stillness before the dawn.
She listened to him remove his clothes, fold them across the back of the maple
rocker in the corner. He climbed beneath the covers, his long body chilled and
smelling vaguely of wood smoke and fresh air and the damp places of the earth.
Smoothing the sleeves of his soft tee shirt up her arm, he bent and placed his
lips against the roundness of the lean muscle there. Even his lips felt cold.
“You’re not asleep,” he whispered.
“You don’t have to pretend to be. I’m sorry I was gone so long. I was
thinking.”
She rolled onto her back. “About
us?”
“No. That’s one thing I don’t have
to think about,” he said. “I know who we are, together, don’t you worry about
that.”
Reaching up, she smoothed his dark
hair back from his brow. “I wish I knew you when you were younger,” she said.
“I wish I could tell you who you are. I wish I had that to give you.”
“You do know who I am,” he said.
“You are the only one who does.”
She slipped both arms behind his
neck, drawing his head down. She kissed the sweep of his eyebrows, the full
curve of his mouth. The breath from his nostrils ran warm across her cheek.
“What’s it like?” she murmured
against his lips. “What does it feel like, being who you are?”
He thought a moment, climbing on top
of her and fitting himself between her legs, propped up on either side of her
body by his elbows. She pulled the covers up over his naked back.
“It’s like…it’s like being on the
other side of silence. Nothing is common. Nothing is ordinary. Everything is
precious, and no one else sees it, no one hears the small things, no one
understands the connection between each and every action, the finer moments of
humankind and the revolutions of the earth. That is where I’ve always stood,
and I stood alone. When you stand beside me I’m still here, but I’m not alone
anymore.”
Sunny swallowed, unable to speak.
She kissed him again, felt his mouth open to the pressure of her own, the
silken glide of his tongue across hers. As she had that first time he kissed
her, she felt her face wet with tears and did not know who shed them.
“You’re so good for me,” he said.
“Hell, I’m even hard again. Care for another go?”
She laughed, scrubbing her face dry,
then reached down beneath the blankets to close her hand around him. “Will you
marry me, Roger Macleod?” she whispered.
“Too late,” he answered. “I believe
I’m already taken.”
* * *
The rain started just before
daylight, drumming on the roof, rolling into the gutters, splashing on the
ground outside the windows. Sunny watched the rivulets converge and flow down
the glass, silver against silver as night lightened into day. Behind her Roger
slept on his back, his arm flung above his head, his mouth slightly open and a
sound like the growl of a young puppy emanating on occasion from his throat.
Slipping from the bed, she wrapped one of the quilts about her shoulders and
stood before the wall of books, tipping her head to read the spines. She felt
vaguely uneasy, as if she were spying on some secret part of him, and in the
same moment she thought, there’s something I’m missing here.
Running her fingers down the titles,
she thought she began to note a pattern in his interest, besides the era. Pulling
a volume out, she opened it to where it fell naturally from use. He had taken
a highlighter to mark certain passages. In other pages small pieces of paper
had been inserted. Some of these had notes on them in his hand, but even that
varied depending, she supposed, on his state of mind at the time he jotted them
down.
The light was too poor to read by, so
she replaced the book on the shelf, crossing the floor to the rocker. Lifting
his suit pants she hung them on a hook behind the door. She had no reason to
hang them in the wardrobe. Even in
She listened to him remove his clothes, fold them across the back of the maple
rocker in the corner. He climbed beneath the covers, his long body chilled and
smelling vaguely of wood smoke and fresh air and the damp places of the earth.
Smoothing the sleeves of his soft tee shirt up her arm, he bent and placed his
lips against the roundness of the lean muscle there. Even his lips felt cold.
“You’re not asleep,” he whispered.
“You don’t have to pretend to be. I’m sorry I was gone so long. I was
thinking.”
She rolled onto her back. “About
us?”
“No. That’s one thing I don’t have
to think about,” he said. “I know who we are, together, don’t you worry about
that.”
Reaching up, she smoothed his dark
hair back from his brow. “I wish I knew you when you were younger,” she said.
“I wish I could tell you who you are. I wish I had that to give you.”
“You do know who I am,” he said.
“You are the only one who does.”
She slipped both arms behind his
neck, drawing his head down. She kissed the sweep of his eyebrows, the full
curve of his mouth. The breath from his nostrils ran warm across her cheek.
“What’s it like?” she murmured
against his lips. “What does it feel like, being who you are?”
He thought a moment, climbing on top
of her and fitting himself between her legs, propped up on either side of her
body by his elbows. She pulled the covers up over his naked back.
“It’s like…it’s like being on the
other side of silence. Nothing is common. Nothing is ordinary. Everything is
precious, and no one else sees it, no one hears the small things, no one
understands the connection between each and every action, the finer moments of
humankind and the revolutions of the earth. That is where I’ve always stood,
and I stood alone. When you stand beside me I’m still here, but I’m not alone
anymore.”
Sunny swallowed, unable to speak.
She kissed him again, felt his mouth open to the pressure of her own, the
silken glide of his tongue across hers. As she had that first time he kissed
her, she felt her face wet with tears and did not know who shed them.
“You’re so good for me,” he said.
“Hell, I’m even hard again. Care for another go?”
She laughed, scrubbing her face dry,
then reached down beneath the blankets to close her hand around him. “Will you
marry me, Roger Macleod?” she whispered.
“Too late,” he answered. “I believe
I’m already taken.”
* * *
The rain started just before
daylight, drumming on the roof, rolling into the gutters, splashing on the
ground outside the windows. Sunny watched the rivulets converge and flow down
the glass, silver against silver as night lightened into day. Behind her Roger
slept on his back, his arm flung above his head, his mouth slightly open and a
sound like the growl of a young puppy emanating on occasion from his throat.
Slipping from the bed, she wrapped one of the quilts about her shoulders and
stood before the wall of books, tipping her head to read the spines. She felt
vaguely uneasy, as if she were spying on some secret part of him, and in the
same moment she thought, there’s something I’m missing here.
Running her fingers down the titles,
she thought she began to note a pattern in his interest, besides the era. Pulling
a volume out, she opened it to where it fell naturally from use. He had taken
a highlighter to mark certain passages. In other pages small pieces of paper
had been inserted. Some of these had notes on them in his hand, but even that
varied depending, she supposed, on his state of mind at the time he jotted them
down.
The light was too poor to read by, so
she replaced the book on the shelf, crossing the floor to the rocker. Lifting
his suit pants she hung them on a hook behind the door. She had no reason to
hang them in the wardrobe. Even in
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