ETERNAL

by Cecy Robson

  Who the hell am I fooling? I should need a lot of time considering how much sex we’ve had. The table turned out to be a fun place to be. I have no idea how I’m going to have my family over for Thanksgiving after the way we defiled that thing.

  I bent Luci over during the second round. She liked it, calling out my name, driving me wild. When I carried her to the couch, I thought we’d fall sleep the minute I covered us with a blanket. But it’s like we both got a second wind, and that wind brought with it another round of pleasure.

  It’s almost one in morning. I’m tired, spent, but I don’t want to sleep. Sleep will make the morning come faster and bring on the afternoon just as quick. I don’t want Luci to go. I’m ready to offer to buy her a first-class ticket back to Jersey if she’ll stay with me a few more days.

  The thing is, I don’t have a few more days. I have a ton of interviews lined up in Charlotte and have to spend most this week locking up and moving into my new place. Besides, sexcapades with Luci is the last thing I want, even though on the surface, it looks like this is all it’s been.

  Maybe with another woman, everything we shared and did would be just physical, but being with Luci, whose soul is so tender I feel it every time she smiles, everything feels like more.

  Shit. I want more.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks. She passes her hand along my scraggly beard, her fingers skipping along my throat until it rests against my chest.

  “I’m thinking we might need more wine.”

  I reach for the bottle on the table behind us, topping off her glass and then filling mine. I’m not sure why I lie. Oh, wait, I do. Because the last time I had really great sex with a woman I spent the weekend naked with, I mistook lust for love and married her.

  It wasn’t right away. Bernadette played her cards well, making sure I was the one pursuing her, begging for her company, and promising her a life away from the abuse and drugs she grew up with, and from that stupid pole she danced on.

  What a fucking idiot I was. My frat brothers from M.I.T. were visiting and wanted to hit that gentleman’s club in Charleston. I went as a joke, and became the joke once Bernadette saw all the bills I was dropping to make sure my friends had a good time. I might as well have been wearing a T-shirt that said “Future Sugar Daddy” on it, seeing it was obvious I was worth a lot of money.

  It’s like traveling around the world and seeing all the damaged and broken people worked against me, rather than for me, making me a mark and Bernadette the arrow that hit me dead center. When I heard about her troubled life, about her drunk father who used to beat her, and how she was the only one in her family who hadn’t ended up in jail or addicted, I though, oh, yeah, I can save her. I could make her life better. And I would have if she didn’t turn my life into an abyss of agony I barely crawled away from.

  Bernadette started off friendly enough, keeping a respectable distance, dropping just enough hints about her past to let me know how much she suffered. She made me hunger for her, until I was obsessed with making her mine and rescuing her from a life no one should ever endure. I thought I’d hit the jackpot, here was this beautiful woman so lost until I found her.

  I realized too late all I’d hit was a jackpot straight to hell.

  Luci kisses me again. “What is it?” she asks. “You seem upset.”

  “Just tired.”

  She returns to stroking my beard. “Do you want to go to bed?”

  “No.”

  She laughs a little and adjusts the white fleece blanket around us. “Okay, so just rest. We don’t have to talk.”

  No, we don’t. That’s one of the great things about Luci.

  Luci says all the right things and does the right ones, too, except so did Bernadette. I don’t want to compare the two. They’re sweet vs sin. An angel against the devil. But Bernadette took a while to show her horns and even longer to spear me through the heart with her pitchfork. Is it a wonder that same bruised heart is warning me?

  “Tell me something about you,” I say before I give it too much thought. “Something weird.”

  “Something . . . weird?” She laughs. “Are you serious?”

  Damn that laugh and cuteness, too. “Yeah.” The more I think about it, the more it sounds like a good idea. “But it has to be odd or bizarre, something that will send me running.”

  “You want me to send you running?”

  She should be insulted by what I’m asking, instead she simply grins. “All right. If you insist.”

  She gives it some thought. I’m waiting for something good, like she has a collection of rocks that she stoned her ex-boyfriend with, before tossing his broken body down a flight of steps and laughing like a psycho when he tried to skulk away to safety. Yeah, that’s it. This woman can’t possibly be this nice.

  “I like monkeys.”

  Okay. Maybe I’m wrong.

  “Monkeys,” I repeat. She nods. “What kind?”

  “All primates, really. But especially chimpanzees and mountain gorillas. Silverbacks to be specific.”

  “Silverbacks,” I say.

  “They’re found in the Congo, Uganda, and Rwanda,” she adds. “I want to go there one day, just to see them in the wild.” She averts her gaze, growing bashful. “I know it sounds silly.”

  “I don’t think it does.”

  “Then why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.

  “Cause you’re fucking adorable,” I remind her. “Most women I meet want to go to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower, tour all the trendy shops, and take in the museums.”

  “I’d like that, too,” she says. “I just want to see gorillas more.”

  “I get it. But why not play it safe and go to the Louvre? Have that croissant as you walk through le Jardin du Luxembourg.” Her eyebrows lift at how I pronounce the French words without a trace of my southern drawl. I’m not trying to show off, but I’m also not going to pretend like I haven’t been there or speak enough French to get around. “The Congo, hell, most parts of Africa are filled with unrest. You’re risking a lot by going there versus the places governed more closely.”

  Her head falls back to rest against my shoulder. “Last night, you mentioned all the places you’ve visited that weren’t so glamorous.”

  I brush a kiss along her crown. “That was to help. My parents acquired good guides and better people to ensure we were protected and received safe passage through the more worrisome areas. You’re talking about vacationing. For that, there are other places, safer places you can enjoy without risking your life.”

  “I know, but it’s a dream I have.”

  She probably thinks I can’t picture her trekking through the dense jungle. If so, she’s wrong. I can already see her, winning over some giant gorilla as easily as she won me over.

  “Why primates?” I ask. I want to keep her talking and know that I’m listening. I also want her to understand I only mean to keep her safe.

  She shrugs, appearing embarrassed by sharing as much as she did.

  “Please tell me,” I say. “You may want to know me, but I want to know you, too.”

  To my relief, she smiles and explains. “My grandmother gave me a stuffed chimpanzee toy when I went to live her.” Her voice fades and she pauses, the worry that reflects in her features alerting me she told me more than she wanted to say.

  “Your grandmother raised you?” This is the second time she’s led me to believe her grandmother was her mother. I should be polite and allow her to brush it aside like she did the first time, but I can’t. I need to make sure she made it out okay.

  “Yes,” she admits.

  “Why?”

  “My parents weren’t able to,” she answers quickly.

  The hurt in her voice is as obvious as the sudden sadness that appears in her pretty stare. “I’m sorry,” I say, because I am, and because I shouldn’t have pushed. Even a fool can see it still causes her pain.

  “It happens,” she says.
Her focus falls to her glass as she takes another sip. “Anyway, I became attached to the toy and rarely went any place without it. I’d watch nature shows with him and learned all I could about primates.”

  “Him?” I tickle her nose with mine. “And what was said monkey’s name?”

  “Jo-Jo.”

  “Awesome,” I say, nodding.

  She laughs. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Maybe I don’t, but it beats Chimpy or Bananas like I probably would have named him.”

  “You would have been more creative than that,” she says.

  “You’re right. I would have picked something unique and manly, too.”

  “I’d expect no less,” she offers casually. “Maybe Killer Bananas.”

  “Or Kick-ass Chimpy,” I agree. “I’d probably make him go all King Kong, set up a city of Legos and fleeing Barbies, and make him destroy it to the ground.”

  “You owned Barbies?”

  “Nah. My sister did. Killer Bananas would have stomped Ken to bits. After ripping my G.I. Joe’s legs off, Ken deserved as much. Bastard.”

  She throws back her head, laughing and spilling wine against her chest. “Oh, no,” she says.

  Being the gentleman I am, I lick every last drop up with my tongue. She releases a small moan when I trace a small circle near her breast.

  I want to climb on top of her. I want to do a lot of things. Except I want her to know this has been more than just sex, at least to me.

  I slip out from beneath the blanket and walk down the hall. “Where are you going?”

  “Bathroom.” It’s true, but once I’m done I head into the small guestroom and fetch my guitar.

  I return to the sectional and plop down on the corner. Luci stills. “You play the guitar?”

  My fingers fiddle with the strings to warm up. “Yes, ma’am, and sing.”

  “Of course you do. Of course.” She bows her head and shakes it, causing all those loose and messy curls to slide along her shoulders.

  I don’t think too much about how it felt to fist all that hair when she fell to her knees in front of me, or how I’m the one who messed it up further when I bent her over. I have a job to do: to give this beautiful woman with the wild and sexy mane the last bit of me I can allow.

  Singing and playing is personal for me, not something I do much around anyone but family. Except I want to do it for Luci. After slapping me awake and reminding me there’s still a lot of life left in me, and more passion than I ever gave myself credit for, it’s the least I can do, and maybe the best way I can tell her goodbye.

  God knows I don’t have it in me to say it any other way.

  My memory scrolls through the list of songs I know by heart. Most are love songs, country ballads filled with too much pain, and even more dripping with promises of a forever I’m not sure I believe in any more.

  There are a few I can really belt out, and too many I connect with and feel down to my bones. Except I’m already feeling too much around Luci. I can’t give my heart away so easily. Not this soon, and probably never again.

  Once bitten, twice shy, and my ex made sure to take plenty of bites.

  “You like classic rock, right?” I ask.

  She nods and holds out a hand. “Are you going to sprout wings now or during?”

  I tighten a loose string, chuckling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, nothing. I’m only expecting you to have a voice of an angel.” She points. “No, pressure, though.”

  “No wings,” I assure her. “But angels might appear for the chorus. And they might be naked. Not as good looking as me, but naked all the same.”

  “Oh, Landon,” she says. “There you go being all modest again.”

  “Prepare to be wowed,” I add, hoping to stay true to my words. “Again.”

  She places her wine on the table behind her and scoots forward.

  “You ready?” I ask. “Oh, wait.” I tug down the sheet around her breasts.

  She pulls it back up. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for inspiration, woman. It’s what all good musicians do.”

  I’m laughing almost as hard as she is, and have to start the first few chords to Southern Cross several times before I settle in and fall into a natural rhythm, allowing the words and the melody I know so well from years of practice, and even more years of loving this timeless song to come.

  The pitch is perfect for my deep voice and Luci’s smile is all the encouragement I need to relax. But as I sing the first line, her smile fades, and without meaning to, my soul anchors to each word.

  The first few lyrics are innocent enough. That doesn’t mean each string I pluck, and each syllable that flows like honey through my lips, doesn’t carry the weight I suddenly feel. By the time I reach the chorus I know I’m done for, even though I never intended to be.

  “I have been around the world,” I sing. “Looking for that woman, girl.”

  I glance down at the start of the next verse. I don’t think I’ll be able to finish the chorus while looking at her, but it’s like right then, I have to. “Who knows love can endure . . . . . .”

  The song becomes more than just pretty notes attached to a fair enough voice. It becomes that goodbye I intend, and one I no longer think my heart can say.

  I force myself to finish, thrumming the few last strings and keeping my head down as the final note vibrates along my fingers.

  At first I think I’m reliving the breakup and ultimate goodbye I shared with Bernadette. But in this moment nothing of Bernadette comes. I can’t picture her even though every tiny crease and minute wrinkle should be ingrained in my memory. I don’t hear her voice, neither the soft one she used when she wanted something from me, nor the one laced with fury when the accusations came and the harsh words meant to hurt followed.

  Bernadette is gone.

  Only Luci remains.

  I wish I could smile. But the too many smiles I had in Luci’s presence fail to appear. I look up. She seems ready to cry. I’m ready to . . . Lord, I don’t know what I’m ready for.

  She glances down at her hands. “Landon,” she says.

  I shake my head, it feels heavy, just like the air around us, quieting her voice and mine.

  “Don’t.”

  It’s what I say, even though I’m not sure what I’m telling her.

  Don’t cry?

  Don’t pity me?

  Or shit, don’t fucking tell me goodbye?

  Whatever I don’t want her to say or do, I can’t stop myself from feeling it.

  I place my guitar on the floor and lean into her, my hands cupping her face. Her hands palm over mine, her slender fingers stroking lightly. For a long while, neither of us move beyond that, everything I want to say lodging deep inside me where I think it belongs.

  I’m not sure she’ll welcome my kiss, but she does.

  She also welcomes what follows when I climb on top of her.

  Chapter Ten

  Luci

  We watched the sun rise from our spot in the living room before returning to his bed and falling asleep. After a few hours, Landon surprised me with breakfast in bed. He was sweet and greeted me with an even sweeter smile. But smiles are coming harder for me. It’s almost time to leave him.

  He stirs beneath me, rousing me from sleep. “Shit,” he mutters. “Oh, sorry,” he adds when my eyelids flutter open.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “It’s almost four.”

  I push up from where I’m lying on his chest. “We missed the day.”

  “Yeah. We did.”

  He doesn’t sound happy. I know how he feels, or at least, I wish I did.

  Last night, when he played me that song, all the sadness I first noticed in him intensified. I heard it in his voice as he sang each word and sensed it in the melody. Each note and lyric spoke as if he were mourning a tremendous loss. I mourned, too. But it wasn’t over a g
oodbye I never had the chance to say or a death that came too soon.

  It was Landon, and his impending absence from my life.

  He didn’t have to play or sing for me to win me over. He already has. His beautiful tribute yet another reminder of how amazing he is.

  I wanted to tell him that I’d like to stay in touch and that perhaps we can meet up again. I wanted to tell him I really like him. As hard as it is for me to open up and spill my vulnerability like pearls from a shattered necklace, I was ready to. Until he stopped me.

  I may have been ready to say a lot of things, but Landon wasn’t ready to hear them.

  When he held my face and stared into my eyes, I thought maybe he’d ask me to stay one more night. I thought . . . I thought he’d offer another opportunity to see him.

  When he didn’t, I didn’t push. As much as I like him, I don’t want to be that woman begging for his number and constantly checking my phone hoping he calls.

  I slip out of bed and lift my phone from the nightstand. Blythe hasn’t called nor has she texted to tell me when she’ll be by. That doesn’t mean she won’t. For all I know, she’s already on her way.

  I walk into the bathroom, feeling Landon’s attention trail me. If I were more confident, I’d strut to the bathroom. Yet while I feel comfortable being naked around him, I keep my head slightly lowered and take careful steps.

  The water takes a moment to warm as I wash my face, my mind sorting through how long I might have slept, and how much more I need to sleep to make up for this weekend.

  It shouldn’t matter. Every moment of rest I missed was worth it. Whether he calls me or not, Landon was worth it all.

  I take my time to freshen up. I’m almost done brushing my teeth with the spare toothbrush Landon gave me when he walks in.

  The gray sweatpants he wears hang low on his hips, exposing the “V” in his waist I took my time to know. He crosses his arms, bulging the muscles along his arms and chest as he leans against the wall. “Do you want to go swimming?”