A Story

“When can I see you again?”

A pause. He looks at her nightgown, his boots, back into her gaze.

“You know we shouldn’t do this again Anne.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “But, I thought you liked it? I thought you liked,” she looks away quickly, then meets his eyes again, “me?”

The midday sun reflects off the windshield of his pickup sitting in the driveway. Old and rusty, it stands in sharp contrast against the shiny new Lexus and Mercedes-Benzes parked next to the giant houses in the quiet cul-de-sac. He bought the Ford F150 used when he was eighteen years old. Over the past eight years it had brought him from jobsite to jobsite, lugging loads of lumber, paint, sealcoat, and mulch. It had been his haven from the world, the only place where he could escape the relentless disappointed voices of his family and in his head. For a couple weeks it had served as his home, when the fights got real bad and he was looking for a cheap apartment in town.

“Anne, you know I think you’re an amazing woman, and I owe so much to you for helping me find work and a place to stay. But this? This is wrong.” The tears spring unchecked from her eyes. “We both know it is.”

They stand in the threshold as she weeps silently, the only thing between them the doubt that has crept into both their minds. He wants so badly to tell her how he feels about her, how when he’s with her he’s not just some college dropout who’s future looks no brighter than his past. He wishes he could take her away with him in his rusty Ford to some faraway town where nobody knows them and they can make a new life together. He steels himself and holds back his own tears.

“But, I, I need you,” she whispers to him with a longing look. “I can’t do this anymore. He’s driving me crazy. He’s never here, and when he is he barely looks at me. He won’t hold me like you. He can’t hold me like you!” she sobs, thrusting herself into his arms.

He holds her shaking, defeated body like one would hold a bullied child. For a moment he nearly loses his composure, nearly admits to her what she knows he feels, but he hardens his will again. He’s never let his guard down before he met her. He kisses her gently on the forehead, wipes her tear soaked hair out of her face, and turns to walk to the pickup.

She watches him as he drives away, hanging onto the door handle for support as she tries to gather her strength. Like a wounded soldier lost on the field of battle, she starts to make her way back to the kitchen and stubs her foot on the Tonka truck lying in the hall. She changes course and heads for the medicine cabinet.