(We're here. Back on Nolan's farm.)
Just for added effect this morning, Ben drove past the castle and my breath caught in my throat. He looked at me but I pretended to regard it somewhat nonchalantly, pointing out the fact that they still haven't done anything about the windows or the hedge, for that matter and that the whole street looks broken down and tired now, in comparison to the fresh view of a modern Pacific neighborhood where hope lies in every wave on the ocean and in every ray of sun that makes it through the fog to hit land.
I hate it here. Those final three months living here alone did something to me, something on a level with angels and violence and history that permanently altered my psyche.
We hit the highway and drive far outside of town, continuing long past where any sane person would have already turned and gone back, loathe to be out in a rural area at dark. We have a rented truck, and it smells like cigarettes and loneliness, like low-grade depression and contented discontent.
Ben absently tells me to stop writing descriptives in my head and I smile in spite of myself. He is smiling but it's one of those anticipatory, nervous sort of adrenalized almost-hopeful smiles that make me want to scream simply for knowing exactly how he feels.
It wasn't until we pulled into the driveway that I allowed myself even the same smile. There's the woodpile. There's the tire swing. There are the horse trailers. A little farther down the drive and the grove of trees thins out just a little and then the garage looms and then to the left, the house, a modest, open post-and beam constructed oasis in the deep woods.
Beyond the house is my beloved picnic rock and the creek and the trails and more woods. I jump out of the truck and take a deep breathe and the cold air rushes into my lungs and Ben gets out and pulls our things from behind the seats. We packed light. We have seven nights to fix what is broken. Seven nights to try and reaffirm whatever it is we have that we can't quantify but it's there, it's there like a concrete wall bursting out of the ground and blocking out the sun.
He turns to me and tells me we'll be okay. I nod.
It isn't until we reach our room and he puts the bags down on the bench behind the door that I see him in that funny dim mid-afternoon, sun-beaming-in-at-knee-level light that the thud abruptly starts up in my chest, my heart hammering a million miles an hour, the tell-tale lurch of a broken organ when I look at Ben that signifies that I am still alive and I still love him in spite of my ability to sabotage everything that's good. In spite of our plans to tear everything apart.
He saw that lurch and the relief flooded into his eyes, further softening them into something beautiful, something I know so well and something I keep throwing away as I chase the past, hoping if I can somehow catch it it might save me from the future.
