Page 65 of Zeppelin
I came out here to get the yard in order, but also so I didn’t have to think, and now I’m doing exactly that.
Zeppelin is going to miss so much, but I’m determined that as long as he has cell reception, I’ll make sure that he’ll be a part of all of this.
I don’t feel less important for him leaving.
I admire him for having the courage to go out there, but also to face himself. None of that is easy.
He wanted to be the kind of man that I could look up to, and the baby could too. I know how important that is to him, not having had that for himself growing up. He’s already inspired me, though. He’s changed my mind about so many things. He’s helped me grow as a person because I’ve had to take a hard look at myself and everything I thought I believed.
I didn’t want him to go. I wanted to ask him to take me with him, but I understood that neither of those things could happen. I had to grow up in the span of an hour. In one evening, I learned what heartbreak, longing, and maybe even the early stages oflovefeel like. Romantic love? The love one person can share with another when they’re bonded together throughlife? The love of friends?
I don’t know how to define it, but I know it’s real. The pain, the gnawing longing, the way I ache like a part of me has been ripped away—that’s very, very real.
A dust cloud in the distance has me looking up. I raise a hand to shade my eyes against the sun out of habit, even though the hat provides plenty of relief already. There’s not much trafficdown this road. I walk a few paces, over to the looping gravel driveway. It needs a fresh layer of gravel and some serious weeding as well, but that’s a task for- well- I guess for another day.
So few vehicles come down this way that I’m even more interested, watching the road to see if it’s my mom or dad, or maybe even Gabe by himself. I’m going over to their place this afternoon to help with the garden and baking, but they might have come to stop in and check on me as they were driving in the area to check their fields. A good portion border this farmhouse, so it’s entirely possible.
I’m okay with looking like a sweaty wreck. All my life, getting dirty meant working hard and getting a job done, which meant pulling together to survive as a family. That’s what farming is about.
I’m not self-conscious or confused until the dust clears and the nose of a brown van emerges. The body comes into sight, dark brown stripes running the length of the tan paint. It’s dappled with rust spots, and it’s clearly old and not in a good classic car kind of way, but it chugs along just fine.
I frown when it slows by my driveway. Some people do slow their speed so they don’t lambaste the house and yard with road dust, but this van is going waytooslow.
Part of me wants to race to the house and lock myself in when it turns down the driveway. I’m alone out here, and even though I know most of the people in the area, I still have a strong sense of stranger danger and self-preservation.
The sun glints off the windshield as I step forward, ready to at least be by the house just in case.
The van stops abruptly, as soon as I start moving, which scares the hell out of me. Not really, but close. I dash across the yard, ready to leap the crumbling old porch and race through the door to at least a semblance of safety, but the van’s door opens and a broad, tall figure steps out.
Holy.Fuck. I must have cooked my brain a good one out here, battling the weed-whacker because that person resembles Zeppelin so closely, from his biker boots to his grease-stained jeans, all the way up to his t-shirt, that I start to sway.
It’s not until I see his face that I have to sit down.
I grasp the crumbling porch railing and lower myself down before I fall.
Either I’ve got sunstroke and I’m hallucinating or it truly is Zeppelin. He really is here. In a beater van. At my house. Not on his bike. Not halfway across the country. Here. Real.
I leap up and carefully take the stairs, but as soon as my feet are on solid ground, I race across the yard and driveway. He just stands there, watching me come at him, but when I launch myself at him, his arms open like I’m the only one with the magic password. I’m enveloped in him, held upright by his muscular arms. He interlaces his fingers at the small of my back, locking me in place as I twine mine around his neck.
My emotions are all over the place. My cheeks are soaked, all the tears that I’ve held back after that first night of crying, leaking out all over the place. I laugh too, the sound bursting out of me a little bit frantic, like this whole thing could vanish in an instant. I’m still not quite sure that this isn’t a mirage.
“Zeppelin?” I whimper before I tuck my face into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him. It’s still leather and fresh air, but there’s a hint of lemons and cotton candy.
“Yeah, Ginny. I’m here. I tried calling you first, but I guess your phone was in the house. I stopped at your parents’ place, thinking you were there. Your mom said you were here, doing yardwork all morning. She didn’t ask me to explain myself. She just seemed happy that I was back.”
“Happy for me no doubt.”
He cups my face tenderly and wipes my tears with his thumbs.
“Why do you smell like cotton candy?”
He throws back his head, the breeze catching the long strands of his hair and tossing them around his beautiful face. “I had to buy that thing multiple air fresheners. You have no idea how bad it stank after all those years in a garage.”
“What- where did you… what’s going on?”
He lowers me back down so that I’m fully on the ground, but he doesn’t release me. He holds onto my shoulders, as though he shares that fear of me just disappearing.
“I made it down to Nevada, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
