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He walks in silence next to me for a while as we cross the grassy backyard toward the woods. “I reckon I’ll know more when Beacham returns with some parts next month. I was only able to order some basics since I hadn’t looked under the hood yet. But now I’ve had a look-see, I know I need a powered socket wrench to remove a few bits and pieces that are in my way. Won’t know much else until it’s all taken apart.”
I’m careful not to step on any sharp branches as we walk and talk. “So… You might take it apart and find out you need more parts, but you won’t be able to order those until Beacham’s next delivery?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We walk in silence for a while, nothing but the sound of dry leaves and twigs crunching beneath our feet. I consider keeping my mouth shut, just ignoring all the questions whizzing through my brain. I want to enjoy this outing without turning it into some kind of therapy session or fact-finding mission. But eventually, I reason myself away from the path of silence.
If I’m expected to live with Walker for a few months while I wait for him to fix my car, I have a right to know more about him. Besides, I’m just too damn curious to keep my mouth shut.
“Why don’t you have a phone?” I ask, still trying to maintain a casual tone. “If you had a phone, I could call someone—the police or someone who can get in touch with my family.”
He shakes his head, his attention remaining on the woods ahead of us. “We ain’t got no phone lines…”
The fact that he chose the pronoun we instead of I implies he thinks of him and me as a single entity. Or perhaps, he was referring to himself and someone else. Maybe his deceased mother?
“Who’s we?” I ask.
“What?” he says, flashing me a confused expression.
“Nothing,” I reply. “So, do you think I could ask Beacham to bring a prepaid cell phone?”
He shakes his head again. “You’re speaking gibberish.”
I chuckle, more out of frustration than amusement. “Right. I keep forgetting about…that.”
He smiles, seemingly catching on to my frustration. “You want to tell me what that is?”
I consider telling him to just forget it, but I decide I’ll give it a shot. “A prepaid cell phone is—” I stop dead in my tracks when a horrifying thought occurs to me. “Do you… Do you even know what a cell phone is?”
He stops walking too, and now he’s looking at me like I’m crazy.
“It’s a valid question, isn’t it?” I continue. “I mean, for someone who doesn’t own a television or phone of their own?” My heart races as he stares at the ground between our feet. “Oh, no. Please tell me I haven’t offended you. I’m so sorry. I knew I was going to put my foot in my mouth. Just forget—”
“Slow down there,” he interjects, putting a hand up to stop my avalanche of apologies. “I know what a cell phone is. Beacham’s got one he keeps right on the dashboard of his truck.”
I think back to my short ride in Mr. Beacham’s truck, and I can’t recall seeing a cell phone, but I was pretty distracted by my panic. “So, you definitely knew what to look for when you were searching for my phone in that ditch?” I pose this question to myself. “I’m sorry I questioned you. I still feel like my brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. That’s an idiom you’ll probably understand.”
“A what?”
I laugh at how far we’ve strayed from the initial question about getting a prepaid cell phone. “A prepaid cell phone is a phone you can use right out of the box. You don’t need to enter into an agreement with a telecom company. You just activate it, and you’re good to go, providing you’re close enough to a cell tower to get a signal. Something tells me you’re in a dark spot.”
“Oh, I’m in the dark, all right,” he says as he starts walking again.
I smile. “I know this must all sound like a foreign language to you, but that’s part of your charm.”
He removes his green baseball cap and ruffles his fingers through his dark hair. “You’re teaching me all sorts of new stuff.”
This comment sparks a memory for me. I’m sitting at a desk and staring at a snow globe. I keep shaking it to watch the snowfall, but it always falls so fast. I wish it would fall slower. Suddenly, I’m overcome with an intense feeling of profound loss, like the feeling I had in the meadow the other day.
Walker glances at me when he hears me sniff loudly. “Why are you crying? Is it your foot?”
I shake my head as I wipe salty tears from my lips and cheeks. “I know I lost my father,” I reply. “And I feel like I’ve lost a lot of people I care about. I just wish I could remember. I… But…”
“But you also wish you could forget.”
His words take me by surprise. Partly because they’re spot on, but also because I wish I knew who he wanted to forget.
I nod, still wiping my face as I continue walking a bit slower now. “Have you lost anyone?”
He slips the cap back onto his head. “My momma passed on a few years back. She’s buried on that side of the house where you found the berries.”
My stomach curdled at the thought of eating fruit fertilized by his mother’s decaying body. Then I shook off the idea. Surely he buried her in a coffin six feet under. It wasn’t as if she was right beneath the topsoil.
Swallowing my discomfort, I work up the courage to ask another question. “How did she die? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Look!” he says, pointing at something ahead of us in the distance. “Boy, is that a sight for sore eyes. I was afraid the creek would be dry this late in the summer.”
Sure enough, in the distance, through the thicket of old-growth pine trees, was a sparkling, placid creek.
As if washed away by the water, my grief — so intense and laser-like — fades away, replaced by a childlike desire to take a flying leap into the sun-warmed liquid. I’d done that so many times as a child. Hadn’t I?
Without thinking, I grab Walker’s hand and pull him along as I race toward the shimmering water in the distance.
“Watch that!” he cries out, yanking me sideways to avoid stepping on a fallen branch.
But he pulls too hard, and we collide into each other, tumbling onto the dirt and leaves. I stick my arms out to break my fall, and my hands land on the ground just above his head as my chest crashes into his face.
“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!” I yelp, trying to push myself up, but my sore shoulder gives out, and my hand slides across the dry dirt.
His laughter is muffled by my breasts and the fabric of the T-shirt I borrowed from him.
“This is so embarrassing,” I mutter to myself as I roll off him and lie on the ground, staring up at the light-blue cloudless sky above us.
Walker rolls over, and his face hovers above mine, replacing my view of the sky with an even better one. “You okay?” he asks, trying to suppress more of that deep, sexy laughter.
Before I can think my way out of it, I throw my arms around his neck and press my lips against his. I pull away quickly, givin
g him time to digest what I’ve done. His eyes are locked on mine, and I can feel his hot breath on my face as it quickens.
“Is that okay?” I ask, praying I haven’t read his signals wrong and crossed a line.
Finally, he smiles, and the sight of it makes my heart flutter. “I think so,” he replies. “Can I try?”
I nod enthusiastically, curious to know what he’ll do next.
He leans over and lays a soft kiss on the apple of my cheek, then I hear him gulp loudly. “You smell…real good,” he whispers.
I reach up to touch his face, wiping a small grease smudge from his temple. “So do you,” I reply, unable to get my body to stop trembling.
I shouldn’t be this nervous. This is certainly not the first time I’ve ever kissed a man. But it's probably the first time Walker has kissed a woman. Or maybe I shouldn’t assume that.
“Have you ever kissed a woman?” I ask, a violent tremor traveling through me as his hand lands on my bare midriff.
He shakes his head as his fingertips whisper over my skin. “You’re so warm,” he says, his voice full of wonder as his hand moves to my ribcage, “and soft.”
A man of few words, but they were all the right ones.
“Can I kiss you?” I practically beg him as I gently place both hands on his face and nudge it upward, so he’s looking me in the eye again.
His gaze falls to my lips now, and he smiles. “I’d like that.”
A nervous giggle bubbles up in my throat, and I suppress it. But before I can gather my senses together, Walker takes the initiative and presses his lips to mine. A soft moan escapes my throat as I open my mouth. I slowly trace the tip of my tongue along the crease of his mouth, and he laughs.
Then, he licks his lips and smiles. “You taste pretty good, too.”
I swallow hard as I try not to imagine him tasting other parts of me. I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I have to go slow with Walker.
