the door, slamming it shut with such a force, the dishes in the pie safe rattled.
Julien stopped underneath the cypress tree, one hand scrubbing across the ancient bark. What had he been thinking? Why had he even begun to hope? Alma, as beautiful and sweet and caring as she was, had a flaw he’d somehow managed to overlook.
The woman was stubborn. And unforgiving. Make that two flaws.
And she wanted more. She wanted better. She wanted to see what that green grass on the other side was all about.
Make that three or four flaws, tops.
He took a deep breath, willing himself to go home. Just go home and forget the whole deal. Just go back to the way things were before he’d stepped over that line she’d drawn in the sand between them. He’d had a passable life a couple of weeks ago, back when he went through the motions of being a man.
But there was no going back now. Now, he hurt with a furious need that felt like a hook caught in his gill. This was a long dormant pain that had now festered and changed into a certain agony that needed some relief, some healing.
You were so close, he thought. So close. You kissed her, held her, made her see, made her feel again. Made yourself hope again. So close.
He stared up at the little house, at the light still burning inside. Then he watched as that light flickered and went out.
And left him standing there in the darkness.
Without his dobash cake. And without the woman who’d baked it for him.
* * *
Inside, Alma stumbled toward the bedroom, shock and realization coloring the darkness with old ghosts and new doubts. The moonlight chased her, glaring a harsh light of accusation on her.
Her sister had warned her she might be settling if she tried to turn back to Julien. He’d figured it out right away, in spite of their sweet kisses and earnest conversation.
Or at least he thought she’d be settling. The same way he’d thought that the night of the prom when he’d stood there, reeling on his feet, slurring his insults and accusations, while he tried to justify why he’d turned to another girl.
“You ask too much, Alma. You want too much. You say you want me but you also want to leave our home. You can’t have both. It’s me or the road.”
But she’d never taken to that road. She’s stalled out and stayed right here, all the time wondering why Julien didn’t come and take her away. Now he’d come back but she was still so afraid of letting him capture her heart. If she gave in and allowed herself to love Julien, would she be trapped here forever? Trapped? Or grounded? Settled? Centered?
Were they destined to self-sabotage any chance they might have at happiness together? Or were they ill-suited for each other to begin with?
Alma sank down on the bed, held her fingers together. “Dear God, is this a sign to let him go? Have I been holding on to him for so long I can’t let go?”
Julien had played around with lots of women. But he’d always come around to see her, each and every day, like clockwork. And she’d lived for those moments, even though she fought those moments, too. Fought and held him at bay, while she secretly relished each glance, each touch, each word.
“Dear Lord, what kind of person am I to do that to him?”
She hurried to get her pajamas on, brushed her teeth, washed her face, combed her hair. She did all the normal, mundane things that she did every night before bed.
Then she kneeled and said a prayer for Julien.
“I know he needs You, Lord. He might have reached out to me, but…I’m pretty sure I messed up on that. Maybe he’s really reaching back toward You through me. Please, help him. Keep him strong. And don’t let him give up.”
Not yet. Not until she’d had a chance to make amends.
She needed to prove to Julien and everyone around here that she wasn’t so shallow as to cut and run. She’d stayed after storms, after death, after all sorts of setbacks and tragedies.
“I stayed,” she said into the moonlight.
Julien stopped underneath the cypress tree, one hand scrubbing across the ancient bark. What had he been thinking? Why had he even begun to hope? Alma, as beautiful and sweet and caring as she was, had a flaw he’d somehow managed to overlook.
The woman was stubborn. And unforgiving. Make that two flaws.
And she wanted more. She wanted better. She wanted to see what that green grass on the other side was all about.
Make that three or four flaws, tops.
He took a deep breath, willing himself to go home. Just go home and forget the whole deal. Just go back to the way things were before he’d stepped over that line she’d drawn in the sand between them. He’d had a passable life a couple of weeks ago, back when he went through the motions of being a man.
But there was no going back now. Now, he hurt with a furious need that felt like a hook caught in his gill. This was a long dormant pain that had now festered and changed into a certain agony that needed some relief, some healing.
You were so close, he thought. So close. You kissed her, held her, made her see, made her feel again. Made yourself hope again. So close.
He stared up at the little house, at the light still burning inside. Then he watched as that light flickered and went out.
And left him standing there in the darkness.
Without his dobash cake. And without the woman who’d baked it for him.
* * *
Inside, Alma stumbled toward the bedroom, shock and realization coloring the darkness with old ghosts and new doubts. The moonlight chased her, glaring a harsh light of accusation on her.
Her sister had warned her she might be settling if she tried to turn back to Julien. He’d figured it out right away, in spite of their sweet kisses and earnest conversation.
Or at least he thought she’d be settling. The same way he’d thought that the night of the prom when he’d stood there, reeling on his feet, slurring his insults and accusations, while he tried to justify why he’d turned to another girl.
“You ask too much, Alma. You want too much. You say you want me but you also want to leave our home. You can’t have both. It’s me or the road.”
But she’d never taken to that road. She’s stalled out and stayed right here, all the time wondering why Julien didn’t come and take her away. Now he’d come back but she was still so afraid of letting him capture her heart. If she gave in and allowed herself to love Julien, would she be trapped here forever? Trapped? Or grounded? Settled? Centered?
Were they destined to self-sabotage any chance they might have at happiness together? Or were they ill-suited for each other to begin with?
Alma sank down on the bed, held her fingers together. “Dear God, is this a sign to let him go? Have I been holding on to him for so long I can’t let go?”
Julien had played around with lots of women. But he’d always come around to see her, each and every day, like clockwork. And she’d lived for those moments, even though she fought those moments, too. Fought and held him at bay, while she secretly relished each glance, each touch, each word.
“Dear Lord, what kind of person am I to do that to him?”
She hurried to get her pajamas on, brushed her teeth, washed her face, combed her hair. She did all the normal, mundane things that she did every night before bed.
Then she kneeled and said a prayer for Julien.
“I know he needs You, Lord. He might have reached out to me, but…I’m pretty sure I messed up on that. Maybe he’s really reaching back toward You through me. Please, help him. Keep him strong. And don’t let him give up.”
Not yet. Not until she’d had a chance to make amends.
She needed to prove to Julien and everyone around here that she wasn’t so shallow as to cut and run. She’d stayed after storms, after death, after all sorts of setbacks and tragedies.
“I stayed,” she said into the moonlight.
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