Page 88 of Years in the Making

“Don’t be, you needed it.” From what I’d heard from a friend, panic attacks could zap your energy pretty thoroughly. “Feel better?”

“I should be asking you that,” he says, his brow furrowed so deeply that it would be hard for an onlooker to know if he was mad or worried.

“I will live to cut myself and bleed excessively again. But I will also survive that, and the time after that too. And you will just have to learn to live with that.”

Teddy’s gaze holds mine, and I realize what I’ve said makes it sound like he’s going to be there for all the future cuts and bruises. And I feel no reservations about that.

We have a week and a half left at Midge’s, then we’ll pack up, secure the Airstream so it’s semi-permanent, meet Betty to grab the dogs, and begin our trip home. I’ve taken a few steps back from the library, overseeing more than anything, and I’m not worried about leaving it in Midge and Florence’s hands.

“You know,” Teddy says from the other side of the empty vegetable bed we’re weeding two nights later, “we both fulfilled our secret desires.”

“And just as I thought, yours was way more ambitious.”

“I ran away. You stayed and helped pioneer a program that brings books to people who want them but don’t always have access.”

“Do you regret leaving?” I ask, unable to look at him.

“Every day,” Teddy says. When I look up, he’s staring at me. “What I did was unfair to you. I made you question your worth, and that was never something I wanted. I was so consumed by my anger, I wasn’t thinking of anyone else.”

“We don’t have to talk about this again, Teddy. I know you’re sorry. I’ve forgiven you.” I sit on the edge of the waist-height garden with a sigh, running my hands over my shirt to get some of the dirt off.

Teddy does the same before making his way around the bed, stopping when he is in front of me.

I watch as he sinks to his knees, taking my hands in his and resting them on my knees. “Ask me,” he implores.

“Ask you what?” I whisper.

“About the blue jay.” His eyes settle on my throat as I fight with what I think I know and what I may believe. “Ask me, LG,” he practically begs.

My breath catches when I hear the nickname. “What’s with the blue jay, EG?”

He takes my hand and places it over where the blue jay is etched into his skin, just below the fabric of his shirt. “You have lived here since the moment I saw you on that train.” I don’t know what I had expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. A tattoo doesn’t erase the feeling of abandonment I felt for years. “I’m not telling you that so you forget everything. I’m telling you that so you know a day didn’t go by after I left that I didn’tthink of you. When a few of my coworkers decided to go get tattoos one weekend, I didn’t even hesitate on what I wanted.” Twelve years later, and he’s still reading my mind.

I pull my hands back from him and sit up straight. I can tell he’s starting to second-guess his decision to say something, so I reach for the side of my shirt and pull it up slowly, revealing a simple outline of a tree, the only non-avian tattoo I have. Most of my other tattoos have been on display when we’ve been swimming but this one has remained hidden, my secret until now.

His eyes widen as he takes it in, flitting to mine before going back to the tree. He reaches out and traces the outline with his dirt-stained fingers, and goosebumps scatter across the surface of my skin. I want more than just that finger on me, desperately.

“Nellie?” He looks up at me with wonder in his eyes, and all I can do is shrug in response.

“It was a spontaneous decision after the heron on my back was done. I saw a sketch on the artist’s wall and asked how long it would take.” She’d been shocked that I was interested in something that wasn’t a bird but had pointed out that trees and birds went hand in hand, or branch in talon. I think deep down I always knew who it was for but was too afraid to admit it.

A tear sits at the outer edge of Teddy’s eye and I reach out to wipe it away, but before I can, he grabs my hand and presses it to the side of his face, kissing my palm and holding it against his skin. It’s then that I realize how tired I am. Tired of fighting every good feeling I have. Tired of looking for signs that he’s going to run again. Tired of craving him and not letting myself have what I’ve wanted for so long. I’m also incredibly tired of talking about it all.

“Teddy,” I say, spreading my knees just enough that he understands what I want. He shuffles forward,eyes on mine the whole time. “I don’t want to talk anymore.” Taking his face between my hands, I guide his lips to mine.

The minute I kiss him it’s like a dam bursting, like that day in the car but this time I’m not doubting a thing. It’s all yeses and questions likewhy have we been wasting so much time not doing this? I can’t hold back the moan when he sucks my tongue into his mouth or stop my legs from wrapping around him, pulling him tight against me. It’s only when my back hits the dirt, I’m reminded where we are.

“Wait, wait.” I push against Teddy’s chest until he pulls back. His face is flushed, and he’s breathing like he’s just run a marathon, pupils blown wide so the light blue of his eyes are just thin rings. “We can’t do this here.” He blinks rapidly, and I watch those silvery blue rings expand.

He looks towards the house and then back at me. “No one is home,” he reminds me “They’re all at that barbecue.”

He’s right. We told Midge we’d head over after we finished in the garden. Everyone had been working out here, and we thought maybe we could finish it up tonight as a surprise so Florence and her cousins could get started on the late summer planting first thing tomorrow.

Making out in the garden leaves us exposed to not just the elements but to anyone who may come home early.

“We’ll hear if anyone comes back early, right?” I ask as my heart rate speeds up at the thought of being discovered.

Teddy’s eyes dip to my lips, and he nods. “There’s no way she’d let anyone walk back when it’s getting dark.” His hands have already begun to creep back up my thighs. “We can be fast,” he says as his fingers curl around the waistband of my shorts. “If you want,” he quickly amends.

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