Page 39 of It's You
He looked down at his wine, swirling it around in his wineglass with his free hand. “What doyouthink?”
“It makes a lot of sense. It explains a lot. The beautiful legend you just shared with me.” She let go of his hand and reached up to run her fingers through his thick, black hair. He put his wineglass on the coffee table and leaned into her hand, closing his eyes. “Your last name sounds French Canadian, and I know your family went back to Canada after high school. Your dark hair and brown eyes. Your way with the bear on Saturday. I know the Métis have a…amystifyingrelationship with nature.”
“What else?” he breathed, turning his head to press his lips against her palm.
“The, um…” She swallowed. He was distracting her with nibbling kisses on her palm and the occasional hot lick with his tongue. “The mystical traditions fit, like, um…soul flight and?—”
“Wait. What did you say?” He drew back, looking up at her, his face surprised, yet tender.
“Umm, soul flight?”
“Soul,” he said so softly, she almost couldn’t make out the sound.
“I-I also call it ‘going inside.’”
“Going inside?”
“Inside my head. It’s like daydreaming. It started, um…in high school. After you left.”
“You call it soul flight,” he said softly, reverently, nodding slowly, taking her hand from his face and massaging it with warm fingers. “How often does it happen?”
He knew what she was talking about. Hewasconnected to it, as she had guessed.
“Every few weeks. Lately more. It’s no big deal.”
Jack pressed her hand to his trembling lips, closing his eyes.
“How does it feel?” he murmured. “Does it feel okay?”
“Like a daydream. Familiar. Safe. I don’t know. Don’t you?—”
“Yes, I’ve experienced it,” he whispered, opening his eyes.
She was struck by the depth of tenderness she saw there. And pity. And sorrow.
“It’s Métis, right?”
He stared at her for a while, as if collecting his thoughts. She tried to hear his thoughts, but only heard the word soul in a soft, ceaseless loop.
“Yes,” he finally answered, giving her a sad smile. “It is.”
He let go of her hand, looking away for a minute, then asked, “How many times this week?”
“Three.”
“Yes.” He nodded slowly, still averting his eyes from hers. “Three.”
“Jack, is everything okay? This is all so…”
He looked at her, tilting his head to the side, and biting his lower lip again.
“I cause it,” he finally admitted. “I make it happen. I’ve always made it happen, from the very first time when you screamed that you didn’t belong to me.”
She gasped, remembering the day in the girls’ bathroom with Willow when she’d gone inside the first time. The thing is, she remembered that day very well, and she hadn’t uttered a word aloud. Jack was referring to herthoughts.
She felt like a broken record as her shoulders sagged, and she heard the all-too-familiar words escape her mouth in a defeated sob.
“I don’t understand.”
