“You want to drive us?” He asks over his shoulder. “My Jeep has a bunch of equipment in it.”
“No problem,” I answer. And we’re off.
Chapter Fourteen
Partial Confessions
I find myself sitting at the restaurant I worked at as a teen and the last place I saw him almost five years ago. I would’ve preferred to go somewhere else, but I realize that our options are limited at one o’clock in the morning. I vaguely recognize a couple faces, which means I shouldn’t have to deal with any awkward “catching up” conversations as they probably aren’t sure if they know me either.
I’m jolted from my thoughts as Michael rejoins me and slides into the booth across from me. “Whatcha thinking about?” he asks.
“We had our last conversation here,” I reply. Better that he not know how uncomfortable this place makes me.
He fiddles with his straw wrapper, using water to make it worm. I focus on his long, full eyelashes. They jut out and curl up, making me want to run my fingertip over them. “I was thinking about that as well. I never got the chance to apologize for the way I spoke to you.” He makes eye contact with me. He has the deepest, darkest brown eyes, making them almost black. Beautiful. He’s always been so beautiful.
I start to speak but instead squeak. I clear my throat and try again, “There’s nothing to apologize for. You were painfully accurate on every count.”
“I’m sorry that I was right then,” he gives me a slanted smile.
“Me too. But I learned some crucial lessons. I wouldn’t be who I am without them today, so it’s hard to be bitter.”
He takes my palm and makes a little pattern with his fingers. “I’m sorry that you had to learn that way.”
“I always was obstinate,” I joke.
“Aah…very true,” he finally laughs. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been torn up over that conversation more than anything else over the years. Regretted it because I hurt you; but at the same time, grateful because it helped me so much. It was a wake up call, Lorraina. That conversation changed almost everything about me and for the better. It made me take a long look at who I was and what I was doing to myself. I was hurting my mother in all the ways that my father had hurt her. I was drinking. I was lashing out. Indians and hard liquor do not mix, ya know? The result is not pretty. More than that, I realized that I could never ever deserve you while I was on that path.”
I flip my hand over to grasp his in mine. “I wish more than anything that I had listened to you back then. I was too proud and too stubborn to hear the wisdom of your words.” I hesitate. The time for me to be honest about it all is upon me, but I can’t bear to see love replaced by hatred in his eyes. Not now. Not yet. I know I will tell him the full truth eventually. I’ve always struggled with being honest, and that’s a character flaw I will conquer for him as much as for myself. I settle with a partial truth, “Michael, I have to tell you something.”
He looks worried. I ache to massage away the lines created by his frown. I look away quickly, afraid that he will read my thoughts. “Yeah?” he prompts.
“It was no coincidence that I was at Mona’s tonight,” I blurt out.
“Really?” he cocks his eyebrow and looks immediately relieved. Maybe he won’t be put off by my obsession then. I glance down and focus on our hands again.
“Ginny and I were at Mona’s yesterday. I bought your cards, and the cashier told me that you would be playing there. I couldn’t resist.” I look up and smile tentatively.
“So let’s see if I got this right,” he leans in and whispers. “You’re the one stalking me now?”
I feel my cheeks warm. “Yes,” I admit on a sigh.
“Interesting.”
Our food comes and we enjoy the reprieve, switching the talk over to less serious topics.
I learn that he has his own place, a studio apartment by the ocean. He assures me that it is slightly larger than a walk in closet but that he is comfortable. He thought about getting a bigger place and a roommate; however, he likes his privacy too much.
I tell him about life at school. It’s pretty boring, though. I assure him that Ole Miss and Oxford both have a lot to offer; but I don’t partake, working and studying with any spare time that I have.
As the server clears our plates, he asks, “Do you have to go home now?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On what you have in mind.”
“I want to show you something beautiful,” he hesitates and pins me with his hot gaze, “and I’m reluctant to let you out of my sight.”
I feel the exact same way as if he might disappear on me once again. “I’d love to see something beautiful,” I tell him.
Chapter Fifteen
Through My Father’s Eyes
I find myself sitting on the beach with a monstrous cup of coffee. This is turning out to be quite the night. I can track its progression by the rollercoaster of beverages I’ve consumed—smoothie to relax me, espresso to pep me up, Cherry Coke to keep up the pep, Mai Tai to make me look cool, and coffee to get that energy up again. They mirror my emotional rollercoaster ride as well. We sit on a large stretch of grass under one of the small oak trees that exists on what locals call The Point. I’ve been here a few times over the years, but I’ve never been a beach person. This little area is neat though—no sand.
Michael tells me that he comes here often after his gigs to decompress. He says that he falls asleep for a couple of hours and wakes to the most magnificent sunrise on God’s green earth. Sometimes he writes or strums his guitar or draws. It sounds lovely to me. Very bohemian.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while. I’m loath to break it but there’s something I need to know, have always wanted to know. I’m not quite sure how to ask, so I decide that being direct is probably best. “Michael, I have to ask you something. Something I’ve always wondered about.”
“Yes,” he breathes heavily, “I’ve always been this irresistible.” I stare at him and raise my eyebrow. Cocky as ever.
“Anyway,” I roll my eyes, “I never really understood why you were interested in me or how you even knew about me.”
“That’s not a question, English major,” he replies sardonically.
“OK. How did you know about me? Why were you even interested in me?” I continue undaunted.
“That’s two questions,” he laughs as I playfully smack his arm. “Well,” he begins, “I first found out about you from your dad. He and my dad were river rats. Always drinking and hanging out. I ran beers for them, ya know? I would run them theirs, and I would grab one for me and my friends to share on the down low. Your dad was a talker, though, when he would drink; and he talked about you all the time.”
“Me?” I interrupt, shocked. “What would he say?”
He squeezes his eyes closed for a second, “He told stories. I don’t know that he ever intended to tell me about you specifically, but he would always wind up telling Lorraina stories about how amazing you were with the horses, how beautifully you sang, and how well you did in school. How you were kind and gentle. Oh yeah, and how mature you were in dealing with people. He said you never met anyone you didn’t like.”
I feel tears well in my eyes. It’s too bad he hates me know, I think. “Is that all?”
He shifts uneasily and looks at me. “No, not all of it; but I don’t think you want to know the other things he said.”
He’s probably right, and I know where this is leading. Nevertheless, I ask him to continue.
“Are you sure?” I nod my head. “He talked about how he hoped you never turned out to be a whore or ended up with trash. He was quite vivid in his descriptions about that. It was odd the way he talked, though. Like he owned you.”
Yep, I think to myself, it was exactly like he owned me. He used to tell me that if I ever kissed a boy or had sex with a boy that it was the same thing as breaking the adultery commandment and that I would go to hell. That God had given me
to him and I was his until he gave me away on my wedding day. I do not share these thoughts with Michael, though. He doesn’t need to know exactly how twisted my dad is if he hasn’t yet figured it out for himself.
“You OK?” he asks.
“Oh, yeah. The possessive thoughts aren’t what I find baffling or disturbing. I’m more surprised he said anything flattering about me. He never was very nice to me.”
“He spoke of you almost reverently. The way he described you made me want to find you and make you mine forever. I remember thinking that one day. Just out of the blue after weeks of talking to him about you. I thought: ‘I have to make her mine,’” he admits and laughs as something occurs to him. “I had to be kinda sneaky getting him to talk about you, though. He offered information at first. Then, after a while, he quit talking about you, so I had to invent all kinds of segues that would get him to talk about you without letting on that that’s what I was doing.”
I imagine him sitting around dreaming up ways to get my father to talk about me without provoking his wrath. It makes me laugh. “You always were so smart. I always wondered why your feelings were so intense for me, though. I barely knew who you were, but you seemed to know all about me.”
“Well, after school started, I watched to see if I saw those qualities in you. I saw the way you looked out for others, especially your brothers. You always were so thoughtful. Do you remember Clark getting his fingers smashed in the door?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. Of course I remember; it was the scariest thing I’d ever seen. Clark lost the ends of two his fingertips. “Yes, I was scared out of my mind, but you weren’t there.”
“Oh, I was there. You just weren’t aware that I was there. When he smashed his fingers, everyone jumped back like they were scared to help him. You didn’t though. You rushed forward and freed his hand in nanoseconds. I couldn’t even react. I had the thought to help ya’ll, but you had him freed and were carting him off to the nurse before I made it to you.”
“Wow, I can’t believe you were there. I missed the bus home that day. My grandmother had to come and get me, and she was not happy. I tried to explain, but nothing would come out quite right. I was pretty freaked out by the time she got there. I ended up just taking my punishment.”
“I tried to get the bus driver to wait for you, ya know? She wouldn’t hear of it. I finally convinced her to at least let me run your book bag and purse to you. I knew someone would come and get you. I, however, would’ve ended up walking home had I missed the bus; or I would have waited with you. Besides, you didn’t know I existed yet.”
A laugh escapes me, “Ya know. I never could remember how my stuff got to the nurse’s office. When I walked out of the back, I thought I needed to track down my stuff and there it sat on the front counter. I had no idea that it was you. I just figured I was so freaked out that I’d only imagined tossing my things in desperate attempt to help Clark.”
“Yep, doing my good deeds where I can.” He pauses for a beat and then blurts out, “Where the Red Fern Grows.” I give him a questioning look. “That’s the book you were reading.” A satisfied sensation pervades my entire being, making me feel warm all over. He remembers the book I was reading almost ten years ago. Unbelievable.
He shifts again, looking uncomfortable. I suddenly realize that I’m not very comfortable either. We’ve been out here for a while now, but I don’t want him to call it a night. Suddenly, I have a solution, “Hey, I have a blanket in my car!” I practically run to my car and grab all my sheets and pillows. We spread them out and get comfortable, lying side by side.
We get quiet again. I love that he seems as comfortable with silence as I am. So many people feel that they must fill silence when there really isn’t anything of value to say. As if we can’t live without inane and incessant chatter. Why doesn’t everyone realize that we need silence to process and feel and exist? That has always baffled me.
I must’ve dozed off. I feel so warm all of the sudden and realize that my head is cradled next to Michael’s chest. I smile slowly and close my eyes again. I’m not sure how I got over here; but if he’s OK with it, I’m not budging.
The next time I rouse, it’s to Michael’s voice and the magnificent sunrise he promised me. “When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, we admired God’s wondrous gift to us.”
I’m impressed as he paraphrases some lines from one of my favorite epic poems. “Homer, huh? It’s so beautiful. You’re incredibly insightful to have remembered that phrase.” I laugh at myself and confess, “I’ve always thought that the dawning sun resembled the end of an orange sherbet push up pop. How creative is that?”
“Very, actually. Mine is from memory. Yours is original.”
I run my hand up his chest and turn my head to look up at him. “I’ll never forget this moment here with you, ya know?” I’m finally starting to realize that I’ve memorized every one of my moments with him. I will add this one to my stash.
His words are an echo of my thoughts. “I’ve never forgotten any moment I’ve spent with you. A couple of them I tried to forget because of my stupidity but couldn’t quite manage it because, however stupid I was, you had starred in that memory.”
I stretch myself along his body and place a light kiss on his mouth. I quickly turn my head to look back at the morning sun as embarrassment warms my cheeks. I feel like a new person lying here with him. Better than new actually. I feel revived. Almost like the old me.
Chapter Sixteen
Brings Me to My Knees
I wake up again to find the sun a few hours further in the sky. Michael’s breath is even under me. I gingerly scoot over and stretch. I sit up and stare at him for a few unencumbered minutes. He looks so peaceful. I can still make out the faint scar on his eyebrow from one of our dirt bike riding accidents.
I flip through my purse without taking my eyes off of him and try to locate my journal.
My mom had found two small beat up dirt bikes for sale around Christmas the year she finally left my dad and had hocked her class ring and engagement ring in order to buy them for my brothers along with a beautiful gold wishbone ring with a tiny little pearl for me. Of course, she told my brothers they had to let me teach them how to ride because they were still pretty young. That meant I got to enjoy the dirt bikes as well. It was a couple of days after Christmas, and Michael showed up at my house asking about going for a ride since I’d been bragging about my skills on the hills.
When we tried to start them, he insisted that his wouldn’t start and that he could just ride on the back of mine. I suppress a giggle as the reality of that dawns on me. I was too naïve to see his motivation for lying then, but it had to have been a lie because later that morning it had cranked right up.
“I can just ride on the back of yours for a while,” he says.
“Um…OK.” I was nervous about our weight on it but not too nervous to deny him a ride. He throws his leg over the side. Before he has his hands around my waist, I gun it.
“Shiiiit!” He shouts and then laughs as his hands grasp my waist.
I laugh and maneuver our way out of the developed part of the neighborhood. My hair is flying back in the wind that stings my eyes. I feel him rest his head on my shoulder. It has been two weeks since our kiss. I wonder if he will ever bring it up. We ride for a while, jumping puddles and mounds of dirt. I hop off for a little while and let him show me up with all of his wheelies and jumps. He’s far more daring than I am.
I yell at him that I’m starting to get cold. We decide to head back for a while and warm up and go out again later. He pats the seat behind him and winks at me. Of course, I’m hardheaded and just quirk my brow at him. There’s no way I’m getting on the back of my own bike, I think.
“Fine, have it your way,” he pouts and scoots back.
“I will. Thanks for your permission, O’ Great One!” I mock.
We’re almost to my house and I, in my infinite wisdom, decide to shake some warmth in my ha
nds as I slow down to turn on my street. I don’t understand the fact that my hands have shrunken with the cold and are now smaller, so my new ring goes flying off in the tall grass that borders our street. I almost wreck as I try to get stopped as quickly as possible. Michael yells at me to inquire about my sanity. Before it fully dies out, I’m off the dirt bike and running towards the grass.
“Lorraina, what’s wrong?” he shouts the question at me.
“My ring! My ring! It flew off my hand when I was shaking it out! Oh my God, Michael! My mom bought it for me just two days ago!”
“OK. OK. It’s gonna be OK. We’ll find it,” he assures me.
We searched for at least an hour before being overcome with the unusually cold weather. My face was chapped from my tears. My throat ached with the unshed ones. Michael didn’t want to give up, but it felt hopeless. He assured me that after we went home and warmed up some we would search again. And we did to no avail, of course.
Later we sat on the porch holding hot chocolate. My mom was still at work, and I was scared to tell her what had happened when she did arrive. We were silent as we had been since my complete screw up.
Finally, Michael breaks the silence. “Lorraina, your mom will understand. It was an accident. You would have never been purposefully careless with her gift. She’ll know that.”
I start crying again. When I finally stop, I mumble, “Michael, my mom hocked her class ring and her wedding rings to buy us our Christmas presents. She’s working two jobs, going to school, and providing for us while my piece of shit dad blames the world for his drinking and arson problems and what do I do? I lose her precious gift to me.” I choke on another sob and can’t speak anymore.
He waits until I quiet down again. “I’m so sorry,” he offers.
And he is. I can hear it in his voice. Most people utter these words unthinkingly, not considering what they really mean. He would take this pain from me if he could. He understands that it was more than just a piece of jewelry that I am mourning for. My mom was killing herself, and I was a klutz.
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