Hopefully once we’re home and she’s fed I can at least get laid. If I said her feisty pushiness didn’t turn me on, my jeans would go up in flames.
As I strap in, I marvel for a second at the fact my looking ahead just an hour from now is overshadowing my dread of what we need to drive by to get there.
Trying to sit back and relax, I take hold of Molly’s hand again once she has us on the straightaway. Though I’m feeling surprisingly at ease, I probably shouldn’t take that for granted and stay somewhat self aware and in control of myself.
The sun still hasn’t broken over the mountains but there’s enough light to see when we’re coming back up on that paramount intersection and something brews inside of me.
Some kind of feeling deep inside has materialized and rapidly growing; something urgent and intuitive and before I even know what I’m doing, I speak out.
“Stop.” The word comes out not as an order but a request and Molly immediately picks up on it. Hell, she’s likely been at-the-ready all along.
She lets go of my hand to bring the truck coasting over onto the shoulder, just before the intersection and puts it in park.
I sit, for just a moment and she cuts the engine. I grip the door’s sidebar tightly and brace myself for the feelings coming on. Against my better hopes and willpower, I feel my breathing pick up as I look around at my surroundings: the split in the road. The tall grass lining the side of the dirt and gravel with an occasional cattail interspersed. The split rail fence that lines the right side of the road. And on my left, the tall and majestic oak tree, its middle still dented from fifteen years ago. All of it bathed in the grey blue of predawn.
“We don’t have to get out,” my wife offers, her voice sweet and gentle in a tone that only she can achieve.And she’s back. I focus on getting my breathing at bay and then roll my head in her direction and offer her a faint smile, appreciative of what she’s trying to do. “There’s no deadline, baby,” she adds.
“You got over your thunderstorms,” I point out.
“It’s not a competition,” she shakes her head. “That has taken a lot of time and therapy,” she reminds me pointedly. “And I didn’t get over them. They just don’t defeat me like they did before. And besides, I have you, now. You make them better.”
“And you’re here with me,” I observe out loud.
The side of her mouth quirks, but she takes a big sigh, looking around. “Seriously Wolf, this was a huge step. It’d be more than fine to just go home from here.”
I sit back in the seat and let a couple breaths pass through my system, contemplating doing just that. The cold rock in my chest is growing by the minute, applying pressure to my insides I don’t like. But then I contemplate something else.
I’m here.
What happens next is a lot like jumping off a cliff. I take a deep breath and push open the truck door.
My brain notes the sound of Molly’s door opening as my boots hit the dirt. I hear her footsteps shuffle around the front of the truck but stop before she gets too close to me; allowing me the space I need as I make a conscious effort to keep my mind with my body.
I’m hit with several waves; one right after the other. They make my head feel too light and like my stomach’s being dropped off a cliff but I grip tightly to the truck door to stay in orbit. I force myself to look straight ahead at basically nothing. I don’t think I’ll be able to look at the trunk of the tree where I know that even though it’s been over a decade, there still bears a wound. I put mental blinders on my peripheral vision and try to take in the more benign views of the site.
It’s just a dirt road intersection. One where something terrible once happened.
And then it happens. The sun breaks. A warm yellow bleeds into the blue and something about it seems to draw me and Molly to take a couple steps closer to each other. And somehowin this moment, with the morning sun filtering through the leaves, the mist rising off the ground like magic, and the drops of dew twinkling on the feathery blades of grass… it doesn’t seem harmless necessarily, but as if the scene is blanketed in some kind of soothing balm.
I look over to my wife, who’s doing her own taking in of the surroundings as she pulls her Owens Wildlife Wardens fleece tightly around her. The shimmering specs of light that the leaves let in dance in her hazel eyes as she marvels up at the tangle of boughs that stretch overhead. Her black lashes flutter as she blinks against the bright lights and my heart does a dramatic squeeze and release at the sight of her.
I notice a rogue leaf laying in the grass. It’s too soon for fall, and it’s undamaged. My guess is it got knocked off a branch by a squirrel, but it doesn’t matter as I pick it up and take in its beautifully intricate webbing and how the light shines through it.
Molly shuffles over to me, burrowing into my torso as if she’s cold and she’s the one who wants to be comforted. It’s perfect. She’s giving me all the comfort of her soft frame against mine, easing the sting of where we are by giving me comfort and purpose. Wrapping my arms around her shoulders, I rest my chin on her head and continue to examine the leaf, twisting it by the stem between my thumb and forefinger.
I got out of the truck.
I’m standing here.
Why not just walk over and set this down at the tree?
“I’m checking in, Wolf,” Molly’s breath is warm on my chest; the prodding in her tone gentle.
“I’m good, baby,” I assure, breathing the words into her hair and drawing her in a little tighter. “I’m just fine, it’s just… I can’t go over there. I don’t think I’m ready today…” my mouth keeps moving but no more words come out as I’m at a loss for how toexplain how I feel. Like I’ve accomplished more than I thought possible in one morning, yet can’t go just a little bit further. It’s a strange mixture of wanting to be proud of myself and battling the disappointment that’s trying to take over. But Molly nods against my chest before pulling back. Tentatively, she reaches out for the perfect and green deciduous leaf in my finger tips, and I readily hand it over. Her eyes dart briefly over in the direction I won’t look and then back to me. Her dark brows are raised, her eyes alight with what looks like encouragement, and I give her a nod, hoping my eyes can show her the gratitude in my heart.
It’s crazy how I’ve learned to communicate with words over these last two years, at least when they are necessary, and she’s learned to communicate without them when they’re not.
I let out a despondent sigh as her boots scrape on the dirt, making their way over to the tree to place down my tribute. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I gaze down at the dirt and gravel of the road, waiting as she pays my respects but the next breeze carries with it a sudden yelp from my wife. It’s light and breathy and comes accompanied by an abrupt skid on the ground.
