Caleb
Thelastweekhas been some kind of exercise in torment. Beautiful, wondrous, sexually charged, and highly frustrating torment. Ever since Lizzie had come with me to Yellow Fields, ever since we’d slept together in my truck, my feelings had been all over the place.
One moment, I want to break down. Tell Lizzie that I have no interest in keeping our, whatever it is, purely physical. Confess that I’m developing a stronger attachment to her than either of us had agreed to. In those moments, every little thing Lizzie does feels like encouragement. Every look she shoots my way, every smile she casts back over her shoulder. They’re temptations. Like promises, as if I open my mouth and admit that there’s maybe something more between us, then she’ll return the sentiments. With every little vow she seems to make, my heart launches into my throat, my gut turns hollow and my legs feel like they’re suddenly made of paper. Wet paper.
I fold my arms, lean against the cab and dig at a stone half-buried in the earth with the toe of my boot.
I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on Lizzie’s conversation. I’d left the house to try and give her privacy. But the truck had been parked right outside that front room and it had been impossible not to just lean a little to the right… and catch every word through the open window.
“…just my landlord… nothing more…”
The words had hit me like a punch. An actual and solid blow to my solar plexus. I’d lost the air in my lungs, I’d felt a tightness in my chest. It’s pathetic to look back on now, but her disregard of me, of us, had felt as painful as it had unfair. And suddenly all that happy-go-lucky, weak-in-the-knees crap had turned dark and sour. It had twisted in my stomach and my only defense was to shut down. To give Lizzie the cold shoulder.
I take a long inhale and try to let it out slowly. Running hot and cold over and again like this is starting to wear thin. It’s testing my patience past its natural limit and making me feel like a lunatic. Making me want to haul Lizzie over my shoulder again, take her away somewhere and—
“Ready to go?”
Looking up, I’m struck dumb for a moment.
Lizzie is coming down the front porch of my place, decked out in little more than jeans and a t-shirt. Her hair has been pulled haphazardly into a long and wavy ponytail. She doesn’t seem to be wearing any makeup. And yet, I’m anchored to the spot by the power of my own revelation.
Like a bolt of lightning has run straight through me, searing me to the earth and turning me to stone.
Right then and there, it all becomes very, very clear.
I love this woman.
Perhaps it’s where my thoughts were headed all along. Perhaps I’d have eventually gotten there on my own. But seeing Lizzie stepping down from my front door, ready for the day, as she might every day from now on if we were together… Something in that vision triggers the word.
Love.Pure and simple.
I realize that I don’t ever want to look toward my front door and not see her there. Whether it’s hurrying down the steps for her shift at work or waving to me from the doorway when I get back from a job. Lizzie curled up asleep in the rocking chair I built would be enough. I just need her to be part of the picture. Need her to be there.
Because I love her.
“You okay?”
Lizzie is watching me with a cautious expression.
“Fine. Why?” My throat is raw, my words gabbled. I don’t sound right to my own ears, let alone a woman as perceptive as Lizzie.
“I dunno, you look like you’re gonna be sick. You sure you’re okay?”
I dodge the hand she tries to place on my forehead.
“Fit as a fiddle,” I insist, opening the door behind me and hurrying her inside. “Come on, we’re wasting daylight. And unless you plan on only living out of your dining room, I think a few more livable rooms might be of use.”
The look on her face as she clambers into the truck tells me I’m not fooling anyone.
If I look as bad as she claims, I’m not surprised. My belly is turning and my legs feel a little wobbly as I head to my side of the cab.
Revelations of love are fine in the movies when you’re sure of your partner’s reaction. Action stars always got the girl. So do racing drivers, I realize, remembering the kinds of men that Lizzie is used to dealing with. The action stars of the real world.
Here and now, I’m looking at a woman stunning enough to grace the big screen… and I’m a man who lives in the woods.
Gunning its engine, I turn the truck out onto the road and reach for the radio. It’s patchy at best but the intermittent music gives me an excuse not to talk.
Lizzie glances over at me but says nothing.