by Don McQuinn
Lila clasped his hand in both of hers, pulled it closer. Her insistence forced him to turn and bend his body toward her. She told him of the man she'd lived with. Of a relationship that touched no romantic heights beyond convenience. Of a childhood spent thinking of herself as a welcome guest rather than a loved daughter. She wanted - needed - to make Crow understand that a person can mourn the absence of what one never had as deeply as one mourns loss.
How could he hope to go on without understanding that loss is inevitable but mourning is not eternal?
She continued, "I can't pretend to understand everything you've gone through, but I have some understanding of life's unfairness."
Crow disengaged his hand and shrank back into his chair. Chin almost on his chest, he said, "The guy you lived with - damned idiot."
"Well, there's something we don't have to argue about, anyhow." Her small lightness drew his wan smile. She said, "It disillusioned me. I just sort of existed for years. No close friends, hardly any social life, no particular interests. Until I found out I owned this place. It became my new life, just like cutting yourself off became yours."
He twisted toward her, attempted to speak. She stopped him. "No. I have to get this said. If I stop I won't ever start again. Reinventing Bake's place..." She gestured frustration. Recovering quickly, she spoke firmly. "I've never told anyone. This was to be their memorial. I'd be the only one who knew that, but that's how it was going to be. I'm not just losing a future I dreamed about. I'm losing a past, theirs and mine."
Crow seemed to grow preoccupied as she spoke. His disinterest hurt her deeply. The warmth that had been building in her burned out. She let her grip on his hand go limp. She decided she'd simply tell him he was right, that she needed sleep. She'd never again presume he was capable of compassion for anyone else. He talked the talk. That was as far out of the cage as his battered mind would take him.
Maybe she could help him find professional help. If he hung around long enough for that. No loan meant no work on the store. For him, that would mean no deal between them. He'd be on his way.
When she pulled away he wouldn't let her go.
Instead, he pivoted to reach and enfold both her hands, exactly as she'd done earlier. He said, "Everything you just said - it was all was. What about your future? All we've talked about is me. You said you're losing everything. You're telling me the bank turned you down?"
The controlled strength of his grip was a mooring, holding her together. She savored that strength, took it as her own. Still, sadness thickened her voice. "I'm done. That loan was my last chance."
"Oh."
She was hugely disappointed. He'd tricked her. His intensity seemed so positive. Then, nothing. Oh. Her original assessment was correct; no one else's problems truly penetrated his self-involvement. She waited for him to spout the usual platitudes. In the meantime she berated herself.
I thought...
I didn't think anything. I played a foolish mind game with myself.
If it was just a game, why do I hurt so much?
She hoped he wouldn't pretend sympathy. She could deal with rejection; practice makes perfect, and all that. What would be unbearable would be being smothered in empty phrases. Especially from him
I want him to hurt with me. For me. I want him to care.
He doesn't. He won't. He can't.
What's happening to me? Why? We're not even in the same world. I belong here. He doesn't belong anywhere.
He finally said, "How long can you hang on?"
"Pretty much until my refrigerator's empty. Actually, I still have the trust - that's food money, a little more. And I'll find work. Maybe at the bank." Her laugh burned.
"I know how you feel. If that's any help."
She bristled. "Remember what you said about people who don't know what it's like? That cuts both ways."
Apparently unoffended, he let go of her hands and rose. "Maybe..." he began, and she interrupted. "I'm out of maybes. From now on it's positives and negatives. No middle. I've got to make choices."
"You'll leave here? Just walk away?
"No. I'm not leaving Lupine. Even without the dream, I've got roots here. They broke me. They can't get rid of me."
He said, "It's still your building, your land. You can live here as long as you like. I'll help." He hesitated, turned so he was addressing the empty fireplace again. "Maybe Doc Newton's right; maybe I should go to parade rest for a while. Heal up a bit. Be good for Major, too. It hurts him to ride in the pickup; I can tell. The turns roll him around, you know? And the bumps have to hurt. Anyhow, it's a bad time for you to be alone." Then, explaining the clumsy last statement, he hurried on. "I don't mean to scare you. I mean, whatever was on the porch isn't coming back. All I'm saying is, you'd have someone to talk to. If you wanted."
She felt a total fool, mute in the face of an offer she didn't expect. Worse, having received it, it frightened her with its implicit promise of continuing emotional turmoil. Her heart drummed.
It'd be better if he just left. Wouldn't it?
I want him here.
An image crept across her mind - herself in the car with Van. Another image overwhelmed that one - she saw herself falling, Crow catching her, holding her in his arms. Supporting. Wanting.
The beat of her heart slowed to normal, even as her thoughts dismayed her.
What was she becoming? Something buried deep in her was drawn to Van for those few moments in his car. There was no thought of love in her then. It was escape, purely sexual. Now - only minutes later - she was with another man and her mind was taking her down a very different but similar path. How could she? Did other women's minds do that to them?
But there was a difference. She'd never wake up one morning and find a goodbye note on Van's pillow.
No matter how she felt about Crow, it was pointless to think of him as anything more than someone who touches lives as casually as a breeze, himself completely unaffected by the contact. Yes, he was a good man and he stirred romantic feelings in her. Romantic, not realistic. Yes, he'd stay to help her and she'd accept the help but she'd have to be crazy to attach any significance to anything he said or did.
Then I'm crazy. He is significant. In every way. Ways Van could never be.
So Van was stability and security. He offered a life with social ties and events, cultural exposure, travel. He wasn't entirely the man of her heart's dreams - who ever found that? - but he could turn out to be the man of her marital needs.
Heart's dreams? Crow?
"Lila?" Crow was quizzical.
She stammered. "I'm sorry. What you said about staying and helping - I thought you'd be moving on, now that the project's dead."
"You have to live here. We'll get that squared away. And things may change, get better. There's always something unexpected comes up."
Ignoring the last, she said, "Thank you. I already told you once you're a better friend than you know. It bears repeating."
His smile was positively shy. It pulled at her, made her want to tiptoe high enough to kiss him.
But not that way.
Yes, dammit, that way. Too. Any way.
I really am crazy. I don't believe me.
He said, "Time to go. I know the way out." He called Major. Sleepily, the dog uncurled and came to stand by him. Lila rose. When Crow half-turned, her heart lurched. She almost reached to prevent his going.
They moved to the front door. Crow hesitated after opening it. The night air poured in. Lila shivered, knowing in her heart it wasn't mountain chill affecting her. Without looking back at her, Crow said, "You know Vanderkirk's serious about you."
Now.
Now you say "I don't love Van."
I have to make him realize this could be our time. Us. There's something there. We both deserve something better. Maybe it's each other.
He'll never leave Patricia. He can't.
Her voice was unsteady. "I know."
He faced her. "So how do you feel about him?"
For the first time that night, a real smile brushed across his face. "That was massively rude, wasn't it? Sorry. I wasn't thinking. But with things the way they are... You know - you refusing to sell and hanging on here when he wants the land." He shrugged.
Only a man could be that dense. Endearing, in a way, but as thick as a plank. She decided she might as well be honest. "I think about it. Don't you dare ask me if I love him."
This time he actually grinned and it was even more devastating than the earlier shy smile. Lila turned her hands into fists and locked her elbows to keep herself from grabbing at him. He said, "I'm a troubled man and I know it, but I'm not completely nuts. If I ever ask a question like that, you'll know the string's run out. You and Van's none of my business. Neither's the property, really, but I was wondering if you'll change your mind, sell the place."
"What do you think of him?"
Genuinely startled, Crow pulled back. "Me? Van? I don't know. I mean..."
"Liar."
He colored. Frowned. "Ok, you asked: I don't like him."
I'm a fool. An idiot. I knew it was the perfect time earlier. I had a chance to say something light, something clever. Maybe tease him about falling into his arms that night. Maybe he'd think about that, about how it could be the start of something. It might have been a start heading nowhere, but...
She had to say something. "I'm surprised."
"Sometimes people just don't like someone else. Says more about me than him, I guess."
What's it say about me that I'm thrilled to hear it? It's been obvious and I still wanted to hear him say it.
She said, "He's not a bad person. He can be abrasive. He doesn't mean anything by it."
Crow nodded. "It's way late. I kept you up, unloading on you that way. It was kind of you to listen."
"I wasn't being kind. After all, I made you listen to my sad song."
He laughed softly and said, "Aren't we being good to each other? We sound like a camp meeting - all day preaching and dinner on the ground. Except it's the middle of the night. Even so, the Pastor'd be proud of us."
"You've got a weird sense of humor."
"I told you once, I'm a funny man."
"I'll stick with weird."
He walked down the steps, talking over his shoulder. "No surprise there. Last word: like that. Stubborn as a cat. It makes me wish..."
He was on the ground by then, barely touched by the faint wash of light from inside the house. He stumbled, wavered. Lila rushed to him, grabbed his shoulder. Slowly, he turned to her, taut with control. He looked stunned. She kept her hand on him, bending the arm so she was close to him, bodies practically touching.
She looked into his face. Her mind reeled with strange, disassociated thoughts. She was afraid to speak, believed she could hear his heart's excited rhythm matching hers. She saw inside him, where the mystery, the plainness, the indomitable spirit and the confusion all blended and contradicted each other. He made her think of the night, a place of hiding and protection, yet frightening in itself.
She said, "Finish what you started. You said, 'It makes me wish...' What do you wish, Crow?"
He said, "I wish things were different. I wish I was different."
"You are different. It's the man you've created who's out of place, not you. You're hiding the real you." She was amazed to realize her hand had somehow gone from his shoulder to his cheek. And his hand was covering it.
"I told you; I know who I am." He kissed her fingertips, his gaze locked on her eyes.
"Not as well as I do. I know you better than you do."
His eyes closed. A sound in his chest was like something tearing. He almost growled. "I believe you. I don't know what to do about it."
She inched closer. Her other hand rose to his other cheek and she watched it from the corner of her eye with a strange, detached pleasure, the way she'd watch a butterfly select a landing. He opened his eyes and found hers. She said, "Come back inside. Stay with me."
He grabbed her shoulders, the power of his hands a near-pain she welcomed. Then he groaned and stepped back. He released his hold only as he retreated out of arm's reach. Her own hands fell away, hung in midair at her waist. He said, "I can't. It's not right. Please. You don't know how much..." He shook violently. Beside him, his dog whined concern. Crow went on, "It's like you said; you know who I am. The real me... I'd destroy you, too. Don't you understand? What I touch I kill. What you said - what I want - it's not me. I can't."
He literally ran.
* * * * *
Lila waited until she heard the Airstream door slam before going inside to slump in the chair again. Zasu squirmed into her favorite spot next to her again. Lila absently tousled the small, furry head and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. It was minutes before she closed her eyes and the first tears welled, trembling diamond-bright under the lamp's soft touch. They slipped down her cheekbones. She ignored them and spoke into the waiting silence. "Why do I always fail?"
As if hoping for an answer, she fell silent again. Soon, however, she murmured to herself, imagining the words drifting like snowflakes. "If he'd asked, I'd have gone with him. Anywhere. I'd be good for him, I know I would. Make him whole again, make him better. He needs me. And he'd be good for me, too. That's the truth. Why can't that be enough? Instead, I'll end up married to Van. I'll spend the rest of my life longing for a man I'm not even sure I love. Not even sure he could love me. So that's the future; a pair of heartbreaking truths wrapped in the single worst lie a woman can tell."
Chapter 27
Movement at the edge of his vision brought Crow out of his mesmerized concentration on the steam rising from his breakfast coffee. Major stood at the door of the Airstream, tail wagging furiously. At the same moment, there was a knock. Crow rose quickly, certain it was Lila, concerned that she'd apparently slept as badly as he had.
One look at her confirmed the hunch. He noted how she hugged Zasu to her, clearly projecting a need for support, but it was her physical appearance that demanded his attention. Her hair was simply pulled back and bound, as if done hurriedly. He pictured her coming to a decision, yanking herself together, marching out of her house. Still, although her sweatshirt was customary, it seemed new and her khaki cargo pants carried the creases of shelf life. She wore no makeup. Crow's breath caught at a delicate, vulnerable beauty he'd never seen in her. A closer look revealed distress so dark it threatened his resolve to deliver the goodbye speech he'd rehearsed all night.
Lila put Zasu down to greet Major. Gesturing her inside, Crow affected a matter-of-fact manner. "You need a cup of coffee. I need to get back to mine. Come in."
She managed a sketchy smile. She stepped past him, settled at the table while he poured. As soon as he was seated across from her, she raised her drink in a toast; "Here's to last night. It never happened."
He drank with her, said, "Look, I..."
She talked through whatever he had in mind. "Just listen. I want..."
"You do that a lot, you know." She gaped and he went on, "You say something and I try to answer and you tell me to shut up so you can finish."
Lila tossed her head. She wore a pale green headband and the richness of her brown hair flared. The color flurry that made Crow think of spring breaking past winter. She said, "I never told you to shut up. That'd be rude and I'm not a rude person." Crow coughed and buried his nose in his cup. Her eyes flashed as she continued. "This is hard enough without you making it nasty. I didn't sleep last night."
"Me neither. Must be something going around."
"Don't be cute. Last night never happened."
He rolled his eyes. She leaned forward. "Don't give me attitude. I'm serious."
"I can't just act like nothing happened."
"You have to. You need a place to stay, someplace where people can help you. I need help and you promised to help me. What happened last night - I messe
d up. We have to get past it. Because we're friends." She looked away, then her eyes sought his. "I mean that. I like you. I think you like me. I let that get ahead of me last night. It won't happen again."
He broke their eye contact. The silence stretched so long her fears over her boldness in approaching Crow slashed at her resolve. When he finally looked up, her hands were trembling. The backs of her knees tingled.
Softly, almost sadly, he said, "Your eyes brighten mine. Your voice is the best sound I know. I..." He hesitated, continued in a stronger voice. "I have to move on. There's no way I forget what happened last night. Or the night you fell and I caught you."
She was firm. "Forget or not, you'll act like you have."
Jaw muscles clenching, he forced words. "Didn't you hear anything I said last night? How do you think I get from one day to the next? I pretend all the time, pretend I didn't..." He stopped, looked past her, focused on another time. "My wife. I pretend I didn't... Nothing would have happened. It's my fault."
"Something else could have caused the problem, whether you were there or not."
"I was there. And you're missing the most significant point. I trust you so much I can talk to you about it. What happened between us last night shouldn't have. But it did. I don't dare forget."
They retreated into themselves again. He drummed fingertips on the table. His same blue workshirt made her smile inwardly. He had the fashion sense of a telephone pole and changed his appearance just about as often. He was equally rigid about maintaining himself. When she was pacing around the house in the dark she'd stepped out for a breath of pre-dawn air and caught a glimpse of him doing his morning pushups. Soon after, she'd watched steam rippling upward from his outdoor shower; light from the Airstream made it vaguely luminous. Now clean-shaven, he smelled faintly of citrus-scented soap and cologne. There was a different strength in his face this morning, though. She didn't know what to make of it, but somehow she sensed hope in it. She'd long since noted that when he was deep in thought, he looked downright grim. Otherwise, he'd never seemed withdrawn. He spoke freely, cheerfully. Only if you drew close did you find out how distant he really was. This look hinted that he might have realized he could break out of his self-imposed isolation.
