by Bourne, Lena
He slides his hand under mine, so it's resting against my stomach. "Maybe I want to stay on account of you."
The phone bleeps again with another voice mail, and starts ringing again almost immediately.
"Is this the same Mike who broke the lock on the downstairs door the last time you wouldn't pick up the phone?" I ask.
"It is," he says.
"So he'll just do that again, right?"
"He might," he says and chuckles.
"So pick up the phone," I say and snuggle closer, because I don't actually want him to go anywhere. The muscles of his stomach strain as he reaches for the phone again, and picks up.
"Don't ever fucking hang up on me again, Scott!" Mike yells.
"Don't fucking yell at me, Mike," Scott says, his voice cold and harsh.
"I'm picking you up now, so get dressed," Mike says.
"I'd rather go next week."
"No. You're coming, and I'll drag you to the car if I have to," Mike says.
"You just try that," Scott says as though he'd like nothing better.
"Just go, Scott, I'll be fine," I whisper, because it doesn't sound like something he'll just get out of. And I really don't want his brother storming in here.
"Fine," Scott says, and I'm not sure he's talking to me or Mike.
"You're sure?" he asks after he hangs up.
I nod and run my hand under his shirt, tracing one of the wider grooves with my fingers. "Today's Sunday, right?"
"Yeah."
"So I should go back to school today anyway," I say and move to sit up, but he's still holding me too tightly.
"I can take you, later," he says. "I'll be back by five at the latest."
"It isn't a problem. I'll just take the train," I say. "There's one at noon, I think."
"So, you're just gonna go?" he asks, sounding very young.
I lace my fingers with his across my belly. "I'll call you tonight and tomorrow, and on Wednesday and on Thursday, and then maybe on Friday, and you could come down for the weekend."
He kisses the top of my head. "Maybe I can come down for the weekend tomorrow already," he says and chuckles.
"That would work too." I crane my neck up to smile at him. His eyes are light blue in this light, and I could probably just stare at him all day today.
"And now I should get ready before Mike comes," he says and slides his hand down the side of my face, running his thumb across my lips.
I watch him get dressed, fighting the urge to tell him not to go after all. Especially after he takes off his shirt, and all I want to do is run my tongue across his rippling stomach.
He disappears into the bathroom for a bit, then he's lacing up his shoes and zipping up his jacket. Soon I'll be all alone again, and it's still hours before my train leaves.
"You won't just disappear again?" he asks with his hands in his pockets, his eyes narrowed.
"No," I say looking straight into his eyes, willing him to know I'm telling the truth. Because the way I see it now, he's going to have a very hard time getting rid of me ever again.
He nods, and strides out, and I'm not sure he believed me, but I hope he did, and I wish I didn't have to go back to school.
I wrap the comforter around my shoulders and go to the window. He comes out of the alleyway a few moments later and walks around to the other side of the same car he picked me up in. He looks up at me as he opens the door, and our eyes lock. I wave, but he doesn't seem to notice, or at least he doesn't wave back, and then he climbs in and he's gone. And now, I'm sure he's really glad I told him to go and decided to leave for school. And he won't pick up when I call tonight, or ever again.
I shake my head as though that will get rid of the terrible thought, but obviously it doesn't.
"You're still here?" Janine shrieks just as I open the apartment door to leave.
I take a step back and let go of the door, but she holds it open staring at me like she wants an answer.
"Yes," I say, my voice too shaky to say anything more.
"But you're leaving now? Good." She brushes past me into the apartment.
"Scott's not here," I say to her back.
"I know," she yells back. "I just came to get my mom's dishes."
I'm not entirely happy with how comfortable she is with Scott. I'd prefer it if she called first, before just barging in from now on.
"Bye, then," she says, standing at the entrance to the main room and glaring at me.
But she is Scott's best friend, and she was really nice to me once, so I won't have her hating me now.
"Can't we just be friends?" I ask for lack of anything better to say. I sound like I'm about twelve.
"No, we can't," she says, her elbows jutting out from her hips. "Scott may be all stupid about you right now, letting you stay here after what you did to him, but I'm not fooled. You'll just do the same thing all over again, because you're one of those people who can't appreciate what they've got."
"What?" I say, my jaw actually dropping open, but I can't stop it. "You don't know anything about me. You can't talk to me that way."
"And if you hurt him again, you'll have me to answer to. Count on that," she says as though I hadn't spoken at all.
The apartment is spinning around me, so I grab my backpack and run out. What if she's right? What if I go home today and the abyss swallows me again, and I won't call Scott, or answer his calls because all I'll want to do is sleep and study? What if Janine knows things about me I'm not aware of?
I'm walking so fast that sweat breaks out on my forehead and my stomach starts cramping again. I wish Scott was here, so I could lean on him. A cold breeze brushes across my face and I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, dropping my backpack to the ground. A man almost runs into me, and I watch his expression change from anger to concern as he glares back at me.
But I'm fine, never better. Because I know none of those fears will ever come true. A red and gold maple leaf flies past me and lands on my bag. Suddenly I'm sitting at the dining room table with my mom, making a collage for my social sciences class in the fourth grade. The maple leaf is stuck to my fingers because I put too much glue on it and I'm very clumsy with my hands. Mom's laugh tinkles across the room, as she peels it gently from my fingers, wipes off the glue and sticks it onto the collage.
"There, that's better now," she says, and I know my eyes are gleaming as I smile up at her.
Tears are trickling down my cheeks now, but I'm not sad. Mom is back, she sent me the maple leaf, because she wants me to know all will be well, as it should be.
I pack up the leaf and walk to the station more slowly now, enjoying the crisp air and the hope crackling in my chest.
CHAPTER TEN
I call Scott as soon as I arrive at my house, but his phone goes straight to voice mail. Fear is gripping me in an iron, relentless grip, until I'm sure my skin will be torn right off.
Downstairs the door clicks shut and I hear Phillipa singing in the hall as she takes off her shoes. I swallow the panic and head downstairs, hoping she won't ask too many questions.
"Gail?" she says as I enter the kitchen. "Where have you been?"
She walks toward me like she wants to hug me, but I wrap my arms across my chest, because if she touches me I will just tell her everything, and I can't do that, not now when I feel so light.
I smile at her though. "I went home for a few days, to deal with some things?"
"You look better. There's color in your cheeks again," she says and grins at me. "So I guess it worked. Was it a guy?"
I look down and scuff my toe against the hardwood floor, heat rising to my face. She'll have to know eventually. "Yes."
She claps her hands. "Oh, look at you blushing. I'm so happy for you. You deserve to feel good. And I think it worked even better than Boot Camp."
I walk over to her and place my hands on her shoulders. "Thanks for being so understanding with me, Phillipa. I know I've not been the best friend lately."
She places her hands o
n my shoulders too, and pulls me into a hug. "No need to apologize for anything, Gail. I mean it." She pulls away and grins again. "Now, tell me everything."
My phone rings upstairs and I gasp, looking up at the ceiling. "I will. Later?"
She releases me and laughs. "Sure. Go answer it."
I try to run up the stairs, but my belly still won't let me. The phone's still ringing when I reach my room though.
"Gail," Scott says. "You called."
"Yes."
"But you didn't leave a message."
"I was just going to call again in like ten minutes," I say and laugh, the sound sticking in my throat because it's been so long. "How was the visit?"
"Fine," he says, his voice suddenly colder, firmer, and I just know his eyes are black now too.
"Janine came by after you left," I say to change the subject.
"I heard," he says, his voice a little softer now. "You shouldn't take everything she says too seriously."
"She hates me," I sigh and sit on the bed, wishing I was still in his apartment.
"She doesn't hate you," Scott says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "She's just a little over protective."
"Maybe she's in love with you," I mutter.
He snorts. "God no."
"She might be." The vision of her coming over at all hours of the night, suddenly professing her love for him and stripping, is so clear in my mind I can smell her perfume.
"I'd just tell her I'm not interested," he says and laughs.
"Like you told me?" I just can't let it go. No way any guy would say no, if Janine came to them hot and willing.
"Relax, Gail. I've known Janine since before she got pretty. She used to look like a boy when she was younger. Seriously, she was real ugly and I'll never unsee that," he elaborates. "So just stop being jealous."
"OK," I say. I'm not even the jealous type. At least I wasn't, until I met him, but that seems too much to say right now, too soon. Although I feel like I've already known him for a very long time.
"I could come on Thursday," he says. "If you want?"
"Yes, I do," I mutter, then repeat it more firmly, not wanting him to think I'm just saying it. "Or tonight would work even better," I finish with a giggle.
"So do I. But I have some work stuff in the beginning of next week."
"I have school anyway," I sigh. "I'm afraid they'll just kick me out if I miss any more classes."
"They won't do that," Scott says, and then we're just talking about stuff, until the sky outside turns velvety blue and stars are twinkling in the sky. I tell him about the maple leaf as I place it into a textbook to dry, and about my mom and how smart and kind she was, how she came to tell me all will be well. But mostly, I'm just listening to his voice, trying to picture what he's doing, what he's wearing, how he smells. If I close my eyes, I'm there with him, my head resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around me, the bed soft and warm.
The rising sun wakes me the next morning, my phone lying by my head, the battery dead. And all I can think of is that I have to charge it, so I can call him back.
The rest of the week passes in a blur of classes and late night phone calls. I only do as much homework as I absolutely have to, and even that's not very well done. All I want to do is fall asleep with the phone pressed against my ear, because each morning that comes after brings Thursday closer. Most days, I can't even tell why I decided to go to university in the first place, and it's only the memory of my mom that still gets me to class each day.
On Thursday morning, the sky is covered by thick, dark grey clouds and the radio announces a heavy storm approaching. Normally I'd love it, but today it makes me stiff with fear.
Scott calls me back just as I enter my first class of the day.
"I could be there at seven," he says.
"There's a big storm coming tonight," I say. "They're saying gale force winds and heavy rain."
"Gail force winds?" he says and chuckles.
"Be serious," I counter, my voice firm and chiding.
"It'll be fine, Gail," he says. "Unless you don't want me to come?"
"Of course, I do," I say and cluck my tongue. I can't believe he's still asking me that. "Just be careful."
"I will."
I spend the rest of the day concentrating hard on school. After class, I even go to the library and start the research for my term paper, because there's no way I could just sit at home, watching the clouds gather and the wind bending the trees.
Phillipa's not yet home when I return at six, so I grab a long hot shower, hoping it'll clear my head. I hear Phillipa in the kitchen, when I finally emerge from the shower at six forty.
"I thought you were spending the weekend with Holly?" I say, sounding a little too desperate.
"I am," she says, and winks at me. "But I wanted to meet your boyfriend first. See if he's acceptable."
I grin at her, feeling my cheeks grow hot. "He is."
"When's he coming?"
"Seven," I mutter, and take a bite of her sandwich, but it sticks it my throat as a bright yellow bolt of lightening illuminates the lawn like it's noon.
She snatches the sandwich from my hand. "Hey, get your own."
But I'm not hungry and my heart is racing in my chest, a feeling of dread turning my blood to slime.
"I'll just go wait in the living room," I say and rise.
The living room has the best view of the street. But the rain is already pouring down in sheets so I can't see much of anything really.
Phillipa comes in a few minutes later and peers through the window. "It's lousy weather out there."
I nod, wiping off the fog her breath created on the glass.
She plops on the couch and turns on the TV. An anchor woman is standing by the side of a road, the wind beating against the hood of her jacket. The gusts also cut across what she's saying and it doesn't sound good.
My knuckles ache, I'm squeezing my hands into fists so hard. A phone rings and I'm on my feet, digging in my pocket for my phone, but it's Phillipa's.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," she says and hangs up.
"Holly wants me to come now, before this storm really gets out of control," she says to me. "I'll see you on Sunday?"
I nod and clutch my phone harder.
As soon as she's out the door, I dial Scott's number. It's almost seven, he should be here soon. It goes straight to voice mail and my breath gets stuck in my throat. I call again, hoping it was just bad reception, but the same thing happens. I'm shaking so hard my teeth are chattering.
All I see is flashing ambulance lights, sirens blaring and blood being washed away by the rain. If I close my eyes, it's the same. I call back, again and again, but it goes to voice mail each time.
It's fifteen past seven, Scott should be here by now.
At half past, sobs are racking through me, because I can't stop seeing him on a cold metal slab in the morgue. My mom is lying beside him and they're dead, both dead.
Lights blind me and then a car pulls into the driveway.
I run outside still clutching my phone, not even putting on my shoes. The rain soaks me in seconds, but it's OK because Scott's got his arms around me, and I can feel his chest rising and falling. He's alive.
"What's happening, Gail?" he asks, guiding me to the porch with his arm around my shoulders. Rain is dripping off the hood of his jacket, sliding down my face, washing away my tears.
He turns me toward him as soon as we're out of the rain and peers at me through narrowed eyes, his upper lip curled up. "Were you afraid something happened to me?"
I nod and a sob shudders through me. Now he'll think I'm crazy again, but I don't care as long as he's alright.
His eyes soften, melt really, and he brushes my wet hair off my face, looking at me like I just told him the worst news ever. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "My battery died, or I would've called. It was slow going, the visibility was real bad—"
I place my fingers across his mouth. "It's OK. I'm fine.
"
Then I wrap my hands around his stomach, like I wanted to do all week and lead him inside. But even after we're in the hall, he's still staring at me like maybe I'm bleeding to death.
"It's fine, Scott," I say and smile. "Really it is. You know me, I'm just unstable."
My smile doesn't transfer to his face, so I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around his neck. "And now I think we should both get out of these wet clothes."
He finally smiles, his eyes golden brown, twinkling like a camp fire. "That's the best idea you've had yet, Gail."
Then his lips are on mine, and his hand is sliding down my back, and all the panic I felt just a few minutes ago melts away like some other Gail felt it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
With my lips still pressed against his, I peel off his jacket and toss it over the rack. Then I pull away, take his hand and lead him up the stairs to my bedroom. I should probably offer him some food, or at least a drink, but that's not what I've been fantasizing about all week.
Thunder echoes outside and the sound of rain pelting the roof is filling the house, but all I'm thinking is how safe we are in here, how secure. It's like my mind has done a one-eighty and all the anxiety and fear have now turned to joy and happiness, running in warm rivers down my chest, filling my stomach, mixing with my blood.
I'm not bleeding anymore and the cramps are more of a twinge here and there now. I'm so ready to have him inside me, to erase all that came before, start fresh, and I just hope he is too.
I wrap my arms around his neck again as soon as we reach my room, and look into his eyes. And then I'm in a deep, dark forest on a warm summer night, and orange firelight is casting a warm glow, creating a space that no darkness can ever reach.
He leans down and kisses me, urgent and hungry, yet soft and tender. I run my fingers through his hair, which is longer now than it was when I first met him. He's wearing the cologne that always hits me right between the legs, but it's not just that. I can smell the wood burning, clear mists rising amid the trees in the nighttime forest around the camp fire, dew settling on the grass.
