Leaping

by Diane Munier

  "You are?"

  "Yeah," he said. "Right here."

  Chapter 13

  It was dark when Jordan and Cori reached the parking lot at the airport. That's where she'd left her five-year-old Nissan. So they were spared the complication of Jordan having to drop her at her home.

  After a long, silent hug, she kissed him sweetly. "We…I don't know now. Our three weeks? I mean…we haven't said." She put her fingers on his lips before he could answer. "Don't say."

  She was afraid it was over. That gave him some hope…her fear.

  "We haven't talked about it. Not in ten hours," she whispered, a sad smile.

  He slowly pulled her hand away and gripped it over his heart.

  "I told you…whatever you want."

  She scrunched her face a little. "That's…so passive," same sad smile.

  It was anything but. "Nevertheless, not my will but thine."

  She smirked. "Gethsemane?"

  "I'm sweating blood."

  "Wow," she said so softly.

  She looked at his chest, fiddled with a button on his shirt. "I need to…get the lay of the land."

  He understood that. Seth.

  "It's so difficult to part," she whispered, her eyes on him now, the tear-shine.

  He dry-swallowed. Shit. He was not wanting to do this now…in a garage. He wanted their room…at the beach…her…he wanted, he wanted.

  "You need to get going. You can call me." It was the right thing to do…to say. Give her permission to go. Bless the departure, even if it was ruined, he was ruined.

  She was nodding, fiddling with his button still. "I…I don't know if I can go back…to…to the beach." Her eyes, on him, pulling at him, at his heart. "I've…been afraid to say it."

  "Go on," he said taking both of her hands now, stepping back, trying to break this thing, this force that held them.

  "It's hurting me to leave you. I hurt," she said, and he saw the tears welling. She was guilty, and she shouldn't be. She was guilty toward her son and now him. She was too quick to blame herself. This couldn't be helped. But still, he hurt, too…his chest, his stomach.

  "Let's not make it so hard," he said. "I'll call you as soon as I'm settled. I'll be around."

  "That helps," she said. "Promise?"

  "You think I'll just take off? Never call?"

  "I wouldn't blame you. You have a right."

  "You call me. Ball is in your court."

  "So…it's not over? I mean…."

  "Call me," he said again. Over? It would never be over in the truest sense of the word. What was she to him? "You think it's been…light? Like I'm not affected?" he said, impatient now, angry and he didn't know why.

  She was shaking her head. "I guess I'm drowning here. I'm not asking…I don't know what I'm asking. I just…I'm afraid you'll leave."

  "I wouldn't do that. Unless…if you need me to. I would tell you first." He didn't know if he could leave her. But she had a son, and it wasn't just up to him.

  "I'm sorry. I'm…freaking out." She rubbed her face and he saw how tired she was.

  "Hey," he said stepping close. "You okay to drive?"

  "Yeah," she said too heartily. "I…sorry. I just…sorry."

  His hands were on her arms and he pulled her to him for a hug. "I'll follow you to your exit. Take it slow."

  She nodded against him. He was finding the familiar territory of comforter. Of doing the right thing.

  One quick kiss. He backed off and grazed her arm with his little finger. Then he loaded her bag into her backseat and she was in and he was all business now, a quick wave and getting back in his car, carefully following her out of the garage and onto the highway.

  He didn't follow her car, he followed her, the shape of her head lighting up in the dark as cars passed from behind, as highway-lights graced him with a better glimpse. They could barely stand to part. He wanted to follow her home, all the way home, and for a while he'd consoled himself with the thought that he would do just that, but the closer they got to her exit the more he knew he couldn't do that, shouldn't. That's not what she'd asked for.

  She beeped as she turned off and he responded.

  It was hard to press on, to see her take the fork in the road, to take a different path from hers. She hadn't pressed for which motel, he hadn't volunteered because he didn't know.

  And here was the thing, two more exits and he'd hit Sydney. Cori had to wonder where he was going. She had to wonder if he was returning. He hadn't spoken to her about it, God the things they had not spoken about.

  It's not like he never said he wouldn't return to Sydney. But he never planned to.

  Alisha had seen to the sale of his house, his hundred year old house made from a kit ordered from the Sears and Roebuck catalog and originally costing less than one thousand dollars. He'd paid twelve. The place was ramshackle by the time he adopted it, not untypical in a town of less than five thousand.

  He'd always gotten a kick out of that house, drafty and rotten and impractical, small rooms and windows, slanting floors and the furnace's bad breath. Yeah he was sick. He liked the odd thing, the different thing, the broken. Always did.

  He'd worked on it, his little house, had lots of help from this or that kid looking for a project. Bill used to kid him for exploiting child labor. Truth be told the 'help' they gave him usually amounted to more trouble than it was worth, but the object was the time spent…the relationships he tried to build so he could be allowed a look in to their hearts, or to speak the right sentence, at the right time…to get out-front of a problem…for once.

  Cori's town, where her father had been chief of police…was shoulder to shoulder with his old town. They practically had their arms around each other, well they did, with little Whitney between. Little Whitney, home to some big country western singer who never came back, never did…until the incident. These were the places you left, the places you wrote about, thought about, fought against or romanticized, for the rest of your life.

  His old home—Sydney in general--he didn't know if he could look at it again. He didn't know what good it would do.

  Sydney was a small place. It didn't even have a marketable history. They said Lincoln spoke there once. Or slept there. Or took a shit there. But now…it wore a badge, it sure as hell did.

  But it wasn't exactly…anything. Mostly cornfields, little milo. Two stoplights in the last decade and a refurbished movie theater. A Chinese restaurant. German farm country. No outstanding geography, but the subtle beauty of changing crops and rocky pasture and grazing cows, of dramatic sunsets and the peaceful attitude of a middle child neither the star not the darling. A middle child of the Midwest.

  He was an outsider, allowed in because of Bill, because the church had the roots he lacked, because he'd eaten their potluck dinners, praised God for good crops…and held them at the altar, in hospitals, at gravesides. Coddled their babies and tousled the hair of their children and shown respect to their grandmothers and laughed at the dry quiet humor of the men. And the women, they cooked for him, baked for him, mothered him, and introduced him to their daughters and he was careful, so careful to remember who he was, wearing a trust that came with the job the way a priest would wear vestments, the call, wearing it with deliberation and earning the right.

  Well, he was an outsider, but he got on.

  And then he killed James Carson. And then he went away.

  Chapter 14

  "Where are you?" Cori texted Jordan hours later.

  He was in a motel room in Little Whitney. He'd never made it to Sydney, didn't want to.

  So he was lying on his back on a full-sized bed, on a green plaid bedspread he was sure would show up filthy in a black-light test. His clothes were on, his shoes were off, and he hadn't dug down yet to the sheets. He didn't think he would.

  This was the room they used in those movies…those movies where the guy and gal checked in and never got out.

  "In Whitney," he typed back.

  He held his phon
e against his stomach as he stared at the gray popcorn ceiling and breathed the pale cigarette stained air. He wasn't waiting for her response…necessarily. He wasn't feeling much either, just staring, just being. He wasn't sleepy. He had no answers, and worse…no questions.

  The manager had recognized him at the desk, not him, but his name. Yes, I am that Jordan Staley. He had said that to the old-timer. Hell of a thing, yes it was, old-timer said. Hell of a thing. Then the questions started, and he had evaded. It wasn't hard. It wasn't easy. It just was.

  "The Rosebud?" Cori texted minutes later.

  It was the only motel in Whitney. Only one that had endured the stories one small berg could produce.

  "Yes," he wrote back.

  An hour later there was a knock. He was still staring. It was Cori. He knew that.

  But he hadn't expected it. Expected her.

  She'd been crying. "I…couldn't stay away," she said.

  "Who is with Seth?" he asked…and why? He wasn't a parent. Cori had the mind for the right decisions. Why did he ask?

  "No one. He isn't running a temp. He's sleeping. I left a note if he wakes up, but it's the middle of the night. He's twelve. He knows my cell. I'm fifteen minutes. Twenty at most."

  "Okay," Jordan said, then he pulled her in, arms around her.

  "How are you?" she asked, her face against him.

  "I don't know," he said. He was fine…he just didn't know.

  "Come home with me," she said. "Come home with me and sleep on the couch."

  He was already shaking his head.

  "We can't be apart," she said.

  Oh. But they could. They had to be. They couldn't leap to that. That…was too much. To not be able to be apart? What was she saying? But…that's why he was here, right? He wasn't ready to let her go.

  Just for the three weeks. He wanted those.

  "You shouldn't be alone," she clarified, looking at him. "You haven't been back here."

  "It's okay."

  "I don't know what I was thinking…to let you do this…then to be so preoccupied. What was I asking? Thinking?"

  "It doesn't matter," he said. He wasn't her son. He wasn't Seth. "It's my choice to stay. You may need a ride…back." Was it time to say good-bye? Was it suddenly that time?

  This was her chance to tell him. He took his arms away, stepped away. "How was it with Seth?"

  "He…he wants to go back with me. He…he feels better. I don't know what it was…a virus. What the heck is that?" she scrubbed over her face, and he knew he should put his arms around her, give her permission to be where she was, to go with it like a good…lover.

  "You would take him back…to the beach?"

  She looked at him. Into him, God those eyes, that look of hers, so deep.

  "He has school," she said, as though arguing with him…with herself.

  What the hell was he doing? They had enough…this mother and her son. She was a mother…not his whore. He knew better. The same old thing…his morality, his code, the vestments, the mental shroud…he knew better than to take a woman…and her so vulnerable…no commitment…treat her like…take…take.

  "I…Cori…."

  "No," she said. "Don't you dare….."

  "It's caught up with us Baby…real life."

  "I'm not afraid of that," she said.

  "No? You should be."

  "Why's that?" she took another step.

  He had his hand up, like to hold her away. "There's no future."

  "You're not ready? You're not ready for what…life? The only thing stopping us…this…is you, then."

  "Me? What did I ever agree to? Three weeks. You didn't even make it."

  "I have a son," she said fierce.

  "Exactly," he answered back, just as fierce, but more like an asshole. He was an asshole.

  "You can't love him?"

  "I haven't talked love," he defended himself. He was out to win now, win this losing battle.

  "But you've made it…love…to me. Don't tell me I imagined…I know what it was."

  He shook his head. "What have we said, Cori? What have I said?"

  "Words," she whispered, as if they were an afterthought to what was real, as if they were secondary and overrated, and he couldn't agree more, but that didn't mean they were worthless, useless. Words were commitment. Words…were everything for them.

  "You're looking for a way out. That's what this is. You're waiting just long enough to leave so you can feel good about yourself. You even drove me home. What an upstanding asshole you are," she said intensely, crying.

  Asshole was exactly what he was. "I have had no plan beyond being with you for a well-stated amount of time. You changed the game—intentional or not."

  Now she shook her head. "I shouldn't have come. You're thrown. You're using it now. If you let it go further…well you won't. You're cutting your losses. I get it."

  "Because I won't come home with you and sleep on the couch? How long do you think that would last? Then what? Seth calls me Uncle Jordan and we talk over old times? What the hell then? Do I move in? Maybe we fix the past by setting up a life where I overprotect and you get dependent and we both dote on him as a way to fix it all."

  She was shaking her head, scrunching her face like she smelled something bad. "Stop it."

  "I don't know what to do," he said too loudly.

  She was still shaking her head.

  "How do you go from so fucked-up to normal?" he said.

  "You mean…I thought what we had…was real."

  "You did?" he couldn't believe it. "What part? Me seeing your son get shot? Or you tricking me in to some…fantasy? Or this here where we try to legitimize this jacked-up mess? 'Hey Seth, this is Jordan Staley, you remember him?’

  “Let's uproot your whole life cause Jordan doesn't think he can be around here…it's kind of a downer for him now, okay buddy?'"

  She took the final step and hit him on the chest like she was hammering nails there.

  He grabbed her wrists. "Cori," he said.

  She was crying and her face was down, she was making a sound, an animal's frustration. He was sorry he'd said all this, hurt her. He put his arms around her but she broke away and turned away and bent over, and she was sobbing her heart out.

  "Cori," he said again, trying to help her straighten, but she fought him off and he stepped back. The manager was there, pushing the door open. They had never closed it tightly.

  "The police is on her way," the manager said.

  "It's alright," Jordan said to him impatient.

  "You okay girlie?" the manager asked, ignoring Jordan. He nearly laughed to see the pistol in the man's hand.

  Cori calmed some. "Yes…Mr. Janes."

  "That you Cori?"

  Of course he knew her.

  "We were arguing. Sorry. No need to bring Evelyn in." She meant the one cop in this berg.

  Mr. Janes eyed Jordan coldly. Well he would know how violent Jordan could be…killer and all.

  When Janes was satisfied enough to leave, Cori held onto the door. It was cold, but Jordan welcomed it. She looked at him. "Please don't leave without meeting him."

  "Was that always your goal? Is that…you said right away…when we met you said I should meet Seth."

  "I'm not going to answer that," she said, like he was so far-off. "But if you met him…it would be good for you both, Jordan. Then…well…you're your own man. It's all I ask…and I know it's a lot. Would you meet Seth?"

  "Why are you pushing?" he said.

  "Would you?"

  "If we had finished this at the beach, what was your plan?"

  She grew very still, looking out at the dark parking lot. "I had a ticket…a return flight. I would have said good-bye."

  "I don't believe you."

  "You didn't ask me what I would have hoped for, Jordan. You asked what I planned to do."

  "What did you hope for? Marriage?" He felt like a huge ass even saying that word.

  She smirked, but the tears were still h
anging around. "Marriage…Jordan…for me…would take the same courage you would have to find…to meet Seth."

  "I'm not afraid to meet Seth," he said immediately.

  She didn't comment.

  "Are you afraid of marriage to me…or in general?"

  She looked at him. "I…can't tell them apart."

  Now that hurt.

  "So what did you hope for?" he asked, his voice strange.

  "What happened between us…much as you deny it…misname it…exceeded what I hoped for."

  He had no response to that.

  "We're both afraid," she said fiercely. "Do you get that? We both are. The only difference is…I'm willing. I didn't have the luxury of taking myself away…I had to stay here…live in it…face it every day. So fear? What's that? Fear is where I live!"

  She came quickly to him, making the fists again, moving them toward him, but stopping short of letting them land.

  He hadn't moved. He was looking at her, feeling the first ray of hope and he had no idea why.

  "Cori…I…," he whispered, incredulous. He knew. He finally knew. She was right.

  He'd been so afraid.

  He grabbed her then, wrapped his arms around her, cradled her head against him as her hands clawed over him, even in to his hair, and she said his name several times, and he didn't fight it, or want to.

  When she parted, she looked wrecked, exhausted. But there was a new peace between them. Something had dropped there, an emotional bridge of sorts that bore their combined weight and let them be in this strange new land. They'd been ugly and ridiculous and intense and real and desperate. And still…Jordan was coming to her house for supper. It was a moon-walk now, one giant step for mankind…for them…meatloaf at five…and Seth.

  Chapter 15

  Once Cori left the Rosebud Jordan sat on the bed while the residue of everything died in the room, even the fresh air that blew through when she'd held the door open, even that slowly succumbed to the staleness. Somewhere in there he had laid back…and somewhere in there he'd fallen asleep.

  It was three o'clock when he awoke and remembered where he was. He took a shower in the chipped bathroom. He shaved, he changed his shirt. He paid for another night cause he'd slept through checkout, but he packed his shit in his car because it felt right and better to have no ties to Whitney, none at all. Then he drove toward Danville, through the bottoms that flooded in the spring until the road was buried in the swollen creek, but not this evening, not now, but what did happen here, what came of it…James Carson was from this neck of the woods, this nothing place where human beings grew on the quiet, brewed and stewed and came of age.