Break My Fall (The Breaking Trilogy Book 1)

by M. Mabie

  Damn if it didn’t sound good, but she’d already brought me a drink that day. One was enough. “I have to run in a get a few more things. I’ll get it.” I turned the gas on, fired it up, and went back in while it warmed.

  It would have been easier to let her make me a glass, because by the time I came back out with things I needed, and one for me and one for her, my arms were full.

  She’d taken a seat on the wooden steps, and I noticed she didn’t have shoes or the dark stockings, and she’d pulled the bottom of her skirt higher up her legs so that her calves and ankles were showing.

  How was something so innocent so provocative at the same time? They were just damn legs.

  Maybe it was knowing she hadn’t shown anyone else. Maybe it was because they were pristine like newly fallen snow, pale and unmarked. Maybe it was because I could still hear her laughter from earlier and feel her lips from the day before and see her hair blowing across her shoulders like it was in the twilight every time I closed my eyes.

  I needed to get a hold of myself. It wasn’t like I was in the shop. I couldn’t just walk to the dark corner and take care of myself again.

  Well, I probably could tell her I forgot something down there, but then she’d make dinner and tomorrow we’d be back at square one.

  Seriously, why were her feet so attractive?

  “How do you like your meat?” I heard the double meaning in what I’d said but knew she wouldn’t think like that.

  “Medium, please,” she answered and placed the sweaty glass on the deck board beside her.

  After the burgers were on the grill, I sliced off a piece of potato and dropped it into the grease to check if it was ready. It answered with a crackle, and I continued slicing them thin until the pot was full and bubbling.

  “How was your first full day outside of Lancaster?” I asked, knowing I had some time before I needed to tend to the grill again.

  She stretched her back and pulled her hair over the shoulder opposite me. “It was different.”

  That was for sure. “Different how?” I asked to keep the conversation going.

  “Well, first it was strange sleeping in an unfamiliar bed and waking up someplace new. And then seeing the shops and meeting all those people. Grocery shopping with you. The phone and all the things it does. Who knew you could hold so much information in the palm of your hand?”

  Everyone. Everyone outside of that crazy town knew.

  I held my sarcasm because that was the most amount of words strung together that she’d ever said to me. “Do you like it? What did you find out?”

  I remembered the first time I had the internet. It was nearly too much to handle all at once. I’d spend days on end searching for things, asking Google for answers that no one else would ever give me. Every free hour I had, I was online.

  The lure of it faded quickly for me when I started reading more books, but I could remember the thrill of it.

  “There are lessons on there for how to make just about anything. It’s so useful. Like having every cookbook ever all right there in one tiny machine. No wonder they’re so expensive.”

  It was adorable hearing her talk about a cell phone like that. Before long, she’d be taking them for granted like the rest of the world.

  “I’m glad you like it.” I lifted the lid to the grill, and the smell made my stomach growl. She heard and unexpectedly she laughed again.

  That sound twice in one day was something else. I’d thought I had to make a joke to hear it again and all I had to do was starve a little. I’d be skipping meals if it kept her mood light and carefree.

  “Guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”

  Another chuckle. “Me too.” Then she sipped her drink.

  When the food was ready, she helped me pack it inside and get condiments out of the fridge. My phone rang, but it was Chris, so I sent it to voicemail. No doubt he’d heard what I’d done from his wife. I’d have plenty of time to deal with it the next day.

  In minutes, our plates were loaded, and our glasses refilled. She’d placed her things at the small dining room table, so I followed. With a paper towel across her lap, Myra then held her hand out to me just as I was about to hunch into my first big bite.

  Then it clicked.

  She was waiting for me to pray, I conceded only because she’d had enough change for one day and praying before a meal wasn’t a crime. I set my burger back down, and she slipped her palm over mine. I liked the feel of it. Smooth and warm.

  I waited and when nothing happened, I glance at her.

  From under her lashes, she caught my gaze.

  “Me?”

  “Please?” she asked.

  I was hungry. It was a means to an end. “Heavenly Father, bless the food which we are about to receive. Thank you for providing this meal and let it be the fuel we need to earn another. Amen.”

  “Amen,” she repeated, wearing a grin. Then she popped a potato into her mouth and mine watered just a little more.

  For a while we ate, and then it surprised me when she was the one to break the silence.

  “Do you like long hair?”

  I didn’t think about my hair much, but it was different than what she was used to, and I didn’t mind the question. “At first, I kept it long because I didn’t have a lot of money to get it cut all the time. Well, that and I think I was being rebellious too.” I took a drink and pulled an ice cube into my mouth. “It got really long for a while, and then Ashley offered to cut some off for me.”

  “Ashely? The pregnant wife of your friend?”

  I swallowed another bite and nodded. “She’s the Griers’ daughter too. I’ve known her a little longer than Chris—her husband—actually. She was going through beauty school and cut it for free back then.”

  “She’s a beautician?”

  “You can’t tell by the crazy hair? Seems like hairstylists always have something wilder than everyone else. But, yeah, she works in town at a pretty swanky place.”

  She folded her napkin and tucked it under her plate. She was finished, but half of her sandwich remained. “That’s nice. Do you want her to cut mine?”

  My first reaction was to say no. Her hair was beautiful. When I’d first moved to Fairview, back when I went out a little more than I should have, I’d never approach a woman with long, long hair. It was too much like home, and I wanted nothing to do with that.

  But now, it was different. Hair didn’t mean that much to me. Although, hers was thick and wavy, a golden honey blonde that I was sure it was soft to the touch, but it wasn’t mine or my business.

  “Your hair belongs to you. You can do whatever you want with it.” I eyed the second half of her burger, and then she slid her plate closer to me, and I took it. “And not just because I said so. I told you last night, we might be married on paper, but that doesn’t mean you have to do anything I say. I’m not your boss or your keeper. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not even your husband. You are free to do whatever you want with your hair or otherwise.”

  Maybe I went further than I’d needed to. Her rosy cheeks paled some and the light in her eyes dimmed by half. I felt bad about that, and that’s probably why I added, “I do think it’s pretty though. I think you’re pretty.”

  I meant it.

  35

  Myra

  No one other than my parents had ever told me I was pretty before. Coming from him, it meant a lot.

  It meant everything.

  Regardless of what he thought of our arrangement, we were married, and my husband thought I was pretty. That was a good thing. A good start.

  Somehow, every minute I spent with him, it seemed like I was finding more and more hope. Hope that I was doing the right thing by listening to God. Hope that I was in the right place, where He wanted me to be. Hope that Abraham was the man who I was destined to be banded to forever. Hope that someday soon, he’d believe it too.

  “I think you’re handsome too,” I replied. One compliment deserved another, and his fe
lt so nice that I hoped my option of him was welcomed as well.

  He pushed the last of my sandwich into his mouth and then wiped his lips with a napkin, shaking his head. He stood before I could and stacked our plates.

  I’d never in my life witnessed a man who was so eager to help in the kitchen. Only a handful of times had I ever seen my father grill. In some way, I felt lucky that whatever the circumstances, I’d ended up there, in the humble cabin, with a man who was—albeit gruff and burly—but kind.

  Abraham was unexpected, and too was how easily I’d started to genuinely care for him. It had only been a day, but already I respected him. He was a hard worker, and he took pride in that. He was generous, although I doubted he thought so.

  A lot had changed over the past week, but things for me were headed in a positive direction. I could feel it, and much of that was due to him.

  I’d heard that God worked in mysterious ways, and that was true. Abraham was a total mystery, but he was working in him; I could see it. He’d said the grace before dinner. Even if it was brief, I appreciated it. He was trying to make me feel welcome.

  My husband wasn’t what I’d expected in a man at all. The men in Lancaster didn’t much worry about letting their wives decide things, trivial as many of them seemed to Abraham. Hair. Clothing. Even the phone was something so small, yet so big at the same time.

  It made me want to do things for him and not just because they were the wifely thing to do, but because I wanted to help him like he’d helped me.

  I was stuffed, he’d grilled the biggest hamburgers I’d ever seen, but they were very good. I’d have to ask him sometime how he seasoned them because they sure were tasty. I hoped he liked my dessert just as much, but right then I was way too full to bring it up.

  He was already in the kitchen, running water to wash the plates when I made my way in there. Maybe it was just how much was going on, but I’d caught myself that day dazing off in thought and there I’d been spaced out again.

  “I can wash things up, if you like?”

  “I’ve got it. Thanks,” he said with a quick glance over his broad shoulder. He’d ran me all over town and then worked for hours in the hot shop, I was certain he was ready to relax before going back to work the next day, but I wasn’t about to argue.

  Since I hadn’t showered the night before and I was ready for one, it was best I do it before he needed to get in there. I’d make it fast not to get in his way. So without bothering him, I gathered what I needed and got to it.

  His shower had water pressure like I’d never experienced before. It beat my skin, but at the same time felt wonderful. Usually I didn’t shave all the way up my legs. Skirts and stockings always covered them, and until recently I hadn’t expected anyone to care. But that evening, I took my time and saved ankle to thigh. I lathered my hair and rinsed it, then let the conditioner soak in as I stood under the warm water.

  Cleaner than clean, I toweled off and instead of putting on my gown and then a robe, I decided to only wear the gown. It hadn’t affected him much the night before, but then again neither had the short dress his friend wore in the store that afternoon. And the fabric felt cool on my skin, so I just went with it.

  I combed through my long hair and instead of braiding it like I usually did when it was wet, I left it down to air dry.

  On more than one occasion he’d told me that I should do this or that because I wanted to and for no other reason than that, I stepped out of the bathroom wearing only the gown because I felt good in it.

  But quickly, I realized I was alone.

  The dishes were done and stacked in the strainer. The counters were wiped clean of every crumb. My treat lay on the hot pad on the island. The sun had gone down even more, and I noticed it got dark early in the valley where the cabin sat.

  I didn’t want to watch TV or read or play with the phone, so I walked through the bedroom and opened the door to the deck on the back side. There, I found a swing with a blanket on the bench and I took a seat.

  Alone with only the yellow light from the pole in the driveway, I swung and counted my blessings.

  36

  Abe

  I wasn’t proud of myself. Hiding in the corner of my shop, working myself over for the third time that day, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  That damn bathroom window would be the death of me.

  As I pulled and tugged and rubbed and pounded my flesh, it was her face I saw. Her body’s silhouette. Her voice in my head.

  I was the monster.

  She was innocent. Pure. Untouched.

  And the only thing I could do to quell the beast was slither away to the dirty back side of my shop and relieve myself. I deserved no better for my thoughts.

  They were vile. Depraved. And, worst of all, vivid.

  Her naked body. Her mouth on my skin. How it would feel to touch her. Bury myself inside her. Taste her.

  With a roar, I lost myself.

  By the time I buckled up and walked out of the shed, the bathroom light was already off, but as I shamefully walked back to the cabin across the gravel, I noticed something white on the deck. Twenty feet above me, swinging, was Myra fresh from the shower.

  I considered turning around and doing it again just to make sure I could trust myself.

  Why did she have to be so damn gorgeous? Why hadn’t I noticed it as much the week before?

  She didn’t say anything, and I pretended I didn’t see her.

  When I got inside, I showered and threw on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats that I found folded on the dryer, feeling thankful that if the urge struck again at least it wouldn’t be so damn uncomfortable in jeans. Also, it was a much more appropriate thing to sleep in with her in the house.

  I hadn’t been thinking clearly the night before and wouldn’t find myself in that predicament again.

  Calling to me, like a siren’s song at sea, was the raspberry strudel tart crusty crumple thing on the island. It had been untouched, and with one look around the bookcase, I knew she was still outside. It wasn’t fair to eat it without her, so I dished up two pieces—both equal in size for fairness, but nonetheless two servings worth each—I took them with me to the deck.

  “If you don’t want yours, I’m sure I can eat them both,” I told her as I took a seat beside her.

  She grabbed her plate with one hand and the fork I brought her with the other. “It’s peaceful out here.”

  I agreed, “It is.”

  The locusts sang to us, and the breeze cooled the air.

  All that time I’d had those berries. They’d been there since I’d moved in, but they’d never tasted that sweet. That was thanks to Myra.

  As I took my last bite, wiping at the red spots on my plate, I asked her, “Are you doing okay?”

  “Better now,” she answered.

  Me too, I thought. And just let the moment be what it was. Calm.

  She asked, “Are you doing okay?”

  I answered the best way I knew how. “I hope so.”

  She didn’t toss herself at me the way she had the night before, but that didn’t change the fact that whether I liked it or not, I wanted her. I just hated the reasons why.

  THE COUCH WAS HARD and uncomfortable, and I wanted to burn it. I was hot and wanted to strip down to my boxers, but fought the urge.

  There was no telling what hour of the night it was, but I couldn’t take it anymore and got up for a glass of milk. I also grabbed a fork and took a few bites of the Myra’s first Pinterest creation. That stuff was good, and at that moment, I needed some good.

  Although I’d been as quiet as possible, I heard her get up and then her bare feet tap across the wood plank floor.

  “Abe?”

  “Yeah, sorry. I was thirsty.”

  “It’s okay. I can hear you tossing and turning. If you’re uncomfortable, you should sleep in your bed.”

  My bed. Nothing had sounded that good before, but I couldn’t kick her out. “No, that couch will mess you up.
I’m fine.”

  “It’s big enough for both of us. I’ll stay on my side.”

  It bothered me that she felt the need to say that, like I’d rejected her, but I had. For her own good. She didn’t know what she was doing. Didn’t understand consent or how things worked out in the real world.

  She didn’t even know she’d belonged to a cult.

  That wasn’t a conversation I was looking forward to.

  I rinsed my empty glass until it was clean and added it to the rack. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  She stood between the wall and the bookshelf in the dark and sighed. “You’d rather get no sleep than lie down beside me?” she gently inquired. Even though she’d been more exposed to manipulation than probably any other person I knew, she was being sincere.

  “It’s not like that. I don’t want to confuse you.”

  “I’m not confused. You’ve been hospitable and kind, and you deserve to be comfortable too. That’s all.”

  I was on a tightrope, trying my best to balance my dark nature and the right things to do. Every step felt like a virgin frontier and came with a new set of alarm bells. Although they were blaring in my ears, I put one foot in front of the other and followed her to the bedroom.

  She kept her word. Staying on her side, under the sheets, she faced away from me. I climbed on top of the linens, more than warm enough with pants and a shirt on and drifted to sleep with the lulling sound of her breathing.

  From what I could remember, we didn’t bump against each other once in the night and, in the morning, when I woke up the only clue that she’d been there beside me was a few wrinkles in the sheet.

  When I got to the kitchen after putting my work clothes on, combing through my hair, and brushing my teeth, Myra was already dressed, but she wasn’t wearing her normal long dress. The apron was tied around her narrow waist like the morning before, but she’d opted for a long denim skirt, and a sheer lavender top with the sleeves rolled up.