The First Law of Love (23 page)

“You didn't grow up in Landon, isn't that right?” he asked. “But your family is all there now?”

“It's kind-of a long story,” I said.

“I'm a good listener,” he promised.

“I grew up in Chicago,” I told him, my eyes roving over the dark landscape, the rock formations in the foothills gilded by the milky light of the rising moon. “I was fifteen the summer that Mom moved us to Landon for good, because my dad had been having an affair with a woman from his law firm. Actually, he's married to her now, the woman I was talking about yesterday.”

“With the fake everything?” Case asked, and it sounded like he was smiling.

I giggled. “Yes, fake to her core. I don't know, I guess my dad loves her. But that summer, ten years ago now, Mom brought us to Landon in May, much earlier than usual. She was in a bad place, even though I didn't know it at the time. I mean, I didn't completely know it. I was too young and immature. And besides, I loved it in Landon, where we went every July for a few weeks. Our family is there, and the lake, and all of the people we hung out with in the summer. I was glad to get done with school and go early.”

“Did you know your dad had a girlfriend?” Case asked.

“Not at the time,” I said. “I knew he and Mom fought a lot, but once we got to Landon I sort-of conveniently forgot about all of that and just had fun. My cousin Clint is my best friend in the world, even to this day.”

“He's a good guy, I remember him,” Case said. “What's he doing these days?”

“He's a fireman in Landon. My old roommates thought he was so good-looking and always tried to convince me to get him to come to Chicago for the weekend. They wanted to seduce him ten ways from Sunday.”

Case teased, “And he never showed up? What the hell?”

I was laughing as I said, “No, he's actually really shy. Plus he has the same attitude as you, about the city. He loves Landon too much to leave, even for the promise of a threesome in Chicago.”

Case said, “I know Mathias and Camille love it there too. Their cabin and all.”

“They do,” I agreed. “They've put so much work into their home. It's gorgeous. You'll have to see it someday.”

With me
, I longed to say, but didn't.

I thought of seeing Case after this summer, down the road, years from now…

Oh God
…

He said, “I used to have this plan to build a cabin, get rid of that old trailer. It's such a piece of crap. When Lynn lived there with me, after Dad died, she hated it so much. I wanted to build a beautiful place…I had this vision of it…”

I looked right over at him, unable to help myself, hearing the note of regret in his tone. I hadn't, in my all-consuming vanity, considered that maybe he still longed for his wife. That maybe he wished she was still with him…

Jealousy absolutely stabbed my heart, creating gashes, sharp puncture wounds. It hurt so much that I had to lift my hand from the reins and press there, though I did so unobtrusively. Case was looking straight ahead anyway, not at me. I hated how he'd called her ‘Lynn' in that tone of voice, thinking of the wallet-sized picture of them still in his kitchen.

I heard my own voice then, and I said with more asperity in my tone than was probably appropriate, “Well, I would bet that you still have this vision in your mind. What's stopping you?”

He did look my way then, and his half-grin sent my aching heart now to pinwheeling. He said, “That's a good point.”

“Clark said your family's original homestead burned down, back in 1971,” I said.

He nodded affirmation of this. “Dad always claimed that it was an arson fire, but it was never proven one way or the other. Knowing my grandpa Spicer, it was probably a cigarette that got left unattended because he was shit-tanked drunk.”

“When had the house been built, originally?” I asked.

“Late 1880s, can you imagine? I've seen pictures. The original structure was smaller than what they'd added on over the decades. What a goddamn shame.”

“Is that why you don't drink much these days?” I asked. Oddly, I felt as though I could ask him anything right now. “Because of your grandpa and your dad?”

“That's the main reason. I used to drink all the time, thought I could handle it all right. I always used to wonder if Dad would have been a different man if he hadn't been lost in the bottle all the time.” He paused and studied the distance before asking, “What am I saying? Of course he would have been different.”

“Did your mom love him?” I asked, quietly. I admitted, “Clark told me the story of how they married. I feel strange knowing that from someone else.”

“No, it's all right. Everyone around here knows that story anyway.” He sighed a little and I wanted to touch him so much that the puncture wounds in my hand started throbbing again. He went on, softly, “My mom was like this beautiful, fragile little bird. My memories of her are so clear, even now. She sang to me. I was protective of her even then, but I was too little to do any good. Dad was mean as a fucking goddamn rattlesnake when he drank. I learned to avoid him. I don't know how Mama ever could have loved him, even though she claimed she did.”

He'd called her ‘Mama' unconsciously, I could tell, and tears were pulsing in my eyes and in the back of my throat.

Case continued, “After she died it was hell for a long time. I don't know what I would have done without Clark and Faye. God, they've helped Gus and me so much I could never begin to repay them. And now Faye is gone too. Sweet Faye. Clark has never been the same since she passed.”

We had left Case's homestead far behind. I blinked back tears as fiercely as I was able as I said, “I'm so glad you have him. All of the Rawleys. They're such a loving family.”

“They are. It's what I —” he cut himself off abruptly.

“What you…” I prompted quietly.

He looked off towards the far horizon, away from me for a moment, before he said, “What I always wanted.”

Oh Case
…

Oh God, oh God
…

Why are you making me feel this way?

I don
'
t understand
…

I knew if I didn't try to tease him I would start crying in earnest, but it came out sounding all wrong, “It's not as though there isn't time, you know. You're not exactly an old man.”

He kept his eyes away as he said, “You tell it like it is, as I well know.”

Was that a jab or a compliment? I thought the latter, but I couldn't totally discern from his tone. At that moment I caught sight of the T-shaped rock and said, “There's the wizard.”

Case looked east, towards the rock and the rising moon. I felt a sizzling flash of that strange almost-memory sensation. He said, “It does have that look, doesn't it?” He took Buck to the right and said, “Here, let's cross the road.”

I led Cider directly after them, watching Case's broad shoulders just ahead of me, again overwhelmed by the notion of riding double with him. Right now I would have given about anything.

Anything
, I understood, and I felt horribly wounded, bruised somehow.

I thought of holding his shirt against my face, breathing the scent of him. I thought of the single pillow on his couch, the way our eyes had met time and again at the Rawleys' house earlier this evening, the way he'd just cupped my leg with his strong hand. I thought of him singing and the way his hands curved around a guitar to draw forth music. He made it appear effortless. And the wounds inside of me ached.

Case and Buck cleared the gravel first and he drew lightly on the reins, waiting for Cider and me. Once we were beside them again, he said, “We'll head straight over there. The ground is a little more uneven off the road, but Cider is used to it. You doing all right so far?”

“We're just great,” I said, leaning forward to rub my right hand on Cider's warm neck. The moonlight leached the color from everything around us, creating a surreal, otherworldly landscape. Buck nickered and tossed his head a little, sidestepping. Case caught the reins more securely and drew him back in line. Cider nosed Buck's neck, whooshing her breath, and I couldn't help but laugh. I said, “I think they're plotting.”

Case said, “They want to run, but I won't run them at night, especially not with you on Cider.”

“I could handle it,” I said, not intending to sound petulant, and I saw the way Case smiled at my words. Cider danced forward and I let her, straightening my spine.

“I have no doubt,” he said. “But it's still dangerous. In the day, sometime.”

I could just picture Case riding full-out, Buck galloping beneath him; probably I could reach orgasm just watching.

Dammit, don
'
t think that word right now
…

I drew a breath and determinedly shoved away my dream-images of Case holding me to his mouth, hands spread over my back and as I clutched his head to my breasts…

But they came flying right back.

“You're on,” I said, and Case led Buck down the edge of the ditch and into the foothills.

Again we rode side by side, our knees in proximity but not touching, just like at the fair two nights ago, and there was a part of me that wanted us to keeping riding like this, for always. Just so I could be near him, close to him, riding horses beneath the moon and the vast, black night sky. It was so right. So right that I battled the urge to tell him so, to reach and touch his thigh, his forearm, both so close to my own. He rode with shoulders squared, hips relaxed, I could tell even from the corner of my eye, holding the reins casually with his right hand.

“Do you believe in past lives?” I asked, startling myself.

Case looked my way briefly, then back straight ahead. He said quietly, “I think I do. I can't explain certain things otherwise.” He was silent for a second before asking, “What about you?”

“My Aunt Jilly believes in them, and my sisters,” I said.

“But what about you?” he asked and I felt like the entire landscape at once held its breath. I concentrated on my own breathing for a second. I wanted to tell him that I'd had a strange memory of him just earlier this evening – but likely that had been a product of my overactive imagination.

But I knew it wasn't just that.

“I think I do,” I said. My voice seemed unnaturally hushed, out here. I peered upwards at the sky for the countless time, feeling the moon beam over my face, a pleasant and thoroughly familiar sensation; moonlight on my skin reminded me of swimming in Flickertail at night. I said, “Out here, especially, I can believe that they're real. I was pumping gas the first night I got here, just outside Jalesville, and I had this sense of – I don't know, exactly – a kind of recognition. Does that make sense?”

He said, “Perfect sense.”

I knew he wasn't just saying that. I went on, so comfortable with him, “Thanks for letting me ride your horse. This is the best evening I've had in so long.”

Maybe ever
, I acknowledged.

But I didn't need to be that specific.

Case looked at me again, longer this time, and I meant to keep my gaze straight ahead, out towards the wizard rock, but I couldn't stop myself from looking at him. He was bathed in moonlight, silver-white decorating the angles of his handsome face. I felt all the breath in my chest hitch and then lodge there, behind my breastbone.

“It's my pleasure,” he said quietly.

“How'd you get this scar?” I asked, and then I touched his chin with the fingertips of my right hand.

He felt so warm even under my brief, faint touch, his chin slightly prickly with stubble, and it seemed as though everything within him had gone rigid for a fraction of a second, though his voice emerged calmly enough as he said, “Falling off a horse, back in third grade.”

I drew my errant hand back to my own territory and clutched Cider's reins. I had to say something, even though my heart was cranking along hard enough that I almost couldn't speak. I managed, “I bet that's not like falling off a bike.”

“No, and I've fallen from a bike too, plenty of times,” Case said, and his voice was a little hoarse. He cleared his throat, a low, soft sound, before saying, “I wanted to ride my dad's horse and she decided she didn't want a rider just then. Dug her front legs into the ground and I sailed over her head. Bashed my face on the gravel and a piece went right into my chin.”

I wanted to touch his chin again, but this time with my mouth and my tongue, while my hands were on either side of his face.

Tish, stop this.

Stop.

I asked, “Were you at home when it happened?”

“I was, but I walked over to Clark and Faye's, since I knew Faye would take care of me. Dad and Gus – he was just a toddler then – were both sleeping. That's what made me think I could sneak off with Dad's horse.” He laughed a little, at the memory. “That horse's name was Whiskey Belle. Isn't that great?”

I was stuck on the picture of him as a little boy, walking with blood no doubt dripping from his face. I demanded, “Were they home? Did Faye take care of you?”

I saw him nod. He said, “Faye picked the gravel out of my face and patched me right up. But my clothes looked ten times more like I'd committed a murder than your little gray skirt yesterday.”

We had come up to the base of the T-shaped rock and Case nudged Buck into a trot, taking the horse forward and then halting to dismount. He stooped towards the ground as though examining it, and I felt a rush of pure excitement even as I sat awkwardly, uncertain how to climb down. Damned if I was going to seem like a city girl, unable to figure out the process.

“Whoa,” I murmured to Cider, who seemed content to continue standing still. I leaned all my weight carefully in the stirrup on the right, then eased my left boot free. It didn't seem all that difficult; I felt balanced, and brought my leg carefully over. Case had just straightened to his full height as I attempted to step down and my boot stayed stuck in the stirrup, while the rest of me kept going. I gasped and then heard Case make a sound of alarm, jogging to Cider and me just as I landed with an ungraceful thud, flat on my ass.