Page 87 of High Water

“But…” I whisper, my body so close to hers that if she breathes wrong, she’ll be pressed against me.

“The way you talk, how you confess so easily to wanting things, and those letters you wrote… It feels almost like it used to. The adrenaline rush I got from you climbing through the window into my room or sneaking out to the bunkhouse keeps coming back. It feels like I’m twenty again with you, and I just want to chase that feeling.” She scrubs another dish like it’s personally offended her.

“And that’s a problem?”

“It’s not what marriage is like, a serious partnership that’s more than just sex. It’s hard conversations and difficult decisions. Sex is good. It’s amazing, and it can make the hard times a little easier, but it’s more than that, and we’ve never had to go through those kinds of trials. I don’t want to get caught up in the fantasy and get distracted.”

“I know this marriage was way too soon for you. In a different set of circumstances, I would have slow-walked this at a snail’s pace to make sure you had all the time you could want and need. I’m going to keep doing my best to give you that space now. But that feeling—I feel it too. And it’s real to me. Just as real as the hard stuff. It’s what kept me going through the last fifteen years in the worst moments, hoping someday I could feel it again, doing my best to keep it alive in my head. Reminding myself that it exists, even if it’s been a long time since I felt it last. It’s only a fantasy in so much as I can’t believe it’s standing in front of me again.” I confess far more than I should but I need her to know.

“You have to stop that.” She whirls around, her face inches from mine, looking up at me with a scowl on her face.

“What?”

“Saying and doing all the right things. Like you’re perfect. I don’t want perfect. I’m not perfect, and I can’t live up to perfect. This marriage won’t survive it. You’ve got to have something in there that has you worried or hating some part of this. I want something messy and fucked up. I want to know you’re not just perfectly content with everything. That you’re worried or bothered or scared. Something! Tell me something that doesn’t sound like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“You want something messy?”

“Yes.”

“I hate that he had you and my daughter. I’m grateful he took care of both of you. Don’t get me wrong there. I’m glad you had someone to hold your hand through all the hard things when I was gone. But I hate that it wasn’t me. I hate that he saw Fallon grow up, that he was there for all those little moments I wasn’t. I hate all those years you were in his bed. I hate that I know you have hundreds and hundreds of memories of him, ones where he touched you and kissed you and had thousands of chances to see you smile, while I’m worried every day that it might be my last. Because I’m scared as hell you’re gonna send me packing when you realize I was someone you only liked when you were too young to know better.”

“I’m not going to send you packing. Fallon needs you. This family needs you.”

“And you don’t?”

She clicks her tongue against her cheek.

“The way I do already is what has me spinning, Bishop. That and how much you’ve built me up in your memories. I can’t live up to that woman. She’s not real. I’m not all those things you think I am.”

“No. You’re better because you’re real. You laugh. You scold me. You tease me. I don’t want the memories back, Jones. They’ve served their purpose. I just want to make new ones with the woman in front of me now. I want the same chance he had. All those years. All that time with you. I’m not too proud to admit I’m jealous of it.”

“He hated the idea of you, too, if it helps.” She scrubs another dish and puts it in the rack.

I smirk at him still having to face my ghost. There’s gratitude in knowing he didn’t have it as picture-perfect as I imagined he had when I think back to the last time I saw him.

“I didn’t exactly hold back that night we ran into him when you were broken up. Figure he might think he owes me a swing or two. It might be fair to let him get one in. All things considered now.”

“What do you mean?” She glances back at me.

“He found me later that night at the party. After he watched us disappear into the bathroom. Told me I was gonna lose you the second he apologized and proposed, so I’d better enjoy it while it lasts.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him he might be right, but I could live with that. Especially knowing there’d be nights you’d be thinking of me when he touched you. Then I asked how he was going to live with knowing I’d had every inch of you first.”

“Bishop.” She looks at me like I’ve shocked her.

I shrug, trying not to smile too hard at the memory of how good it’d felt letting him know it.

“You think he’ll remember I said that at the next family reunion?” I contemplate the thought of an occasion like that. I imagine we’ll eventually bump into one another again. Fallon’s birthday or graduation, if nothing else. If he loves her as much as they claim, he’d better still show up for her.

“I think you better not say something like that again. Hopefully he’s forgotten,” she warns, but I don’t miss the flicker of amusement behind her eyes.

“Oh, I won’t have to say anything to remind him. Not with the way you look at me.”

She flicks the dish towel at me in admonishment, but her tumbling roll of laughter echoes through the camper.

“Let’s go to bed. We need sleep for an early day tomorrow.” She nods toward the back.