by Alison Ryan
“I know,” she said, her voice trembling. “Let me just run your card with the office…”
She used the CB radio to talk to her dispatcher to get the credit card approval. She could barely speak the numbers, but somehow she got it all out.
Macon was right, after all. Of all the fucking cars in Vegas, he had to get in hers.
When she returned his card to him, he handed her a piece of paper, his ten-digit phone number printed in neat and very legible ink. Probably from a pen that cost more than what Norah made per hour.
She was so humiliated for him to see her this way.
“Here,” he said. “Please call me. Or text me. Okay? After you’re home from work or whenever you want. I don’t care what time it is.”
She didn’t even look at the paper, but she placed it in her back pocket. “I can’t promise you anything, Macon. I have to go.”
He nodded. She knew she was breaking his heart, but it was for his own good.
Just like it had been for his own good years ago.
“Bye, Norah,” he said, stepping out of the car, buttoning the top button of his jacket. He leaned in before shutting his door.
“You’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
He shut the door and she finally pulled away, the tears streaming down her cheeks before she’d even left the driveway.
“Was that Norah Pruitt?” his mother asked as he watched her car drive off. He was clutching his chest, absently, broken-hearted at what he’d just experienced.
Norah didn’t even want to talk to him. Didn’t even want to entertain the notion.
Maybe she was married now. But he hadn’t seen a ring. Her eyes were so sad, much sadder than they’d ever been before. Even when they were kids. And her eyes always haunted him.
He still dreamt of her. Even years later.
And now she was gone again.
“You okay?” his mother’s voice brought him back to reality. “Was that her?”
“Yeah,” he said. Somehow he’d been aware enough to pull his carry-on bag out of the car with him. Now he’d wished he’d left it with Norah. So he’d have an excuse to track her down.
“Well, that’s kind of a crazy coincidence,” she replied. “Explains why you look like you’ve seen a damn ghost.”
He smiled. “Yeah, well. I kind of did.”
“She’s still pretty,” Pam Moultrie said as she stood up to hug her only child. “Can’t believe she still lives here after what happened. And driving a limo?”
“Alright, Mom,” Macon said, not wanting to talk about Norah right now. “It was a long flight. I’d like to just rest for a bit. Maybe take you out to dinner later if you’re up for it.”
“Sure,” Pam said. “There’s a new casino open up in Summerlin. They have a good buffet from what I hear and Janice Hibbons says the slots are hot.”
“No buffets,” Macon said. “And definitely no gambling.”
“Mr. Fancy-Pants lawyer is too good for the buffet,” she said as she swung open the screen door to the inside of her trailer. As Macon walked in he couldn’t help but sigh. It still smelled like cigarettes and regrets. The TV was playing an old episode of Dr. Phil.
He slumped down in the recliner across from the same couch his mother had had since he was a kid. He’d sat on that couch with Norah for hours watching television and talking about the future.
A future that he had always been sure would have her in it.
Seeing her again was such a mind fuck. That hadn’t been the way he’d wanted it to go. He’d fantasized about seeing her again so many times. Every time he’d wanted to quit law school, he’d think of her. And how he wanted to be the man she deserved. A man that could fix the past somehow by becoming someone she could love.
And somehow it had all gone to shit anyway.
But he was a lawyer now. And life was good. Every goal he’d set, he’d hit. School was now finally over. He was on his way to so many dreams coming true for him.
But seeing Norah had reminded him how much he still didn’t have. How was it possible to have everything and yet nothing at the same time?
9
Norah didn’t remember much about the rest of the day. All she could see was Macon’s handsome face. All she could hear was his voice pleading for her to call him.
She knew she could never actually call him. How could she, really? She’d barely been able to function in his presence. It was asking too much.
When she finally came home to her apartment that night, she was grateful for Hadley’s absence. She threw her car keys on the kitchen counter and sunk into the futon in their tiny living room, throwing her chauffeur jacket onto the floor.
The sobs she’d held in all day escaped her and she hugged her knees to her chest, folding them against herself as she thought about Macon and how painful it was to see him after all this time.
Part of her hadn’t wanted to push him away. Just like she hadn’t wanted to before either. She’d loved him desperately back then. He was the island in the stream of her life, the one thing she’d always been able to stand on as the chaotic waters rushed around her.
But she’d been no good for him. Not good enough anyway. She never would be. For some reason Macon couldn’t see that. Even now.
She cried for a long time. About Macon, about the past, about what could never be. She did this once a month or so; had been doing it once a month or so for years. But it had been a long time since she’d cried over Macon. She thought she was getting better. Moving on.
But just as she thought she was done with him, here he was; back in Las Vegas, sitting on the other side of town probably wondering why she’d been such a bitch to him.
Norah suddenly remembered the piece of paper. She reached into the back pocket of her pants and pulled it out. It was folded over. She opened it up and a hundred-dollar bill fell into her lap.
That just made her even more embarrassed.
She looked down at the note.
Call me any time. Please. 210-555-6890
She should have ripped it up and threw it in the garbage. She had every intention of doing it. Right after she slept for a bit and tried to forget about this day.
The hardest part of seeing him was because of Josh. Every time she saw Macon, she saw Josh. And despite everyone saying time heals all wounds, that was a wound that still wasn’t even close to healing. It was open and raw. Even now. Maybe always.
10
Eight Years Ago…
So Norah Pruitt and Macon Moultrie had been high school sweethearts. Norah would say it had all began that night in her bedroom, but Macon knew he’d loved her long before that.
He was just happy she’d finally caught up to him.
Not that their love made high school any easier. Norah was still bullied by the bitch brigade, and Macon was still only comfortable when he was studying or spending time with Norah. But they made it work. Their teenage years had been much better because they had each other.
Josh had a whole different experience, of course. By his junior year he was the star quarterback of Torrey Pines High School. With that came all the trappings of high school fame; friends, girls, and more attention than he could handle most of the time.
Yet, despite the difference in social status, the three friends remained as close as ever. Even if Josh didn’t always understand his sister. His loyalty would always be to her and to the guy who’d let them in his home and his heart, all those years ago.
All three of them had been eager to graduate from high school. Josh had enlisted in the Army, something Norah had been completely against for many reasons. Sometimes it felt like Josh was trying to relive his father’s life, the man they barely remembered most days. He’d been an Army veteran. And things hadn’t worked out so well for him.
Macon had gotten into every single college he’d applied to, including his first choice; Columbia. He was Ivy League bound and could barely contain his excitement most days.
Norah had
gotten a full ride to UNLV, which she was ambivalent about for the most part. She wanted to be where Macon was, but they’d promised each other to remain faithful and true, even from a long distance.
“I know I’m young,” Macon had told her the night they’d graduated. “But I know you’re my destiny, Norah Pruitt.”
She’d smiled and kissed him, even though behind her eyes lay a sadness at the realization and inconvenient belief that it could never be that simple. Destiny wasn’t a real thing, not in her mind. Otherwise she’d have to believe that the terrible things that had happened to her had been for a reason. Something she couldn’t reconcile, even on her best days.
“What do you think you’re going to miss most about Las Vegas? Besides me, of course,” Norah asked Macon as the couple walked, hand in hand, toward In-N-Out for lunch on an unseasonably cool, comfortable late summer afternoon.
“What makes you think you’re what I’ll miss most? I’m pretty sure you can’t get animal-style fries in New York,” Macon joked as he reached to open the door for Norah.
Norah pouted playfully. “You can’t get this in New York, either.” She stood up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on a surprised Macon, a deep, passionate kiss, a making-out-kind-of-kiss, despite an older couple walking through the open door behind them.
Macon was momentarily breathless, speechless, and caught totally off-guard. Norah smirked at him and continued into their favorite fast food joint.
“Good point,” a dumbstruck Macon muttered.
After ordering their food, they took their drinks to the table to wait; a cherry Coke for Norah and a sweet tea for Macon.
“Believe it or not, I think I’m going to miss the desert the most.”
Norah arched an eyebrow.
“After you, of course,” Macon corrected himself with a smile. “The wide-open spaces. The cliché answer would be ‘The Strip’, but Times Square has such a similar vibe that I don’t expect to miss the lights all that much. But there’s nothing in New York to compare to the desert. In fact,” Macon stood up as their order number was called, “my days in the desert are numbered. And it isn’t uncomfortably hot today. Let’s get our food to go, and have a picnic.”
“Right now? Are you serious?” Norah asked, following Macon to the counter.
Moments later, they were back in Macon’s car, heading east toward the mountains.
“Sorry we didn’t get milkshakes. It’s not that cool out yet. They’d just be sweet milk by the time we’d get around to them.”
“That’s ok,” Norah replied. “Where are you taking me?”
“The desert!” Macon answered, enthusiastically. “Nowhere in particular. I’ll know it when I find it.”
Singing along to the radio, they left the city behind, passing through the foothills of the Frenchman Mountains and out beyond, into the stark, featureless desert.
After a few miles on the windy, rolling road, Macon turned off onto an unmarked, dusty trail through the sagebrush that barely qualified as a path.
Slowing to a crawl as the “road” became less passable by the inch, Macon stopped the car.
“Up for a climb?” he asked.
“I’m up for climbing that,” Norah responded, pointing to a series of rust-colored boulders surrounding a butte rising a hundred or so feet from the valley floor. “But no way in hell am I going up there.” Norah motioned toward a jagged set of cliffs on the sheer face of a mountain a quarter mile deeper into the desert. “I just wish I’d worn different shoes.”
They both looked at Norah’s feet, clad only in strappy sandals.
“The Tarahumara Indians in Mexico run marathons, super-marathons, actually, in rougher terrain than this, and they do it barefoot,” Macon replied.
Norah rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. National Geographic?”
Macon nodded.
“You are such a nerd. I love that about you,” Norah replied.
“Guilty!” Macon happily pleaded.
The teenagers disembarked on the short hike through the desert, Norah carrying their bag of food and her drink while Macon lugged a blanket he had in the trunk and his own drink. Lizards scattered as the couple stomped through the scrub.
Coming over a rise and descending toward the base of the butte they intended to scale, they stumbled upon a glittering sea of broken, green glass and shell casings all over the ground.
Norah hesitated, and looked to Macon for reassurance.
“Somebody must have been out here drinking and shooting. Probably a bunch of somebodys,” he said. “But, it’s just us now. Come on.”
Macon forged ahead, reaching the boulders with Norah practically in his back pocket.
“This place is spooky, Macon. I bet there are bodies buried out here.”
Macon set his drink down and then tossed his blanket up and over a shelf in the rock and tested his footing on an outcropping.
“There are old mine shafts out here, so I bet there are some skeletons down below somewhere. But we’re going up, not down.” Macon hauled himself up onto the rock and reached down for the food and drinks, which Norah handed up to him. Macon reached a hand down and helped pull Norah up to where he was, and they searched for a path to the top.
Slowly, on barely-there hand and footholds, passing their lunch and blanket along, they ascended the butte. Nearer the top, the going got easier, and they found a rocky path that extended around behind what they’d originally seen.
When they reached the mesa, they lay down on their backs, using the folded blanket as a pillow, catching their collective breath.
“This is what you’re going to miss about Las Vegas?” Norah asked.
“I’ll admit, it sounded a lot more romantic talking about it at In-n-Out,” Macon conceded. “But it’s kinda cool, isn’t it? Let’s look around.”
They stood up and surveyed the desert surrounding the platform they’d claimed as their own. Nothing stirred as far as they could see, and their car and telephone poles were the only signs of civilization. Aside from some small cactus and a creosote bush with tiny yellow flowers on it, they had the mesa entirely to themselves; a rough rectangle of dusty red rock thirty feet long by twenty wide. A swirling breeze kept the relentless sun just bearable.
“This would be a cool place to read,” Norah said as they finished off their slightly soggy animal-style fries and perfect burgers. “It would be better with a chair or something, but I can totally imagine spending a day up here reading and napping and enjoying the peace. I’ll admit, there is something sort of magical about the desert.”
Norah rolled onto her back, propped up on her elbows, and they watched a bird, a hawk they guessed, gliding lazily overhead.
Macon laid next to her on his side, on the blanket, watching her mouth move. She was so beautiful, her hair windswept and the bright sunshine making the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose more prominent.
He reached across and touched the strip of exposed skin where her t-shirt had ridden up. She looked at him and bit her bottom lip, fighting the natural urge to push his hand away.
Macon pushed her shirt higher, circling Norah’s bellybutton with the tip of his index finger. She watched his finger and then met his gaze, finding hope there.
Norah let her had fall back and she closed her eyes. Macon grew emboldened, easing Norah’s shirt higher and bending down to place gentle kisses up and down her ribcage. Norah’s breath caught in her throat as his hand reached across to mimic her mouth on her other side, gently caressing her.
The combination of Macon’s hand and mouth on Norah’s midsection made goosebumps appear all over her body, and she sighed contentedly.
“Macon Moultrie. What do you think you’re doing?” she admonished, playfully, as his hand moved around to the small of her back and down just beneath the top of her shorts and his lips reached her middle, kissing her belly button and then just below.
Macon turned his head so he could look at her face, and he found her smiling, so he gr
inned back and continued. He kissed softly across her stomach, his hand on her back moving up and down slowly, his fingertips exploring the supple flesh.
He reversed course and began to ascend toward her breasts, lifting her shirt up, tentatively toward her bra. When the bottoms of the lacy white cups came into view, his eyes met hers. She bit her bottom lip, but did not protest, so he worked her t-shirt up and over her breasts.
“Damn,” Macon whispered.
Norah glanced all around once more, and watched a motorcycle wind its way down the highway and out of sight. With the way the mesa tilted slightly away from the road, they were invisible to the infrequent traffic whizzing by.
To Macon’s surprise, Norah sat up and pulled her t-shirt off, balling it up into a makeshift pillow. She lay back on it, with her arms crossed behind her head. “Keep kissing me. And it’s only fair you take your shirt off, too, don’t you think?”
Macon surveyed the area and came to the same conclusion Norah had; only that bird way up in the sky could see them.
He tugged at his shirt and tossed it away.
“Have you been working out, Macon? Trying to get all buff for the New York coeds?”
Macon stretched and rolled his shoulders. He hadn’t told her, but he’d been doing pushups and sit-ups regularly for a few months now. His body was no longer that of the skinny kid that first met Norah; he was filling out into a young man. Lean muscle rippled in the sunshine.
“The only person,” Macon paused only to kiss Norah. He kissed her sides, her arms, the visible portion of her breasts, everywhere he dared to kiss her. “I want to impress,” he kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose. “Or will ever want to impress,” he finally kissed her mouth, and she responded enthusiastically. “Is you.”
Norah squinted up at Macon’s silhouette.
