I felt the tears resurface as I took in the sea of friendly faces. See, Michael, this is what you’ve forgotten about. Society isn’t just hate, fear, intolerance, and indifference. There’s love too. And loyalty and family, brotherhood, sisterhood, comradery . . . if only you had come with me, then you’d see for yourself.
Wiping away the tears I didn’t even think could form, I rushed over to my parents. They wrapped their arms around me, holding me tight. “Mallory, thank God . . . we were so scared.”
Having felt that fear myself, I nodded as I pulled back to look at them. “I was too. There were so many times I thought I wouldn’t make it . . .”
“How did you make it?” my father asked. “How did you survive for so long all alone?”
“I wasn’t alone. A man . . . saved me.”
A lump tightened my throat. My parents exchanged a look, but before they could ask me anything, I was assaulted by my sister. “Mallory! Don’t you ever almost die on me again.”
“I’ll try not to, Patricia.” I laughed, squeezing her tight.
The tiny woman in my arms pulled back to look at me with a stern expression. “No more trips into the wilderness. I’ve always said it’s too dangerous, and this disaster only proves my point. You only get one life, Mallory.”
Her dark-as-midnight eyes were pleading with me to believe her and listen to her. I didn’t want to let one bad incident shape my entire future . . . but for now, I didn’t have a choice. “My plane is gone, my camera is gone, and most of my equipment is gone. I’m not going anywhere for a long, long time.”
Patricia shook her head of dark curls, then pulled me tight again. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” I wasn’t. It meant I had absolutely no way of seeing Michael again for a long, long time, but I understood where my sister was coming from, so I didn’t mention my heartache.
After my sister, I was welcomed and hugged by everyone who’d come out to see me. The outpouring of love was overwhelming, and I was exhausted long before I got to the last person . . . Shawn. My ex was almost the opposite of me, with sandy hair, pale eyes, and an almost constant smile on his face. He wasn’t smiling now, though. He looked like he’d been torn apart piece by piece, then raggedly sewn back together.
“Jesus, Mallory . . . I thought you died.” He pulled me into him, wrapping his arms around me so tight I could barely breathe. “I thought you died,” he repeated.
Feeling erratic waves of desolation and grief radiating from him, I rubbed tiny circles into his back. “I’m fine, Shawn. I’m completely fine.”
He ran a hand down my hair, holding my head against him. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Mallory. I can’t . . . I can’t lose you.”
His voice warbled as he spoke, and I knew he was barely holding on. Shawn had always been emotional—some of our fights were legendary in town. He wore his heart on his sleeve, though, and I never had any doubts about how he felt. The nakedness was refreshing after dealing with Michael’s walls. God, Michael . . . he was home by now, alone in his little cabin. Was he thinking of me? Probably. There wasn’t much else to do there but think.
Burying that pain deep inside, I told Shawn, “I’m so sorry. If I could have let you know I was okay—let everyone know I was okay—I would have. There just wasn’t a way.”
Pulling back, Shawn’s glossy eyes studied my face. “What the hell happened to you?”
A tired smile on my face, I told him, “Can I tell you in the car? I want to go home.”
Shawn immediately nodded, then scooped me up like he was sure my fatigue had suddenly made me an invalid. “I can walk, Shawn,” I told him.
Giving me a half smile, he said, “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.” I’d heard that argument a time or two before. In our marriage, Shawn often thought I should just sit and relax while he did everything. It drove me crazy.
But just this once, I caved to his chivalrous nature . . . because I really was tired. In fact, I fell asleep on the way home. Or I’m assuming I did. When I woke up, I was in my own comfortable, spacious, pillow-top bed, surrounded by my three little pugs: Frodo, Pippin, and Samwise. Soft morning light was streaming through my windows, and the smell of bacon was thick in the air. God, it was good to be home.
Like they could sense I was awake, my dogs began licking every part of me they could reach, grunting and snorting like little excited pigs. Their curled tails were furiously beating back and forth, almost fast enough to create a current in the room. Wrapping my arms around all three of them, I pulled them in to me for a hug. “I missed you guys so much!”
Little barks met my ears, little tongues flicked my cheeks . . . all was right in the world. Sort of.
Feeling melancholy beginning to weigh down my heart, I pushed my pups away and climbed out of bed. That was when I noticed I was in my pajamas. When had that happened? Wow, I must have really been out of it. As I wondered just who had dressed me, I shuffled off to the kitchen; my dogs followed me, trailing so close to my feet they tripped me a few times. “Mom, did you . . . ?” My voice trailed off as I stared speechless at Shawn, standing in my kitchen making breakfast.
“Oh good, you’re awake. How many eggs would you like?”
“Shawn? What are you doing here? And did you undress me?” I reflexively crossed my arms over my chest, even though it was too late. He’d already seen everything. Several times.
Shawn rolled his eyes at my question. “Was I supposed to put you to bed in those filthy clothes? And besides, you thanked me as I was doing it. Although you called me Michael . . .” He frowned, and my cheeks suddenly felt red hot. I didn’t remember any of that. God . . . I’d called him Michael. Michael . . . he’d be well into his day by now. Sunlight was precious up north. Was he hunting? Gathering water? Splitting wood? Was he okay?
“Why are you still here?” I asked, changing the subject and redirecting my thoughts. “You could have gone home. I’m fine.”
Shawn suddenly looked very sheepish. “Well, actually . . . I’ve been living here.”
My jaw dropped at that news. Seeing my surprised expression, Shawn shrugged. “I knew you’d want someone to take care of your house and stuff.” He pointed a spatula at Frodo, Pippin, and Samwise. “And them. I knew you’d want them to have constant companionship, not just your sister’s daily drop-ins, so after it was clear something went wrong, I moved in . . . to take care of them. To take care of everything.”
I was stunned that he’d done all that for me . . . basically put his own life on hold for me. “Oh, wow . . . thank you, Shawn. That means a lot to me.” I’d hoped someone had taken care of my life while I’d been gone—taken care of my dogs, my home—and my heart surged with relief to hear that someone had. That Shawn had.
Setting down his spatula, Shawn walked over to me. Rubbing my arm, he said, “I’d do anything for you, Mal—you know that. But . . . if you want me to, I can move my stuff out this afternoon. Unless . . . do you want me to stay for a while? You must be pretty shaken up.”
After everything he’d done for me, it seemed cruel to immediately kick him out, but I knew it would be misleading if I let him stay. “No, I’m fine. You can go home.”
I started heading for the slider so I could let the dogs out, but Shawn stopped me. “Mallory . . . wait. I don’t . . . I don’t think we should . . . I mean, I think we should . . .”
“Shawn?” I said with a smile. “Are you going to start making sense soon?”
Shawn let out a nervous laugh, then ran a hand through his shaggy hair. After exhaling a deep breath, he said, “I love you, Mallory. I’ve always loved you, and thinking you were dead . . . well, that put things in perspective for me. I think we divorced too soon. I think we should get remarried.” He nodded like his thoughts were suddenly completely clear; then he dropped down on one knee. “Will you marry me? Again?”
Staring at my ex-husband, on his knees, proposing . . . again . . . suddenly made me exhausted. “Shawn, come on . . . get up.” Not letting h
im argue, I reached down and helped him to his feet.
Before I could tell him that I wasn’t going down that path again, he held his hands up. “I know you’ve just gone through a huge ordeal, and I know it’s going to take you time to adjust. I’m not trying to pressure you or rush anything, just . . . think about it, okay?”
With a soft, compassionate smile on my face, I shook my head. “I don’t need to think about. I already know my answer.” It’s the same as every other time you’ve asked me.
He put his fingers against my lips, silencing me. “No . . . I don’t want to hear it yet. I’m going to ask you again later, and you can tell me your answer then. Once you’ve had time to think about it.”
Annoyance began to eat away at my gratitude—he did this to me all the time. “Shawn,” I said, my voice firm even with his finger over my mouth.
He shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Tell me later. Now, how many eggs do you want?”
I could only gape at him. He was so bullheaded sometimes. And I knew from experience he wouldn’t listen to a single thing I said right now. Even if I told him there was no way I’d ever marry him again, he’d ignore me and ask me again in a few days. Persistence was Shawn’s specialty . . . it was how he’d gotten me to marry him the first time—a fact that continually bit me in the ass, since now he believed that as long as he didn’t give up, I’d eventually say yes.
Throwing up my hands, I told him, “Fine. Three. Over—”
“Over easy, I know. I remember.” His smile was huge as he got to work. Huge and hopeful.
After breakfast, I politely asked Shawn to move his stuff out. Shocking the hell out of me, he actually did. I think the only reason he did was because he was confident he’d be moving back in a few days when I said yes to his proposal. I’m sorry, Shawn, but that’s not ever going to happen. My heart was utterly and completely tied to another man. A man I could never have.
I thought about Michael all day long. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing, what he was thinking, and what he was feeling. Was he as torn open as me? Scoured from the inside out? Whenever I pictured his scruffy beard, ice-blue eyes . . . warm smile, I felt like sobbing. I cried so often and so quickly that I was genuinely concerned I wouldn’t be able to stop. It was like I was mourning him. I supposed I was. He’d made his choice to stay; I’d made my choice to leave. I was mourning us. What we could have been and what we would never be now.
My parents and my sister came over at dinnertime, hands full of food from the diner. Good thing, since I was still in my pajamas and hadn’t felt up to the task of making dinner. Kind of strange, since making dinner now would be so much easier than it had been all those months. Did I actually miss the hundred thousand steps it took to make a meal? Was it . . . too easy now?
“Hi,” I said, throwing on a smile as I opened the door wide.
Mom didn’t buy my fake cheeriness. Or maybe my outfit had tipped her off. “Are you okay?” She tilted her head as she examined me. Mom was letting her hair gray naturally, and there were long streaks of silver mixed with the brown; the way she put it up in a loose bun emphasized the coloring. She had a few extra pounds on her and rarely wore makeup anymore. She said it was to look the part—her restaurant being called Nana’s Diner implied that she was older than she actually was—but I think she just liked not having to worry about her looks.
I nodded at her question, then shook my head, then nodded again. Finally, I shrugged. “I’m not sure what I am, Mom,” I said with a sigh. “Glad to be home, but . . .” Missing Michael with every breath.
“But what?” Patricia asked. Her piercing eyes turned analyzing, like I was suddenly a patient, not a sibling.
“But hungry,” I told her, not entirely lying. I hadn’t had anything since Shawn’s breakfast.
I ushered them into the house, then shut the door behind them. I’d been fielding phone calls all day from concerned friends and neighbors. I’d told everyone I was fine—when I was anything but—and it had zapped me of my strength; I collapsed onto the couch with a huff.
Mom looked at me, then gave Dad all the containers of food. “Why don’t you go set the table, dear. I think we need a girl talk.” Patricia nodded in agreement while I let out a groan.
“We don’t have to do this,” I told her. “I’ll be fine. It’s just . . . been a long winter.”
“One you haven’t told us much about,” Mom countered. “You fell asleep five minutes into the ride home last night.”
Dad gave me a warm smile; oddly enough, it reminded me of Michael. “Talk to your mom, Mallory. You know it will help. It always does.” Dad also had speckles of gray in his dark hair. In made him seem older, too, and wiser.
He left the room, and Mom and Patricia sat down on either side of me. Patricia grabbed my hand. “I have to imagine that after the extreme survival experience you went through, you must be experiencing some sort of posttraumatic stress. I can help you through it, Mallory, but you have to talk to me.”
I didn’t want to be rude, since she was only trying to help, but I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes at her. “I’m not going through PTSD. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine, and you don’t seem fine,” she said. “You seem . . . sad. Are you sad you made it? Survivor’s guilt?”
Compressing my lips, I firmly told her, “I can’t have survivor’s guilt when no one died, Patricia. That’s not it at all.”
Patricia opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Mom put a hand on her knee, silencing her. “Instead of trying to guess what you’re going through . . . why don’t you tell us? From the beginning, what happened to you?”
Looking between the two of them, I could feel my eyes watering. I didn’t want to talk about it . . . which meant I probably should talk about it. I’d never truly heal until I verbally released my burden. “Everything was fine until I hit a storm. My plane stalled; I couldn’t get it restarted. I thought I was dead . . . but somehow, I wasn’t. But I was hurt. And scared.”
I looked over to see that my dad had quietly reentered the room. His warm brown eyes were full of sympathy, and he nodded at me to continue. “I managed to make a shelter, but I didn’t have a lot of supplies. I knew it was just a matter of time before . . .” I paused to swallow a rough lump in my throat. “And then . . . he appeared. He came out of nowhere and saved my life. He took me to his home, patched me up. He shared his food, his supplies . . . his life. He kept me alive.” And then he made me feel alive.
Mom shared a look with Dad. “Who, honey? Who saved your life?”
A single tear dropped to my cheek as Michael’s smile floated through my brain. “Michael. He lives all alone in the woods near where I crashed. He gave me everything he had; then, when he could, he brought me home.”
My voice cracked, and my tears grew thicker. Mom looked confused. “Isn’t that a good thing?” she asked, rubbing my back. “Why are you so . . . upset?”
“She’s in love with him,” Patricia whispered.
As I looked over at her, a sob escaped me. “And I’m never going to see him again. He wouldn’t come home with me. He said he loved me . . . but he wouldn’t leave.”
I completely fell apart after admitting that to her. She pulled me into her arms. “I’m so sorry, Mallory,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“I love him so much. It hurts . . . so much.”
“I know,” she said, rocking me back and forth in a soothing pattern. “But it will fade with time. I promise. Once you’re done grieving, the feelings will fade.”
I knew she meant her words to give me hope, but they didn’t. They only filled me with more despair. I didn’t want my feelings to dim with time . . . and I didn’t believe they would. Michael had touched me too deeply. If only I’d been able to touch him half as much, then maybe he would have picked me over solitude.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Days passed. Then weeks. I tried to get into my old routine, but I’d become so adapted to life in
the woods that I’d forgotten what my “normal” routine was. I didn’t need to get water, didn’t need to chop wood, didn’t need to do much to prepare my food. My days were so wide open they felt empty. And my nights . . . those were pure torture. Because my sister was wrong. My feelings weren’t dwindling—they were growing. Every day apart from Michael was worse than the last, not better.
Since I didn’t have enough money to buy another camera, and I couldn’t do my job without one, I was working for my parents at the diner. I didn’t mind being there; it was like a second home to me, but it wasn’t where my heart was. Of course, that was true on several levels, so it didn’t bother me as much as it should have.
I was just dressing for my shift when I heard my doorbell ring. All three dogs started barking. They were great at letting me know people were here . . . once I was already aware of that fact. “Shush! Quiet down, you three. Don’t make me get Gandalf.” That was what I affectionately called my disciplinary water bottle. The tactic didn’t work as well on dogs as it did cats, but it had its moments.
As I stumbled toward the door, I shouted, “Coming! Hold on.”
Breathless, I swung the door open . . . and saw Shawn standing there, holding a dozen roses. “Okay . . . it’s been three weeks. You can answer me now.”
Wishing I could rewind time and not open the door, I let out a weary sigh. “I really don’t have time for this right now, Shawn. Mom wants me to make some pies, and baking isn’t my strong point . . . as you know.”
Shawn laughed as he stepped into the house. “Yeah, I remember. But an answer only takes a few seconds. Surely you have a few seconds to spare?” He paused to dramatically get down on one knee. “Mallory Reynolds . . . will you be my bride, for the second time?”
Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “I’m sorry, Shawn, but my answer is no. I just want to be friends. Now can I please finish getting ready for work?”
Frowning, Shawn stood up. “You need more time. I understand.”
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