Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,88

studio audience brayed laughter. I tried to work my hand free, but Dag held on.

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate that. It means a lot to me, but I’m not ready to be in a relationship again, and I care about you so much, but I’m not ready to—”

Laughing quietly, Dag kissed the back of my hand again. “It’s ok, Elien. Take a breath. I’m just telling you: I love you. You don’t have to say it back. You don’t have to say anything. I’m not demanding you be my boyfriend or move in.”

I thought about twisting free and heading for the door. I thought about putting my hands over my ears and channeling my inner five-year-old.

Instead, I said, “This is really fast.”

“It’s love, Elien. It’s not a checklist.”

“I’m not a nice person, Dag. I’ve treated you like shit. Plenty of times, actually.”

“Elien.” He tugged on my hand until I looked at him. “I love you. You can’t talk me out of it. You can’t convince me I’m wrong. They’re my feelings, and I get to decide what to do with them. I’m not asking you for anything.”

“Then why are you saying it?” I asked. I pulled my hand free. “Why can’t we just have what we have and enjoy it?”

“Because I want you to know.”

I was having a hard time breathing. I stood up too fast, and the molded-plastic chair snapped back against the wall.

“I’m not going to say I’m sorry for telling you,” Dag said. “I’m not going to take it back because it’s scary.”

“I need to go.”

“I wish you’d stay so we could talk about this.”

I shook my head and left. That night, I stayed at a motel. And the next day, I didn’t go back to the hospital.

DAG (10)

I was waiting outside Elien’s motel room when he came back from the convenience mart, a plastic sack in each hand. Two weeks had passed since that night in the hospital. He looked much better. He looked great, in fact: hair wild and windswept, hazel eyes bright, the lean lines of his body barely discernible under a gray sweatshirt and joggers. He was smiling until he saw me.

The Overnight Motel was a single row of rooms, an exterior light hanging by each door, the harsh illumination spotlighting rubberized doormats and flowerboxes with dead leaves. The November night was cool and quiet. A few cars rolled past the motel, but the parking lot itself was silent aside from the buzzing fluorescent VACANCY sign. When Elien got closer, I could smell weed on him.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to smoke a joint while you’re taking medication?” I asked.

He passed me without looking over, juggled the bags, and produced a key with a big plastic tag.

I waited.

“I guess you want to come inside,” he said.

“I’d like that.”

Another car rolled past, headlights picking out the foil wrapper of a Klondike bar, and then he pushed into the room. I followed him inside.

It wasn’t as bad as I’d expected: a russet-colored coverlet on the bed, a high-def TV, a small refrigerator and a microwave. The door to the bathroom was open, and his clothes were hanging from the shower curtain rod. It smelled a little funky—weed, yes, but also like a second-hand store. I caught just a hint of that peppery, licoricey heat that I associated with pure Elien.

“It’s weird, you showing up like this,” he said as he unpacked the bags. From one, he drew out a stack of microwaveable dinners; from the other, a bottle of white wine. He put all of it in the refrigerator. “You understand that, right?”

“I was worried about you.”

“They didn’t give you my message at the hospital?”

“Oh, right, the one that said, ‘I’m ok, but I can’t see you anymore.’ That message?”

Elien shut the refrigerator and met my eyes for the first time. “I only left one.”

“Ouch,” I said.

He shook his head.

“Want to get anything else out of your system?” I asked.

Dropping onto the bed, Elien looked away.

“Want to tell me how I’m a shitty deputy again?” I asked. “That one really hurt last time.”

“What do you want, Dag?”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“No, come on, Elien. You can do better than that. You want to hurt me. You know how to do it. So let’s have it.”

He closed his eyes. He looked tired. When he opened them again, he said, “Do you want something or not?”

“I wanted to tell you what I heard from the sheriff’s department.”

Nodding, he said, “Hold on.” He fished the stub