Page 7 of Between Now and Forever
The corner of his mouthslightly, onlybarelytugs toward the sky.And I melt.
“There it is again,” I say.
He hums.
“Hero talk.” I grin. “You can’t help it, can you?”
I want to mess with him more, but my skin is starting to itch again. The scratches from the fall burn, and I know the scrapes down my legs exist by the warmth on my calves. I need to get to my feet and into a bath. But I need him to leave so he doesn’t see anything he hasn’t already.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask.
“What?”
“Did you ...” I reconsider my words. “What all did you see when I fell?”
He braces himself, rolling his tongue around his mouth. Then he grins. “It was a blur.”
I study him, carefully surveying his reaction for any sign of mendacity. Lucky for him, I can’t tell.
“Good boy.” I press my towel to my chest. “Go back to your truck. I’ll be fine.”
His head tilts to the side, and he holds his palms to the sky as if to say,“What the hell?”
“I mean it,” I say. “Go. I can’t get up with you watching.”
He starts to speak but catches himself just before the words leave his tongue. Instead, he shrugs. “Good luck.”
I wait until he turns away and the lilacs are taller than his departing head before beginning my careful extraction.
Getting upright is harder than I anticipated, and keeping the towel covering my crotch and boobs is even more challenging. I find twothick pieces of vegetation on which to place my feet and then try to move forward.
Branches and light-purple flowers smack my face, and I sputter against the taste of them on my lips.
I move again, ensuring one foot is stable before picking up the next. Just as I’m about to grab a stem to help propel me forward, the sound of my nightmares—the only thing in the world I’m afraid of—whispersand rattlesfrom the left.
My heart skips a beat as I yank my hand back. I’m not sure whether to run or to freeze.Do I move slowly or in one fast motion?
Sweat dots my skin. My breaths are ragged. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I think I might faint.
I’m too scared to look where the sound is coming from, and I don’t really need to.There’s only one thing that hisses.
My scream comes softly at first. Then every ounce of air in my lungs increases the volume of my audible fear. Chills race one after another down my spine as I imagine the proximity of a snake—of the scaly, beady-eyed, legless creature from the depths of hell—to my naked body.
I’m going to be sick.
“Gabrielle.”The neighbor’s voice finds me just before I spot him. “Gabrielle, what is the matter now?”
He jogs toward me. This time, he’s easy to read. Concern—plain and simple.
“Snake,” I say, the one syllable stretched into three.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I can only hear it. It’s hissing.”
He reaches me in record time, and the relief that washes through me is unmatched.
“Is it on your left, or right?” he asks calmly.
