By then, it was too late. I wanted to save a whale along with the starving poet I lived with for six months.
So that day, that evening, a night where the air seemed frozen, after Dane had kissed me with a hungry ferocity and steamed up the windows of my car to the point where someone might call a fire truck, I knew I had to break the news to my parents.
I called them the next evening and told Mom to put the phone on speaker.
“Mom, Dad, I’ve met someone special.”
“Oh, darling! That’s wonderful news! Tell us all about him.”
My mother’s happy voice rang across the airwaves. My father, more cautious asked, “Where did you meet him?”
“At work.”
There was a short silence, a pregnant pause, you might say.
“He’s a teacher in the prison service, like you?” Mom asked hopefully. “Or one of the corrections officers?”
“No. Dane was one of the students I taught.”
A much longer silence followed, and I think Mom must have put her hand over the phone because their voices became muffled.
“I know this probably isn’t the news you wanted to hear,” I said calmly, “but you taught me to treat everyone with respect and that everyone deserves a second chance. Once you meet him, you’ll see what an amazing man he is.”
“Meet him?”
Mom’s voice was confused, hesitant.
“Yes, he’s out on parole. I’d like to bring him over for lunch on Sunday. If we’re welcome.”
“Oh, darling! Are you sure you’re safe with him?”
Her voice trembled, words of warning ready to burst free.
“Yes,” I answered simply. “I’m safe with him.”
My father’s voice was gruff.
“You’ll always be welcome here, Ella. And we’ll give your young man the benefit of the doubt.”
They asked a few more questions, but tried hard to stay positive. I loved them so much for that.
Telling Becky was way worse.
We met in a coffee shop on Saturday afternoon, instead of our usual cocktail bar.
She grumbled about the change in location, but her eyes lit up when she saw the selection of muffins and cupcakes on offer.
Once we’d settled into the comfortable seats with our cakes and coffees, I faced my oldest friend.
“So, I have news.”
She glanced at me sideways.
“Good news?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Don’t leave me hanging, El.”
“Dane is out on parole and we’re dating.”
She paused, mid-chew, then swallowed the piece of cake she was eating and wiped her fingers on the paper napkin.
“What do you want me to say?”
Her voice was flat and dry, like a featureless desert, and my heart thumped with unease.
“That you’re pleased I’ve met someone special, someone I care about. Someone I love.”
Her grave expression softened into sadness.
“Have you really thought this through?”
I smiled and shook my head.
“Yes, no, I don’t know. I’ve thought of nothing else for months. It won’t be easy—prejudice is everywhere—but whenever I think of a future without him in it . . . well, there’s nothing but blankness. But with him, I see clearly: marriage, children, a life together.”
Her lips tightened, and I saw disappointment and disapproval take root inside her.
“Ella, you can’t throw your life away to try and save his.”
Her words struck me in the heart, sharp and pointed.
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Isn’t it? You asked me here so I could give you my opinion and I think this is a huge mistake that . . .”
“No, I asked you here because you’re my best friend and I love you. I don’t expect you to hold a parade, but at least give me the credit of understanding what I’m doing.”
“My God, how can you? This will ruin your whole life!”
“I love him.”
“Love doesn’t pay bills! Love doesn’t get you promotions at work! Love isn’t enough—if that’s what it really is, and not some bad boy crush, some long overdue teenage rebellion.”
Painful, hurtful words.
“This isn’t some childish crush.”
“So you love your hottie-con. Based on what? A few meaningful glances across a crowded classroom? A few indiscreet notes passed during the lesson? Grow up, El!”
My face grew hot, and I had to remind myself that she didn’t understand because I hadn’t confided in her. How could I explain so she’d know that this was real? How could I tell her that our love started slowly, a single brick that laid a foundation? We’d been building our love gradually, moment by moment, letter by letter, brick by brick.
But before I could say anything, I glanced up to see Dane watching us, his expression hard and closed.
He walked towards us and I reached up to take his hand. He stepped closer, carrying his reluctance with him.
“Dane, this is my best friend Becky.”
“Hello, Becky.”
He held out his right hand for her to shake.
Her eyes raked him up and down, taking in his tired clothes and shabby shoes. But I saw that he’d shaved and had gotten a haircut. He looked handsome and serene, like a prince in disguise.
Becky touched the tips of her fingers to his, and shook hands curtly.
“Dane. So I’m wondering: how badly are you going to fuck up Ella’s life?”
“Becky!”
Anger and indignation warred with the years of friendship.
Garrett sat next to me, and although his words were for Becky, his gaze was fixed on mine.
“I’ll try not to.”
“Very reassuring,” Becky sneered. “You must really have thought your luck had changed when you met Ella.”
His dark eyes swung to hers.
“Yeah, I did.”
She ignored him, turning to me.
“Ella, please think about what you’re doing! Getting involved with him . . . if the prison finds out, which they will, you’ll be fired: professional misconduct. That will be on your record forever.”
“They already know. That’s why Dane was transferred.”
Becky gaped at me.
“And they let you carry on teaching?”
“Yes. Well,” I qualified, “they suspected an attachment between us. But now Dane is on parole, it’s no one’s business but ours.”
“I can’t believe you,” she whispered, shaking her head. “What the hell are your parents going to say?”
“They’ve invited us for lunch tomorrow.”
I saw her teetering on the brink of a decision, and I prayed that she’d accept this, prayed that she’d see the good in it.
She leaned closer, her eyes pleading with me.
“If this lasts, down the line there are jobs you won’t get, because of him; there are people who won’t let you teach their kids, because of him; there’ll be restrictions and humiliations all the way.”
“And there’ll be other jobs, other chances, other people who won’t care about the past.”
“This is such a bad idea.”
“Becky, just . . . give him a chance! Give us a chance.”
She shook her head again.
“I love you, Ella. When you come to your senses, I’ll be there for you. This is a huge mistake, but it’s your life. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She grabbed her coat and purse, striding from the coffee shop with her chin held high and tears in her eyes.
Her parting words felt like a curse.
Dane
“SHE’LL COME AROUND.”
Ella tried to sound confident, but her lips trembled. Her fingers wrapped around my arm and she held on tightly.
I didn’t know what to say because every word Becky had said was true. A hot knife stabbed at my selfishness, but Ella only held me tighter.
I stared back impassively, and her face crumbled a little.
“She is wrong. Look how well you’re doing already! You have a job and you’re starting school next week. Dane, you should be proud of yourself because I am. I’m so proud of you.”
She stroked my cheek, and I couldn’t resist the warmth of her touch.
“You shaved,” she whispered.
“I was trying to make a good impression,” I laughed bitterly.
“I know. Thank you.”
“It didn’t help,” I said, frowning at her.
She smiled sadly.
“Oh but it did.”
I grunted in disagreement.
“Because,” she said patiently, “you didn’t shave for her, you did it for me. And I see you, Dane Garrett. I see you trying, and I love you even more for it.”
“You . . . you love me?”
The words clawed their way up my throat, excited and appalled.
“You shouldn’t.”
I sounded ungrateful, but that wasn’t how I felt. Gratitude swelled inside me, blooming unashamedly, reaching toward her warmth.
“How are you so sure?” My voice cracked. “About me? About us?”
She smiled as if she’d unearthed the biggest secret in the world.
“Because the first time I read your words, I knew that you’d let me see behind the wall you’d built around your heart. And with each letter, each word that you wrote after that, I saw what a beautiful man you are . . . in here.”
And she laid her hand on my chest.
I didn’t deserve her, I knew that, but if she’d let me, I’d spend my whole life proving the Becky’s of the world wrong. Or rather, I’d earn Ella’s love, drop by precious drop. And I hoped that would take me a lifetime.
She rested her head on my chest, and my arms wrapped around her, one hand tangled in the soft strands of her hair, the other protective on her back.
“Dane,” she breathed, heating the bare skin at my neck. “Dane, take me home.”
It was the first time we’d walked anywhere together, and it took a moment for our strides to match, Ella being so much shorter than me. But when we found our rhythm, I took a deep, quiet pleasure in her by my side, walking along the street, my arm around her shoulders.
I could have walked like that forever, the cold misting breaths, the warmth of her body against mine, the crunch of snow beneath our feet, everything completely ordinary and completely perfect.
I admit I was nervous as Ella let us into her building. I wanted her, God, I wanted her so badly. I was afraid it would be over too quickly, and of course thinking that made it almost certain to happen. When we’d fucked in the storage closet at Nottoway it had been fireworks, spontaneous combustion, and I hadn’t had time to think about it, or even care about the consequences. But now . . . yeah, whole different ballgame. It mattered so much that the tension felt like a concrete block had settled on my chest.
She smiled at me over her shoulder as she pushed the key into her front door.
“Go on in,” she said.
Tense and uncomfortable, I walked down a narrow hallway. Everything smelled clean, and the biscuit-colored carpet hushed my footsteps.
I stopped in the living room, gazing at a space full of books, colorful with clutter. If a room can have feelings—and fuck knows they can, especially a cell—this room felt happy. It had a quiet joy that perfectly matched Ella.
A long, comfortable sofa faced a large, flat-screen TV, and three remote controls were lined up on a pine coffee table.
The kitchenette was small and tidy, with yellow painted cabinets, and an enormous white refrigerator.
I realized I was standing there like a bump on a log when Ella gave an embarrassed laugh.
“So, this is it!”
No, not embarrassed: she was nervous, too. And there was me acting like a fucking tool.
I pulled her into my arms, a reassuring word on my lips when she stared up at me.
That look, so full of hope and fear and expectation, it lit the blue touch paper, and I went from zero to sixty in the time it took my heart to pump hot blood around my body.
Need drove me, uncertainty reined me in, and my fingers trembled.
I closed my eyes, blindly groping towards her, and we met in a frenzy of lips and teeth and tongues and oh God, so good.
Hunger, intense hunger peeled away the fear, and I took my woman into her bedroom, crashing against unfamiliar furniture.
Laughing and gasping, she stripped me bare, pressing burning kisses to overheated skin. I didn’t have the strength to fight my orgasm as it spewed against the soft skin of her belly. And when she dragged a finger through the dripping mess and sucked on it hard, my dick bucked against her hips, hardening again.
I’d never seen her breasts. They’d always been hidden by clothes and once by darkness. They filled my hands and I sucked on them thirstily, drinking down her moans and sighs, licking between the deep valley of her chest and biting the dusky nipples.
It was perfect and overwhelming and the scent of her skin made me want to howl at the moon. Smooth, satiny, scorching skin was mine for the taking, and I was a thief, stealing everything I could.
When my fingers explored the soft, wiry curls over her mound, my head exploded with pleasure. I licked and sucked, moonstruck crazy with the scent of her readiness. Her shuddering breaths, my name on her swollen lips was my victory and my reward.
And when I pushed her thighs apart and penetrated deeply, pressing my hand over her stomach to feel myself inside her, my thoughts flew away.
Her nails scored down my back, taking what was given freely, and we soared together in a heated, sweating, pool of pleasure.
I came inside her with a rush of heat and the most wonderful sensation that she’d broken me. I was hers.
We separated slowly, reveling in the fluids that glued us together, and I held her tightly because this was love and this was real, and my life would never be the same again. Ahead was sunlight and hope. So much hope.
Her breaths calmed to a slow and tender pace, complete and content.
“Let me count the ways I love thee.”
I grinned at her, stretching out in her fucking amazing bed, soft sheets and softer pillows, soft skin resting on mine.
“Is that Shakespeare?”
“Close,” she laughed. “It’s from a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but she based it on Shakespeare’s style.”
“Teach me?”
Her eyes glowed with happiness.
“You really want to know?”
“You must love that poem to quote it, so yeah, I want to know.” I looked at her seriously, cupping her sweet face in my rough hands. “I want to know everything that matters to you.”
“How do I love thee, Dane Garrett? Let me count the ways.”
She ran her hands over my newly cut hair, then swept her fingers down my neck, chest, stomach and thighs.
“I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach,” and she placed her cheek over my chest, listening to my thundering heart. “When feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace.”
She lifted her head and dusted soft fingerprints across my eyelids.
“I love thee to the level of every day’s most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.” And she brushed my lips with the tips of her fingers. “I love thee freely, as men strive for right.”
My eyes opened as she ran her forefinger down my throat.
“I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.”
She kissed my temples, her lips pressing against my heated skin.
“I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.”
She kissed my forehead, lingering lovingly.
“I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints.”
“I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.” She smiled. “Which means forever, until death us do part.”
And then she kissed away the tears that gathered in my eyes because I’d never known that the raging pain inside my heart was love tearing out all the bitterness, all the suffering, all the mistakes and bad choices. And I cried because this woman meant the world to me; she was my whole entire world, and always would be. And I cried because hope is belief, and she believed in me.
My God, she believed in me.
Ella
IT WAS A year before I saw Becky again. I think she’d been waiting to be proved right. But of course she wasn’t.
For three months, Dane continued to live at Beacon House; that grim, gray building aptly named after all. He worked at the burger bar, serving cokes and fries and onion rings, smiling at customers, and learning how to be part of the world.
He earned his GED on the first attempt, and we celebrated by eating pizza in bed and drinking alcohol-free beer, loving freely and intensely.
He won over my parents, too. Not on the first visit, or the second, or even the third. In fact, I couldn’t say when exactly it happened, but his quiet, determined love reassured them that he was a man of his word, and where he promised to love me forever, it was not a promise given lightly or easily, but a promise forged of tears and trial and facing all his fears.
And I took him to the ocean. He stood, staring, for the longest time, his eyes drifting shut as he felt the cool, salty spray on his cheeks. And then he kissed me, with the wide sky above us and sand between our toes. And the limitless horizon was our covenant to each other.
When three months was over and he was no longer a parolee, he moved into my apartment, filling the emptiness with his limitless love—and never once left wet towels on the floor. He needed very little to make him happy and measured each moment, reminding me that every small piece builds a larger picture. Snowflakes on my eyelashes, a patch of blue sky on a blustery day, he saw it all, and loved it all. And he loved me.
And there were bad days with rude customers and bills that were bigger than expected. There were difficult days when my job didn’t go so well and I came home exhausted and in tears. And on those days I saw the rage in his eyes that made me tremble: not for me, but for him.
Behind The Wall: A Novella Page 8
