With Me Now

by Heather Hambel Curley

  Mike had pulled her to him; he slid his hands down her waist and steadied her. “I checked that thing twice, there’s no way it could just randomly fall.”

  “Is it broken?” She was close enough to smell subtle hints of his cologne. It seemed to inhibit her ability to think clearly. “If it is…you know, we’ll all have to work on the same pit. Or call off the dig until we can get it fixed.”

  “Regrettably, I have a feeling I’ll be able to fix it.” He guided her to the sifter and then squatted down beside it, letting his fingers trail down her arm until it was out of reach. “That’s so weird. I swear it was sturdy. It didn’t just fall, it sailed.”

  The crunch of footsteps treading across the unmowed grass behind her seemed to cross from her right to her left, then gingerly step up next to her. She turned, expecting to see Liam.

  There was no one there.

  Her pulse quickened. She drew in a quick breath.

  The footsteps crossed back to her opposite side. For a moment, she thought she felt the pressure of a shoulder pressed against hers, the sensation of someone standing too close. She was struck by the overwhelming feeling the sifter had landed there for a reason. The wind was blowing, but in the opposite direction. It shouldn’t have fallen toward the pit. It should have fallen toward them.

  But it didn’t.

  The presence next to her shifted. She felt hot breath on her ear, like the exhalation of long held breath. A faint whisper, a muffled voice that sounded like it was speaking to her through a thick wall, begging to be heard. Desperate for her to hear. Gooseflesh rippled down her arms and she took a large step forward, ending up as close to Mike as she could without actually standing on top of him. She forced herself to sound calm. There was no way she wanted to sound like a freak in front of Mike. “Is this the kind of fix that’s done in, say, a few minutes or one that takes maybe…a day or two?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s a quick fix. This piece just popped off.” He stood and help up a wooden edge of the sifter box. “It’ll only take a couple nails to get it back on. I just can’t figure out how it tipped. It’s as sturdy as a brick shit house. I should know—I built it.”

  “You certainly know how to woo the ladies. Building a sifter stand?” She cocked her head to the side. “That’s an impressive skill.”

  “I have many impressive skills.” He brushed loose strands of hair back from her face. “Just so you know.”

  “Tease.”

  “Only for now.” He winked. “Anyway, I’ll go get my toolbox and fix this. It’ll take longer to actually walk to the car and back than it will to fix the tray.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a quick movement by the collapsed sifter. She stiffened and turned her head. Nothing. “Okay.”

  He must have heard the waver in her voice; he stopped and looked back at her. “Is everything okay?”

  “Just jumpy, that’s all.” She forced herself to smile. “No signs of otherworldly beings, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  “Maybe I should be.”

  She nodded her heads toward the summer kitchen. “Liam’s on his way back. He’s even bringing shovels, so I’m obviously about to be put to work. I’m okay, Mike, if something…out of the ordinary happened, I’d let you know.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Liam regarded him as they passed each other. “Still harassing Madison?”

  “Do I look harassed?”

  Liam dropped the buckets and shovels in the grass. “No, you look pale and pasty. Girl, you need blush or a cheeseburger or something.” His eyes slid to the sifter. “What happened here?”

  “It fell over.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  Madison shrugged and picked up one of the shovels. “Must have been a break in gravity or something. Satan’s minions, I don’t know, but we weren’t even close to it.”

  “Satan’s minion is still sitting in the summer kitchen, drawing pictures of the fireplace and whining that her hair is ruined by damp air.”

  “Must be nice.” Madison forced the shovel into the earth and scooped a pile of dirt into one of the buckets. “No, I take that back. I’m happier playing in the dirt and not having to compromise my morals by cozying up to Brad.”

  “Exactly. You’d rather compromise your morals by cozying up to Mikey.”

  “Well. You know.”

  “I know. I’ve known Mikey for a long time, even back when he was Lieutenant Caldwell and was stomping around in uniform, all angry and masculine and intense. God, if I could be in your shoes.” He glanced down. “No. Not those shoes.”

  “Has he been out of the service long?”

  “I guess it’s been almost two years. He was messed up when he came home from his last tour in Afghanistan.” Liam looked back toward the summer kitchen and dropped his voice considerably. “He doesn’t talk about it.”

  “Not even when he first came home?”

  “Especially when he first came home. Something changed in him. It wasn’t something I could point out specifically, but I could tell. He’d just sit and stare. He’s a little better now, but I’m telling you that boy is fragile.” Liam eased another shovelful of dirt into the bucket. “So, don’t you hurt him.”

  “Hurting him isn’t in my plan.” Madison set the shovel down and dragged the nearly full bucket away from the pit. Mike was crossing the field, toolbox in hand. He was broken, but pieced together. She almost felt ashamed for talking about him behind his back.

  I’m so cold.

  The voice was audible this time, though muffled to the point it sounded like a radio station’s reception fading in and out. The speaker was right beside her. Madison’s breath caught in her throat. She could hear him, feel him standing next to her. His unseen eyes were locked on her. It was like the day prior, the silent figure watching her from the barn and from the woods, eyes never wavering.

  She swallowed hard and glanced back at Liam. He didn’t seem to notice. His attention remained focused on filling the next bucket with dirt.

  Under. Under. Under.

  The voice was suddenly too muffled, again sounding like someone trying to speak to her through a plaster wall. She frowned. If she was a sensitive, why was it so hard to hear anything?

  “Hey.”

  She jumped at the sound of Mike’s voice. She tried to cover it with a smile, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t fall for it. “Hey, just in time.”

  “Is everything okay back here?” He studied her. “Other than the broken sifter. And the bald dandy over there.”

  “The bald dandy resents that.” Liam snorted. “I’m bald because I choose to be bald. I’m so fabulous, the hairs on my head can’t stand it.”

  Mike rolled his eyes and leaned closer to Madison. “Everything’s good?”

  She nodded.

  He obviously didn’t believe her, but crouched down next to the sifter and flipped open his toolbox. “Did Liam tell you about his hot date last night?”

  “It wasn’t a hot date, it was a casual meet and greet.” Liam leaned against the shovel and rolled his yes. “And now I’m obligated to tell her. So, I met this guy online—”

  “Wait, you agreed to go out on a date with someone you met online?” Madison raised her eyebrow quizzically. “We need to sit down and have a long discussion on the rules of dating.”

  “It was a legitimate dating site, not a shady gay chat room or something.” Liam dumped another shovelful of dirt into the bucket. “So, we’d been chatting on the phone for a few weeks and he seemed totally legit. Until we ran into his ex at Applebee’s and there was this huge confrontation that ended in my date screaming at the top of his lungs in the parking lot—of Applebee’s, may I remind you—‘well, you gave me herpes, so your opinion doesn’t count!’ It got awkward from that point.”

  “I’d say so.”

  “So, he’s ready to drive me home and he’s like, I was just kidding about the herpes thing. And I thought about it. I thought about
it for a good fifteen seconds and said, ‘No you weren’t’. I left that bitch in the Applebee’s parking lot and called Mikey to come get me.”

  “I’m like his surrogate mother.” Mike tapped a nail into the wooden edging. “Mikey, come get me. Mikey, open this jar. Mikey, do you know how to get wine out of linen pants?”

  Madison pressed the toe of her shoe into the dirt. “Do you?”

  “Know how to get wine out of pants? No. I told him to start drinking white.”

  “This one,” — Liam jerked his finger toward Mike — “thinks you can drink white wine with red meat. I told him you don’t do that. Match your wine with your meat. Honestly, you’d think he was raised in a barn.”

  “I hate to say it, but he’s right.” Damp coldness felt like it was seeping through her sleeves; she rubbed her arms. “You can’t mix your meats and your wines. But hey, don’t feel you need to listen to me. I got my citation for too much involvement with my boyfriend Jim Beam and his cousin Jack Daniels. You can drink that with anything.”

  Rubbing her arms didn’t help. She was overwhelmed with cold. It felt like someone had soaked her hoodie in ice water and made her wear it to a hockey arena. Her jaw shuddered as she bit back shivers from the cold, but before she could begin to worry about Mike noticing, she saw movement at the field. It was Brad, crossing from the summer kitchen and heading in their direction. Jesus Christ, could things get any worse?

  “The pit looks great, guys!” He nodded in approval, a slimy smile spreading across his face. “Off to an excellent start! Probably still too near the surface to pull anything up yet, huh?”

  “Only soil to document.” Madison answered for the three of them. “Nothing spells accomplishment like comparing soil samples and matching them with the Munsell Color Chart.”

  “It sounds like an afternoon of enchantment.” Brad hung back a few steps from where she stood and brushed his hair back from his head. Madison inwardly groaned. It was becoming an annoying habit of his. Cianna might find it attractive, but she’d like a take a pair of clippers to his 1990s-esq bangs. Get a sweat band.

  “Look, Madison…” He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to apologize for earlier. That wasn’t like me and, honestly, I think the pressures of the dig are just getting to me. I shouldn’t take that out on you. How about we just start over? Wipe the slate clean.”

  She wasn’t sure what pressures he was referring to; they were only on Day Two. If two days on a dig was enough to drive him over the edge, she hated to see him as the deadline approached and they hadn’t finished all four test pits yet. But, okay, whatever. “Sure, that sounds great.”

  He held out his hand, an embarrassingly awkward movement. “I’m Brad. Brad Emerson.”

  “Madison.” She wiped her hand on her jeans to be polite, then grasped his hand in the most uncomfortable handshake she’d ever experienced. She could have settled without the literal demonstration of starting over. “It’s great to be here.”

  He looked relieved. “What else do we have going on over here?”

  “The sifter fell and a piece broke off.” Mike set his hammer back in the toolbox and carefully closed the lid. “It’s fixed now. It set us back by all of ten minutes.”

  “I’m more concerned about the weather setting us back.” Brad zipped his jacket up to his chin. “Jesus, it’s cold over here. Keep an eye on the weather. If it’s starts raining, get the pit covered up with tarps and use the buckets to secure them down. The last things we need are little pseudo fishing holes on park property.”

  “I’ll get some tarps and bring them over. Is the park getting pissy with you?” Mike stood and stepped away from the pit, running his hand across Madison’s back as he passed her. “Again?”

  “The park likes good, firm scheduling. I told them we’ll max out the dig at four weeks, but they’d prefer to have us out of here earlier. They’re looking toward the battle anniversary in July.”

  “We could find Jimmy Hoffa buried out here and we’d still be done before July.” Liam put his shovel down and headed toward the sifter. “Come on, darling, let’s separate dirt from more dirt.”

  Brad jammed his hands in his pockets. “The park doesn’t expect us to find much based on how small our test areas are, so I think they’re writing us off. Maybe they don’t want us to find anything, hell, I don’t know. If they wanted artifacts pulled up, they’d have put us out in battlefield proper.”

  “There’s still plenty of time for us to fail.” Mike winked at Madison again. “Speaking of failure, what do you say you help me try to convince Cianna that break time is over? She’s been holed up in the summer kitchen for almost an hour. The test pits on that side of the farm aren’t going to dig themselves.”

  “We’ll see what we can work out.” Brad shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and headed back to the field. “Keep me updated, guys. I have more paperwork to push.”

  Mike glanced at Madison and rolled his eyes with great exaggeration and then followed Brad back across the field.

  She stood still for a moment, the biting cold burrowing over her shoulders and down her arms again. The voice was in her ear, like a scream carried across an empty, open field.

  She. She.

  * * * *

  As promised, Mike dropped her off at her hotel room promptly at 5:15, leaving her plenty of time to get ready and swing through a drive-thru on her way to the first rehab session.

  “Thanks again for the ride.” She unbuckled her seatbelt, hesitant at opening the door and leaving him. “I’d rather stay with you than go hang out with a bunch of other underage drunks.”

  “Yeah, you’re a buzz kill.” He chuckled, running his fingertips across her knuckles. “It’s pretty easy to find the school, but if you have any trouble, call me. I’ll be there.”

  “Keep your phone close. I can’t navigate my way out of a paper bag.”

  He smiled at her. “So…what do you say I pick you up tomorrow? We can make a habit of this.”

  “Keep being so sweet to me and I’ll end up just asking you to stay.”

  “That’s something I’d gladly make a habit of as well.”

  She flushed. “If you show up early, I’ll try and sneak you into the breakfast hut for English muffins and donuts.”

  “You rebel, you.”

  Madison laughed and opened the Jeep door, stepping out into the parking lot. “See you tomorrow.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  She crossed the parking lot to the staircase and then turned back to him, clumsily waving like she was walking into her first day of kindergarten. He distracted her. Everything else—even the dig—seemed incidental in comparison to what she wanted to happen with him.

  And the sooner it happened, the better.

  * * * *

  Madison tossed her hoodie on the bed and rubbed her eyes. The counseling class was just how she’d thought it would be — boring. There’d been introductions, an overview of the syllabus and how classes would work, and finally an ending with a dramatic description of how the human body processes alcohol. She didn’t feel counseled as much as she felt her intelligence was insulted. It was going to be a long four weeks.

  Her cell phone buzzed, indicating the receipt of a text. Probably her mother. She shook her hair down from the French twist and crossed the room to the sink. It was a long day, and she didn’t feel like exposing herself to her mother’s pep talks.

  After she took her contacts out and washed her face, she returned to the bed and picked up her phone. The text wasn’t from her mother. It was from Mike.

  Was it as riveting as you expected?

  Her heart felt like it did a move reminiscent of the cha-cha.

  It could have only been improved if they’d served snacks. There’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back.

  His response was almost immediate.

  You can’t have all the big fun at once. I assume you found your way back to the hotel?

  You’d have gotten a franti
c call from me if I didn’t.

  She crawled onto the bed and leaned against the headboard.

  Maybe I should have called you anyway.

  I’d have shown up.

  The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. It was too easy to fall for him; her simple crush was snowballing into out of control infatuation. The only question was if he felt the same way.

  He texted again.

  Because…I’ve kind of been thinking about you all evening.

  He did.

  Chapter Ten

  By Friday, Madison determined she and Mike were reaching close to seven solid hours of texting over the course of three days. They’d spent the time getting to better know each other; he hated Brussels sprouts and was allergic to Tide. She admitted to him that¸ other than losing her father, the most horrible moment in her life was the realization that her step-father hated her simply because she was another man’s daughter. They’d spent hours joking, flirting, and talking about nothing and talking about everything—everything but what was developing between them. She’d already known she’d fallen for him, but as the dig dragged on into late Friday afternoon, she determined she’d fallen for him much harder than she’d intended. They were far beyond what would constitute casual fling territory. And that, on its own, made her nervous.

  She ran her hand over clots of dirt on the sifter screen. It was a debate which was more frustrating — finding no artifacts whatsoever in the forest test pit, or the fact she was falling in love with Mike. Her phone buzzed with another text from him.

  I just found a canteen spout. Beat that.

  She brushed her hands off on her jeans and texted him back.

  I’ve found four buckets of clean dirt in less than an hour. My brutal consistency trumps your luck any day.

  Don’t make me come back there.