Chasing Shade

‘I’m sorry,’ she said after a moment of silence. Her heart was slowing to normal. Her fingers and her face weren’t so cold. Still, she stood and pushed the thermostat up a notch.

‘Don’t be sorry,’ Archie said. She realised he was in a giant sweatshirt and jeans. No shoes. No socks. No jacket. ‘Just tell me what happ–’ He stopped himself. She watched him reconsider and had the urge to kiss him just for the effort. He could read her. Knew he was treading sacred ground. ‘Just tell me what I can do for you.’

‘Nothing,’ she said. It was a lie. A small one, but a lie.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Thank you for coming,’ she said. Her eyes darted to the letter there on the small table by the front door where she kept the bowl for her keys and her umbrella and outgoing/incoming mail.

He followed her gaze but remained silent. Finally, he stood and rubbed his hands together, blowing on them. ‘You’re sure?’

‘I am.’

‘If you change your mind…’ He chuckled. ‘Just yell.’ He kissed her on the forehead and she fought the urge to melt into that contact with him. It would be unfair to Archie to bring him into this mess. After what he’d been through. He’d had enough shit.

‘I will.’ She hugged him very fast as if she might burn him if she held on too long.

When the door swung shut behind him, the sobs came out. Big wracking sobs that bunched her stomach muscles painfully and twisted her body so she bent double. She stuffed the heel of her hand against her mouth but they still came. Exhausting her. Twisting her up inside. Huge sobs that didn’t even come with tears. Her eyes were nearly dry. It was the fear and the anger and the memories that she’d stuffed down down down all rushing out at once.

The door popped open and she almost screamed. Archie’s face was there. Worried, pale, tired. ‘OK, see, I can hear that –’ he began.

Betsey’s sobs turned to laughter. Almost maniacal laughter. Crazy-person laughter.

Archie stepped inside, moving slowly as if he might spook her. As if he could! ‘See, you might think these things are insulated from sounds but, Betsey, gotta tell you, honey, not so much.’

Here came the tears, finally. Sneaking in at the end of the emotional upheaval. Then more sobs. He moved towards her slowly but deliberately. He sat beside her, his thigh pressed up against hers, but not touching her in any other way. Until she bowed her body towards his. Until she made that move. Then he wrapped his arms around her and held her.

She caved. Gave in to that welcome warmth of another person holding her. Caring what was going on. It was a heady feeling. More addictive and attractive than any drug.

‘What is it, Betsey? What can I do for you?’

She settled. Everything in her growing still, like the moment when a violent storm blows out and what was just chaos and darkness is silence and light.

‘Really?’ she asked.

‘Really. Anything,’ he said. His arm curled around her shoulder. He held her close.

‘Will you…go to bed with me? Hold me?’

It took an enormous amount of courage to ask him that. More than it had to read that damn letter from the state. More than it had to come to Turner’s Corner and start a life. More than anything in a very long time. Oh, she’d fallen into bed with two men since she’d moved here. But it had been temporary and just for fun, for release. She had never asked one to share her bed – or her emotional upheaval.

He didn’t answer her. Just stood, locked the door and held out his hand. ‘Let’s go. You look exhausted.’

Betsey took his hand.

She woke up hot. It was so hot and Betsey couldn’t figure out why. Until she remembered being so terribly cold and turning up the heat. Then there was the extra body heat of a large man next to her. Curled up against her. One hand flung possessively across her belly. She let herself lie there and feel that. How good it felt to have someone touching her.

Betsey moved his hand as slowly as she possibly could so as not to wake him. She’d probably scared the shit out of him, yelling from her nightmare. She’d been having them, the same one mostly, ever since the letter had arrived. She pushed the thought away, crept out of bed and went into the living room to turn down the heat. All she could think about now that she was calm and sleep-drunk was how long her propane would last if she kept cranking up the heat any old time she felt like it.

She hit the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She’d slept on the sofa and then the crying and yelling and heat of the trailer had left her with a dry mouth that tasted like death.

‘Death,’ she said in the mirror, grimacing at herself.

‘Who you talking to?’ came a voice from behind the closed door. Unaccustomed to being spoken to from behind closed doors in the middle of the night, Betsey let out a startled squeal and speckled the mirror with toothpaste.

‘Jesus,’ she whispered, clutching her chest. ‘I was talking to myself,’ she whispered, pulling the door open.

‘Why are we whispering?’ he whispered back.

She studied his bare chest and his jeans. ‘So we can go back to sleep easier. Jeans?’

‘No drawers underneath.’ He grinned.

‘Oh. Need the bathroom?’ She blushed and hurried past him. ‘I’ll leave the light on so you don’t kill yourself.’

Betsey turned the overhead light on so he could see. She crawled back into bed, feeling the ghost of his body heat. It was odd and thrilling to hear another person moving around the small space. It felt somehow cosy. Safer.

When she heard him coming down the hall her heart picked up speed. He cracked the door open and stuck his head in. ‘OK for me to come in?’

She giggled. It was a nervous sound. Betsey rarely giggled. Ever. ‘Of course. I’m not kicking you out at –’ she glanced at the clock ‘– two o’clock because you had to pee.’

‘I can, though, Betsey, if you need me to.’ He stood there in the doorway watching her. There was interest in that gaze. Attraction if she wasn’t mistaken. But also unsureness and worry. He was a nice guy, wanting to be nice to her. To give her what she needed.

‘I don’t need you to. It’s fine.’ Her eyes skated along his body, studying him. Broad shoulders, a few freckles there. Nice pecs, a lovely flat, slightly ridged belly. Trim hips. Lean, long legs. Her heart flared and banged. Her breath came faster and she shook her head.

What she needed…

‘What I need,’ she said softly.

He cocked his head. Watched her. Waiting.

When she didn’t speak he said, ‘Yes?’

‘I was just thinking you look like a guy willing to walk home in the freezing dark if that’s what I need.’

‘Yes,’ he confirmed. ‘Whatever you need, Betsey.’

She held out her hand. ‘Whatever I need.’ She said it like a mantra.

He looked a little bewildered until she curled her fingers to him. ‘Well, come on then. If you mean it, Archie.’

He nodded. Said nothing. His blue eyes had turned a stormy grey in the harsh yellow light from her overhead.

‘I need you,’ she whispered. ‘If you can manage that. I mean, if you…want me too.’

He moved towards her and only stopped when she whispered, ‘Hit those lights.’

He did and his weight dipped her bed – a bed that usually only held her – and she found herself in his arms again. And he was kissing her.