These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance (31 page)

             There
was a bench next to the map but the metal already held small puddles of water.
Gideon wiped it clean as best he could and sat down.

             “Come
here.” He patted his knees. “I’ll suffer the indignity of a wet rear end and
you can stay dry.”

            She
slid a look toward him, one edge of her mouth tilting up. “My mama told me to watch
out for boys like you.”

            “Your
mama was right,” his voice dropped an octave, “but I am not a boy.”

             “Well,
problem solved,” she said and gingerly perched on his knee. She wasn’t sitting.
More hovering, barely making contact. “Am I crushing you?”

            Now
that she was sitting on his lap, he couldn’t see her face very well, and he
gently moved her hood back a bit. “No.”

             “I
feel like I’m crushing you. You won’t have any circulation in this leg if I sit
here very long. I should―”

            “Wait.”
He lifted his left arm and laid it behind her, and she answered his movement by
lifting her arm and laying it across his shoulders. He could smell her shampoo.
Everything was silent except for the patter of the rain. She relaxed against
his side and he had a sudden flash of winding the old grandfather clock when he
was a kid. The first few times he’d tried to help, he reached out and grabbed
clumsily, setting the weights and pulleys swinging, dull thuds and muted chimes
echoing in the wooden cavity. Vince would set it all back to rights by holding
each piece until the shudders had stopped.  

             He
could hear his own heartbeat. He hadn’t thought of that clock in years. His
favorite moment was when Vince would start the pendulum swinging with one
calculated tap, then gently withdraw his hand and close the door. And it would
just go on and on, without batteries or electricity, a miracle of physics and
balance and motion.

            “Have
you ever been out of Louisiana?” she asked.

             “I
traveled to Colorado a few years ago. I didn’t care for all that snow. It felt
suffocating.”

            She
said nothing, looking out at the hills, all the way into the valley.

            “But
last year, when it snowed in Natchitoches, I realized why people love snow
scenes in art.”

            “Like
paintings of little cottages under the snow, all the windows lit with a warm,
welcoming light? The kind everybody sells at Christmas?”

            “Just
like that. And I realized that if you know what’s underneath, you recognize the
shape of the hills. The bones of the land never change, they’re just softened.
It’s beautiful.”

            She
was quiet for a long time and he wondered if she had another question she was
afraid to ask. Finally she spoke very softly, “People are like that for me.
When I first meet them and they tell me so many lies, all I can see is the
snow. I never know how deep it goes or what’s underneath, sinkholes or sharp,
broken branches. But after a while, I start to see a pattern. Some people lie
about their work, some people lie about how popular or attractive they are. It
starts to take shape and eventually, I can see the bones of them underneath all
of that.”

            The
rain sounded loud in his ears.

            “I
have lied to you,” he said.

            “I
know.”

            He
wanted to ask if she can still see him under all of it. He wondered what he
sounded like, if his lies are as ugly as all others. But to her, maybe all lies
were the same.

            As
if sensing his despair, she turned to him. They were just inches apart and the
rain pattered down, landing on the metal of the bench with soft pings. Her lips
were tilted up.

            “Remember,
I knew you before the snow came,” she said.

“How many million Aprils came

Before I ever knew

How white a cherry bough could be

A bed of squills, how blue.”    

― Sara Teasdale

            She
impulsively leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek, except they
landed closer to his jaw. He stayed completely still, as if not wanting to
scare her away, but his hand tightened on her hip. His skin was warm under her
lips. She moved a few inches to the left, the corner of his mouth just under
hers, and then she remembered how much there was to lose, how much she relied
on him being in her life, and she leaned back.

            Henry
thought about making some light-hearted comment and standing up. Being honest
with Gideon was like walking into the sun after being in a dark room. Her whole
being thrilled at it, but there was a pain to it, too. She wanted to run back
to where it was safe, where she could hide in the dark.

            He
raised his brows, a question there as plain as day. She loved the dark blue of
his eyes, loved everything about him, from the angle of his jaw to the curve of
his mouth. It must seem ridiculous how she’d hovered along that curve, like a
woman would do if she wanted to tease a man into believing she was interested.

            He
waited, not saying anything and she felt his confusion. For a moment, she
balanced between truth and lies, between honoring the words she said to him in
the basement and protecting her heart.

            “I’m
afraid to kiss you.”

             “Are
you afraid it’ll mean more to me than to you?”

             “No.
I just… I don’t want to ruin anything.”

            “Ruin?
How? Are you that bad at it?” He was being silly, trying to lighten the moment.

             “What
if things don’t work out?” She felt her cheeks go warm. She didn’t want to say
the rest, about how she hadn’t known him very long, but she didn’t want to live
without him.

            “What
if things go well and Father Toussaint demands to officiate at our wedding?”

             “I
think if things go really badly, we’ll still have to get married. He’s counting
on us. We’ll just have to live in unhappily wedded discontent for the rest of
our days.”

            She
loved the way his dimples appeared even when he wasn’t outright smiling.
“You’re not really selling me on this kiss.”

            “I
just think we should consider all the possible outcomes, not just the good
ones. Maybe we shouldn’t ruin what we have by changing our friendship.”

             “Henry,”
he said.

            “Excuse
me?” She bristled at his tone. If he’d been Ruby he would have said ‘bless your
heart’.

            “Look
at us,” he demanded. He looked down, squeezing her hip. His other hand was
resting on her knee. She had one arm wrapped around his shoulders, her fingers
resting against the back of his neck. Her other hand was tucked between them,
right near his heart.

             He
leaned closer, putting his mouth just inches from her ear. The low rumble of
his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I don’t think we’ve been just friends
for a very long time.”

            She
closed her eyes against his words but the truth of it sank deep into her heart.
All this time, she’d been worried about taking a step that was already made.
She turned her head, just a little, just enough that his lips met her
cheekbone. And then she tilted her head up, finding her way by touch alone. His
mouth was warm and soft, and she thought she could feel him smiling against her
lips.

            The
sound of the rain faded away and she kissed him, letting herself be as honest
as she’d wanted to be, letting her kiss speak for everything she was afraid to
say with words. Her whole life she’d kissed with one part of her holding back,
afraid to share too much or be too bold. Those movie scenes where two people
were oblivious to the world, wrapped up in the sheer gloriousness of kissing,
had always made her laugh. She understood now. Gideon tasted like rain and
everything she’d ever wanted, and she raised her hands to cup his face.

            After
a few minutes, he leaned back. The expression in his eyes reminded Henry of a
show she once watched were people would do ridiculous things, like walk over
hot coals or shave their heads in order to win a grand prize.

            She’d
had good kisses and bad kisses and so-so kisses. But she’d never had someone
look at her like she was the prize.

             “Can
I touch you now?” she asked.

             “I…
what?”

            “I’ve
wanted to touch you for so long.” She traced his jaw, feeling the rain against
his skin, the slight stubble of his beard rasping against her palm.

            “Yes,”
he said and his voice was thick.

            She
closed her eyes and sighed. Sliding one hand down to his chest, felt his steady
heart beat and the warmth of his skin through his shirt. She opened her eyes
and reached for his hand, bringing it up between them, threading their fingers
together.

             “You
have beautiful hands. Sometimes when we’re working, I have trouble
concentrating because I just want to watch your hands.” She traced the veins on
the back, then his knuckles, then the bone at his wrist. She turned his hand
over and marveled at how much bigger it was than hers, how similar but so different
they were. The rain dropped gently into his palm and she traced the lines with
her finger.

             He
cleared his throat and she looked up. Something in his expression made her
realize she was acting as if she owned him.

            “I
promise not to abuse the privilege,” she said, making her voice light but
putting his hand back where it had been before.
The rain was
coming down harder, the drops sounding like extra beats between her words.

            He
laughed. “I can’t imagine how you could.” He shifted his arm and bumped against
her sweatshirt pocket. “What is that? Did you bring a book to read on our
hike?”

            “No,”
she said, her face going warm. She’d planned to give him his present at the
summit, but now that they were here, shyness swept through her. “It’s not for
me. It’s for you.”

            “You
thought I’d be bored up here?”

            “It’s
a birthday present, but I don’t think we can open it here.” She blinked up at
the sky.

            “I’ll
cover it,” he said and made a little shelter with his hands. “Please.”

            She
withdrew the little volume from her pocket and tried to hand it to him but he
shook his head.

            “I’ll
be the umbrella,” he said and tilted his head to read the title. “Sara Teasdale
poetry. Would you read one?”

            She
thought of the poem she’d found in By the Book. It was shorter than she
remembered. “It’s called “Barter” and prepare yourself, because it doesn’t end
it heartbreak.”

            “Edna
is turning over in her grave as we speak,” he said.

            She
took a breath and read slowly, trying not to think of how the rain was falling
harder and how Father Tom and the others must be waiting. “
Life has
loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things
,” she began.
He
was silent beside her and the slow movement of his chest was like punctuation
to the phrases. She reached the line, “
Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes
that love you, arms that hold,
” and threw him a glance, smiling shyly at
how accurate those words were at the moment. The last stanza was nearly drowned
out by the patter of fat drops falling everywhere around them, on the leaves of
the trees, the ground, the metal bench, and them.

Spend all you have for
loveliness,

Buy it and never count
the cost;

For one white singing
hour of peace

Count many a year of
strife well lost,

And for a breath of
ecstasy

Give all you have been,
or could be.

            Henry
closed the book and quickly tucked it back in her pocket. The rain was pouring
down but Gideon made no move to shift her from his lap. Instead, he wrapped
both arms around her and pulled her close, kissing her as if he wanted to taste
the words that had just fallen from her lips.

            “Thank
you,” he murmured against her mouth. “Thank you for that.”

            She
took a breath, struggling to think straight. “Alice has a whole range of poetry
books.”

             “Does
she?”

            “Of
course you know that.” She shook her head, laughing a little at how scattered
her thoughts were, and a drop of rain made its way down to the end of her nose.
She reached up and traced his lower lip with her thumb. “We should go,” she
said, regret coloring her words. “If there weren’t a whole bunch of priests
waiting for us―”

            “And
if it weren’t raining buckets,” he said, kissing the drop from the end of her
nose.

            “I
don’t mind the rain, actually. I could sit out here forever with you.”

            “Says
the girl with the hood.”

             “True,”
she said, and stood up. He took her hand, linking their fingers together and
started back down the path. “Maybe if we hurry, they’ll think we started back
as soon as the rain picked up.”

            He
cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think anything we do will fool them.”

            “True
again,” she said with a sigh. “And I’m sorry.”

            “For
what?”

            “Thinking
of lying to them. Well, fooling them.” She hunched into her hood for a moment.
“Lately, I’ve realized how dishonest I am.”

            He
made a noise in his throat. “No more than everybody else, probably.”

            She
stepped around a puddle and said, “Exactly. And I always thought I was the most
honest one. I somehow convinced myself that everybody else was lying through
their teeth, and I wasn’t.”

            “Is
this part of feeling like a terrible person?” His tone was gentle.

            They’d
had such a beautiful moment at the summit, she didn’t want to ruin it but she’d
promised not to hide, promised to be open with him. “I told Kimberly I knew she
was my mother. But I did it in a really horrible way.” The last word came out a
little unsteadily. “I was so sure I had the upper hand but when it came down to
it, I’m not really any better than she is. Yes, she abandoned me, but that
doesn’t automatically make me the good guy. She said she was trying to give me
a good life and I think I believe her. Of course, she doesn’t know that. All
she knows is that I’m angry and blame her for not having a real mother.”

              
She wiped a hand over her face. “I don’t know. I’m
confused about whether I should let it go, or try to repair what was broken to
begin with. Maybe I’ll just make it worse.”

            He
didn’t say anything for a moment. “I never told you the whole story. About my
parents and the way they died,” he said.

            She
looked up in surprise. “No, I don’t think you did.” She wanted to tell him it
wasn’t necessary but she also knew Gideon never said more than he had to, and
if he wanted to tell the story, she wanted to listen.

            “You
know I killed Mark Daniels out of revenge.”

            “Yes.”

            “But
I didn’t have the whole story. I didn’t know until after the fact, that my
parents were involved in dealing cocaine. They owed a lot of money to a big
time dealer based in Atlanta. Mark Daniels and Duane Banner came to collect the
money, or convince them to find it.” His voice was flat but she could see the
pain etched in his face. “My whole life, I thought they had picked up some
drifters and offered them dinner. I thought they were good Samaritans. My aunt
told me that because she thought it would be easier than knowing the truth. And
that little white lie fed my rage until I was old enough to make my own plan
for revenge.”

            “I’m
so sorry,” she whispered. She remembered Barney Sandoz and his accusations of
Gideon being involved somehow with cocaine and drug dealing.

            “So,
you’re right to be angry that Kimberly abandoned you. But I also think you’re
right to forgive her. I thought my parents were saints, but they had a role in
what happened to us. I wish I’d known. Kimberly had selfish motives, I’m sure.
But she also might really have believed you’d be safe there, and loved.” He
glanced down at her, his hair dripping onto his forehead. “Having the whole
story makes all the difference. I would talk to her again, let her tell her
side of it. And whatever you decide, I know you’ll do the right thing.”