Oh, God.
My heart began to hammer and skip, and my stomach
rolled over. “
Saturday?”
I watched him as he stared at a spot just over my shoulder. Thunder rumbled in the distance, accentuating our painful silence. I drained the last of my wine and handed him the glass.
“
Have a nice flight,”
I said, and turned on my h
eel to escape, cursing myself with each step that I hadn
’
t yet done what I
’
d come there to do. But what difference would it really make, anyway? It wasn
’
t a curse. It wasn
’
t anything mystical. It was just stupid fear and I was drowning in it. So what? Big
deal. I could grow old and gray alone with the Mizzes. There were worse fates.
Ian
’
s hand clamped around my arm and pulled me to a stop. A drop of rain plunked down on my head.
“
Portia.”
His breath was ragged from runni
ng after me. His eyes were darting back and forth, searching mine. “
Will I see you again before I go?”
“
Why?”
I asked. “
Why not just get it over with? What
’
s the difference between now and Saturday?”
His grip loosened on my elbow, and his hand slid up my a
rm, over my shoulder. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and it almost killed me. When he spoke, it came out in a ragged whisper.
“
Five days.”
He stepped in closer, entwined his fingers in the hair at the back of my head, and pulled me close to him.
His lips grazed my cheek, then trailed downward until they fell onto mine. He curled his other arm around my waist, lifting me up to him. He tasted like wine and he smelled like paint and his warmth radiated through every part of me. We finally separated
to take a breath and I reeled back and slammed the flat of my hand against his shoulder, knocking him back a step.
“
Ow!”
he said, putting his palm to his shoulder. “
What did you do that for?”
“
Because you
’
re a butthead!”
He blinked. “
Did you just call me a
butthead
?”
“
What the hell, Ian?”
I said. “
We wasted the whole summer doing this stupid dance, and you wait to kiss me
now,
right when you
’
re about to leave?”
“
Admittedly, yes, this is bad timing
—”
“
Bad
timing
You
’
ve had all summer!”
I tried not to think a
bout the fact that I
’
d danced as much as he had. But I
’
d come there that night to tell him all, to bare my soul. That had to count for something.
We stared at each other for a moment, both of us breathing hard, and gradually moving closer, although I
’
m not
sure if either of us was doing it deliberately.
“
Portia...”
He placed his hand on my cheek, his fingertips grazing my hairline. His eyes were half-closed and he brought his lips down to mine again. If not for that moment, I would have never known it was p
ossible to feel so wonderful and so awful all at once.
“
I
’
ve tried not to do this,”
he said, putting his hands on either side of my neck, his forehead pressed to mine. “
I can
’
t do it anymore. I don
’
t care if it makes sense. I don
’
t bloody care about anythi
ng but having these next five days...”
He kissed me again, all warmth and persistence, and all I could think about was taking him into the barn and Flying until I forgot he was leaving.
Only I couldn
’
t forget.
“
I can
’
t, Ian. I need...”
“
What?”
he said, pul
ling his hands away, his voice rising as the rain gained more momentum. “
Forever? What makes you think anyone can promise you that? Even Peter?”
I shook my head, but didn
’
t say anything. He took another step toward me.
“
Trust me, Portia. Someone promised m
e forever once and it didn
’
t add up to anything. I won
’
t do that to you.”
“
No,”
I said. “
You won
’
t do anything.”
“
Damnit,”
he said, frustration tightening his voice. “
What am I supposed to do? Give up my life? Ask you to give up yours?
Over a few weeks of
…
”
He stopped, ran his fingers over his hair, swiped the rain away from his face. “
The most anyone can ever promise you is the hope of staying around indefinitely, and anyone who says differently is either lying or fooling themselves. There are no guarantee
s.”
“
That is so cynical.”
“
No,”
he said. “
It
’
s honest. It
’
s the truth.”
I stared at him. The truth. Wasn
’
t that why I was here in the first place?
It
’
s time, I thought. It
’
s now or never.
“
Ian, I came here tonight to tell you something.”
I stared at the car keys in my hand and forced myself to say what I
’
d come there to say. “
I care about you. A lot. More than I probably should. The reason I kept visiting you wasn
’
t just to work on the barn. It was to see you. To be close to you. I want..
.I want to be with you. Every day.”
I pulled on a weak smile. “
Indefinitely.”
Silence. He was staring at me, his face blank. I summoned up the rest of my courage. “
I don
’
t care if it makes sense, or even if you feel the same way. Well, that
’
s a load of cra
p, of course I care if you feel the same way. I just don
’
t want to make the same mistakes...”
I could feel the muscles in my legs start to shake.
Time to wrap it up.
“
I don
’
t want to live the rest of my life knowing I let you go without having told you.”
H
e simply stared as the rain beat down on his face. He
’
d heard me. I knew he
’
d heard me.
But he wasn
’
t saying anything.
“
It doesn
’
t matter,”
I said quickly, grateful for the rain making my tears less obvious. “
You
’
re going away and I can
’
t see you anymore.”
“
Portia...”
I forced myself to meet his eye, waited for him to say...something. But he didn
’
t. There was no “
I want to be with you, too.”
Just my name, because apparently there was nothing else to say.
I pulled on a smile. “
It
’
s okay. Really. No big deal.
It
’
s been fun. A great time. Good job on the barn. I
’
ll be first in line to get your next book.”
I walked over to my car. He didn
’
t try to stop me. The rain began to pour with force. I pulled the driver
’
s side door open and paused, forcing myself to look
at him one last time. We stared at each other for a minute. I stepped into the car. I didn
’
t look in the rearview mirror until I
’
d almost reached the road. He was still standing there in the rain, watching me drive away.
I busted through the front door of
the house, dripping big fat drops on the hardwood floor. The rain was beating out a primal rhythm on the roof. In my imagination, Ian was still standing outside where I
’
d left him. In reality, he was probably packing, glad it was over.
“
Mags?”
I called oat
. “
Vera?”
There was no answer. My muscles were still shaking with cold and emotional fatigue. I sat on the arm of the old easy chair and called out again.
“
Bev? Peter?”
I heard steps on the staircase, followed by Mags
’
s honeyed voice.
“
Portia, baby, is tha
t you?”
“
Yeah,”
I said, swallowing hard, trying to keep it together. Mags froze at the bottom of the steps when she saw me. Vera and Bev stood behind her.
“
Baby, are you okay?”
Vera asked.
“
Where
’
s Peter?”
I didn
’
t want him to be a part of this. “
He
’
s slee
ping,”
Bev said. “
Do you want us to wake him?”
I shook my head and burst into a fresh round of sobs. Mags hurried over to me and put her arms around me, guiding me to the couch and pulling a blanket over my shoulders.
“
Oh, baby,”
she said. “
What happened?”
I swiped at my nose with the back of my hand. “
Penis Teflon. I tried to face it, tell him that I wanted to be with him, because I thought maybe if I wasn
’
t afraid like you and Vera had been, that maybe that would work, you know, break the curse, but...”
V
era grabbed a box of tissues from the end table and handed them to me. Mags guided my head to her shoulder. I inhaled her smell and felt a rush of healing go through me.
“
Oh, baby,”
Mags said. “
Did you go and fall for that Flyer?”
“
Yes,”
I sobbed. “
He
’
s going back to London on
Saturday
and he doesn
’
t want me and I
’
m all covered in Penis Teflon and no one is ever going to stick to me, ever.”
“
Oh, now, I
’
m fairly sure that
’
s not true.”
She paused for a moment, running her hand over my hair. “
Did you tell
him how you feel?”
I nodded.
“
And what did he say?”
“
Nothing,”
I squeaked. Mags pulled her head back. I looked up at her. She smiled at me.
“
Congratulations, darlin
’.”
I rubbed my face and sat forward. “
For what?”
She grabbed my hand. “
Because you did it,
and that matters.”
I sniffled. “
It does?”
“
Of course,”
Vera said, kneeling by my feet. “
You can
’
t control what he does or how he feels. That
’
s not for you.”
“
Most people don
’
t have the courage to do what you did,”
Mags piped in, putting one hand on my face
. “
I
’
m proud of you, baby.”
“
Really?”
“
Yes.”
She patted my knee and got up, surreptitiously snatching a tissue and dabbing at the corners of her eyes. Vera stood up and looked to Bev. Bev looked down at me, her eyes as hard and inscrutable as always. Then,
slowly, a kind smile tinged the edges of her lips.
“
I
’
ll get the fondue pot,”
she said, and headed toward the kitchen. Vera and Mags put their arms around me and leaned their heads against mine, muttering words of comfort. I smiled. It was good to be home.