Page 79 of Love Always

Holding up the tube of silicone gel she teases, “I thought this was spermicide in your pocket that day you had me grab your keys in front of the restaurant.”

I grin. “What kind of a guy do you think I am?”

“The kind that takes a girl to their hotel room the first day he meets her.”

I shake my head. “That was you.”

She laughs and pushes me back down on the bed.

“I’ve been in this position a lot missy,” and I grab her and flip her onto her back. Then I kiss her forehead, her eye lids, her mouth.

When I pull away she asks a question I did not see coming.

“How do you walk so well? You have absolutely no limp.” After a second she follows up with, “Is it okay that I ask?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course. It took a lot of practice. I had to learn to shift my weight forward, to use my arms, to sort of shift my center of gravity and pull my shoulders back. Ex-military—so that was easy.”

“That means when we’re old and gray you’re still going to have this ramrod straight back? Great. I’m going to be this old bent over gnome-woman.”

I know she means for this to be funny, but I’m suddenly so overcome with love for her, for us, for what we could be together, that sense of intimacy of being with her, that my eyes sting.

‘“What? You don’t want an old gnome-woman girlfriend?”

When she takes my face in her hands and kisses me again, I have to stop my lips from trembling.

She has no idea how perfect that sounds.

΅

Wednesday feels odd. People in town give her looks when she runs to the grocery stores. A few older women approach her, shake their heads, and try to reassure her everything will be fine.

The story, of course, is on the front page and the digital hits are climbing. I keep checking my phone for texts from Carlson. Walking through Rockland it’s clear that word is out. There’s a distinct lack of eye contact and I can tell it’s starting to wear her down. After we leave the small corner grocery store, she slips an arm through mine.

“I knew this would be hard, like intellectually, but I didn’t realize how it would make me feel.”

I think back to what she said about her formative years. This must be bringing up so much shit for her—feeling like the black sheep of the family, the one who is out of control, the one in trouble.

Through all this, I do my job. I watch and check every jostle on the sidewalk, every near miss with anyone. We get coffee or cider samples at a few places and I park us with a clear line of sight to see if anyone retrieves her paper cups. Once a guy in a heavy coat opened the door and nearly bumped into her and he grabbed her arm, but he left with nothing. And no one made a grab for the water bottle.

When we were done parading around, we left and her silence in the car ride home makes my gut wrench.

I pat her leg.

“Colleen had it worse,” is all she says. “Do you really think she was a user?”

Shrugging, I give her the truth. “Hard to tell. If she was just a pawn in someone else’s drama or her use got her killed. There was heroin and fentanyl in her system.” I didn’t want to tell her Colleen’s behavior was suspect. That I had already pegged her as a possible user. There was that whiff of metal when I finally spoke with her.

΅

Cory is a mess when he comes home from school and she clearly needs to be with him. We part for the evening. And as I lie in her old bed above the clinic an unnerving thought begins to worm its way into my brain. I rise, text Bryce and then he walks from Rock Island to the clinic at two in the morning.

It’s the first time he’s seen me in three years without my prosthetic, but I’m not about to suit up for a half-hour conversation.

“Is that snow?” I ask as he shrugs off his coat, dusted with white fluff.

“California has mountains. Don’t be coy.”

I grin. I’ve made sure I’m already sitting on the sofa.