Finally, Forever (7 page)

Dylan

My hand reluctantly slides out of
Gray’s and I almost grab it back until I remember I’ve lost that privilege.

“You got here just in time,” the woman says. “Two tornados touched down north of here.”

“We noticed,” Gray says.

The woman introduces herself as Sue Anne. Her
gray-ish blond hair is pinned on top of her head like a bird’s nest. She introduces her husband, Chris, who looks over for a second and offers us a nod, but his eyes snap back to a baseball game on the TV. They look close to my grandparent’s age. 

Sue Anne
asks us to take off our shoes since they’re leaving wet trails on the hardwood floors. She sets them outside the front door, in the screened-in porch. Thunder rumbles and the house moans against the gusting wind but she and Chris are as oblivious to the weather as if it were a light breeze.

Sue Anne looks between me and
Gray.

“How long have you two been
on the road together?” she asks.

“About two hours,” I say.

She laughs. “Interesting way to start off your trip.”

I lift one shoulder. “Turbulence appears to be my lifestyle,” I tell her and she smiles.

“Let me get you two some towels,” she offers. I thank her and look out the front window at streaks of lightening that strobe through the sky. “I think being pulled into a tornado would be a romantic way to die,” I say. “To get picked up in the air, and twisted inside a swirling cloud of energy. It might be really calm, really beautiful in the center. Or, maybe it’s a space dimension portal,” I imagine.

I look at
Gray and he’s watching me. “Okay, Thor,” he says.

The baseball game is interrupted with an emergency weather report and Chris groans at the
distraction. A radar map pops up on the screen and the entire state is covered in red, as if it’s smeared in blood.

“I’m surprised you’re the only ones here,” Sue Anne says
, returning to the entryway and handing towels to each of us. We thank her, and I twist my pigtails in the towel to wring them dry. She pulls back a white curtain, bordered in lace, to look out the window. “During this kind of weather, we always get house guests. I told my husband we should open up a hotel.” She looks between me and Gray and offers us some homemade corn bread. Gray tells her no, thank you, and joins Chris to watch the forecast. But I take her up on the offer.

I follow Sue Anne down a creaking hardwood floor, bumpy and rippled from years of wear. When we walk in the kitchen I get the sensation that I’m walking downhill. The farmhouse must be ancient.

“How long have you lived out here?” I ask.

“The house has been in the family for four generations,” she tells me. “We retired the farm about ten years ago, but I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

“Do you have any kids?” I ask.

“Just one,” Sue Anne tells me. “A daughter. And two grand kids.”

She offers me a seat at the
kitchen table, covered in a vinyl red and white checkered cover. It matches the checkered valances over the kitchen windows. I sit down and examine a salt and pepper shaker in the design of farm silos. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I’m here, stranded in the middle of Nebraska with Gray. I can still see his face in the parking lot when he recognized me. He didn’t look surprised or shocked to see me. It was worse than that. He looked scared, as if he was staring at a tidal wave looming over him and he wasn’t sure whether to hold his ground and pray, or run for his life. 

I do what I do best when I’m emotionally overwhelmed. I spill my heart out.

I explain to Sue Anne how I’ve been on the road for two weeks looking for Serena, and how my car broke down in Omaha. When I mention running into Gray a few hours ago, she stops slicing bread and turns to look at me. 

“You mean, you two aren’t together?” Sue Anne asks. 

“Oh. No,” I say. Thunder rumbles outside.

“You
were holding hands when you came in,” she catches me. 

“That’s just because of the storm,” I say.

“Was it?” she asks and then she cuts herself off. “Sorry. It’s none of my business. My husband always says I’m a little bit psychic, but I just love observing people. They say so much without saying anything.”

I smile. I feel like she’s an old friend. “We used to date,” I tell her. “It’s a long story.”

“Looks like there’s still some feelings,” she says, and sets down a plate in front of me.

“Yes,” I say without hesitating. “I’m
in love with him. Completely. Absolutely. Tragically.”

She laughs.
“Tragic?” she asks. “Isn’t it a good thing to be in love?”

“No.” I look up at her and shake my head. “It’s actually the worst feeling in the world. It’s agonizical.”

“Is that a real word?” she asks.

“I just made it up,” I say. “I tend to do that. I make up words. Sometimes there are never the right ones, you know?”

“What does agonizical mean?” she asks.

I hold up my hands like it’s obvious.
“To be consumed with shock and denial at unrequited love from the man who is supposed to be your soul mate,” I say. I prop my elbow on the table and rest my chin in my hand. I blow out a sigh.

“Unrequited?” she says and sits down across from me.
I pick up a piece of thick, yellow bread lathered in butter and I take an enormous bite. Even the whipped butter tastes sweet and homemade.

“Are you saying that man out there isn’t in love with you?” she asks and points at the door. I look in the direction she’s pointing, down the hallway.

“He has a girlfriend,” I say through a mouthful of bread.

She laughs again.
“Well, honey, I can guarantee you he’s only thinking about one girl right now. And it’s not his girlfriend.”

I raise my eyebrows and look around her kitchen for a sign advertising psychic readings.

“How do you know?” I ask.

“There’s a trick to understanding all men,” she claims.

I lean closer to her over the table, intrigued.

“If you want to know what a man is thinking about just watch his eyes,” she says. “Where a man’s eyes go, that is where his heart is. It’s like the two are linked. That’s how I met my husband. We were at a party and he was with another girl at the time. But his eyes never left me. They followed me around the room all night. We were dating a week later.” She points back towards the living room. “That boy’s
eyes have been following you since you two walked in the door.”

“Probably because he thinks I’m nuts,” I say, which is a much more likely hypothesis.

“They usually do, dear. It’s another sign they’re in love. When a man tells you that you’re insane, it’s really his way of professing his love.”

I smile. I’ve never met this woman before, but I’ve decided she’s an angel, or maybe a messenger
of Fate. I stare into her brown eyes, and notice the whites are webbed with thin red spidery veins. They’re beautiful and complicated and I can tell she’s lived her life without ever missing a single detail.

I gulp down the corn bread with a glass of milk and my stomach is
relishing the flavor and my mind is reveling in her words. Rain starts to hit the side of the window, but the storm isn’t angry anymore. It’s like a cleansing shower, washing away my heavy thoughts, flushing them from my mind like branches down a stream.

We head back into the living room and
Gray’s eyes snap to me when I walk through the door. I feel a rush of nerves ball in my stomach when our eyes meet. My body is still adjusting to the shock of his presence. A tornado warning scrolls along the bottom of the screen and we all turn to read the weather report.

“A cold front’s moving through,” Chris informs us. “And it’s taking its sweet time. It’s supposed to storm all night.”
The warning statement runs across the screen like a teleprompter:  expect golf ball sized hail, dangerous lightening, and wind gusts up to seventy-miles-an-hour. Seek shelter. Do not go outside.

“How far is it to the nearest town?” I ask.

“About forty miles,” Chris says. He takes a sip of beer. “The towns are all under flash floods. I’d consider trading in your car for a boat.”

I look at
Gray and notice his eyes widen.

“He’s just joking around. You kids aren’t going anywhere,”
Sue Anne says. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight. Follow me,” she says and Gray stands up. I walk behind Sue Anne and Gray walks a few feet behind me. When we stop in front of a closed door, he almost stumbles into me and I feel a jolt run up my back.

I’ve become acutely aware of space over the last few hours, how my mind and body react to the proximity of
Gray. I start to mentally record my observations:

GRAY PROXIMITY SCALE:

1. Standing in the Same Room
   = Generalized anxiety, stomach flips, hyper awareness, physical need to repress the smile reflex.
   
2. Three Feet Away
   = Light-headedness, urge to touch magnified, noticeable face flush.
   
3. One Foot Away
   = WARNING—ENTERING PRZ (pheromone release zone). Body detects sex pheromones triggering sexual desire, heart spasms, tingling of nerve endings in lips, tongue and fingertips, noticeable heart palpitations, pelvic muscles contracting.
   
4. Six Inches Away
   = WARNING—ENTERING KZ (kissing zone). Sensory overload, heightened sense of smell, taste, and touch, elevated body temperature, hormone levels increase approximately 1,000%, shallow breath, diminished decision-making ability.
   
5. Less Than Six Inches Away
   = ABORT. ABORT. THERE IS NO GOING BACK.
   

I silently wonder if a body suit made out of steel could
repel any of these symptoms.

When Sue Anne opens the guest bedroom and we walk in,
Gray’s mouth drops open. 

I look around and feel like we stepped inside a five-year-old girl’s play fort. Everything is pink. The quilt on the bed, the frilly curtains, the lamp shades, even the chair in the corner looks like it’s wearing a pink tutu.

Gray’s eyes are fixed on the full-sized bed, sitting in the middle of the room. I can almost see a red DO NOT ENTER warning sign emblazed over the patchwork quilt.

“I hope this will do,” Sue Anne remarks.

The room’s tiny. There’s hardly any floor space so sleeping next to the bed isn’t an option. Even the bed looks small, or maybe objects appear smaller than normal when viewed through sexual tension.

Gray
points over his shoulder.

“Ah, I noticed a couch in the living room. Would it be alright if I crashed in there
later?” he asks.

She shakes her head.

“Sorry, but my husband is a terrible snorer. It sounds like a snow plow’s driving through our room, so I kick him out of bed around midnight. He uses the couch.” 

Gray
nods. “No problem,” he says. He meets my eyes and I shrug.

Sue Anne offers me a quick
smile and a wink before she shuts the door. I smile back, but it’s as weak as tissue paper. I feel terrible. Gray was nice enough to give me a ride to Flagstaff. Sharing a bed, with our past, takes our predicament from uncomfortable to painful.

I look around the room and an
old fashioned wooden clock on the wall points to ten o’clock. Gray looks nowhere near tired. I’m not sure which is worse for him, being enclosed in a tiny bedroom with me for the night, or dodging tornados. They seem to be equally horrifying.

He sits down on the
tutu chair. I almost raise my camera to take a picture, but I doubt Gray wants me to document the most awkward moment of his life. The small pink chair only makes his body stand out, long and dark and masculine against it. I notice the solid line of his calf muscles. I lick my lips and look away. 

“Isn’t this great?” I ask and sit on the corner of the bed.
Gray lowers his eyebrows at my terrible joke. “We’re basically getting a free room at a bed and breakfast,” I point out.

He nods. “It’s a perfect travel budget,” he agrees. “I’ll try to drive into oncoming storms more often.”

I laugh and I’m grateful for the joke. At least his sarcasm is intact.

I pull out my pigtails and my damp hair falls wavy around my neck. I run my fingers through it and my hair gets caught in knots and I realize I don’t have a comb. I had been borrowing Nick’s the entire trip. I blow out a sigh and stare down at my naked feet, complete with a flip flop tan line.
Gray used to trace his fingers over all my tan lines, like a maze, starting at my feet and working his way up, although he never made it all the way to my head. There were too many interesting detours to take along the way. I shift and look over at Gray and his eyes are on me. I think about what Sue Anne said. I expect him to snap his gaze away, but he doesn’t. More thunder rumbles outside.