who fails. And that the migraines could be a sign of something worse. They don’t come often, but when they do, they’re bad.”
“I was just worried.” My throat was closing, my eyes stinging. “You were staggering. You could barely see. On a construction site! And then I tried to make you come with me and lie down, and you wouldn’t, and I thought … And why would I care about whether you’re behind on the job, whether you have some … some growing pains, or whatever? Why would you have to perform for me, to be some big … some big success for me? Have you seen my flat? And I’m sorry, but I’m going to care about you. I’m always going to care about you, even if you do swear at me, so get used to it. You don’t get to be protective all alone.”
“Did I mention that I’m stubborn?” He had my hand in his now. “I’d stuffed up, and I didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t have my tablets. Didn’t want to take your coffee, even though I needed it. Didn’t want to admit that I needed that sandwich, either. I’m trying to say that I’m sorry for shouting at you, and swearing at you. And that my not listening wasn’t about you. It was about me.”
“No.” Time to tell the truth. He’d been honest, and it was time to see what I could do. “It’s about me, too. You’ve always done it alone? So have I. I’m scared to get this close. I’m terrified. I’m scared to tell the truth, because the truth is that I was so worried about you, and I care too much, and I don’t know what we’re doing here. I know it’s too much, with the girls, with Gilead. Too much complication. Too much responsibility, when you have so much already. And I know that sooner or later, you’ll figure that out, and when that happens, I’ll finally fall apart the way I never have, because I’ve let myself fall in love with you. So … so hard. And I’m so afraid that …” I had to stop a minute. “That loving you is going to be the thing that breaks me, because it’s the one thing …” Another pause. For breath. And for courage. “The one thing I don’t have any defenses against. Because they’re gone. My defenses. They’re gone. I cried yesterday, and I swore I’d never let another man make me cry. But I couldn’t …” I was breathing hard now, too close to crying again. “I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop.”
This time, when he kissed me, it was gentle. Healing. “You don’t have to be scared,” he told me. “Or maybe you do. Maybe I do, too. Maybe that’s all right, because we’re not going to be perfect. Reckon we just have to feel our way. And—sweetheart?”
“What?” My heart was so full. I was completely overwhelmed, unable to swim over the wave this time, and maybe, just maybe, that was all right. Maybe, this time, I could let the wave take me down.
He smiled at me. Warm. Solid. Real. “Thanks for coming home.”
Gray
I didn’t think about the rest of it. About the golf game. The investors’ meeting. The firm. I was here, and this was now.
We ate our breakfast sitting close to each other, the air filled with relief, and with love. A touch of a hand, a pause for a kiss, for a word. A moment when I held her head in my hand, pressed my forehead to hers, and told her, “I’m a lucky man, and I know it.”
And after breakfast, I took her to bed.
The blinds were drawn, and I kept them that way. A dim room, a wide bed, and Daisy lying across rumpled white sheets in a raspberry dressing gown.
All the life in the world.
I made love to her like I’d done the first time. Like it was the first time. Long, sweet kisses and slow, soft touches, melting away the doubts, the fears, the pain. Her hands greedy for me, pulling off my T-shirt, shoving at my shorts. My hand parting that dressing gown, sliding over the silken skin of her midriff. Pressing my lips into her palm, closing her fingers over that kiss, then going back to kiss her mouth again. Nothing but time. Nowhere but here.
I touched her and kissed her and pleased her, and I did it the way she liked. Step by step, taking her higher.