Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,42
should be real proud of Cal,” Everett says, calling after me. I whip around.
“I am. He’s an amazing kid,” I say. Everett is slowly but surely, inch by inch, backing me up into an alley in between the post office and an antiques shop. The old brick walls of each building rise high above us as the dusky night becomes an inky black. I can hear the music in the distance, the occasional crack, crack, crack of a firecracker.
Everett is quiet. He leans forward mere centimeters, just as he did last night but without the safety of the bar, and the crowds of people in it. I feel outside of myself. My breathing quickens as he bends his head low and tilts it just enough for my entire body to react to him. His eyes are fast on mine and my heart races to catch up with the fantasies of what the next few moments might bring. I make my hands into tight fists, hoping this will keep them from reaching for him. His face is now inches from mine.
“An entire town is lit up just over there and we find the—,” I say, my voice an intimate whisper.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, taking his hands out of his pockets.
“Don’t,” I say, willing my voice not to break and catch.
“You look beautiful.” Everett steps closer, his hand lacing around my waist and pulling me in.
“That’s not helping,” I say, my body restless and shaky.
“Be still.” Everett just looks at me, his eyes washing over every part of my face. I slide my hand around him and hold on. He leans down and kisses my neck. I bring my other hand up and grasp him. I’m losing my balance—always a problem around him. My hand grips his shoulder, feeling his shirt shift and tighten over the sinewy muscles just beneath. I slide my hand up and let my fingers brush his glistening neck. Goose bumps dot his olive skin as I run my hand farther up and explore the curls at the nape of his neck.
“You’re finally back,” Everett sighs, whispering in my ear.
Stillness. The air around us waits. Even the music in the distance takes a breath.
“Everett, I—” Everett covers my mouth with his and I can feel his breath quickening. I feel alive for the first time in years as the fireworks crack and pop high above North Star.
“Please . . . just—just give me a minute,” I say, trying to catch my breath. He tilts back, but only slightly. Something’s different. I can’t breathe. He kisses me again and I feel claustrophobic. He’s too much. This is too much. I’ve been running from this feeling for years and now with each kiss I can feel it bearing down on me. It: the pain of knowing we can never be together. With each kiss he peppers down my neck, I am forced to admit that the love of my life will never really be mine. It’s one thing to run from ghosts, it’s quite another to let them catch you. My eyes dart around the darkened alley and I catch the glint of his belt buckle.
“I can’t believe you still have that,” I say breathlessly, pointing at the belt buckle. He looks down at his crotch and arches an eyebrow. My face flushes red and I clarify, “The belt buckle, I mean the belt buckle.”
“Why wouldn’t I still have it?” he asks. I study him. The man I once knew so well that I could draw a map of his freckles from memory. I gather myself. Everett tucks my long bangs behind my ear. He covers my mouth once more with his. The cracking and popping of the fireworks light our faces in the colors of the rainbow. Flecks of red and blue color the side of Everett’s face as he watches me.
“I thought when you married Laurel that—”
“That what? She had nothing to do with us.”
His words hang there just as the smoke from the spent fireworks hangs over the town center. Something is different. I’m different. I am older. I am smarter. And most of all, I am stronger. The haze begins to lift. This isn’t going to work. No matter how badly we want it to. In this age of princes marrying “commoners,” it’s easy to think that the days when one’s social strata dictated who you married are behind us. As much as I hate that Everett is loyal to his family, it’s why he’s