Page 95 of This and Every Life
Part IV
Caspian and Lee
Chapter 28
Caspian
“Abraham?”
“Yes, my love.”
I turn my head toward his voice, the dirt unforgiving beneath my shoulder blades, the threadbare blanket providing only the slimmest amount of comfort. Abraham’s gaze is aimed upwards, his chest bare, although it’s hard to see him clearly in the dark. The walls around us block much of the light, even as the stars overhead shimmer.
“Tell me again,” I request of him. “Tell me about our home?”
Abraham turns his face to look at me, a smile both painful and bright appearing. “It will be small.” His voice is soft, his hand finding mine and pulling it atop his chest, fingers toying with my own. “A hearth so we may cook and keep warm. Plenty of land surrounding us and a few animals to keep us company.”
“Or keep us fed.”
He chuckles lightly. “That, as well. We will have everything we need, my heart. And nothing we won’t.”
I understand what he’s saying. We’ll be safe in our home made for two. No one to condemn us. No one to stop us from living the life we want. Together.
“I cannot wait for it,” I tell him truthfully, my chest so tight pulling in a breath is difficult. “I cannot wait to see our life.”
Abraham swallows roughly, rolling toward me on the cold, hard ground. His mouth covers mine, soft and sweet. There’s an apology in it I don’t want.
I want to believe in our future. That it could exist.
I want to believe.
I want.
I open my eyes with a start, my heart racing, the room around me bright. With a groan, I assess my situation. I remember my alarm going off and getting out of bed. But now… I’m on the floor. My knee is aching, most likely a new bruise forming there. Nothing else hurts as far as I can tell.
I take my time pushing upright. First sitting, and then when I’m sure my head isn’t about to swim again, I stand. Sunlight is flooding through the window, brightening the bedroom. A few boxes sit in the corner by the dresser, possessions I haven’t had the time yet to unpack.
The sun…
Oh no.
I’ll be late.
I scramble to get dressed, barely taking the time to brush my teeth and wash my face before I’m out the door. My heart pounds as I swing my leg over the seat of my mechanical bike, the band around my wrist shifting as I grab the handlebars. I blink a few times, clearing the memory of darkened, starry skies and warm lips from my mind, and then I pedal.
Miles of nothing pass as I head toward the hiking trails nearby. Well, notnothing. There are houses, their solar roofsreflecting the light, acres and acres of varying farmland, and even businesses along the road near the center of town. The school. A few local restaurants. A car-charging station with a couple old gas pumps. But compared to the city I grew up in, I might as well be in another world.
I take the turn toward the state park I’ve been visiting every morning since I arrived two weeks ago. The sun is nearly in position, and I curse aloud, skidding around the curve into the parking lot. For once, a vehicle is occupying the otherwise-vacant space, and my pulse jumps.
I brake quickly and hop to the ground, my backpack bouncing. There’s not much in it. A satellite phone, in case I lose reception. Water. The portable defibrillator. I tighten the straps so it sits snug on my back, stow my bike near a tree, and jog toward the start of the trails.
Sweat lines my brow as I make my way toward the cliffside a good four miles from the parking lot. I’m running late, which means I’m moving faster than normal. I nearly trip over a tree root on the path but right myself at the last second, cursing once again as my knee aches, still sore from my fall this morning.
Calm down, Caspian.
There’s no telling if today is even the day. He hasn’t shown up before.
But there’s a truck in the parking lot. It could be him.
