because you weren’t as important to me as you used to be, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “But that’s not the reason. It’s really the opposite. I was doing that because you’re so important to me. Not so much because I wanted you to get to know my friends, or so they could get to know you, but because of me.”
She halted uncertainly.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
“Do you remember when I told you that I draw strength from being with you?”
When I nodded, she skated her fingers along my chest. “I wasn’t kidding about that. Last summer meant so much to me. More than you can ever imagine, and when you left, I was a wreck. Ask Tim. I barely worked on the houses. I know I sent you letters that made you think all was well and good, but it wasn’t. I cried every night, and every day I’d sit at the house and keep imagining and hoping and wishing that you’d come strolling up the beach. Every time I saw someone with a crew cut, I’d feel my heart start beating faster, even though I knew it wasn’t you. But that was the thing. I wanted it to be you. Every time. I know that what you do is important, and I understand that you’re posted overseas, but I don’t think I understood how hard it was going to be once you weren’t around. It seemed like it was almost killing me, and it took a long time to even begin to feel normal again. And on this trip, as much as I wanted to see you, as much as I love you, there’s this part of me that’s terrified that I’m going to go to pieces again when our time is up. I’m being pulled in two directions, and my response was to do anything I could so I wouldn’t have to go through what I did last year again. So I tried to keep us busy, you know? To keep my heart from being broken again.”
I felt my throat tighten but said nothing. In time, she went on.
“Today, I realized that I was hurting you in the process. That wasn’t fair to you, but at the same time, I’m trying to be fair to me, too. In a week, you’ll be gone again, and I’m the one who’s going to have to figure out how to function afterwards. Some people can do that. You can do that. But for me . . .”
She stared at her hands, and for a long time it was quiet.
“I don’t know what to say,” I finally admitted.
Despite herself, she laughed. “I don’t want an answer,” she said, “because I don’t think there is one. But I do know that I don’t want to hurt you. That’s all I know. I just hope I can find a way to be stronger this summer.”
“We could always work out together,” I joked halfheartedly, and was gratified to hear the sound of her laugh.
“Yeah, that’ll work. Ten chin-ups and I’ll be good as new, right? I wish it were that easy. But I’ll make it. It might not be easy, but at least it’s not going to be a full year this time. That’s what I kept reminding myself today. That you’ll be home for Christmas. A few more months and all this will be over.”
I held her then, feeling the warmth of her body against my own. I could feel her fingers through the thin fabric of my shirt and felt her tug gently, exposing the skin of my stomach. The sensation was electric. I savored her touch and leaned in to kiss her.
There was a different kind of passion to her kiss, something vibrant and alive. I felt her tongue against my own, conscious of the way her body was responding, and breathed deeply as her fingers began to drift toward the snap on my jeans. When I slid my hands lower, I realized that she was naked beneath the shirt. She undid the snap, and though I wanted nothing more than to continue, I forced myself to pull back, to stop before this went too far, to prevent something I still wasn’t sure she was ready for.
I sensed my own hesitation, but before I could dwell on it, she suddenly sat up and slipped off her shirt. My breaths quickened as I stared at her, and all at once, she leaned forward and lifted my shirt.