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It takes a year, waiting for their reply, and I age a decade.

“Kids are good,” Annie says.

“Is there anything we should bring?” Raffe asks.

It’s that easy.

Just that fucking easy.

Caroline

Spring comes late in Iowa, but that year was an exception. The December snow gave way to a frozen January, clear and blue, everything crystalline and sparkling.

West’s eyes under that sky were all fire and ice.

His hands were cold when they moved beneath my jacket over warm skin, and I would shriek, but I loved the shock of it.

The shock of having him. Keeping him.

How that could become normal–how it could fall into a rhythm of busy days and familiar nights, but still surprise me into gratitude over and over again.

February was projects and papers, phone calls and television interviews. It was waking up early to drive to the Quad Cities for hair and makeup so I could film something for the morning news. Seeing my name in the Des Moines Register, sitting in a hotel conference room and answering questions for eight state senators, none of whom implied I was a slut.

All of whom shook my hand and thanked me for my service to the citizens of Iowa.

February was reading about nonprofits, political action groups, and campus organizations. Talking to activists. Thinking about guest speakers.

Planning for a future with no walls on any horizon.

February was Frankie making friends with a girl named Nadine and bringing her home to play once, then a second time, then as many nights as the two of them could get away with it.

It was Quinn back from Florence and me making time to see all her pictures and hear about her Italian escapades.

It was me making time for Bridget, too, to listen to how things were going with Krishna and give her advice she didn’t need because actually, it turned out, things were going pretty well.

It was the beginning of art therapy for Frankie, her nightmares easing up, my insomnia getting a little bit less intense.

February was West at the studio or out in Laurie’s shop. West talking about Raffe and Annie, West telling me what he was making, what he would try next, what he’d failed at but he had an idea, he had another idea, he had a new idea.

I gained ten pounds in February.

Then it was March, and it rained so much that the world turned brown and squelching. The snow melted away. The rug inside the front door developed a crust of mud. We had to leave our shoes on garbage bags to keep flakes of dirt from falling off us everywhere we walked.

Spring break marked a year since West left Putnam for Oregon. We gave Frankie over to the Collinses and drove to Iowa City for dinner, just the two of us. Appetizers and main courses and dessert over a flickering candle, plates passed back and forth across the table, more to talk about than we could ever say.

I laughed a lot at that dinner, because my life was so full it spilled over. West pulled me close in the truck, kissed me with the rain pounding onto the roof and the windows until I was breathless and laughing all over again.

And then there were crocuses.

April brought sunshine, the world drying out, the first questing blades of grass pushing through the earth. Rugby practices to plan. A rally to organize. Every day, some contact to be made, some reporter to talk to, some new thing to pursue.

This was how it would be. It was how we would be, always.

This full of change. This full of life.

Spilling over into words and laughter, cold hands and hot mouths, and the sound of rain drumming down.

The lawyer’s office is cold.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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