Every cell in my body was attuned to her in that moment. I didn't even know her last name, but I knew what was happening. I knew I wanted it. I wanted to feel her lips against mine. I hadn't thought of Mom or Dad since I'd seen her, and I hadn't thought of the empty hollow ache in my heart, in my soul. I wasn't lonely. I was Caden and she was Luisa, and that was all that mattered.
I could feel the hard nubs of her nipples against my chest, and somehow my hands were on her waist and she was pressing the length of her body against mine. Her eyes were so brown, so wide. Long lashes fluttered in the rain, hair like ink curled in wet strands against her cheek and forehead and down her neck. I felt her hands on my shoulders, and her breath on my face.
"Besame..."
"What? I don't--I don't speak Spanish." I thought I might have an inkling as to what she was saying, though. "Can I kiss you?"
She just smiled and moved even closer. "Si. This is what I said."
Her lips were warm, a counterpoint to the cold rain. I felt like lightning was still sizzling inside me, striking me at every point of contact where her body touched mine. She arched into the kiss, pressed her mouth to mine, and clawed her fingers into my shoulder blades.
The kiss lasted an eternity. Neither of us broke free first; we both pulled away at the same moment, gasping. Luisa's eyes searched mine. "I have...been kiss before, but not like this." She put her hand to the back of my head and pulled me to her, pulled my lower lip into her mouth, and something inside me went nova. "I wish it was not raining."
I pulled back and gave her a quizzical look. "Why?"
"So the kiss does not have to end." Something in her steady, hot gaze told me she meant more than merely kissing.
I felt my cheeks heating up as I realized what she meant. She seemed so quiet, so contained. As we'd talked, she always spoke calmly, evenly, never swore or used vulgar expressions. She moved with poise and grace, and this...this forwardness was unexpected.
She must have noticed my blush, because her lips quirked up in an amused and almost predatory smile. "Eres virgen?" I caught that last word, sure enough. I nodded, eyes on my feet. She touched her lips to mine once more, briefly, and then backed away and handed me Henry's reins. "Come, we should go. This rain will not stop para muchas horas."
The herd had scattered, and it took us more than an hour to get them bunched and back to the paddock, where Gramps was waiting, his expression equal parts concern and anger. "Where you been, Cade?"
I lifted my boot and showed him the melted sole, and the scorched bit of Henry's hair. I'd checked him out before mounting, and he wasn't hurt, only the hair of his coat slightly charred. "Got caught in the storm, Gramps. Nearly got struck."
Luisa spoke up. "He was hit, Senor Monroe. He was knocked from his seat."
Gramps narrowed his eyes. "You okay, son?"
I nodded. "Sure. Wasn't a direct hit. Struck a tree and arced to the stirrup. Knocked me off, but I'm fine. Need new boots, though."
Gramps's eyes moved to Luisa, and then quickly away. Luisa glanced down and then crossed her arms over her chest. "Give the girl your shirt, Cade. She needs covering."
I peeled my shirt off and handed it to her, but instead of trying to put on the sopping-wet shirt, she pressed it against her front, glancing at Gramps after she was covered. "Lo siento," she mumbled.
"Que esta bien." Gramps's Spanish accent was nearly perfect, which kind of surprised me. But then I realized Miguel had worked for Gramps since before I was born, and he usually hired friends or relatives of Miguel's for the busiest seasons. Gramps waved at Luisa. "Vete a casa, nina."
"Si, senor." She glanced at me and gave me a small smile. "Thank you for riding with me, Cade. Perhaps we can ride together again?"
"I'd like that," I said.
"Me too. Adios." She wheeled her horse around and was gone.
Gramps was leaning against the railing of the paddock, his gaze thoughtful. Rain dripped from the brim of his Stetson. "So. You met Luisa, huh?"
"Yeah, guess so." I wasn't sure where he was going with it, so I figured it was best to stay neutral.
"Nice girl."
"Yeah."
"And pretty."
"She's beautiful, yeah." I slid off Henry and scratched between his eyes.
Gramps seemed to be hunting for the right words. "Ain't up to me to say why she moved out this'a way, but...look, she's Miguel's niece, and he feels responsible for her. So just...be careful, all right?"
"She said she was moving up here to go to school."
Gramps shrugged, an uncharacteristically noncommittal gesture. "More than that to it, but like I said, ain't my story."
"Was she in trouble or something?"
"Dinner soon," Gramps said by way of not answering, "so best get Henry put up and some dry clothes on you."
Midnight saw me still awake, exhausted but unable to sleep. I'd worked since five that morning, and had to be up at five again the next morning; yet sleep eluded me. I wondered what Gramps had been alluding to regarding Luisa. It sounded like he'd meant she'd been sent here for more than just school. Maybe it had something to do with how...open...she'd been about kissing me, and wanting more.
I finally drifted off, floating just above the blackness of true sleep, tilting and falling in the weightless space of not-asleep, not-awake. I dreamed of hands on my chest, skin against skin. I knew the silk-soft texture of breast in my hand, even though I'd never experienced that before. I knew the taste of lips on mine, and knew that she was mine, I was hers, and this was right. Perfect and true, everything we'd ever wanted and ever needed, the fullness of desire made flesh, and nothing existed, nothing mattered. Nothing but her.
Darkness lightened to the haze of moonlight, or a candlelit bedroom.
I saw, not dusky Latin skin and brown eyes, but porcelain flesh and jade-green eyes. Ever's eyes. It was her body I saw, too, generous curves, heavy breasts, not Luisa's small and delicate frame. She was naked like me, flesh against flesh, and her lips met mine and I knew heaven in that dreaming kiss, bliss like nothing I'd ever felt. In the dream, there was nothing to forget, nothing to be distracted from, because she was everything.
It didn't feel like a dream. It felt like something I'd lived, love I'd known. It felt like a memory.
When the dream ended, I felt as if I was missing a piece of my soul, like the memory was all that was left of a love I'd had and lost.
interstice
Ever
Caden,
I don't know who else to turn to. I've never been so mixed up in my life. It's about Will. I know this kind of goes beyond what we usually talk about, and maybe it's kind of weird. I don't know. I'm just messed up in my head, in my heart. He's...amazing. He's this talented jazz musician, which is just cool by itself. He's not a rock star, although he has that same kind of presence and magnetism, but he just wants to be in a jazz band, like Miles Davis or John Coltrane. He's been teaching me about jazz, which I never thought I'd like, but I do. It's different and cool.
And he treats me well. He's not like the other guys at school, you know? I know if I was dating any other guy, he'd be all over me, pressuring me to sleep with him. Most of the girls I'm friends with have already done it with their boyfriends, and I've heard how a lot of them felt pushed into it. Like the boys wanted it, and they felt like they had to go along with it to prove something to their boyfriends, or to themselves. Not everybody, of course. I know Irene Oliver basically seduced her boyfriend because she was ready to get rid of her V-card, as she put it. I don't want it to be that way. And Will understands that, which is so cool.
But I know he wants it. He says he's willing to be patient and wait for me to be ready. But what if I'm never ready? How do I know I'm ready? I mean, when we're making out, I can't think of anything else, and it feels like I could just do anything and it would be amazing. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel pressure from people at school to lose my virginity. But I don't want it to just happen, you know?
Do you know?
I don't want to wait forever. I want it. I do. And I think if I'm going to do it with anyone, Will would be perfect. But...I'm just confused. Do I wait for a sign? I mean, I don't think I'm in love with him, you know? He and I even talked about that. But is love like it seems in the movies? Does it just hit you and make you go crazy? Do you just know, know in your soul that you're in love?
I had a dream of you. It was...weird. Intense. We were...together. Is that weird to you? I don't know what it means, if it means anything, but it was...it was like...god, how do I put it? It was remembering something that had already happened. Does that make sense?
How's Wyoming? Are you a full-time cowboy now? That's kinda hot, actually.
Always yours,
Ever
Ever,
I'm a little unsure what to say, to be honest. I don't know the answer. I'm feeling something similar, actually. With a girl that lives on the ranch, niece of one Gramps's best hands. She's Mexican. Luisa. I don't know a lot about her, but there's just this...tension between us. This electricity. We've only kissed once, but I know if we had the chance, it'd go farther. And I want to, but I don't. I'm a little afraid that it would be a mistake, or that it would change things. I mean, I know it would change things. For me, and for whatever Luisa and I would have. But like you said, I don't think I'm in love with her. In love? I feel like that's something you can't miss.
I guess you just have to take things one step at a time and make the best decision you can. That's all you ever can do, I think, in life in general.
I have to be honest. It is a little weird talking about this with you. I mean, I know we're pen pals, and friends, and I love that. These letters are often all that get me through week to week. Even if it's just random stuff, nothing important, they're important to me. Gramps is great, and I love working on the ranch. But...I'm lonely. I feel disconnected, like I'm no one, like I don't belong anywhere. Like I'm just here until something else happens. I don't even know what I want with my future. I used to think I'd go to art school, find a career using drawing, but now? Maybe I'll just be a cowboy forever. And your letters, they make me feel connected to something, to someone.
But hearing about you dating Will or Billy or whatever his name is, hearing about you thinking about having sex with him? It's...kind of hard.
I had a crush on you when we first met. I thought you were beautiful. So beautiful. It was hard to think of anything else. Then camp ended and we never got together, and now all I have of you is these letters.
Shit. I just told you I have a crush on you. HAD. Had a crush. Not sure what it is anymore. A letter-crush? A literary love? That's stupid. Sorry. I just have this rule with myself that I never throw away what I write and I always send it, so hopefully this doesn't weird you out too much.
Did you get my last letter? You didn't respond to anything I wrote, so I was just wondering.
I had a dream about you, too. Same kind of thing. Us, in the darkness, together. Just us. And it was like you said, a memory turned into a dream, but a memory of something that's never happened, but in the dream it felt so real, and it was more, I don't even know, more RIGHT than anything I've ever felt, in life or in dreams. I wonder what it means that we both had the same dream about each other. Maybe nothing, maybe everything. You tell me.
Cade
As I finished the last line, I realized with a bolt of horror that I'd never read Cade's last letter. Everything with Will had pushed it straight out of my head. My brain was spinning, my heart whirling in mad, confused circles. Cade had a crush on me? Literary love? He'd dismissed the phrase as stupid, but to me, it was raw poetry. It meant something. Literary love. I'd only spent a few hours with Cade at the camp, but I knew so much about him.
I dug through my purse until I found his previous letter, ripped it open, and read it. By the end, I was sobbing. He'd lost his dad, too? How much could one person endure?
And then I'd sent him this selfish, rambling letter about how I was confused about having sex with my boyfriend. He must think I was such an asshole. Yet, he'd told me my letters were important to him. Were they still?
He thought I was beautiful. He thought I was beautiful?
Did Will? He hadn't said so. He acted like he wanted me, but was that different from thinking I was beautiful.
Cade,
I'm so sorry about your dad. I can't even begin to put into words how sad I am for you. You've lost so much in your life. No one should have to go through what you have. I actually put that letter in my purse to read later and then got sidetracked and forgot. That's a shitty explanation, I know. I'm sorry. I treasure your letters, too. I really do. I cried so hard when I read that letter.
I know my letter about Billy must've seemed especially inconsiderate and self-centered in light of that. I won't write about him anymore.
Regarding your feelings for me, god, that really complicates things. I felt the same way. You were so different from everyone I'd ever met, ever seen. You're handsome, but that's not the right word. It's not enough. You're...god, "rugged" is the only word I can think of. Is that stupid? It's better than cute, which just doesn't apply, in a good sort of way. And I really did have a crush on you. When you came out to the dock right at the end of camp, the way you put your arms around me and just held me, I've never felt so comforted in all my life. I know I said I wouldn't talk about Will, but he's a part of this discussion. He and I are dating. It's just a fact. But then I have this relationship with you. I feel like I know you, like we're connected in some way, like our souls are cut from the same cloth. Does that make sense? So it almost feels like cheating to have this with you, but it's not. We're pen pals. Maybe that's all we'll ever be. I don't know. If we met IRL (in real life, in case you're not familiar with the term) what would happen? What would we be? And just FYI, the term you used, a literary love? It was beautiful. So beautiful. That term means something, between us now. We are literary loves. Lovers? I do love you, in some strange way. Knowing about you, in these letters, knowing your hurt and your joys, it means something so important to me that I just can't describe. If that's unfair or unfaithful to Will, I don't care. Maybe that's horrible of me, but it's the truth, and it's a truth only you know. There are things, if I'm being honest, that only you know. Like for instance, I've never told anyone, ever, how I feel about Eden. How I love her with all my heart and soul and could never live without her, but sometimes just...just can't stand her. Hate her. She's so impossible sometimes. No one knows that but you. No one knows how mixed up I am about Will, either, except you, and to some degree him. No one knows how fucked up I am about missing Mom. How all my art is an attempt to find her inside me, to feel like I've found her. Like she's here with me. That's why I paint, why I take photos and draw and sculpt. I have to do it. I'm an artist, so on some level I simply have to make art because that's who and what I am and what I do, but Mom, missing her, needing her, that's why I am what I am, who I am. Because she was an artist and I need her back, and I keep hoping on some bizarre metaphysical level that I'll find her through my art. That's stupid, I know. It'll never happen. Her ghost won't ever suddenly appear in my paint, and I won't ever suddenly have some life-changing epiphany about Mom because I'm an artist. But that doesn't stop me from trying on some unconscious level.
Related, but different: don't give up on your life, or your art. You lost your parents, but you didn't lose yourself. You're alive. Be alive, Cade. Don't give up. Please? For me, if nothing else. Because I need your art and your letters and your literary love. If we never have anything else between us, I need this. I do. Maybe this letter will only complicate things, but like you I have a rule that I never throw away what I've written and I always send it, no matter what I write.
Your literary love,
Ever
Ever,
Don't be sad for me, Ever. I'll be okay. One day at a time, I'll be fine. Some days I don't know how I'll manage, and other days I'm just me and I'm fine, content and happy enough to be on horseback
in the rolling wilds of Wyoming.
I was thinking, though. When you sent me that letter about being mixed up about Will/Billy, you said at the beginning that you didn't know who else to turn to. And I completely understand. I don't really, either, when it comes to things with Luisa. So how about this: we keep on confiding in each other, even when it's hard? Even when I might feel jealous or hurt or confused because I do still have some kind of feelings for you, even though I know we'll probably never meet again, you tell me what's going in your life, no matter what. We've always told each other everything in these letters. We said at the very beginning of this epistolary relationship (I learned that word in history class. My teacher, Mr. Boyd, is reading us John Adams' letters to his wife Abigail, and they're so beautiful. You should read them. I've learned a lot from those letters), that these are like journal entries that we send out. And we get responses on those journal entries, and we understand each other. So don't stop. And I won't, either.
In light of that, I'll share this with you: I went on a ride with Luisa. Horse ride, I mean. We had a picnic and rode out into the middle of nowhere, no one for miles. And...we nearly did it. I guess I chickened out at the last second. Not quite ready. She is, though, and she's not shy about telling me. Gramps hinted that she came to Wyoming from Mexico because she'd gotten in trouble back home, so I just flat out asked her, and she told me the truth. She'd gotten kicked out of her last school for being...promiscuous. Had a pregnancy scare, I guess, and her parents decided she needed a change of pace, or scenery or something. And now she's trying to hook up with me, and I'm mixed up about it. If she's up here to make better decisions, is being with me a bad idea? I want it, though. I can't think of anything else when we're together, in the moment, you know? I know you get it--you said as much in your letter about Will/Billy. I don't know what's right or wrong anymore, and sometimes I just don't care. She makes me feel good. She likes me for who I am, and she wants me. Feeling desired, wanted, is addicting. I can't help it, can't help wanting more. And, good or bad, I don't think I'm going to try and resist that. It's going to happen with us, and soon, and I know it, and I'm not fighting it. I deserve some happiness, right? I'll be careful, though. You too, okay?
Forever & Always Page 13