That all of those things combined are what letting go feels like.
Chapter Twenty Three
~After~
Dr. Watson insists that I don't call him Dr. Watson anymore. He wants me to call him Elijah. I'm okay with this. I like his name. It's different. He says it's biblical, but I like it because I think it has a nice ring to it.
Yesterday he took me to the stables and we rode horses. My horse was an Appaloosa named Betty. Elijah told me she was his mother's horse. I wanted to press on and ask him what happened to his mother, but I didn't. I thought he might give me a vague answer and I'm tired of him being vague.
I don't know what it's going to take for him to open up.
After horseback riding, my inner thighs throbbed with a dull ache and I thought a warm bath might ease the pain. On my way up to my room, I heard Elijah's voice bleeding through the walls of his office. I decided to be nosy. I don't normally do that sort of thing, but I found the more time I spent with Elijah, the more attached I was becoming. But I was getting better at not making my growing affection for him obvious. Part o
f me thought his cold demeanor was rubbing off on me.
Outside his office, I placed my ear against the massive oak door. He was on the phone with someone. He was shouting at them. “She's not a charity case!” They were talking about me. “It’s my house and if I want to have her here I will!” I wondered who he was talking to. “You know what, Sheila? Don't call here anymore!” Could Sheila be the woman I saw him with at the diner? “Of course I mean it!” He slammed the receiver down and I ran to my room before he could question my eavesdropping.
Inside, I was elated and I wondered if I was slowly growing on him.
Today, I lie on my bed, staring up at the inner part of the canopy. I try to remember how long I've been here with Elijah, but time seems to blend together. I know it's only been a few days, but somehow it feels like weeks or maybe even a month has breezed by. My thoughts on the perception of time are interrupted when Elijah barges into my room. I sit up, propped up by my elbows and he stands at the edge of the bed, his long fingers caressing the satin violet curtain on my canopy. “Let's go,” he says impatiently.
I'm puzzled by his abrupt tone. “Go? Go where?”
He doesn't give me an answer. He swiftly moves from his spot, picks me up from the bed and throws me over his shoulder. Fears grips onto my stomach and I'm not sure what's going on or why he's acting like this. “Elijah!” I squeal and pound my fists into his back. “What are you doing?”
He remains silent, walking down the wide staircase, and then out the front double doors. His car is parked right in front of the porch and he puts me into the passenger seat. He makes sure my seat belt is fastened. Panic has taken up residency along with the fear and I start to fiddle with my seat belt. What if he knows I was listening to his conversation the other day? What if he's so angry about it he's decided to throw me out?
I abandon messing with the seat belt when he gets into the driver’s seat. He starts the car and peels out of the driveway. As we drive down a long, empty winding road, I examine his face. He doesn't look angry, but his expression is unreadable. “I'm sorry I was eavesdropping,” I admit in a low voice.
“Eavesdropping?” His voice goes up a level. “When?”
“On your phone conversation the other day. It's just...It's just...” I struggle to find words. “You were yelling so loud and I wondered what made you so upset.” He veers to the right and drives a half a mile up a dirt road, parking the car on the outskirts of an open field.
He puts the car in park, gets out, and opens my door. He folds his arms across his chest. “Get out.”
I'm desperate and I don't understand. “Please Elijah. Please don't send me away. I won't eavesdrop any more I promise.”
He exhales, shakes his head, and a soft smile curls on his lips. He puts both hands on my cheeks and gazes deeply into my eyes. “Calm down. I'm not sending you away. You shouldn't eavesdrop, but that would never make me send you away.”
The warmth from his hands bleeds through my skin and overheats my entire body. “Then what are you doing?”
He drops his hands from my cheeks and brushes past me, taking my place in the passenger seat of his car. I gawk at him, so confused by the way he's acting that that’s all I can do. “Get in,” he commands. “I'm going to teach you how to drive.”
My eyes widen. My mouth gapes. Excitement bursts through me and I do something spontaneous. A radiant, beaming smile appears on my face and I launch myself at him, hugging him, inhaling the exotic, musky cologne he's wearing. He stiffens upon feeling my arms around him, but then after a minute relaxes. He allows his arms to mold to my body and I can feel his nose in my hair. His warm breaths trail down my neck and I've got a full jar of loose butterflies in my stomach. I pull out of the embrace slightly, my lips resting almost against his ear. “Thank you,” I whisper. “This means so much to me.”
Slowly, even though he doesn't realize it, Elijah is giving me so much than he ever could and he's not even spending money. He's using time. Some people think time is a waste. But not to me. Time is a gift. Something to be treasured and never taken for granted. Something that's more precious than any dollar a person could spend. Why?
Because you never know how much time a person has left.
It can be taken away in an instant.
In a heartbeat.
And I'm determined to never waste a second of mine.
I back away and he grips my wrists, holding me in place, his eyes flitting back and forth across my face. In that moment, I know I'm not the only person feeling something. I know that he's more invested in me than he likes to admit. For a second I think he might kiss me and I welcome the thought. I'd welcome the feel of his lips against mine.
But he doesn't kiss me.