Reaction

by Jessica Roberts

  But I was in a coma! I imagined myself shouting at him. It wasn’t my fault! However, that small, little detail somehow didn’t seem relevant when, for thirty-one months, Nick dealt with the rage of a blindsiding betrayal. The little lies I’d told him about my family life when we’d dated didn’t help matters either. They only made me look more guilty, draining my already depleted credibility.

  Oh, he’d torn me apart right in my hospital room with the viciousness of his words. The conversation went something like this:

  Him: I don’t care about you anymore.

  Me: I hate you.

  Him: I’m out of here.

  But then, a second later, as I lay there vulnerable and broken, he put me all back together with nothing but his hands. I recalled those adept hands, how there was magic in them, the ability to soothe and caress and insanely satisfy. On that occasion that’s precisely what they had done. He stroked my cheek; I involuntarily leaned into his touch; and the unspoken conversation went something like this:

  Him: I can’t live without you.

  Me: I love you.

  Him: Don’t ever leave me again.

  That was a week and a half ago, and we hadn’t seen or talked to each other since. For all he knew I was still laying in the hospital bed where he’d left me. Or perhaps he supposed I’d been released already. Regardless, we would have to face each other sooner or later.

  Really, I felt desperate to see him, though I’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing. I’d made the decision to take it slow with him. I prayed that if we fell in love before, we could fall in love again.

  The sound of gravel popping beneath my tires brought me back to the moment and in what felt like mere seconds, the narrow road had guided me to his aunt and uncle’s front yard where a shiny black jeep was parked. The ride to the outskirts of St. Louis was a fair ways, but it had gone incredibly fast.

  I couldn’t help gawk at the beastly black vehicle before my eyes. It was the hugest, most intimidating animal on wheels I’d ever seen. The commanding, squared, sleek lined jeep looked brand new, with massive black wheels and large headlights atop that were boring into me like a big, black monster encased all in metal. If this was a foreshadow of things to come, I’d just as soon donut out of there, peeling wheels and all, without a backward glance.

  And if the current debate in my head were audible, I might have been pegged as demented: I can’t do this! Yes you can! No, I can’t! Yes! No! Get out of the car right now! I just can’t! Now! No, I’m terrified! I know, but you have to do this. What if he doesn’t want me anymore? There are a million “what-ifs”. You can’t answer any of them unless you get out of this car.

  Fortunately, behind the metal monster shone the small, humble farmhouse. The large front window with short, dainty lace curtains was what held me, so much so that I found myself stepping out of the car and my thoughts wrapping around their cream-colored warmth. Mentally, my memories made their way inside, exploring the old vintage furniture and simple, hand-made decorations that cluttered the walls and tabletops. Because a heady feeling of contentment came over me, I acknowledged Nick’s aunt and uncle’s home as a once welcome place.

  While lost in the memory and equally overcome with a desire to return my life to that former happy place, the faint hum of a tractor stole my focus, pulling my thoughts even more current and my eyes toward the large, spacious wheat field. The sudden tension in my gut told me it was Nick, at present a safe distance away, and the nerves at last went into full throttle mode. So much for today’s goal of staying calm, I conceded reluctantly.

  With an uneven, hindered breath, I angled toward the field and began an anxious advance, unable to alter my focus off the large cloud of dust moving closer and closer. For a brief second I thought about making a quick b-line back to my car, but that decision would have taken a coherent brain and working legs, both of which I lacked at the moment.

  Avoiding a few puddles with unreasonable difficulty, I forced myself to totter forward to where the dirt ended and the first row of crops began. The yellow harvest field now stood before me, large and foreboding, swaying its golden head back and forth as if warning me away.

  Dazedly, I stepped into the edge of the field and with unsure hands, stroked the raindrops off a single piece of straw.

  A memory suddenly surfaced. A memory from so long ago and so far away that I could barely own it as my own. In fact, instead of reliving the memory as if I was a part of it, I became apart from it:

  A guy and a girl were laying in the field together, secluded from the world by the lone rows of dry, golden wheat. Purposely they hid themselves from every other person in the world. Then they could say and do whatever they wanted, for however long they wanted, like two people in love.

  Basking in the quiet, country breeze, they mumbled about plans for their future between gestures of affection.

  During the lazy but meaningful conversation, at a moment when she wasn’t looking, he stroked a piece of straw around her ear to tickle it. He dropped his hand to hide the evidence just as she lifted hers to shoo away the imaginary bug. It took two rounds for her to catch on. When the straw came up the third time, instead of shooing the bug, she snatched the guilty hand.

  A laughter-filled tussle commenced that ended with slow kisses to her neck that drove her crazy.

  “Stop it,” she said through giggles, which, to her satisfaction, made his kisses slower and even more drawn out.

  She was thoroughly caught up in the rush and warmth of him. Every worldly care vanished as he held her in his arms, protecting her, cherishing her; because that’s the way it was between them.

  And would be forever.

  My mind popped back into reality when the tractor’s motor killed about twenty yards away. But the passionate memory lingered, taxing my feelings with giddy strain, the kind of feeling you get the moment your harness locks on an extreme rollercoaster ride. All I could think to do was stand erect and wait, wondering if this had been a good idea, wondering what on earth I was doing, wondering if he’d even get down from the machine when he noticed it was me standing there, like a dummy. Evidently he would, because my attention was snared by a pair of broad shoulders in the distance, easily managing the descent off the tall engine.

  Though I found myself blatantly advancing toward him, almost being pulled into the field by some unseen force, I thought better than to call out to him. Take it slow, I reminded myself. Stay calm. But my heart was thudding in my chest regardless. I clasped my hands together in front, desperately trying to keep them from fidgeting, dying to know what he was thinking as he stood there, watching me approach.

  Even through the distance, my scattered mind instantly recognized the cowboy hat. Its edges looked frayed, its once golden straw was dark and stained, and the leather band just above the brim had turned from a light tan to a deep honey brown. My long-ago birthday present to him.

  I also noted, as I closed the distance between us, that his body was larger than before, and superbly conditioned—most likely due to manual labor; he used to love building things. Did he still? Perhaps he’d changed. No question, he was different. He was more, if that was possible.

  All of a sudden I felt quite faint.

  This was it.

  Miracle of miracles, through lightheadedness and a shaky smile, I managed to stop my legs a few feet away from him and greet him by saying, “Hi,” though the pitch of my voice sounded foreign to me.

  He didn’t seem to notice. He rubbed the humidity off his forehead with the portion of his wrist just above his ragged, leather worker gloves. “Hi,” he responded as he gazed across the field, seeming neither particularly satisfied nor dissatisfied to see me. But I couldn’t manage to look at him either; the sensation was too extreme, like looking directly into the sun.

  Several panicked introductions presented themselves in my mind: I just ran into your roommate; How are your aunt and uncle doing; It’s so cool and rainy today; but there was an uncomfortable sense of e
ase or aimlessness in his manner that made the muscles in my mouth slacken. Why couldn’t the knots in my stomach do the same! And why hadn’t I worn a coat? I was shivering violently.

  Gladly, he took the floor. However, I didn’t feel so glad when his next sentence was, “What are you doing here?” Reactively, my face looked to his.

  It might have been the long separation, or the yellow fields, or the crisp wet air, but the sight of him standing there, so beautiful, so rugged, so male….

  “Um, I just…I was in the area.” Stupid, stupid!

  I thought I saw the corner of his mouth tip, but his bland expression returned a second later. So much for playing it cool, I reflected again with a snarl.

  His next question was not as abrasive and even sounded sincere, but he was staring off into the distance again when he asked, “You feeling better?”

  “I’m good,” I told him, nodding as if to verify the words as a little niggling of guilt hit, weighing me down a bit. It was the same feeling I’d get every time I used to fib to him. I hadn’t remembered that feeling until just now. I reminded myself that as of last week, when he came to visit at the hospital, he knew the truth: there was no “happy” family life, my mother was dead, and my stepfather was a drunken convict. So apart from him knowing I’d kept those secrets from him, there was no reason for me to feel the heaviness anymore.

  Looking back, I realized how stupid it was of me to lie. I definitely brought it upon myself. Granted, it surely wasn’t the first time in the world an eighteen-year-old exaggerated to a hot boy about her family life. And really, we hadn’t dated for that long. When our relationship had turned serious and it was time to come clean, I was ready and going to tell him. But time is a funny thing. You think it will last forever, but it doesn’t. That time, it was taken away much too abruptly. And now, after almost three years, the lies had become a way bigger deal than they ever should have been.

  “You look better than you did last week,” he said.

  I wondered how he could possibly know that since his eyes still hadn’t completely met mine. He was right; I certainly had looked gaunt and pale for several days after they’d taken me off the machines. Even now I was still a little underweight, but at least my color was back. I was strong too. And I had never lost my spirit.

  “Thanks,” I told him, but he didn’t seem to be listening. He was still staring off to the left toward the house. I decided he was purposely avoiding eye contact to help me feel more at ease. That was so like him. He could always read my emotions; he used to tell me I wore them on my sleeve. Really, I wanted to kick myself in the shin when I realized how nervous I must have seemed with my hands yanking on themselves and my body completely stiff, as if my feet were mortared to bricks.

  But anyone could see how electric the air was between us, so rather than be too hard on my shins, I began to coach myself, Play it cool, Heather. Stick to the game plan. Take it slow, remember?

  “Uh,” I picked up quickly before he could say something, “Okay, well, I should probably head back—”

  At last, his eyes shifted, holding mine for a moment and then wandering over me in a slow assessment that was too casual to make judgments about. When his eyes finally met mine again, they seemed to pierce right through me, all the way to my center. I’d forgotten how dazzling they were.

  For a moment I was caught off guard—wanting nothing more than for him to grab me into his arms and hold me, kiss me to breathlessness, tell me how much he needed me—but I quickly fell back into character and continued, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Guess where I’m living? In a basement apartment right next to—”

  My words slowed a second time when he again looked toward the house. This time I couldn’t help but follow his eyes across the distance.

  My body jolted back a bit at the sudden sight of someone standing in the big front window of Nick’s aunt and uncle’s home, watching us. The figure was too far away to recognize, but it certainly wasn’t his aunt.

  It took a moment, staring toward the house in confusion, before understanding began to sink in, the world beginning to tilt in an odd, awkward, uncomfortable way, the ground beneath my feet not quite so stable anymore.

  I transferred my squinting eyes to the golden fields for a brooding minute in hopes they would make it false if it was in fact true. “She’s with you?” I didn’t mean to say the words out loud, but when they came out, I heard their truth. They struck me like a plunge into icy waters.

  Of course she’s with him. Why wouldn’t he have someone in his life? It’s been three years. How could I have possibly thought for a second that he wouldn’t? That I could just march back into his life like nothing happened, like everything’s the same, like he’s been asleep for three years too?

  A speechless affirmation was his only response.

  How had I not known? How dumb could I be?

  Though it still didn’t fully sink in, I now knew we were thinking very differently at the moment, were in two different places, were two massive worlds apart. Still, his silent treatment and the insinuated rejection somehow found a place right under my skin. Immature, but all I wanted to say was: Then why are you wearing my hat!

  I stopped myself short, yet couldn’t help ask in the most offhand tone I could manage, “So, are you married too?”

  His unsmiling eyes once again caught mine, and for one long and charged moment we studied each other. I almost thought he was going to take me in his arms and lock me up like he used to whenever the joke was over, until he answered, “This winter.”

  He could surely see the news sinking in, see the sharp prickles of unchecked emotion. I found myself staring at the dead ground so I figured my neck muscles must’ve given way at some point. The rock sitting there was a safe, neutral object to focus on though; something to secure myself to, when all around me was the disintegration of an already laughable life. Really, the situation would have been pathetic if it wasn’t so hilarious. It would be possible not to fall apart if I could just get myself to concentrate on one thing only: holding back my utter amusement. He’d never seen me completely lose it. He wasn’t about to now. His sympathy would be as unwelcome as the girl watching from the window. Yes, his pity would kill me.

  The only thing I could think to do to prevent the chuckles was to bite into my lip. I clamped down with such ferocity I feared I might draw blood. But I had to stop because it was kick-starting my emotions, which were on the verge of congregating in my eyes. My head felt dizzy and I could feel my cheeks turning splotchy from the strain. Laugh? Scream? Leave? Plead? What does someone do when they’re on the verge of losing something they can’t possibly lose? Something they can’t live without? Something that kept them fighting for their life for three whole years? Something that’s more like Heaven than anything on earth.

  No. This can’t be happening.

  My head remained bent and when I finally went to speak, my voice cracked, “Wow.” And then a few giggles slipped out, causing his eyes to find mine. Quickly I cleared my throat, and persisted, “Congratulations.” My head nodded as if to crank the air with some enthusiasm. Keep it together, I told myself. But my throat was clogged with all sorts of emotion. “That will be…and your family…they must be so—” The hitch in my voice came right then. But I fought through it, pushing the words, “They must be so—” My rambling stopped short.

  Before I knew what was happening, he’d captured my chin. Softly, his gloved hand lifted my face so that our eyes met. I tried to turn away, tried to see if the girl in the window was still watching, but he prevented me. There was nothing I could say, nothing to do, and nowhere else to look but in his eyes. In them, I was instantly lost.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I heard him say, his face holding mine.

  His words found an easy path to the part of my heart that needed it most. And the way he said them, with such confidence and peace.

  I reminded myself to breathe and assured myself that he was right, he was always right; it wou
ld be okay. It would all work out somehow. The engagement could be called off. It happened all the time. Yes, that was what he was telling me. And his hand on my chin, so still, so certain, confirmed this.

  But then, in the next thought, I remembered his super-human composure, even in the most complex circumstances, remembered the subtle hints in his silence, remembered the look of uncertainty he used to give when I’d shy away, and then I saw the tiny flicker of regret in his eyes. Suddenly his firm hand wasn’t a declaration of his commitment to me, rather to someone else. He was telling me to be strong, to let go, let him go, and to move on with my life without him.

  “I better get back to work,” he said, his eyes still fastened on mine.

  With my awkward-stiff nod, he let go of my chin. But instead of withdrawing, his hand worked its way down to my naked shoulder. The pad of his gloved thumb stroked lightly along my shoulder blade. Without a doubt, it was a goodbye gesture. But it was also purposeful, provocative; and who would have guessed that a leather glove could cause such a blaze of sensation? Though I told it not to, my tummy twisted in all sorts of loops.

  I had never held false notions about my recovery process; I knew it wouldn’t be easy. But while hobbling back to my car, I found myself glancing back to the field as if to suggest him responsible for the chaos not only in my stomach, but also in my head. Yet as my eyes circled to catch one final glimpse of the male figure sinking back into the field—the man who once told me that real love is timeless, the man I’d been fighting for from my deathbed for three intense and unrelenting years and therefore the man I was now doomed to love with a ruthless permanence, a man who wasn’t married yet—I came across the home instead, and the female in the window. The farmhouse was close, and the girl was still standing in the middle of the window, watching me.

  I turned away fast, but slow enough to catch the warning in her eyes.