with
me.”
“I will,” she said.
“I’m dating someone,” he said quietly.
She pulled back, tripping on a plank of unfinished floor. “What?”
“I told you that in a letter months ago.”
“You didn’t tell me anything. All you said was that by now we should be dating other
people. I thought you meant … in theory, not reality.”
“Of course you did because you didn’t even ask, Katie. You assumed that the way you
wanted it was the exact same way I wanted it.” He paused. “Her name is Maggie.”
“Do you love her?”
He looked away and of all the First Things in her life, this one was the worst: Jack
looking away from her as he spoke about another woman. “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know if you love someone?”
“Because the way I love you overshadows everything else, Katie.” He did look at her
then. “The way I love you blurs all the ways I could love anyone else. But you know
what? I want to love her. I want to love someone else. Because this is terrible.” He waved his palm between the two
of them. “Having you and not having you is terrible.”
Katie kissed him again. Jack hesitated, somehow giving in and pulling away at the
same time, his hand behind her head for a deeper kiss, but his feet taking a step
back. Katie held on, sliding closer until the entire length of their bodies touched.
She lifted her foot and stepped around him, her leg wound around his. The simple movements
of hands sliding beneath fabric, removed shirts and his jeans. Her skirt puddled on
the floor. At last she was where she wanted to be, the fleeting and forever moment
of skin on skin, legs wound around, her hair a waterfall over his face. The only world
that mattered—the one between their touch—returned.
* * *
She cried as she left Jack the next morning. She promised to give her three-week notice.
But she didn’t because that was when the wounded and twelve-year-old Lida Markinson
showed up.
Lida had been living with her aunt outside Chattanooga, Tennessee. She’d been four
years old the day her mama dropped her off at Aunt Clara’s, and this was the only
memory Lida retained of her mama—seeing her walking off in her pale yellow sundress
and waving. Mama had told Lida that she was going to do some errands and she’d be
back soon. That’s if soon is never, Lida had told Katie as they sat around a campfire.
Lida’s aunt loved and took care of Lida until the whiskey became more important than
mostly anything, including Lida, including food, including shelter. Lida soon learned
to fend for herself, which sadly and awfully usually included allowing the local boys
to do as they pleased so she had a place to sleep and eat. The same whiskey that made
her aunt fade into another world allowed Lida to not care what was being done to her
or about her. Until her grandmother came to visit from Atlanta and found the conditions
in which Clara allowed them to live.
Appalled and scared, Grandmother Garrison made the pleading phone calls to anyone
and everyone she knew in the substance-abuse world and found a place for Lida at Winsome
Wilderness.
The history, blurry at best, seemed to be that Lida was born to her sixteen-year-old
Mama, who believed that of course she could raise a child on her own. Wasn’t love
all a child needed? Love her and all would be well, that’s what Mama also told Aunt
Clara.
Well, love, it seems, wasn’t all Lida needed. Food, shelter, and safety were up there
on the list also. And, in the end, didn’t Lida know exactly where to find love? In
any shack, corner bedroom, or empty barn available.
Lida arrived with her auburn hair hanging in strands of tangled rope down her back,
her freckles fading into her skin, and Katie saw an almost alternate, opposite-world
image of her own self, as if Lida was the girl whom she would have been without the
love of her family. Shawn had warned all the
me.”
“I will,” she said.
“I’m dating someone,” he said quietly.
She pulled back, tripping on a plank of unfinished floor. “What?”
“I told you that in a letter months ago.”
“You didn’t tell me anything. All you said was that by now we should be dating other
people. I thought you meant … in theory, not reality.”
“Of course you did because you didn’t even ask, Katie. You assumed that the way you
wanted it was the exact same way I wanted it.” He paused. “Her name is Maggie.”
“Do you love her?”
He looked away and of all the First Things in her life, this one was the worst: Jack
looking away from her as he spoke about another woman. “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know if you love someone?”
“Because the way I love you overshadows everything else, Katie.” He did look at her
then. “The way I love you blurs all the ways I could love anyone else. But you know
what? I want to love her. I want to love someone else. Because this is terrible.” He waved his palm between the two
of them. “Having you and not having you is terrible.”
Katie kissed him again. Jack hesitated, somehow giving in and pulling away at the
same time, his hand behind her head for a deeper kiss, but his feet taking a step
back. Katie held on, sliding closer until the entire length of their bodies touched.
She lifted her foot and stepped around him, her leg wound around his. The simple movements
of hands sliding beneath fabric, removed shirts and his jeans. Her skirt puddled on
the floor. At last she was where she wanted to be, the fleeting and forever moment
of skin on skin, legs wound around, her hair a waterfall over his face. The only world
that mattered—the one between their touch—returned.
* * *
She cried as she left Jack the next morning. She promised to give her three-week notice.
But she didn’t because that was when the wounded and twelve-year-old Lida Markinson
showed up.
Lida had been living with her aunt outside Chattanooga, Tennessee. She’d been four
years old the day her mama dropped her off at Aunt Clara’s, and this was the only
memory Lida retained of her mama—seeing her walking off in her pale yellow sundress
and waving. Mama had told Lida that she was going to do some errands and she’d be
back soon. That’s if soon is never, Lida had told Katie as they sat around a campfire.
Lida’s aunt loved and took care of Lida until the whiskey became more important than
mostly anything, including Lida, including food, including shelter. Lida soon learned
to fend for herself, which sadly and awfully usually included allowing the local boys
to do as they pleased so she had a place to sleep and eat. The same whiskey that made
her aunt fade into another world allowed Lida to not care what was being done to her
or about her. Until her grandmother came to visit from Atlanta and found the conditions
in which Clara allowed them to live.
Appalled and scared, Grandmother Garrison made the pleading phone calls to anyone
and everyone she knew in the substance-abuse world and found a place for Lida at Winsome
Wilderness.
The history, blurry at best, seemed to be that Lida was born to her sixteen-year-old
Mama, who believed that of course she could raise a child on her own. Wasn’t love
all a child needed? Love her and all would be well, that’s what Mama also told Aunt
Clara.
Well, love, it seems, wasn’t all Lida needed. Food, shelter, and safety were up there
on the list also. And, in the end, didn’t Lida know exactly where to find love? In
any shack, corner bedroom, or empty barn available.
Lida arrived with her auburn hair hanging in strands of tangled rope down her back,
her freckles fading into her skin, and Katie saw an almost alternate, opposite-world
image of her own self, as if Lida was the girl whom she would have been without the
love of her family. Shawn had warned all the
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