by Holly Rayner
In the evenings, we cook together. And then, at night, the living room transforms from an office to a bedroom. He takes the back cushions off of the couch, and spreads a sheet over the bottom cushions to make a bed.
This morning, when I come out from the back bedroom, my hair still a sleepy mess, I see that he’s already tidied up his bed, but his laptop and file folders aren’t out like they usually are.
The whole cabin smells like coffee. I stifle a yawn. “You’re up early!” I note as I shuffle to the cupboards to grab a mug.
“It’s February twenty-seventh,” he says. “You know what that means!”
“I do?” I fill the mug with coffee, searching my foggy morning brain for the meaning behind the date. “Is it something to do with leap years?”
He laughs. “No! It’s your three-month check up!”
I look at the fridge, on which Jabir has posted a detailed schedule of all of the baby appointments. He has also printed and laminated a list of all of the vitamins and nutrients I should be eating every day, and how much water I should be drinking.
“First second trimester appointment with Dr. Newton” I read. “Eleven o’clock.”
“That’s right!” Jabir comes up behind me, and wraps me in a light hug.
I balance my coffee long enough to set it down on the countertop. Then I turn, so that I’m facing him. I return the hug, only this time, without the coffee in my hands, it’s not light. I press my body against his, and tilt my chin up. He delivers a good morning kiss.
We’ve been doing that a lot lately. I’m thousands of kisses in, but each one feels as new and exciting as our first kiss, under the moonlight.
He smooths one of my tangled blond curls away from my face. “Good morning, Sunshine,” he says softly.
“Good morning, Mr. Moon.” Early on in his stay, Jabir told me that my blond hair reminded him of rays of sunlight. It only seemed appropriate to balance his nickname with one of my own.
“Any nausea this morning?” he asks.
“A little.”
“If I cook you breakfast, would you eat some? Or do you want to go out?”
“Breakfast sounds good. Let’s eat here.”
“Okay.” He kisses me again, and then releases me. I scoop up my coffee cup and take a sip.
I glance over at the couch, and before I know what I’m saying, the words spill out: “Aren’t you getting tired of that couch?” I ask. “It’s so short! You can’t even stretch out.”
I stop talking abruptly, and I feel my eyes grow wide as I realize what I’ve just said. If Jabir didn’t sleep on the couch, where would he sleep? In the bed, with me.
We haven’t talked about the night that we slept together, though it seems like we’ve talked about everything else under the sun since he arrived three weeks ago. I glance over at Jabir. He’s squatting down to a low cabinet. He’s paused his search for a frying pan. His back muscles look tense, and his shoulders are stiff.
“It’ll have to do…for now,” he says. Then, he starts moving again. He reaches for a frying pan, stands, and sets it carefully on the stove top.
For now? What does that mean?
Either that he hopes to one day lie his head down next to mine on the bed, or that he’s planning on leaving soon. Considering these two very different options makes me feel an ache in the pit of my stomach.
I still don’t know how long Jabir plans on staying. All I know is that it is good to have him here. Really good.
I decide not to say anything else on the matter for the moment, and instead start setting the table for breakfast.
I hear Jabir crack several eggs against the pan, and then the sizzling sound of frying eggs takes the edge off of our tense silence. The smell of toast and frying eggs mingles with the scent of coffee, and ten minutes later Jabir places a plate of food in front of me.
“You spoil me,” I say, grinning.
“You deserve to be spoiled.” He plants a kiss on my forehead, before asking if I want juice or water.
“Juice sounds good. Do you have the day off, then?” I ask, dragging my knife across the top of the egg’s yoke until gooey yellow goodness drips down over my golden-brown toast.
“Yes,” he says. “All day. I thought, after the appointment, maybe we could drive down to Melrose? You’re going to need some real maternity clothes soon. I saw that there are some good stores there.”
“I’ll have to get things that are a little dressy. Dawn likes me to wear button-up shirts or blouses when I’m stationed at the front desk.”
“Well…about that…” Jabir sets a glass of orange juice down beside my plate and then brings his own plate to his seat, across from me. “I’ve been thinking about your work at the inn. Now that you’re entering your second trimester, I’ve been reading that it’s best to get light activity, mixed in with periods of rest. You’ll need to be careful of your lower back, so that you don’t pinch nerves or put stress on the baby.”
“At the front desk, I sit a lot.”
He shakes his head. “That position is not good for long hours.”
“Then I’ll ask Dawn if I could switch to cleaning duties.”
“And be around all those chemicals?” He shakes his head again. “Do you like working at the inn, Teresa?” he asks, setting down his utensils and looking at me.
I shrug. “That doesn’t matter,” I say.
“Yes, it does. Do you like it?”
“I work there because I have to pay bills, Jabir, not because I enjoy it. If it was up to me, I’d sketch all day, spend time in nature, spend time with you…” My voice drifts off as I imagine how peaceful it would be.
“Well then, quit,” Jabir says. His tone is one of finality, as if the whole thing is settled.
“Just like that? Quit?”
“Why not? Teresa, I have plenty of money for both of us. You don’t have to worry about the bills. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll make sure you have more than enough. And you’ll get to eat whenever you feel hungry, rest whenever you feel tired, and be as creative as you want to be. Doesn’t that sound good?”
“Yes, but…” I’m thinking about my security, my safety, my bank account. I’m thinking about my future. I have to protect myself. Jabir’s here today, promising to meet my needs., but what if he’s gone tomorrow?
The thought makes my throat go dry. I can’t meet Jabir’s eye. I lift my glass, and take a hasty swallow.
“It’s all right,” he says. “You don’t have to be scared.”
It’s like he read my mind! I lift my eyes, and look at him. “Do you promise?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I hesitate. My heart is still pounding. But there he is, sitting in front of me, so solid and sure. Yes, I’m still filled with uncertainty about our future. But he’s here now, isn’t he? And he’s promising to take care of me. I want to let him.
“Okay,” I say, feeling for all the world that I’m taking the first step out onto a tightrope that’s stretched between two ledges. Leaving the inn will feel like leaving the only security I’ve known for the past ten years—a steady paycheck that puts food in my mouth and a roof over my head. But out there, across the gaping cavern of unknowns, I see the shimmering possibility of a brighter future. I have to trust him.
“Good,” he says. “How about we leave here around ten, then? That will give us some time to stop at the inn before your appointment, so that you can talk to Dawn.”
“Ten it is,” I say. There’s a definite quiver in my voice.
“You won’t regret this,” Jabir promises.
I hope he’s right.
Chapter 15
Jabir
I follow Teresa down a steep bank, towards the sound of rushing water.
“Careful!” she calls out, just as I’m about to say the same to her. But she looks like she’s taken this path a hundred times, and really her footing is much more skilled than mine.
I reach for a young sapling for balance and it bends as my feet sl
ide a little. But the young tree keeps me upright and soon I’m finishing the descent in a near run, though I didn’t mean to.
I slow down, digging my feet into the sand. The backpack I’m wearing bumps against my back as I skid to a stop.
“Steep, isn’t it?” Teresa asks, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“I’ll say!” I look back up at the aggressive incline. “Are we seriously going to go back up that on our way home?”
“One step at a time,” she says, with a light laugh. “Look! I gave that tin coffee mug to my squirrel friend. See how he’s filled it with acorns?”
I look to where she’s pointing. A coffee mug full of acorns is lying on its side between two exposed roots of a pine tree.
“He’s made himself a little root cellar, hasn’t he? That was a generous gift. How did you know what he wanted?”
“Oh, I speak Squirrel. We talked about it.” She waves her hand playfully.
“My bilingual beauty,” I tease, reaching out to hug her.
Why can’t I keep my hands off of this woman? It seems like I am constantly embracing her. She doesn’t seem to mind. We kiss, and as usual, she takes my breath away.
I’m about to guide her down to the ground, so we can sit and enjoy our kiss on the sandy beach, when she pulls away. She presses against my chest playfully, batting her eyes up at me. “If we keep doing this, we’ll never make it to Cloud Lake.”
“Right,” I say, mesmerized by the way her cherry red lips move when she speaks. Sunlight flashes off of her blond hair. I lean down, moving to kiss her again, but she giggles and pulls away.
There’s a soft chirping sound floating down from the trees, and as if we both notice it above the roaring river at the same time, we each look up.
It’s impossible to see into the huge ball of sticks that makes up the eagle’s nest, but it’s clear that the chirping is coming from within.
“They’re noisy this morning!” Teresa says.
“Must be excited about spring, just like we are.”
The river is filled with white-capped waves. The trees across from it are budding, and everywhere there are signs of new life: dime-sized baby toads hop across the sand and rocks, little shoots of green poke up under a layer of winter-worn brown leaves, and even the pine trees glow green with fresh vibrancy.
“Let’s go!” Teresa says, waving me forward.
She leads the way along a single-track dirt trail at the river’s edge. After half a mile, we reach a bridge made out of two logs, with two-by-fours nailed across it. Teresa crosses first, cautioning me not to look down at the water when it’s my turn. I do as she says, and soon we’re on the other side of the river.
Then, we start to climb. The ground is wet from melted snow, but there isn’t any of the white stuff to be seen. Now that it’s April, it seems we’ve really turned a corner into spring.
“How did it go, with the architect?” Teresa asks. “Did you approve the blueprint?”
“Almost. We’re this close,” I hold up two fingers an inch apart. Teresa turns back to look at me, and I catch up to her to walk at her side, just as we reach an old logging road that’s nice and wide.
“What did you want to change?” she asks.
“The architect wanted to tear down the wall that’s on the north side, facing the street. We’re pulling a lot of the building apart, but I’ve told him before that I want that wall to stay standing. It feels…historical. Like it will set the tone for the whole building somehow—make it look like it still belongs in the town. It’s just an aesthetics thing, really, because we’re going to have to reinforce the back of it so much that we’re practically going to be putting up a new wall anyways, but, I don’t know…”
“That’s the brick facade with my grandfather's company name on it, right?” Teresa asks.
“Yes. I think it looks good.”
“My family will be really happy that you’re keeping it intact. I think others in the town will, too.”
“I hope so.” Her mention of others in the town brings me to another thought. “You know how I said that I want to put a coffee shop in the building’s entryway?”
“Yes…?”
“I stopped by Dawson’s and talked to Pete. I asked him if he might be interested in supplying it with baked goods. He seemed pretty happy about it.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“He’s a nice guy,” I say, recalling the way Pete Dawson had welcomed me into town right off the bat.
“It takes one to know one.”
“Aw…you think I’m a nice guy?”
“The nicest.”
I grin. “Well, then why do you take me out into the woods and march me up a mountain as if you want to punish me?”
“Oh, this is torture, isn’t it?” Teresa asks, rolling her eyes.
In fact, it’s the opposite. I feel, as we walk along the wooded path, more peaceful than I ever felt back at home, in the city.
The pace of my days is so much slower here, a fact that I wasn’t sure about, at first. It took me at least a week to settle into the routines of country living. But then, I started to love it. Everything from shoveling snow off of the cottage’s little front deck to washing dishes by hand in the small stainless steel sink. It’s all so simple. And I’ve never felt so good.
Birds sing to us from the trees, and every few moments we hear the scurrying sound of a squirrel, chipmunk, or rabbit that’s come to investigate our intrusion on their grounds.
I reach for Teresa’s hand, and hold it as we hike in silence.
After an hour of hiking, a clearing appears in the trees ahead.
“There it is,” Teresa says.
In another minute, I can see a beautiful lake. I can see why it’s called Cloud Lake; the puffy white clouds above are perfectly reflected in the water’s smooth surface.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“Do you think so?”
“Absolutely. No wonder you love it up here so much.”
“Not many people visit,” she says. “I think it’s a little bit too far for families with little kids, and really, the water never warms up enough for a good long swim, since it’s so high up here.”
“Do you swim in it?” I ask.
“Yes. But it’s icy cold! I’ll show you, in June, if you want. You can see for yourself.” Suddenly, her face falls. Why?
She’s afraid that I won’t be here by then.
And, will I? I can’t keep this up for ever. My father’s been kind enough to let me work from the States, but eventually, I have to tell him the truth. This visit is more than just a business trip.
Much, much more.
And what about Teresa? She hasn’t told her parents either. We’re both taking one day at a time, but that’s not going to work forever.
“We’ll see,” I say, softly.
“Yeah.” I watch her fight off the shadow that’s rolled in over her. “Hey, why don’t you open up that backpack? I put together a nice lunch for us.”
I’m happy to move the conversation forward too. I don’t know what else to tell her, though I know it will be time to give her some answers soon.
I slide the backpack’s straps off of my arms, and set the whole thing on a rock at the lake’s shore. Carefully, so that they don’t roll off of the rock and into the water, I set items on the rock, one by one.
“What do we have here…” I say, pulling out the packages that Teresa has wrapped with wax paper. “Apples! Carrot sticks…and what’s this? Are these Pete’s famous oatmeal cookies?”
“They taste the best after a hike.”
We settle down to our meal, and soon I feel full and happy. I venture off of the rock and onto a patch of dry pine needles that’s being flooded in sunlight. It feels good to stretch out after our long hike, and just look up at the clouds.
As I’d hoped, Teresa joins me. She places her head on my chest, and I speak softly as I run my fingers through her hair. “I don’t want you to be upset when you think
about the future,” I murmur.
“I’m not,” she says.
“I could see it in your face when you mentioned swimming in June. I’ve seen it other times, too. You’re afraid. I don’t want you to be.”
She’s quiet. Birdsong floats through the air above us. I feel her breathing.
Then she says, “I don’t want to be afraid, but Jabir, you don’t live here. You have responsibilities in Dalai, and a family there. This is temporary. That’s okay—it has to be. I’m so grateful that you’re here, now. I just want to enjoy my time with you.”
“I’ll figure something out,” I promise. I honestly don’t know how I am going to keep this promise, but in this moment, all that matters to me is making Teresa feel safe. “For right now, my father’s happy that I’m taking care of all of our businesses in the Northeast. He thinks I’m here to be closer to the factories.”
I feel her nod. “Does he expect you back soon?” she asks, her voice quiet.
“I don’t know,” I answer. But the truth is, I do. And yes, he does expect me to go back soon. But I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave Teresa.
“What about you?” I ask. “You can’t keep wearing baggy sweatshirts every time you see your parents. You’ll have to tell them soon, right?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” she says. “I’m starting to feel guilty, like I’m keeping this a secret for too long. I think I have to tell them. Now that we’re having regular appointments at Dr. Newton’s office, it’s only a matter of time before the news slips out by mistake.”
“And you don’t want them to hear it from someone other than you.”
I feel her shake her head. “That would be awful. Do you… do you think you might do it with me? I mean, be there when I tell them?” She lifts her head off of my chest and looks at me.
“You want that?” I ask. So far, she hasn’t introduced me to her parents. I was starting to wonder if she was afraid to. “Do you think they’ll like me?”
“Everyone likes you, Jabir,” she says. “How could they not? I think Marge is a little bit too crazy about you.”