents?”
“Classics of course. The goofier the better.”
We shared an understanding smile. Lord, a smile felt damn fine. I sighed. “Newspapers age us, too.”
“Yeah, but who cares? Okay, your turn.”
“Me? Oh.” I licked my lips. “What I miss?”
“Yeah.”
“I miss coffee in the morning. Well, rich, creamy, dark-roast coffee.” Brought to me by Harrison, I wanted to add. “I miss tucking the boys in bed each night with a story. Writing. Going on daily walks along the shore near Portland Head Light and in Fort Williams Park and, oddly, the sound of the foghorn. Will keeps a daily tally of its blares. The few days it was under repair and didn’t sound—oh, that was quite eventful in our house!” What else did I miss? Most were disenchanting. I missed Harrison. I missed my Finnie. I missed the daily calls with Patsy before the accident when we’d talk about gardening or Will’s latest achievement. I missed my former life.
I changed the subject quickly before I traveled down that path. “Tell me about your sister. She works with special-needs kids?”
“Yeah. She’s the younger of us two. She was always set on a path to teach. We have a cousin with Down Syndrome, and she was fondly attached to him when they were kids. I think that led her on that career path. I took a few education courses myself and helped in her class a bit before and after my tours. She’s the one who got me reading the philosophical texts of Lewis and his gang.”
“She sounds like an amazing woman. I’d love to meet her. I hope you can find her when we get to Colorado.”
“Me, too,” he said.
“You’re the older one, huh?”
“Yup, and I’m also a Junior. Named after my dad.”
“Interesting. How about we play two truths and a lie?” I suggested. “You need to pick the lie.”
He smirked. “Okay.”
“I used to play it during my girls’ nights. Those were the good days. When four of us moms needed a break from the kids and husbands, we got together at one of our houses to eat, laugh, and unwind.” I sighed, twirled my hair, and said to my surprise, “Those nights seem so distant now.”
Silence had crept back into our conversation, and I worried I had overshared when he said, “That sounds clean enough to me. I’ll go first.” He pondered for a moment, clearly taking the game suggestion seriously. “Okay…”
He looked me straight on, his proximity unnerving. He was so close I could smell him. And he smelled enticing. I liked his mixed scent of spice and sweat.
“My uncle was a Mexican senator. I have four tattoos. I can knit a darn nice scarf.”
I belly laughed, and my ribs ached from Dennis’s kicks. “Jesus,” I said with a grip of my side.
“What?” His mouth twisted wryly with jesting astonishment.
I waved a hand. “I never took you as a knitter.”
“My mom taught me.”
“I’ll say the tattoos.”
He leaned forward and splayed his arm as he rolled up his sleeve. “Just the two tats. I guess the uncle was a given?”
“That was too easy. Ah, well. The Senate?”
The final shafts of sunlight got lost in the trees around us and shadows danced upon Reid’s face. “Yeah. He saw the corruption in the Mexican government, and he urged my mom to move to the United States. Your turn.”
I tapped a finger on my thigh. I had forgotten how hard this game was. How personal it could get. I sipped the last drops of my coffee, which was now cold but was still better than electrolyte drinks. “Okay, me…I’ve gone bungee jumping. I’ve toilet-papered a car. I’ve taken belly dancing classes.”
He pretended to deliberate. “Toilet paper?”
“Nope.”
“Really? A woman named Allison Jessica couldn’t possibly have—”
I laughed. “College. Peer-pressure. And it’s Audrey Jane,” I relented, finally giving him my full name.
“Shoot, never would’ve guessed that.”
We shared a smile.
“Audrey Jane,” he repeated, my name falling off his tongue, smooth and melodious. “Belly dancing?” he asked.
“Yup.”
Sleep enticed me, but the desire to continue our conversation kept me firmly planted on the log. Besides, I was having fun. God, how I’d missed conversations that didn’t revolve around IEPs, behaviors, demanding jobs, or…other things.
“You like to jump off bridges?”
“Hell, no. It was terrifying. Honeymoon in New Zealand. Queenstown is the adventure capital of the world, after all. Harrison wanted to do it.”
Reid poked at the fire. “Okay, me again…let’s see…I’ve read all of Shakespeare’s plays.” He paused and licked his lips, then drew them in thoughtfully. “I was married once. I think you have the prettiest eyes.”
I swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Oh, gosh, now I missed my hairdryer and flat iron. “That’s a lot of plays.”
He gave me a charming look. “I read all the greats, don’t I? Thirty-seven plays to be exact. Lily sent me a bunch while I was overseas. Had to start with the classics, right?”
Heat flushed my cheeks, and it wasn’t from the fire. “Such serious reading.”
“Hey, I’ve got my comics to prevent me from becoming too dour.”
An awkward giggle escaped my lips. “No wife, huh?”
“Nope.”
I chewed my bottom lip. “A shame. You seem a good catch.”
“You do have soulful eyes,” he said, sharing a look with me longer than was casuall
y comfortable.
I shifted my weight but didn’t move away. I muffled a tight laugh and swatted his thought away. “You’ve got a knack for changing the subject.”
“Eyes tell a lot about a person’s journey.” He moved closer to me. Only an intimate inch remained between our hips.
“I knew this man, Aubert. He was French-Algerian, a coworker of mine when I worked full time before the kids. He flirted with me like mad. He was older than my father,” I said, not looking at Reid. I traced a finger over the subtle woven pattern in my faded jeans. “He loved my eyes.”
Lord. I edged away from him. I distracted myself with stoking the fire. “He was still with the company although he didn’t do much research anymore. He was long past retirement. Anyway, he would roam the halls all day long. He’d visit me daily, poking his head into the lab. He told me I had that classic look about me. Mostly my eyes. Silly, I know.” I drew my gaze to Reid and stuck my chin out, swallowed the dryness in my mouth, and said, “What do my eyes say?”
I expected more flirtation. I was giddy with fatigue and the bottoming out that came after the adrenaline rush. I was spent. The coffee had done little to revive me. My cheek ached.
He slid closer and placed a hand on mine and squeezed. “I see a strong woman who has been hurt deeply. I see a resilient mother who would journey through hell for her children. I see somebody who has become jaded and has trouble trusting, unable to sort through friend and enemy. I see a woman with hope.” He held my gaze. “And I’d like to be your friend, Audrey Jane.”
My jaw may have dropped. I wasn’t sure. I recovered quickly. Or at least I tried. “You’ve been talking with my therapist, haven’t you?” God, I was teasing him. I was joking. I was like Will. Will always got goofy with his peers in social situations when he didn’t know the expectations, or how to behave.
Either way, Reid didn’t laugh. Thin lips pressed into a frown that I couldn’t decipher.
I didn’t prod any further. I broke the gaze and released my hand from his, then stoked the fire for the tenth time, sleep luring me with sweet abandon. I tossed the stick into the fire. “I should turn in.”
“I’ll stay awake,” he offered. “Until the fire goes.”
“Okay.” I nodded, though the fire could have been quickly snuffed.
I paused in my opening of the tent flap, turned around, and peered at him. My arms dropped to my side, my hands still. “I’m sorry about the hotel. I was sick and wasn’t thinking straight. Thank you for your help today.” A part of me couldn’t disclose the unvarnished truth. Part of it had been crazy withdrawal-symptoms AJ. The other part—I’d been paranoid he’d been drinking. Harrison’s death remained a ghostly echo in my mind, perhaps clouding my judgment. The scent had been on his clothes though. I was sure of it. The more I pondered, I believed his story. Perhaps I had been triggered. Perhaps I really did have trauma or PTSD. I shook my head. I didn’t know.
Firelight glistened off the growing beard hairs on Reid’s chin and spots of amber danced in his dark, round eyes. Speaking of soulful eyes…
“You were looking out for Will. I understand. I had been gone far too long.”
“You had a legitimate reason. Shit happens,” I countered.
His lips curved into a resigned smile. “Yeah. Rest, Audrey Jane.”
“You, too, Reid,” I whispered. I added in a deep exhalation, “And yes, yes, I’d like to be your friend.”
As I stepped into my tent, I observed Reid’s normally straight shoulders slouch a hair. Perhaps he, like all of us, was on his own road of atonement. Searching for meaning, searching for answers…searching for absolution.
I had treated him poorly.
I didn’t know what the hell had just happened between us, but I tucked it away into a corner of my brain to contemplate upon another time when I was lucid. My remorse had lifted somewhat.
Ignoring my exhaustion for at least a few minutes, I clicked on my headlamp and pulled out my journal. It was time to unburden my heart.
Chapter Thirteen
The Road to Nowhere
I slept restfully. And awoke rejuvenated, albeit sore as hell. I rolled over, encouraging the dream to remain just a moment more. It had been heavenly. But it hadn’t been a real dream…for it was a memory from one of our weekends without the kids. I shifted, pulling the sleeping bag up higher. Well, rather, it was a dream-memory hybrid. My eyes closed, I clung to the vapors and sensation of it as my body roused, my mind sharpened…
Harrison and I were enjoying a blissful morning in bed with no kids. Will and Finn had gone to Patsy and George’s cabin in New Hampshire for the weekend.
Harrison’s touch on my bare arm sent shivers over my skin. I shifted to the side to face him, his body solid, secure against mine beneath our green and blue patchwork bedspread. The sheets had that freshly laundered smell, yet our bubble beneath the covers held the scent of exertion and sex. I nestled in closer to him and ran my fingers through his short hair and I drew it into sweaty spikey tips. My gaze drifted lazily beyond him to the nightstand beside our bed. The collection of dusty travel books and magazines that usually adorned his nightstand had been replaced with a bursting bouquet of petite flowers that protruded from a squat clear glass vase. The clusters of periwinkle flowers winked at me with their vibrant yellow eyes. Forget-me-nots he’d picked from my garden.
Harrison didn’t speak. He held my gaze for a long moment. He kissed my neck, his light beard like sandpaper. It tickled, triggering a gooseflesh response on one side of my body from my neck all the way to my toes. I moaned.
I leaned in to kiss him. He reciprocated it with fervor and whispered, “I love you, Audrey Jane.”
“I love you, too, hon.” I weaved my fingers with his.
“Pancakes?” he asked.
“French toast?”
“Oh, you rebel.”
I chuckled. The boys always wanted pancakes. When was the last time we’d had our own favorite breakfast dish, and not a meal catered to the kids? “Oh, and bacon!” I curled my cold toes around his warm calf, knowing how much he loved bacon.
“Sounds good! Rest, my HBA,” he said, pushing the sheets aside and pulling on his boxers. I admired his strong, lean, muscled legs as he left the room.
“Your coffee awaits!” he called over his shoulder.
I blinked as the last bits of the dream faded. I touched my lips, summoning his kiss.
Unhurriedly, I opened my eyes, saw my sleeping Will in my arms.
With an aching body and a longing of the heart, I rose to attack another day on the road.
****
I was thrilled to say farewell to the Mark Twain Wilderness area of Missouri. Bring on Kansas, I thought with a sliver of buoyancy. Will moved like a snail around the campsite. “Move it, mister!” I commanded, collecting the remains of our camp and tossing them in the car. In unspoken agreement, Reid had once again attached his bike to the rack last night.
“You’re less furry,” Will said, running to Reid as he returned from the bathrooms.
Reid’s wet dark hair was brushed back. He grinned at me, his notable black stubble cleanly shaven. Morning sun shone in his eyes. I mumbled a “good morning” and turned, trying to appear busy. He looked kind of hot, and that thought troubled me. What was I thinking?
Will patted Reid on the belly, talking quickly and incoherently. “My star base, here, it has the ballistic cannons and…” He took Reid by the hand and chattered, leading him to his Lego structure beside our extinguished fire.
“Will…,” I said. After yesterday’s hellish delay, I wanted to get going. Now.
He ignored me, continuing to do whatever he was doing with a pile of rocks and his Lego bricks. I began to dismantle it. “We need to go.”
“No!” he cried.
“I told you five times already. We need to clean and go.”
He kept playing. “You told me three times.”
I stood my ground. “You may take your cannon and ship in the car.
We need to go, Will. Your brother—”
“My stupid brother. It’s always about Finn!” he snapped, his face puckering.
“I’ll finish the tent, AJ,” Reid said quietly, pausing and squeezing my shoulder.
“Will…” My patience vanished. I braced myself and approached him. I had to get the meltdown under control before—
“I feel like Mars!” Pink blotches formed on Will’s forehead and cheeks. He kicked at his structure, the rocks and Lego bricks scattering. He made to run, but I was quicker and caught him by the elbow. I knelt to his level.
“What do you mean?” I said, my tolerance thinning as my mind said, Not this again.
“Mars is dead, lifeless, and gets pelted with asteroids!” Tears streamed down his face as the splotches grew.
The vise squeezed tighter around my heart. Will used to say he felt like a rubbish pile. Where the hell had he learned that phrase? He’d said it a few times when he was misunderstood or wrongly called out or when he had a difficult time with another kid. My child was great with metaphors. It was a shame they held a negative connotation.
“Will, honey, you are loved. You exude life. You have a wonderful spirit. Why do you say such things?” Insufficient energy remained for this battle. Ugh the dreaded “why” question. Had I not learned anything from all my parental reading?
He rolled his eyes and turned, but his tension released as he allowed me to embrace him. “Never mind.” His face was still splotchy and red from his outburst. Finn got that way when he was upset, too. Both of them, ever since they were babies.
“Will…”
He kicked at the ground. “Never mind!” he repeated, his lip trembling.
At least today, he wasn’t giving me the excuse of “nobody understands me” or “you don’t understand my brain.” Sure, those had pulled on my heartstrings the first few times he’d said them. Experience told me that he made excuses to get out of things he didn’t want to do, like all kids did. It was a delicate balance of what was autism and what was developmentally expected.
I caressed a hand across his brow and cheek. “I remember when you were a baby you loved me to rub the side of your face, like this,” I began, as I contemplated what the trigger might have been. It wasn’t the Lego bricks. Was it jealousy about us looking for Finn? The encounter with that awful couple yesterday? His running into the woods? Or all of the above? I continued stroking his face as I knelt, the feel of his baby-soft skin gratifying under my fingertips. “I would do this, and rock you, and then you’d love it when I put a blanket here, over the side of your face, and you’d fall asleep in my arms.”
Will Rise from Ashes Page 20
