few times, tries to affix it to the man before her. I drop my hand. She looks into my eyes like she’s trying to put me in a trance, or has somehow fallen into mine, finally says, “Nice to meet you, Michael.”
“I was wondering if—”
“Close the door,” she says.
“I…”
She brushes her bangs with her left hand and as her fingers cross her forehead, the diamonds in her wedding band sparkle and form an arc like a comet, leave a series of dots in my vision like spots from the sun.
“Close the door, Michael.”
Without turning away, I step back, reach behind me, and push the door shut.
“Lock the door, Michael.”
It takes me a second, but I eventually pull my eyes from her, find the lock and turn it.
She walks to the couch, puts her arms behind the stack of books and slides them off. They go crashing to the floor, spill into an even spread like fallen dominoes. She sits down and stares at me.
I feel like a little boy, don’t know what to say, can’t find the right place for my hands.
Suddenly, she covers her face and bursts into tears.
I walk over and kneel in front of her, rest my arms on the couch along each of her thighs and lightly hold her lower body. “You’re not in any harm,” I say. “You need to believe me. You’re safe.”
She looks up and wipes her nose and eyes. “I don’t care.”
“Everything you’ve built, all that you’ve worked for is safe, okay?”
“I don’t care.”
“I will never let anything—”
“I. Don’t. Care.” She brushes her bangs to the side again. “I love what I do. I love this place. I love all I’ve learned and all the students. But you know what this is? All of this? This is what killing time looks like. I’ve been killing time waiting for you.” Melody looks at me and touches my face like she’s not convinced I’m who she thinks I am, then throws her arms around my neck and pulls me in, holds me and shakes. I slip my hands around her frame.
“But the risks,” I say. “You know the risks.”
She whispers in my ear, “Every relationship has risks, Jonathan. Not a single one is safe.” She takes a deep breath and pulls back to look at me. “I practiced this moment a hundred times, the things I would say if I ever saw you again”—she laughs a little and more tears fall—“but I’m so unprepared, can’t think straight.”
“I—”
“I realized it too late,” she says, touching my face again, “but once I got settled out west I finally understood how I’d blown it, nearly crushed me when I realized what I’d done.” She swallows, runs her fingers through my hair and holds the back of my head. “You were my loophole.”
I study her expression, her eyes wide and searching mine for an understanding. I try to remember what she once told me, the way she defines loophole.
She can read my confusion, clarifies without my asking. “Do you remember? I never allowed myself to love anyone because I’d have to lie about who I was, could never be myself, and always feared having to one day leave that person without notice when I was pulled away by the feds. And if I chose to be honest and bring that person with me, I would’ve opened them up to all the danger of being on the run and in the line of fire, being with me. That would be the case for any man I would ever meet in my life.” She gulps hard, wipes her face, and says, “Except you.”
I shake my head a little.
“You,” she says, “knew who I was. You would always know the real me. And if anyone could handle the dangers of being on the run, it would be you. I blew it. Realized it all too late. The one man I ever truly loved also happened to be my loophole. By the time I understood, I’d already seen what you’d done on the news, what you’d surrendered to keep me alive and protected. I loved you all the more after that, was determined to be faithful. I waited and prayed you would come to me. I… waited.” Melody’s chin wrinkles and before she starts crying she pulls me in, says softly, “Never leave me again. Never, do you understand?”
I reach around her body and run my hands up her back and pull her against me, try to hold her firmly enough to