the day. I posed eagerly for him, leaning against the car for some silly pictures, and finally wheedled and whined enough for him to pose exactly once for me. When my cheeks were nearly numb with cold, I climbed inside the car again, this time behind the wheel, to pose as if I were driving, but finally had to admit I was chilled to the bone. He came to the open door; my teeth chattered against his kiss.
“There’s a perfectly fine barn over there,” he said against my ear. “We can go inside. Warm up a bit.”
I mentioned the missing slats and damaged roof. “It won’t be much warmer in there.”
But he kissed me, and as the warmth of the sunlight did its job now that we were stopped and still, his intent became clear. I pushed back, planting my palms on his massive shoulders. “Mr. Carmichael, surely you don’t think I’m the kind of lady you can toss down on a haystack, do you?”
He said nothing, only handed me down. No sooner had my boots touched the hard-packed earth, than he swept me up in his arms, carrying me the scant distance to an entrance around the side, where a door was partially open. He nudged it with his shoulder and carried me across the threshold.
Inside, the barn smelled surprisingly sweet, and as my eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, an even sweeter tableau took shape. Rather than being covered with straw and debris and rusted tools, the floor was swept clean—as clean as a barn floor can get—and patterned with stripes of sunlight. Off in a corner, a quilt stretched on the floor along with two cushions, and a picnic hamper.
“When did you do this?” I giggled, yes—giggled, like a girl—and stepped in a wide, slow circle, taking in this ghost of a building as if it held the splendor of the Menger herself. “Is a farmer going to come in wielding a pitchfork to chase us off his land?”
“I will always protect you, Hedda.” His voice filled the space, mending the walls and the roof and all the broken places. “You will always be safe with me.”
Later, much later, the car returned to its garage, we walked the final blocks home, my arm tucked in his, something to which we had become very much accustomed. He asked me again if I liked—if I truly enjoyed—his famous beef paste sandwiches, and I assured him that of all the beef paste sandwiches I had ever eaten in my life, his were the most delicious.
When we arrived at the ornate door of the hotel, we stopped. Suddenly, to walk inside as I’d been doing all of these months felt like an act so unnatural as to be ludicrous. For Carmichael and I to part from each other after an entire day spent drifting between quiet and conversation, never having more than an arm’s length of space between us, seemed like a new layer of cruelty.
He took my hand and brought it to his lips, a gesture that would appear quaint and subdued to any passerby. But his eyes burned into mine, and when he spoke, his words carried no such innocence.
“I live not a quarter of a mile from here, Hedda.”
“I cannot, Irvin. You must understand that.”
He dropped my hand, took a cigarette out of his pocket, and lit it with a match struck against the wall. His face glowed in the flame’s light and the cigarette bobbed as he spoke. “I’m going to be gone for a few days.”
Instantly, I was cold. Ice cold, the heat of the day forgotten. “You don’t have to.”
“Why? Because you’ll tell me the truth here? Tonight? Introduce me to the woman I’m in love with?” At some point, he’d gripped my arm, dropping it the moment I winced at the pain. “God forgive me, Hedda. I’m sorry.”
My throat burned with tears. “Don’t say that.”
“Don’t say what? That I love you? Believe me, Hedda—if that’s even your name—I wish I didn’t. But God help me, I do.”
Twice in a minute he’d called on God—for help and for forgiveness. How I hated that I’d brought him to that place.
“Then don’t go.” I felt the tears on my cheeks, and I gripped him, though he shrugged me off before my fingers could find their purchase.
He blew a puff of smoke over my head. “What am I going to find?”
I stood, anchored. “You’ve already made it a point of not believing me. Go and see what you’ll learn