…cold air and confusion as he disengages from our kiss. I blink at him, feeling uncertain and bereft.
“James?”
“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice slurred with his own longing.
“I’ve never been surer about anything in my life.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
I take his hand and place it on my chest, over my heart. “I would rather feel this and be hurt than die without feeling anything. Please. I want you—”
The last word is cut off as his lips find mine again, and never has anything felt more right. I squeal as his arms go around me and he lifts me up easily, then I wrap my legs around his waist and hold his face in my hands, peppering him with kisses as he moans and carries me down off the little outcrop and over to the picnic blanket. He lowers me down reluctantly and then hops around, cursing as he tries to kick his shoes and jeans off. I fumble behind my back for the zip on the dress but I am all thumbs and it remains elusive.
“Turn around.”
I do as I am told, shivering as his fingers brush against my skin. He gently lowers the zip while nuzzling into my neck.
“God, you smell so good,” he says huskily. His hands wrap around me, over my stomach, as I tilt my head to kiss him. Then I feel him unhook my bra and he turns me easily so that we are skin against skin.
“Wait,” I say, pushing him slightly away to cover myself protectively with my arms.
He pulls back. “What is it, what’s wrong?”
“I haven’t been with anyone. Not since, you know.” I hate the vulnerability in my voice, but I can’t help it, nor can I hide it. I am terrified that he will be repulsed by me.
“Do you trust me?” he asks softly.
I nod.
He reaches out and gently lowers my arms to my sides. My first instinct is to close my eyes, that I won’t want to see his face when he sees the damage wrought upon my body. But my heart tells me I have to do this. If I truly trust him as I say I do, it will be OK. His eyes hold mine until he is sure I am comfortable, and then he lowers them, slowly. Down past my collarbone, where they linger on the jagged scar from where the chemotherapy port was placed under my skin to administer the drugs directly into my veins. He holds out a finger and touches it lightly.
“Does it hurt?”
I shake my head. “Not anymore.”
“Are you OK with this?”
I take a shallow breath and nod.
His eyes follow the contours of my skin down. I am too thin, and the bones of my chest protrude more than they should. He traces them lightly. Then with one last look to make sure I am OK, he looks directly at my breasts. I hold my breath.
I couldn’t look at myself for the longest time, neither during nor after treatment. In fact, I actively avoided it, turning my head when the nurses changed the dressings, and removing the mirror from my bedroom so I couldn’t accidentally catch a glimpse when getting dressed. I didn’t want to see or know what my new “normal” was. As far as I was concerned, nothing would ever be normal again. When I finally did muster up the courage, I cried for two days, only pausing when I was so physically tired I slept. Then I would wake and remember, and I would cry some more. My breasts before the cancer weren’t the kind of breasts that grace magazine covers. They most likely wouldn’t have inspired any ancient carvers into chiseling a statue in their honor. But they were mine. And according to ex-boyfriends they were pretty nice to look at. Average size, C cup. The right one slightly bigger than the left. After the surgery this changed, and lefty become the superior. Righty was misshapen now, and slightly floppy. There were two scars, a big one that ran right from under my armpit and down the outside, and another vertical one that circumvented my nipple and left it permanently pointing to the side after it healed. The skin was puckered and dry like a deflated party balloon, and bright red from the radiation treatment. Sometimes I wished they’d just done the mastectomy from the get-go; then I could have had reconstruction surgery and maybe boosted myself a size or two in compensation. But they didn’t, and I hadn’t, and it was all moot now anyway because the cancer was stubborn, and had decided to inhabit other parts of my body as well.
So it is understandable that I am nervous, but when James looks at me, I don’t see pity, or revulsion. I see his eyes widen. I hear his breath quicken. And then his hands are on my breasts, gently, with all the care in the world. And in that moment I feel like a woman again.
“You’re so beautiful Ava,” he says, and I hear nothing but honesty in his voice.
All my anxiety fades away, and I reach for him. It has been too long, and I can’t wait any longer. He lowers me down onto the blanket and soon we are joined together, moving in sync, our breath mingling as our hearts beat against each other.
I find love that day. There, beside a waterfall so powerful it has changed the shape of the land, I receive the ultimate reminder of life.
Chapter Thirty-Two
So…” I have my head in my hand, leaning up on one elbow. James is lying on his back beside me, his hands underneath his head, eyes closed but with a smile playing around his lips.
“So.”
“That was…”
“Impressive? Epic? Ground-shaking?”
“Oh, yes, definitely. All of the above.”
He opens his eyes and reaches up a hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. “You’re so beautiful, Ava.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Because it’s true. I remember the first time I saw you, on the beach, with your dress hoisted up around your legs as you paddled in the water. I could barely take my eyes off you then. There was just something so intriguing about you.”
“I felt the same way about you.”
“Really?”
I nod. Lowering my head, I kiss his lips lightly, my whole body tensing at the touch.
“Your lips were the first thing I noticed about you,” I murmur. “That and how insanely good-looking you are, of course.”
“Of course.” He pulls my head down firmly and kisses me, with a hunger that can never be satiated. Abruptly, I push him away, climbing to my feet. I stand too quickly and immediately stumble, dizzy. Thankfully he doesn’t notice.
“Where are you going?”
Steadying myself, I walk away from him, toward the water. Turning my head, I call back over my shoulder. “Exploring. You coming?”
“Not this again,” he complains, light-heartedly.
I don’t hear him until he is right behind me, and then it is too late and he scoops me up easily, laughing.
“Put me down,” I squeal, aware that if anyone were watching they would catch an eyeful more than they bargained for. But there’s no one, of course, not for miles. He walks quickly down to the water and wades right in. We both exclaim at the temperature, and I tighten my grip.
“If you say so,” he says, and drops me.
I emerge from beneath the surface, spluttering. “Oh my God, that’s cold.” But as cold as it is, it also feels sensational; both refreshing and cleansing on my body.
“I know a way that we can warm each other up.”
“Why, sir,” I say coyly, paddling slowly away from him with broad strokes. “You have a very wicked glint in your eye.”
“Do I? Maybe that’s because I’m thinking some very wicked thoughts. Now get back here.”
“Catch me if you can,” I call, laughing and swimming away from him, toward the waterfall. But he is taller, of course, with much longer arms and legs, and he soon catches me, one of his arms snaking around my waist to pull me back against him.
“I win,” he says triumphantly.
“And now.” I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, shifting until he is inside of me and we are joined again, marveling at the intense waves of pleasure that sweep through my entire body. “You can claim your prize.”
Afterward, when we are exhausted from our lovemaking but reluctant to let the moment end, we drift on our backs, the spra
y from the waterfall dancing around us like whimsical wraiths. I try to relax and just enjoy it, but my thoughts turn to death, as they always do now. How close I came to dying without seeing this place, or making love with James. I would have died without knowing that I’d missed out, of course. But now that it has happened, and even though I wouldn’t change what we have done for anything in the world, I know what I will miss out on. A lifetime of these moments with him. Waking up next to him every morning, going to sleep in his arms every night. Making love for a million days in a million ways and places, never tiring of him, always craving him. I have seen a glimpse of the future, but it won’t be mine. James and I, we have been as close as is physically possible, but it is not enough. I want more. I want to join with him so tightly that I become a part of him, anchored to him and this earth. Allowed to stay, because in order for them to take me they would have to take him also, and it is not his time, nor his story.
Life is pain. It is also joy, but with the good must also come the bad. I don’t pretend to know why. I can’t even say I understand it. If there is a God—and if there is then he’s doing a fairly lousy job as far as I’m concerned—then there must also be an opposite. A yin to his yang. A black to his white. And maybe that guy, he’s the one who points his sharp finger at the board game and says, “That girl, she’s too happy. Can’t have that—quick, throw a disease her way.” Then he clicks his fingers and toddles off to eat souls for lunch.
I am somebody’s pawn in the game of life. Disposable.
But here, now, in James’s arms and in his eyes, I have become someone’s whole world. And I have to figure out a way to let that be enough.
Chapter Thirty-Three
You were very quiet on the trip back. Are you sure you’re OK?”
James holds my hand as I step down from the helicopter, involuntarily ducking even though the blades are well above my head.
“I’m fine.” I smile to reassure him as we walk back past the safety line, into the shadows of the office. The sky is gray and moody today, and it has started to drizzle. “Just feeling a little melancholic.”
“No regrets?”
“No. Well, maybe one.”
“Really?” He immediately looks worried.
“Yes.” I step closer and snuggle into his chest, warm and safe and secure. He wraps his arms tightly around me. I tilt my head to look up at him. “I wish the weekend hadn’t ended so soon. That we could stay there longer.”
He relaxes, exhales. “God, you had me worried then.”
“Don’t worry. I will never regret a second of time spent with you.”
“Me neither.” He bends his head and kisses me softly.
We hear a throat being cleared and turn our heads to where Toby is nearby, watching us. “I thought you guys said you weren’t a couple?”
“Oh, right.” James smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, so that situation has kind of changed.”
“Yes, I can see that.” He smirks knowingly.
I know James is worried, I can feel it in the air between us. But I just can’t shake the heaviness that has settled on my heart. I told him beside the lake that I would rather feel this and be hurt than die without feeling anything, but it’s so much harder than I thought it would be. I know what I’m leaving behind now. For the first time, I have a clearer idea of the kind of future I could have had. And it’s just not fair. Tears trickle down my cheeks as I watch the rain-sodden landscape flash by the car window.
“Talk to me, Ava,” he says softly. “I want to help you, if I can.”
I sniff noisily, wiping the tears with my sleeve, and turn my face to him. “You can’t. No one can. That’s the problem.”
His hands clench the steering wheel and his knuckles turn white. “Do you wish you’d never met me?”
“Oh, God no. James, no, don’t even think like that. You’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been. I’ve felt more alive in the last few days with you than I’ve ever felt in my life. I just wish I’d met you sooner, that things could be different.”
He signals and pulls the car over on to the gravel shoulder of the road. Then he turns the key in the ignition off and we are left with the sound of silence.
“If it helps,” he says finally, “I don’t know what I’m doing either.”
“Do you wish you’d never met me?” I echo his question, scared of the answer.
He twists in his seat and shakes his head emphatically. “No. Of course not. Never. It’s just, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. On the one hand, I’m having all these wonderful, incredible feelings. And I just want to shout about it from the rooftops, you know?”
I nod.
“But at the same time, I feel like I can’t. I can’t celebrate this, whatever this is. As if to be happy right now would be wrong. But yet it feels so right.” He buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m not very eloquent.”
I reach over and touch the back of his neck. “I understand perfectly.”
“Before I messaged you that night, I was so conflicted. And now I’m even more so. I just don’t know if I can go through it again, the pain of losing someone I care so much about. But it’s nothing compared to what you are going through, and I feel ashamed for even worrying about myself.”
I have gone as still as a stone, fixated on his words.
“Say something,” he says.
“You care about me?”
“What?”
“You said you aren’t sure whether you can go through the pain of losing someone you care about again. Does that mean”—I take a deep breath to try to even out my voice—“that you care about me?”
He blinks, confused. “Isn’t it obvious?”
I shrug my shoulders.
He gets out of the car and I watch him come around the front, cutting through the headlights that are still beaming into the ominously dark day. The rain is starting to get heavier and it feels as if a thunderstorm is brewing. He opens my door and the cold air and rain hit.
“Shift over,” he says.
“What?”
“Move.”
I move over as far as I can and he hops in beside me, so we are squished into the one seat.
“OK, this went better in my head,” he admits. “Come here.” He half pulls and I half climb onto his lap, straddling his legs. He cups my cheeks and brings me forward until we are resting forehead to forehead, his eyes staring intensely into mine.
“Ava Green, although I suspect you’re being deliberately obtuse in an attempt to force me to profess my feelings out loud”—he narrows his eyes at me, but his expression is teasing—“I’ll allow it. Because, yes, I do care about you. I care about you a whole lot. When I’m with you I feel things I’ve never felt before, and although I’m reluctant to put any labels on it, or us, know this: I think you’re astonishingly, remarkably wonderful. I don’t want to stop now. I want more. More you. I want to know everything there is to know about you.”
I choke back a sob, caught somewhere between tears of despair and the dizzying heights of happiness.
He smiles and I feel the heat from his lips so close to mine. “Now, does that answer your question?”
I answer him with a kiss instead of words, crushing my lips into his ferociously, overwhelmed with the depth of emotion that his declaration has aroused. I lift his T-shirt up, our kiss breaking apart only long enough for me to lift it off over his head. He drops his hands to my hips, pulling me in against him hard.
“Oh, Ava,” he groans. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that.”
I kiss his neck, his ears, the tip of his nose, grinding myself into him. “The feeling”—kiss—“is mutual.”
An hour later, I awaken with a start at the sound of a knock on the driver’s-side window.
“James,” I whisper, shaking him. “Someone’s out there.”
“Mm?” he murmurs sleepily.
The knock comes again.
“James,” I say more urgently. We are stretched out in the
back seat, naked, with James’s jacket laid on us for warmth. The windows are fogged up with condensation, thankfully, and the rain, which was loud and soothing on the roof of the car as we drifted off to sleep, has let up, although the sky has darkened.
“Are you OK?” a male voice calls. “Do you need some help?”
At the sound of the man’s voice, James finally wakes up. He sits up and rubs his eyes. “Who’s out there?” he asks me.
“How should I know?” I sit up too, reaching into the front with one arm to see if I can locate any of my discarded items of clothing. My fingers connect with some soft material and I drag it back, triumphant, but it is only James’s T-shirt.
“Thanks,” he says, taking it and pulling it over his head.
“You’d better answer him quick before he calls the police or roadside assistance or something,” I mutter as the man knocks again.
James grins at the panicked look on my face.
“Just a minute,” he calls out loudly to the man outside.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I scowl.
“Having you, naked, in the back seat of my car? Hell yes, I’m enjoying it.”
“It’s not funny,” I protest, smacking his arm lightly. “I’m pretty vulnerable here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“All right. Hang on.”
James climbs through the space between the front seats and, after fumbling around, passes back my clothing. He waits until I am dressed before he pushes the button to wind down his window. Nothing happens, and he looks confused for a moment before realization hits and he swears, reaching for the key in the ignition. He gives it a few turns on and off and nothing happens.
“I think I might have left the headlights on,” he says sheepishly.
“You think?”
“OK yes, I definitely left the headlights on.” He sighs and opens the door.
“What’s up, mate?” the man outside says. “You broken down or something?” The man is elderly and is wearing the unofficial uniform of farmers across the country: short, stubby shorts—despite the weather—black gumboots, and a black thermal short-sleeved top.
Photos of You Page 18
