Page 58 of Past Tents

“I thought...” I couldn’t articulate what I thought without spilling a lifetime of insecurities, and right now, I didn’t want Clay to know that side of me.

“I know. I’ve never been clear with my intentions toward you.”

“Your intentions...” He was speaking like one of the heroes from my historical romance novels, and instead of suitably swooning, I was repeating his words and looking at him with round, blank eyes.

“Yes. My intentions.”

“Which are . . . ?”

“Everything. All of it.”

“We’ve worked together all these years. How come you never even...asked me out?” It seemed like the very most basic concept.

He continued staring upward and let out a long exhale. “It’s kind of a long story.”

I barked out an incredulous laugh. “We’re in a tent with nothing else to do. Seems like a good time for that.”

He was nodding, but when I could see that he wasn’t ready to look at me, I dropped my head back down and stared up as well. When he began speaking, his voice was so steady and soft, I almost mistook it for a faint gust of wind.

“I told you I’d been diagnosed with depression. What I didn’t tell you was that it came on the heels of a bad breakup. I’d been dating a woman who’d moved here from Colorado. This was years ago.”

I thought back and tried to figure out a timeline. I’d all but lost track of Clay when I was in college, and until we’d started teaching together, I didn’t know what he had done.

“We dated for a year and a half,” he went on. “I fell hard and fast. It was my first serious, long-term relationship, and it happened right as I was starting to feel heavy signs of clinical depression, but I didn’t know how to recognize that’s what it was at the time. I needed her for my endorphin rush. She was the only thing keeping me happy, so I decided I wanted to marry her.”

Jealousy had no place here, but I couldn’t help the ugly twinge in my chest. It shouldn’t have pierced my heart to hear himdescribe his feelings for someone else right after he’d just finished telling me that he’s wanted me for all these years. But it did.

“It sounds a little ridiculous saying it now, but I didn’t understand what was happening with my mental health. I just knew she became the lifeline that made me feel better, and I thought she was the key to being happy.”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” I said, feeling my heart squeeze at the kind of pain he must have felt.

“Anyway, long story short...she was separated from her husband when we met and she kind of abruptly decided to move back to Colorado and try again with him. I didn’t see it coming. And I...spiraled. Like, it was bad. Your brother knows. He’s the only one.”

“How bad?” I wanted to understand, needed to know.

“I called Jeff, told him I was sitting with a bottle of pills. He came right away. We tossed them in the toilet, made some calls to psychiatrists. It took work, but he got me straightened out. I owe him...everything. And as to why I don’t do relationships, I guess I was always afraid of it happening again—all of it.”

I sat up and scooted across the floor of the tent in my sleeping bag until I could wrap my arms around Clay. He sat limply for a moment, letting me hug him, before finally encircling me with his arms.

We sat like that for a long time, not talking. It felt good to return all the warmth Clay had shown toward me, even if I wasn’t sure it was enough.

“How do you feel now? Do you feel afraid with me?” I asked, finally. Clay loosened his grip and backed away enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, deep thoughtful pools that swallowed me in their intensity.

“No. With you, I feel really good.”

I leaned forward and kissed Clay’s cheek, trailing my lips down to his and placing a soft kiss there. I moved back to my spot, head next to Clay’s feet, and closed my eyes.

“That’s why...,” I said, slowly realizing, “my brother told me not to mess with your head.”

“He did? When?”

“The other night at Genie’s. I had no idea what he was talking about, and it was Jefferson—he sometimes makes a big deal out of things that aren’t big.”

“This one’s big.”

“Yeah. But it’s not insurmountable.”

“No, not insurmountable. At least I hope not.” He squeezed my hand.

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