by Jewel E. Ann
“I don’t want to go back there.” I finish getting Snare ready for the ride.
“I’m sorry.” She steps back.
This is not a conversation I want to have today or ever. It’s not going to do anything but pound a wedge between us. And for what?
“There’s no reason to be sorry.” I walk Snare out of the barn.
“It felt like another world away. You know? I didn’t feel like Henna—your Henna.”
“It’s fine.”
“Would you at least look at me?”
I stop. Holding the reins with one hand while resting my other hand on my hip, I gaze at the ground. After a few moments of silence, I turn toward her. “What do you want me to say, Henna? How am I supposed to be honest without coming off as angry or mean? If I’m willing to let it go, why can’t you?”
“Honest as in you were jealous and angry? That’s what you mean, right?”
I shake my head, releasing a painful laugh. “I can’t win this game, Henna. There’s no way I come out of it as anything but the unreasonable asshole. So let’s let it go.”
“Now you’re talking like a guidance counselor.”
“I am a guidance counselor.”
“Not mine.” She plants her fists on her hips.
“Okay …” I say slowly. “Fine. I was jealous and angry. There. Are we good now?”
“Why?”
“Jesus …”
“Just tell me why?”
“Because I was.”
“That’s a terrible answer.” She pokes and pokes. “Was it because you loved me or because you were mad at me for leaving you?”
“BECAUSE I’M HUMAN!” Snare gets antsy. I pull on his reins to calm him down.
Henna jumps, tears rushing to fill her eyes.
“Yes, because I loved you. Yes, because I was mad at you for leaving even if more of me was so damn happy that you were getting that opportunity. And because monotony sucks, but those are the cards I dealt myself. And because my dad was—is—battling cancer. And because he was trying to kill himself. And …” Emotion burns my own eyes. “I’m human,” I whisper in complete defeat. “Love is not a rational emotion. It jumps out of planes and dives off cliffs. It leaves a permanent mark on everything it touches. I can do the right thing or I can love you, but I can’t do both.”
She blinks, letting go of her emotions. I watch them stream down her cheeks. The right thing would be to wipe them from her face, an unspoken apology for me being human.
I don’t.
Our love is forbidden and complicated. It’s hard and unforgiving. If we want it, we need to let it hurt sometimes.
I hold out my hand.
Henna doesn’t wipe her tears either, but she takes my hand and lets me help her onto Snare. I mount him behind her. We take off on a slow gait, disappearing into the trees, letting the silence between us soothe our wounds.
After an hour without a single word spoken, we return to the barn by the last blink of daylight. Snare stops. The reins drop, and I hug her to me. I feel like she’s mine—like she’s meant to be mine. But I don’t know why or how that even makes sense in the scope of events that have happened in my life. It’s just this whisper along my skin when I’m with her—don’t let go.
Henna leans her head into the crook of my neck. “I’m human too.”
My nose nuzzles her long hair until my lips find the back of her ear. “You’re my favorite human.” I kiss her warm skin for a long moment before dismounting Snare.
Henna shares a tender smile as I help her out of the saddle and into my arms. “Thanks for the ride.”
In spite of the disastrous afternoon with my sister, I can’t help but smile back before pressing my lips to her forehead. “Anytime.”
“We’d better check on your dad and Bella,” she says as I lead Snare to his stall and remove his riding gear. “I feel solely responsible for the impaired states they’re probably in right now.”
“You should.” I put everything in its place and take Henna’s hand, leading her back to the house. As we get to the front door, I push her up against the siding and kiss her like I can’t get enough because I really can’t.
“What was that for?” she asks, breathless and clenching my shirt to keep her balance.
“That’s for now. Right now when it’s just us and I get to pretend that you really are my whole world. In about thirty seconds…” I nod toward the door “…that’s going to change.”
“That’s how I always felt about third period. In your office, with the door shut, I always felt like we were in our own little world. Henna and Bodhi.”
I nod slowly. “Bodhi and Henna. I like them—quite a bit.”
She pushes at my chest. “Let’s go assess the damage.”
We make our way to the living room.
“You!” Bella points a finger at Henna from the corner of the sofa. “You got me a little high.” She sighs contently. “But at the moment. I’m okay with it. Shh …” She laughs a little. “Don’t tell my dad.”
Dad’s asleep in his recliner. No big surprise.
Henna bites back her grin as I take a seat at the opposite end of the sofa and pull her onto my lap.
“So you’re banging dad’s young friend. How kind of you.”
I frown and start to speak, but Henna beats me to it.
“I fell in love with your brother before we ever had sex.”
“Yeah?” Bella returns several exaggerated nods.
Yup, she’s high.
“Dad’s going to die.” Her downcast gaze mirrors her mouth. “I know we don’t want to believe it, but he’s going to die, and…” Bella leans her head back and closes her eyes “…maybe it’s his time. Ya know? We all have our time.”
“It’s not his time,” I murmur.
Henna rests her hand on my arm as my body tenses beneath her. Bella doesn’t say another word. Instead, her jaw relaxes with the rest of her body, and she joins Dad in dreamland.
“Where does she sleep?” Henna turns her head to glance back at me.
“She has a room upstairs.”
“You should carry her up the stairs.”
I nod, not moving an actual muscle to get up. There’s something so peaceful about being in the same room with my sister and my dad without anyone fighting. For a few minutes, I just want to enjoy it. “Thank you.”
Henna scoots around until she’s facing me, straddling my lap. “For what? Getting your sister high?”
“No. She’s okay with it because she’s still high. Tomorrow, I’ll encounter a totally different Bella. The thank you is for coming here when I told you not to. Thank you for dealing with my fears when I couldn’t do it. Thank you for being you. For being my dad’s friend. And …” Leaning forward, I press my lips to her neck, teasing her skin with my tongue. “Thank you for coming home to me.”
Her hands slide along my shoulders and up the back of my head to fist my hair. “Bodhi … you’re everywhere I want to be.”
I’ll take my sister to her room after I take Henna to mine and show every inch of her perfect body how incredibly thankful I am for her. She’s the second chance I don’t know if I deserve.
“Everywhere, huh?” I stand, hoisting her up with me.
She wraps her legs around my waist. “Everywhere,” she whispers over my lips. “Where are we going?”
I start up the stairs. “I feel like dealing with you.”
“Yeah?” She grins.
I nod, kicking open my half-closed bedroom door.
“Whoa …” Her eyes bulge in their sockets as I set her on her feet. She crawls up to the head of my bed and runs her fingers along all the postcards she sent me. “I sent you a lot of postcards.”
They cover most of the wall.
“There should have been more,” she whispers just before twisting her body to look at me over her shoulder.
I shrug off my shirt and unfasten my jeans. “Should have is the most unproductive phrase in the English language.” I let m
y jeans fall to my ankles and step out of them.
Henna’s lips part and her tongue makes a lazy stroke along her bottom one.
“But should by itself is filled with endless possibilities. Like … you should take off your clothes. You should let me touch you everywhere … because it’s where I want to be.” I flip off the light and shut my bedroom door. By the time I find her in the dark, she’s completely naked on my bed. “You’re so beautiful,” I whisper into her neck.
Her hands slide up my bare back. “You can’t even see me.”
“Baby, I don’t see your beauty with my eyes.” I slide her hand up, pressing it to my chest. And for a few long moments, we remain idle with nothing between us but my heart kissing every one of her fingertips.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Henna
BODHI WAS RIGHT. Bella didn’t appreciate the high once it wore off. Lucky for everyone, she got on a 10:30 a.m. flight back to Kentucky, and Bodhi went to work.
By mid-afternoon, I have my suitcases unpacked and all of my laundry done. As I set a new canvas on my easel, Juni calls. I answer and put her on speaker phone so I can keep working.
“Welcome home.”
I laugh. “Thank you. It’s a little weird that you’re welcoming me to my home in Colorado while you’re at home in California.”
“I know. It wasn’t what I wanted. I’m coming out next week. Just for a few days, because I need to see my girl. How was Coachella?”
“You really don’t know? Dad didn’t call you?”
“Fine.” She sighs. “He may have mentioned a certain boy crush.”
“Bodhi is not a boy crush. He’s every love song I’ve ever heard. He’s all the colors of the rainbow. He’s—”
“Temporary.”
I squirt blue paint onto my palette. “Yes. I get it. I really, finally get it. Everything is temporary. We are nothing but now. Everyone and everything changes. And maybe Bodhi dies tomorrow. Maybe I go on and love again. But I don’t think feelings are temporary. Even when we’re no longer in love, or angry, or deliriously happy, we remember what that felt like. This feeling I have for Bodhi will linger inside of my soul long after we are no longer us. I will never forget what loving him feels like.”
“Wow. You’re not the same girl who got on the plane over two years ago.”
“Nope. It’s still me with a bit more clarity.” I cock my head at my canvas before adding more colors to my palette. “The thing is … Bodhi’s family is a complicated situation. You know I told you about his dad having cancer? Well, he’s also been suicidal.”
“Henna …”
“I’m fine. Really. I was in a bad place then. I’m not in that place anymore. Not even close. But because I was there, I understand Bodhi’s dad. He’s miserable, but not like I was miserable and frustrated that my pain wasn’t getting better fast enough. He’s miserable because his pain is getting worse; the cancer is spreading. I think he just wants …” I draw in a shaky breath.
I remember wanting it. The look he has in his eyes … I saw that reflection in my own mirror after the accident.
“To be done.” My mom knows too, but I don’t know if she can really understand it from Barrett’s point of view. I think she might only be able to see it from Bodhi’s point of view.
“Yeah.”
“There’s a reason they say fighting cancer. Or rehab is the hardest work you’ll ever do in your life.”
Just as I thought.
“I know.”
“His dad is what … maybe ten years older than I am? Isn’t he close to Zach’s age? I can’t imagine Zach having cancer and just letting him give up on life. We get one chance at life. You don’t go down voluntarily.”
Spoken like someone who has never had chronic pain. My mom gets weekly massages. Chiropractic adjustments. Acupuncture. And has a personal trainer. I love her, but she really has no clue.
“Well, I’m not him. I won’t judge him. Everyone has to make their own decisions.”
Juni hums like she’s pondering my statement. “I suppose. Though, if you really love Bodhi, you’ll try to help his dad in any way possible. Do they need money for treatment?”
“I don’t think it’s the money as much as it’s his dad not wanting anymore chemo, and Bodhi and his sister don’t agree with his decision.”
“Well, maybe you could be an outside influence. Sometimes we value stranger’s opinions more than those of our family.”
“Maybe.” I twist my lips at the painting. I find my brushstrokes turning into a picture of Barrett, but he’s not in a wheelchair. Maybe it’s a premonition, or maybe it’s him in an afterlife.
*
AFTER I GET off the phone with my mom, I wash out my brushes and walk to Bodhi’s house. He shouldn’t be home for another hour.
“He’s asleep.” Etta greets me with a warm smile.
“Mind if I sit and wait for Bodhi?”
She shrugs. “Help yourself. Henna? Right?”
“Yes.”
“Mind if I head home to make dinner early if you’re going to be here?”
“Yeah. Sure. That’s totally fine.” I slip off my sweatshirt and retie my hair into a ponytail.
“Barrett talks about you.” Etta slips on her shoes and jacket. “He told me this morning that you are here to save Bodhi.”
“Oh?”
She nods.
“Save him how?” My eyes narrow a fraction.
“I’m not sure. But he hasn’t napped this soundly in months. Something has given him a sense of peace. It’s you.” She shrugs.
I nod once but not really understanding at all.
“Thank you. Goodnight, Henna.”
“Goodnight.”
After the door closes, I curl up on the sofa with a Denver Bronco’s fleece blanket and watch Barrett sleep in his brown leather recliner. I gave him cookies yesterday. Maybe he ate the rest of them today, and that’s why he’s sleeping so soundly. The longer I watch him, the more I question if he’s sleeping. Doubt creeps into my head.
Am I just staring at a dead man? Does Etta check his pulse?
With that unsettling thought, I toss the covers aside and jump off the sofa.
“Please don’t be dead.” I check his wrist. I don’t feel anything. But I’m not sure where I should feel something, so I press two fingers to his neck, moving them up, down, and side to side. Nothing? “Oh my God …” I step back with one hand over my mouth and my other hand over my chest. “When did you die?” I whisper.
One of his eyes pops open, followed by the other.
“Oh my God! You’re not dead.” I drop to my knees and rest my forehead on the arm of his chair, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly.
“Not today, young lady. But Christ … I hope the mortician does a better job of checking my pulse than you did. I don’t relish the idea of being burned or buried alive.” Barrett rests his hand on my head and gives it a few gentle pats.
After my heart finds a normal rhythm again, I lift my head.
“I’m not going to live forever.” He squeezes my hand back.
“No one lives forever. It’s just not your time.”
“True.” His lips pull into a tiny grin. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Friday? No. You can’t die on a Friday. No one who knew you will ever be able to say TGIF again.”
“Saturday?” He scratches his chin.
I give him a “really” look. “The weekend? You can’t be serious.”
“So Sunday is out. Monday seems to be a crappy day. Nobody likes Mondays anyway. I should die on Monday.”
“A Monday. Not Monday as in this Monday. You’re not ready to die.”
“Oh?” He chuckles, but it fades quickly as he presses his hand to his side and grimaces. “And why the hell not?” he asks in a strained voice.
Because my mom has guilted me into keeping you alive.
“On a scale of one to ten, where is your pain level?”
“One hundred.” He sighs as if
the pain has let up.
“Barrett …”
“Eight. But who the fuck wants to be alive to experience a ten?”
I stand, taking two steps back to the sofa where I sit and wrap up in the blanket again.
“When you’re not high, where’s your pain level?” Barrett asks.
I shrug. “Depends on the day.”
“On your worst day.”
I haven’t had a worst day in a long time. I’ve learned to manage my pain through various means. “Five.”
“Five I could live with.”
“Then we need to figure out how to get you to a five and keep you there.”
“Henna …” He shakes his head. “A six is a rare good day. An eight is my bad day. Seven is my average. If you had to live every day with an average of seven, what would you do?”
Rolling my lips between my teeth, I shrug and give him three words that may not seem like an answer to his question, but they acknowledge what he’s getting at and why I can’t go there with him. “I love Bodhi.”
He nods several times with a content smile. “You’re his savior.”
“I’m no one’s savior, but I love him. And I want a life with him. Babies … Barrett I want to give you grandbabies someday. If you’re dead, how are you supposed to enjoy them?”
“Grandbabies?” He coughs a laugh. “Did that boy propose to you?”
I frown. “No.”
“Good. I don’t want you planning a wedding with me in the way. I don’t want to be something to fit into your future with Bodhi. My days of being a burden are numbered. That boy of mine would go to his own grave without ever having anything that truly meant something. You …” He points at me. “You mean something, and he sure as hell knows it. But I’m in the way. I want to get out of the way, and I want you to help me do it.”
“Ha!” I huff, shooting off the sofa and pacing the room with my fingers laced behind my neck. “If by in the way you’re suggesting that the chair you’re sitting in is Bodhi’s chair, then I’ll help you to your wheelchair or to bed. I’ll make you dinner. Bake you cookies. Share a joint with you. But if you’re suggesting—”
“Henna …” he says in a serious voice he hasn’t used with me before. “If you love him, you’ll help me do this.”