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The bough creaks under my weight, and my stomach swoops, sitting up here. I always envisioned what this would be like. I want to smile, but I don’t.
Drawing me back, he lets me go, swinging through the breeze, and I can’t hold it in anymore. I smile, despite myself, closing my eyes and feeling my body fly through the air. I come back, and he pushes me again, this time harder. I clutch the rope, holding it tight to my body, and revel in the lightness in my head and the spin in my stomach.
He grabs the tire and twists it around, sending it and me twirling through the night as it flies away, drifting toward the house and then back to him. I laugh and smile, finally stretching my arms long and tipping my head back as the air sweeps through my hair.
It’s beautiful and wonderful, and I feel free. No wonder she loved it out here.
It’s almost enough to make me forget how hurt I was. I don’t want him to leave.
But I’m not sure he should’ve come.
The tire spins, slowing down as Kaleb stops pushing me and lets me come to rest. My stomach settles again, and the world stops turning. I stare down at the ground as he stops the tire, standing behind me.
“How did you know about the tire swing?” I ask, but I don’t expect an answer, of course.
He hands me a piece of paper, folded many times, and I take it, opening it up.
As soon as the image comes into view, I know it instantly. It’s a print-out of an article—one of many about my parents. My father pushes my mother on the swing in this very spot, the brightest smiles I’ve ever seen on their faces.
In the distance, above and barely visible, is me. No more than seven or eight, staring down at them from my window with my chin resting on my hands.
I refold the paper and hand it back to him.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I tell him just above a whisper. “You actually left Colorado.”
“It was time,” he says.
I suck in a breath, his words hitting me like truck.
What?
I slide off the tire and turn to face him not believing what I just heard. Deep but soft. Clear and strong. He spoke.
Kaleb spoke.
Walking around the tire, he steps toward me. “My home is where you are,” he says quietly.
I shake my head, and I’m not sure if I just don’t believe I’m hearing this finally, or if I can’t believe that I can’t remember why the hell I was angry in the first place. It’s like everything is washing away, and those words were all I needed to hear.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a gray paperback that looks familiar.
“I found the book.” He hands it to me.
I take it, seeing it’s The Sirens of Titan we were reading at the fishing cabin. We meant to finish when we got back home, but we’d realized we left it behind accidentally.
“After you left, I went to the cabin for a long time and started reading it from the beginning.”
I listen, loving the sound of his beautiful voice. Velvety and soothing, but his words still thick. These words are all new to him.
“Out loud,” he adds.
He practiced speaking the last six weeks by reading out loud.
I wipe the corner of my eye.
He comes in, caressing my face and catching a tear before it falls.
“Do you hear yourself better now?” he asks. “Alone?”
