Desolate (13 page)

“I can’t stop myself from doing it. I promised myself before I came out here that I wouldn’t let this happen. I wouldn’t feel responsible the next time someone died that was close to me. I know logically that everything is hocus pocus with that fortune teller, but with every death, my mind reverts back to that impressionable fourteen-year-old that heard those words. I know you won’t get it, but I’ve had too much loss to ever experience it again. It’s bad enough that I’m close with Clyde. I can’t get close to you. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I just can’t,” I exclaimed, then turned and walked away, heading over to the food bag to get some oats for the horse.

I scooped out a generous portion into the bucket and walked back over to the stall, dumping it into her food bin. I peered inside to check the amount of water she had and once I was satisfied with the amount, I rubbed the tip of her nose and told her I’d take her for an extra long walk tomorrow to make up for today.

“You don’t have to wait around. A storm’s coming and it sounds like it’ll be a good one,” I replied as I moved around him to put the bucket back.

“I’ll be fine. I wanted to ask you to try and do something for me.”

“And what’s that?”

“Three things actually. Try to talk to your husband and son. Try to feel something other than the grief and pain. And finally, try to do something you’d never thought you’d do again after you lost them,” he replied, letting out a sigh toward the end.

I turned to face him once he was finished. What he suggested wouldn’t be undoable, but I didn’t’ know if I was ready to try and do all of those things at the same time.

“I don’t know if I can. That’s asking a lot,” I confessed, a shiver running though me as the thunder sounded again from above.

“Just try. That’s all that I ask,” he responded as he walked closer to me.

“Then you have to do something for me. Try and trust someone again. Go out and attempt to meet another woman. Feel other people out before you let them near Grace. But you have to try too,” I replied, hoping like hell that I had made sense.

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise that it’ll go over very well. For me or for the woman,” he said through a laugh.

“Then we’ll both try. Now let’s get out of here before we get completely drenched,” I suggested as I ran out of the barn without waiting for his response.

Only he was quick on my heels as we both exited the barn at the same time, and the rain instantly hit me on top of my head the second the barn doors opened. We quickly shut them and I turned to leave, but he stopped me.

“What are you doing? It’s cold and we’re getting wet.”

“It’s time to start trying,” he shouted as he pulled me close to him and spun me around.

“
T
his is completely crazy
,” I shouted as we continued to dance in the pouring down rain. In the few days since our talk at my spot, I’d done a lot of soul searching and came to a realization. There was nothing wrong with living again. There was nothing wrong with letting him and his daughter into my life. I did feel some guilt, but there wasn’t any need in feeling that way. Andrew wouldn’t have wanted me to, and I can honestly say I don’t want to continue living my life alone. Letting people in may be dangerous and in the end I may end up losing them, but it was part of life. Love and loss were what made us stronger and what fulfilled our lives. I couldn’t keep living in fear. It wasn’t the way I was meant to live. So for now, I’d take baby steps toward getting back to the person I once was. First and foremost, I had to dance in the rain. Feel the freedom that came with letting loose and taking life as it came to us. I’d forgotten how exhilarating it could be to live this way and now that I’d gotten a glimpse I didn’t know if I could go back to the way I’d been living before.

I hadn’t felt this feeling in what seemed like forever.

Contentment.

This feeling may not seem like much, but to me it was everything. Feeling this way meant that I wasn’t still stuck in the downward spiral of what my life used to be like. I was still scared to let him or anyone else fully inside, but for now I would just continue the way that I had been. Keeping him far enough away from my heart but close enough so he didn’t question my motives. He’s slowly been showing me that there was still a reason to live. Whether it was to see the beauty in my surroundings or to show me that having people in my life could happen again. Little by little he was bringing me back from the lifeless person I’d allowed myself to become.

Today, for instance, had showed me how much I’d been missing these past ten months. Who knew that running around in the rain could be good for the soul? I now knew how much letting myself just live in those little moments could help bring life back into what I’d thought died long ago.

“Which is why we should be doing it,” he replied while pulling me closer to him, his arms wrapping around my back in the process. We’d never been this close before, and I didn’t know what to do.

Not knowing how to react, I stood there unmoving. Too afraid that this moment would end if I misinterpreted what was occurring. Being this close was innocent. Nothing was happening. Or so I told myself. I was still looking toward the trees behind us, fearing what I might see if I looked into the depths of his baby blue eyes.

We were hugging, nothing more and nothing less. Only when his fingers caressed the spot of my back where my shirt had ridden up, it started to feel like more. The heat from his touch sent goosebumps from that spot up my spine. If he wasn’t holding me up, I probably would have fallen to the ground.

Our ragged breaths were starting to even out from the horse playing moments ago, but my heart felt like it would beat out of my chest any moment. Laughing was innocent. Nothing to feel guilty about. But the touch of another man was enough to snap me out of the fun times we were having and bring me back to the reality of the situation. I was ready to admit that I needed to start living again, but I was nowhere near ready for whatever was happening right now.

“Mags,” he whispered against my check, fully breaking me out of my thoughts.

Just like that the moment was over. All it took was to hear that nickname and all of the pain came flooding back.

I pushed him away, harder than I intended and took off running for the house. I shouldn’t have thought that I could remain happy for longer than a few stolen moments.

My clothes were soaked through by the time I reached the door. I had no clue if he was behind me and I didn’t care. The only thought I had right now was getting as far away from him as possible. I should’ve known better than to think I could be happy again. My traitorous brain wouldn’t allow that to happen. Memories of them would always come flooding back from something as simple as one word.

When I reached the house my legs felt like jello, but I kept pushing forward so I could reach my destination and lock myself inside. I twisted the knob and pushed through the door, slamming it shut behind me. I leaned up against the door in an attempt to catch my breath, but with no such luck. The chill from the rain and the cold December afternoon had finally caught up to me. I was frozen to the bone. My jacket and pants were steadily dripping water onto the hardwood floors of the kitchen, but I was rooted against the door. The pain from just hearing the nickname that my husband had given me was still coursing through my already shattered heart.

Mustering up the strength, I pushed myself off of the door and made my way to the bathroom. I needed to get out of these freezing, wet clothes and into something that could bring some warmth back into my bones.

It took every ounce of strength I had to pull my clothes off, but somehow I managed. My strength was dwindling down to nothing yet again. This is what usually happened when a memory of them took root within my mind. I didn’t have the strength to face them or fight them off, so I did what was easier. I let the memory consume me until I had no fight left in me.

I pulled the nightgown off of the hook and threw it on because the chill in the house wasn’t helping matters along with the frozen state that my body was in. Grabbing a towel off the shelf, I attempted to ring out all of the excess water from my hair. I dragged the towel down my hair a few times, then set out to face my reality. Walking out of this room into the empty house that I loved. It was the emptiness that started to get to me. The noises that I so longed to hear again but would never get the chance to again.

I opened the door to the bathroom and peered out to check and see if Weston had followed me inside. After I heard no sounds for a few minutes, I walked out of the room to make a cup of coffee. The warm liquid would warm me up in no time.

As I rounded the corner, I slammed into the hardness that I now remembered as Weston. It was hard to forget the chest that I had been up against only moments ago. Only this time I was in a lot less clothing. I had nothing on underneath this nightgown, and right now I wanted to crawl in a hole and hide. I didn’t think he’d come after me or I would’ve made a dash to my room instead.

I looked toward the floor and attempted to move around him, but he stopped me.

“Magdalena, I need you to look at me,” he requested with a pleading tone in his voice.

He probably thought that I was crazy or had too many problems. There was no way that I could look him in the eye right now. I was too embarrassed about my reaction.

Without looking at him, I whispered, “I can’t.”

“There’s no such thing as can’t. How about this? Can I persuade you to come into the living room with me so that we can talk?”

I shouldn’t, but he wouldn’t stop until he got answers. Nervously, I shook my head yes. It would be better to get this over with than to prolong it.

“I need to change before I go in there with you,” I stated as I felt the blush creep up onto my cheeks. There was no way I could have any rational conversation with him if I all I could think about was the fact that I was naked under my nightgown.

Without waiting for a response, I ran to the other side of the house to the bedroom that I’d made my own and rushed inside, shutting the door behind me.

I hurried over to my dresser and pulled out the first pair of underwear that I found that matched. It’s not like it mattered, but I hated having mismatched pieces in my dresser. I pulled my arms out of the nightgown and put on my undergarments then pulled my arms back through the sleeves. Just so I would feel totally comfortable through our conversation, I put on the pair of leggings that I had folded on top of the dresser.

Taking a few deep breaths, I headed back into the direction of the living room. I was amazed at what I saw the second I walked inside. Weston had started a fire and apparently had changed clothes. He was now wearing a pair of cotton pajama pants and a black t-shirt while sitting in front of the fireplace. He’d found a comforter from somewhere and placed it on the floor for a makeshift pallet. I refrained my thoughts from heading into a direction that wasn’t necessary. There was no reason to assume anything. He said he just wanted to talk, and I trusted him.

I walked softly over to where he was sitting and stood there looking like a complete idiot. I didn’t know how to handle this situation. He must’ve sensed my presence because he slowly glanced over in my direction, a smile instantly forming upon his lips.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked as he patted the spot beside him, insinuating what he wanted me to do.

Without putting much thought into it, I sat down beside him, nodding my head to respond to his question. It was like something or someone had taken over my ability to speak. I was like a school girl who was around the guy she was crushing on. I had lost all train of thought and couldn’t form a sentence if I tried.
What the hell is wrong with you, Magdalena? Pull yourself together.

“I don’t want to beat around the bush. I want to address the elephant in the room so we can move past it. What in the world happened outside? We were having fun and then all of a sudden you were storming off?” he questioned as he fiddled with the blanket beneath us. His gaze never meeting my own. It wasn’t like him at all.

“It was the name that you called me. It brought back a flood of memories that I didn’t want to face. All sorts of emotions were coursing through me that I didn’t understand and then the name that my husband called me graced your lips. The guilt that I instantly felt was too much to face in front of you so I ran,” I confessed, trying to hold in the tears that threatened to spill out. My subconscious was telling me to look away, but I refused to cower. I had to face him and this situation. It was Weston who wouldn’t look at me. He was still focusing on the pieces of the blanket that were in between his fingers.

I continued to study him, and I could see his expression change as he processed what I was telling him. The guilt and pity that I saw there was too much to bear. Without even thinking, I got up on my knees and moved to sit in front of him. My movements didn’t break his trance, so I reached up and gently caressed his jaw line in hopes of breaking his train of thought. He leaned into my touch but still refused to look up at me.

“Weston,” I whispered, hoping to convey that I wanted his gaze to meet my own.

Reluctantly, he slowly lifted his head, his worried eyes finally meeting mine.

“I had no idea. I would never intentionally cause you pain,” he responded with the same worried expression becoming more prominent.

“I knew it wasn’t intentional, but I wasn’t expecting it and that’s why I ran. I felt guilty for laughing when they can never laugh again,” I replied, this time I was the one to look away. It was hard to admit how I truly felt, especially to him.

“There’s no need to feel guilty. He wouldn’t want you to live that way. It’s okay to feel happy and to live, Magdalena.”

Logically, I knew he was right. My brain told me that all of the time. It was my heart that made me feel like I was doing something wrong. I wished that my head and my heart would finally be on the same page. It would make my life so much easier if they agreed.

“Living is what you can do to honor their loss. Remembering them is what keeps them alive. By living and remembering, you’re also allowing yourself to heal and move forward. There’s no need or room for feeling guilty when all you are doing is trying to heal from the pain of not having them here anymore. We did nothing wrong by dancing in the rain, Magdalena. If anything, we did something that you should’ve done a long time ago. You laughed and felt joy within your heart. I saw the feelings dance across your face the moment you realized how foolish we were being but didn’t care. There’s nothing wrong with finding new ways to make yourself happy. And there’s also nothing wrong with remembering them in the happy times that you experience,” he conveyed.

After taking a moment to let what he said sink in, I attempted to confess my fears.

“I understand what you are saying, but my head and heart haven’t caught up to each other yet,” before I could finish he was interrupting me.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Yes I trust you, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything. Turn around, I want to try something.”

Hesitantly, I did what he wanted and turned around facing the crackling fire. He spread his legs from the Indian style position he had them in and pulled me back until my back was flush against his chest.

“Do you still trust me?” he asked in a whispered tone against my ear. All I could do was nod my head in response.

“I want you to sit here and just feel. No thinking. No questioning. Just feeling. Can you do that?”

The lump in my throat prevented me from verbally responding. I feared what he would attempt to do the second I agreed to whatever insanity he was contemplating. But I did trust him. I knew he would never cross a line that I didn’t agree for him to cross, but I was scared what would come afterwards. What feeling really meant to him and the emotions that would course through me in the process.

Instead of promising him that I could, I responded, “I can try.”

“That’s all I’d ever ask.”

I sat there staring off into the fire and watched the glowing, orange flames dance off of the firewood. Minutes passed without anything happening. Just when I was about to question him, his fingers start to massage my scalp. His tender touch electrocuted my skin, sending chill bumps down shoulders all the way to the tips of my fingers. His touch had always caused a fire underneath my skin. Which is the main reason why I kept my distance when he was around.

The tips of his fingers continued the circular motion. One second his touch would be gentle, barely caressing my scalp. The next his fingers were kneading with more pressure. The mixture of his touch caused my tense posture to ease. The more he massaged, the more relaxed I became. Shutting my eyes, I just focused on his touch and the sound of the fire crackling. Both were relaxing in their own way.