Page 61 of A Fighting Chance

I walk through the wildflowers near the store, but she isn’t there either.

When I round the trees, I spot her legs behind a particular row in the orchard, only she isn’t running. She’s just standing there, sort of pacing.

I quiet my footsteps, hoping to surprise her. But when I get within earshot, I realize she’s on the phone, and I catch too much of her conversation.

“I don’t know, I guess about one more week or so?” Lyla says into the phone. “I should be home after that. Yeah, I’ve kind of been seeing that guy I told you about. What? No, nothing serious. Just having some fun and stress relief while I’m here. Yeah, totally, we can get drinks when I get back into town. Yeah, I’ll book my flight soon and let you know when it is. You want to get me from the airport? Awesome! Okay. Well, I’ll text you later. Love you too, Cora.”

I back away slowly, very sure I don’t want her to see me there now.

One week or so?

What’s ‘or so’…?

That’s it.

She’s leaving.

She hasn’t even told me.

Nothing serious, she’d explained on the phone.

Why would she bother telling me she’s leaving if we’re nothing serious?

It makes sense.

I walk back toward the farm house in the opposite direction she’s going.

Nothing serious?

How can she feel that way?

Maybe I’ve been misreading the situation. Maybe this time hasn’t meant as much to her as it has to me. The thought makes me sad.

I’ve tried so hard to be a comfort to her, a relief, a shoulder. I tried to make myself a safe place she could unravel in, be herself in, come undone in if she needed to. I really thought I had.

I’m back on the edge of the porch, pushing my hands through my hair again.

As if by some divine torture, Lyla rounds the path and strides toward me. Her hair is floating in the air behind her, her legs powering her body forward. The lines of her body belong to a seasoned runner. Soon, she’ll be running home. Running away from me.

I don’t know how to get through thenext weekor so, how to pretend for her, but I’ll try.

She slows to a walk just before she gets to me. Her breathing is hard and jagged, her hair a mess. She isn’t wearing makeup, and a sheen of sweat covers her skin.

She’s so beautiful.

“Hey, you,” she says casually, situating herself between my legs.

“Hey,” I say, leaning my face back, away from her.

She stretches toward me, silently asking for a kiss, and I can’t help myself. I lean in and brush my lips against hers, keeping it brief.

“You okay?” she asks, somehow sensing that I’m not, but I can’t tell her what’s wrong.

“Just a little tired. It’s been a long couple of weeks,” I say, which is true. It has been, and I am tired. But neither is the reason for my mood. I want to grab her by the shoulders, I want to tell her to open her eyes. Instead, I just sit there quietly, staring at her, pleading with her using only my eyes.

“I understand. You want to take a nap with me?” she asks.

I think about wrapping my arms around her and falling asleep peacefully, the way I have each night she’s slept with me. I think about how, maybe, if I only have such a short amount of time left, I should take every opportunity I can to hold her. To memorize everything about her so that, after she’s gone, I’ll still be able to feel her for a little while.

---