The Fall in Love Checklist

by Sarah Ready

  “I was going to say…surprisingly edible.”

  Jack swallows his first mouthful. “Mmm, good,” he says. He winks at me. I’m glad that all his color’s back, and he looks like he’s shaken off whatever spooked him. I smile at him and wink back.

  “Here’s to surprisingly edible cookies.” Sissy tips up her fork and clinks it against mine in a toast. “To my cookie moment,” I say.

  “Cheers,” says Jack.

  We all click forks. Then I shove another bite of chocolate chip goo into my mouth.

  We eat the whole tray. Even the crunchy burnt bits.

  20

  Dany

  * * *

  “Let me see this list,” says Jack. We’re sitting on the brand new couch in the downstairs living room. It’s dove gray fabric with lots of black throw pillows. Jack says he picked the colors for Sissy and her monotone love affair.

  I pull the list from my pocket. It’s creased and worn. I’ve pulled it out over the past week and studied it, then refolded it and put it in my pocket again. For the past seven days, Jack’s been busy working and I’ve been busy chemo-ing, physical therapy-ing, and looking for a career I’ll love.

  But tonight, I’m putting all that aside. Jack and I are going to do another two items on my list. I have my backpack packed and ready. It’s on the floor next to my feet.

  “Ride on a bus,” he reads.

  “Check,” I say. I make a check mark in the air.

  “Go to a dive bar and get in a bar fight.” He raises his eyebrows. “Wait a minute, you planned that?”

  “Double check.” I smile at him.

  “What else?” He skims the list.

  I know it by heart.

  “Have a beach wedding?” asks Jack. “You’re still focusing on that guy? What’s his name?” Jack levels a hard look at me. Out of all the items on the list, he has to latch onto the last?

  “Shawn,” I say. “That guy’s name is Shawn.”

  He waves that away. “I’m not helping with that one.”

  I shrug. I don’t have to explain myself to Mr. Jack Jones.

  “And what’s the triple X? Wait. Is that what I think it is?”

  I ignore his question. I fold the list up. “Are you ready to go?”

  He watches as I put the paper back in my pocket.

  “Alright. I’m ready,” he says.

  At his truck he holds the door open for me. I settle in for the drive. After a few minutes he pulls onto the highway.

  “I never knew there was a castle around here,” he says.

  “It was built by a nineteenth century industrialist as a pleasure hall.”

  “Pleasure hall?”

  I can tell that Jack’s interest is piqued.

  “Yeah, that’s what obscenely wealthy men did back then. They built country houses and filled them with all the things that were off limits in the Victorian Era.”

  “Like?”

  “Oh, pretty much everything. They had a lot of rules. No mentioning words like ‘trousers.’”

  “Trousers?”

  “No eating onions in a lady’s presence.”

  “Really?”

  “No enjoying, you know, the act. Conjugal relations were something to be endured not enjoyed.”

  He looks over at me. My face heats. The phrase “conjugal relations” tastes dirtier than just saying “sex.” Suddenly, I’m aware of how close we’re sitting. How I could just reach a few inches over and touch his hand.

  He clears his throat. “I can see why they built these halls. I’d want to get away too.”

  “Exactly.” I also see the appeal.

  “I mean, I love onions,” he says.

  I laugh and he turns to me. “Really?” I ask.

  “Yeah. And I can’t go a day without saying trousers.”

  “Trousers,” I enunciate.

  We settle into a happy silence. I look out the window. We’ve left the city behind. First there were farms. Corn and soy beans. Now we come to a more forested area. Tree branches hang overhead and the sun streaks though their limbs, flashing light then dark.

  “There’s our exit,” I say.

  Jack turns onto a small country road.

  It’s funny, but I think my life before was a lot like the Victorian era. My family placed a lot of restrictions on me and my behavior. But after I left home, I didn’t have any excuse. I restricted myself.

  Jack takes a few more turns until we’re heading down a washed out dirt road. There are grooves in the dirt and deep ruts. For a half mile, Jack steers over the rocks and potholes.

  “Pull over there” I point to an area where the shoulder is mossy and the beech trees are beginning to unfurl their bright green buds.

  Jack pulls over and turns off the truck.

  I hop out and stretch my arms in front of me. My boots sink a bit into a thick cushion of moss. There are a few birds calling in the forest. There’s a sweet descending whistle and a caw. I try to pick out the different sounds and hear a chickadee. Jack shuts his door and his feet crunch on the gravel as he walks to my side.

  We stand for a moment, then, “So. Where’s this illustrious pleasure den?”

  I close my eyes and let the shifting light play over my eyelids. The sun streams through the tree branches and shoots speckled light over my eyes.

  I flinch.

  It reminds me of the fluorescent lights when I was waking up in the hospital.

  I snap my eyes open and turn my face away from the pale spring warmth.

  “It’s a half mile in,” I say. My voice is short and tight. Jack doesn’t say anything.

  I pick my way across the small ditch and scramble into the woods. I wore boots, which is good. My feet sink into old leaves and my wool dress pants snag on little thorny vines. Spiky brown burrs catch on the fabric.

  The forest is quiet except for the chickadee and a cawing raven. I step on a dry stick and the snap echoes through the trees. The woods are open, not dense at all. There’s a downed tree with moss spilling over it like a green waterfall. Ferns line shaded areas. A squirrel chatters and leaps ahead of us from one oak branch to the next. As we walk, we kick up the scent of turned over leaves, wet soil, and new grass. I stop walking, close my eyes and breathe it in.

  Jack pauses next to me.

  He’s so close that I have the urge to lean into him. My eyes are still closed but I can feel the back of his hand running over my fingers. His touch is soft, as gentle as the spring wind caressing my skin. The back of my hand feels more awake then the rest of me. All my awareness is centered on the feel of him, touching me there. The electricity spreads over my hand, up my arm, and through my whole body. I uncurl my fingers and let them tangle with his. His long fingers drift over mine and send a throbbing pulse through me. I hear the sharp intake of his breath. I lean toward him and open my eyes.

  He’s looking down at me. His dark pupils have nearly enveloped the gray of his eyes.

  “Dany,” he swallows.

  “Yes?”

  “Look.”

  He points. A few hundred yards away, mostly hidden by a copse of beech trees, is the castle. Or the ruin. The castle ruin.

  “Wow.” I grab his hand and pull him after me. His legs are longer though, and he’s faster. Soon he’s pulling me.

  We make it there, out of breath and full of wonder.

  “Would you look at that,” he says.

  There’s a rectangular foundation, maybe a foot high, of cut granite. In the far back corner there’s a circular stone tower. It’s probably thirty feet high. A third of the stones have been knocked away. You can see the stairs spiraling along the edges of the tower. I start to walk forward. Entranced.

  “It’s like a fairy tale,” I say.

  “You’re not climbing that,” says Jack.

  I keep walking. It may not have held a princess, but I bet someone looked up from the tower and wished on the stars.

  “It’s romantic,” I say.

  “It’s a death trap. N
ot safe—” His words are cut off. The ground disappears beneath him.

  “Jack!” There’s a loud boom. Then the soft ground I’m standing on caves and I scream as I fall.

  21

  Dany

  * * *

  The air is knocked from me as I land on hard, cold stone.

  “Dani?” Jack wheezes my name.

  “Here. Over here.”

  He crawls over and runs his hands over me. “You’re alright?”

  I move all my parts. I’m sore. Definitely bruised. But I feel okay. “I’m okay. You?”

  “I’m alright.”

  We look up. We’re in a hole about ten feet deep. There are broken rotted wood boards above us. Slits of light shine through. Jack rubs his hands over the rock floor. “I think we’re in the cellar,” he says.

  “Ouch,” I say.

  I lie back on the ground and try to regain my equilibrium. Jack leans back next to me. I move closer to him and rest my head on his chest. “I’m going to use you for a pillow. No offense.”

  “None taken.” He shifts and pulls me closer.

  I look up at the sky. The limbs of the beech trees sway in the wind. The fact that we are all alone out here hits me. The only noise is the creaking of the branches in the wind and the rhythmic beating of Jack’s heart.

  “So, I’m in a castle,” I say. Then I make a little mark in the air and… “Check.”

  I sense him smile. I shift on him and look up at his face.

  “Is it everything you dreamed of, Miss Drake?” His gray eyes are full of mirth.

  “It depends.” I stretch and feel the bruises starting to form on my back and legs. “Can you get us out of here?” Really, I’d rather not die in a ruined castle’s dirty old cellar.

  Jack shifts beneath me. “If I said yes, would you forget about your scheme to win back your fiancé?”

  “What?”

  He sits up. “You don’t have to do all these list things to prove to him you aren’t boring.”

  “I know,” I say. I sit up too and try to wipe the dirt off my clothes. I smack a little more forcefully than necessary. It stings the newly forming bruises.

  He lets out a long sigh. “I’ll boost you up, then climb out after you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He starts walking the perimeter of the cellar. He taps at the walls and then looks up.

  He turns to me. “Then why are you doing it?” he asks.

  “Doing what? My list?”

  He gives a sharp nod.

  I pause and consider my answer. After a minute he comes and sits down next to me. I rest my elbows on my knees. “It’s hard to explain,” I finally say.

  “Try me.”

  “Okay.” I rub at a grass stain on my pants. “Have you ever wanted something so much that you change who you are to get it?”

  He shakes his head, like he doesn’t understand.

  I sigh. “When I was six, my mom had already had four husbands. She told me if I was good, if I was a little lady, this fifth dad would stick. I really wanted him to stick.”

  I rest my chin on my arms.

  “I used to be a hellion. I was always rolling around in the dirt. Getting into trouble. When I met my father I had on a pink lace dress, and I was sparkly clean. I was so scared that I could only curtsy and say ‘how do you do?’”

  Jack leans back against the dirt wall. “Come here,” he says. He pulls me next to me.

  “Mr. Drake. That’s my father. He was enchanted. He called me his little lady. From that moment on, I was terrified to be anything else. I put on that mask and never took it off. Until, finally, I didn’t know what was underneath. I didn’t know how to be me anymore.”

  He puts his arm over my shoulder and pulls me in tight.

  “My father liked me that way. My teachers liked me that way. Oh, what a treat. What a pleasure. Such a lady. Even my mom liked me better that way. I met Shawn, he liked me that way. And by that time, I didn’t know how to be any different.”

  I look up at the sky. There are little blue patches and wispy clouds showing through the trees.

  “The mastectomy, the cancer, Shawn dumping me. It shattered the mask. So now, this list, it’s me trying to figure out who I am without it. Do you see?”

  He turns and draws his fingers down my face. “I see,” he says. His fingers trail over my lips. His gaze catches on my mouth. I think…I think he’s going to kiss me.

  I stand up.

  “Anyway. It’s none of your business what I do or don’t do with Shawn.”

  I turn from him and study the dirt walls. I hear him stand and walk behind me.

  “True.”

  “And I’m not looking for you to give me a rebound relationship self-esteem boost. I told you that already. I don’t need that.”

  “I understand.” His voice is full of restrained tension. “But I’m going to say something while you’re stuck down here and I don’t care if it pisses you off.”

  I turn around in shock. I start to say something but he holds up a hand. I stop.

  “You’re so worried you don’t know who you are. But it’s clear to me,” he says.

  “Really?” I cross my arms over my chest. “After a few weeks?” My heart picks up speed and beats hard in my chest.

  He swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Really,” he says.

  He studies me. Looks me up and down. He’s only a few feet away. Everywhere his eyes land, my body heats in response. Finally he comes back to my face.

  “No matter what mask you wear, you’re still you. Kind. Considerate. Funny. Mischievous. Brave. Beautiful. No mask can hide all that.”

  I shake my head. Deny it.

  “Was it that fiancé who made you believe you aren’t desirable?”

  I wrap my arms tighter around myself.

  “I’m adding to your list. Before I boost you out of here, I’m adding a number eleven.”

  “I don’t want your pity kisses.”

  “For crying out loud. I’m not going to kiss you. No kisses. No screwing. Satisfied?”

  No, my heart cries. I nod. “Fine. Feel free. Number eleven.”

  He takes a step forward. I take a step back.

  He takes another step forward. I take another step back. I come against the dirt wall.

  He bends down and grabs me behind the knees and my back. My stomach dips. He picks me up and cradles me in his arms. I’m pressed against his chest. I carefully loop my arms around his neck. My fingers brush the ends of his soft dark hair.

  Maybe I did knock my head in the fall. I’m feeling dizzy. Like the world is tilting and everything is rearranging itself. As if suddenly, everything has been shaken up and flipped and now Jack and I are at the center. Of everything.

  I shake my head to clear it. He pulls me closer and grins down at me. There’s the spark of a challenge in his eyes.

  He’s going to kiss me. I just know it.

  I tilt my chin up. My lips part a centimeter. They feel full and lush. I lick them. We’re breathing at the same time. His chest rises and so does mine. Will he catch my breath with his mouth?

  His hand starts a slow caress along my spine. He drags his hand in a slow, teasing circle up and down my back. A liquid warmth flows over me.

  He gathers me close. Lifts my face to his. Our eyes meet. His gray to my blue. I’m lost in them.

  We’re posed there, in the dusty cellar, with a sunbeam dimly lighting the space. His skin looks like honey in the light. What if I licked it? I send my tongue over my lips again.

  He lets out a low rumble. I feel the vibration deep in his chest. It spreads over me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Number eleven,” he says.

  “Number eleven?” I can’t remember what that means.

  He blinks and his eyes clear. “Number eleven. Sweeping you off your feet.”

  He nods at me prone in his arms.

  Oh. He picked me up. Swept me off my feet.


  “Check,” he says.

  I smile up at him. But the smile is hiding something else. It’s a slow dread flowing over me. Something in me actually wants him to sweep me off my feet. Not in play. But for real. Something inside me wants this man. Really, desperately wants him. That terrifies me. I’m only getting myself back now. I’m only seeing who I am these past few weeks. I can’t give myself away again so soon.

  He smiles down at me and I beam at him. I laugh to cover the fear rolling through me.

  I don’t want to love another man. I want to have adventures. I want to discover who I am.

  He sets me gently on my feet.

  “Who’s ready for a swim?” I ask. The only thing to do is to go on as if nothing has changed. As if all I want is to finish my list.

  Jack can’t know.

  I’d rather spend my life alone than lose myself wearing another mask trying to please a man.

  22

  Jack

  * * *

  I stand at the edge of the small inland lake and watch the setting sun. The water ripples reflect orange, gold and pink. The lake’s going to be freezing. Hypothermia has never been on my bucket list, but hey, not my list.

  I bend down and pull off my shoes. Then my socks.

  “What are you doing?” Dany asks.

  I unbuckle my belt and slide it from the loops.

  Dany’s eyes widen and red splotches pop up on her cheeks.

  “Skinny dipping at sunset,” I say. I push the buttons on my flannel one by one through their holes. She watches my hands as they work their way down. One button, then the next. Then my shirt hangs open. I’m bare to her.

  “I’m skinny dipping. Not you. You, you…” She shakes her head and spins her finger in a circle. “You turn around.”

  I laugh and shrug off my shirt.

  She makes a little choking sound.

  “You alright?” I ask. “Didn’t pencil neck ever strip for you?” I’m trying to goad her, but the mention of her ex sends a strange feeling through me. I don’t like thinking of him and her together. Not one bit.

  “We didn’t…” She pauses and her face goes red again. “None of your business.”