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He doesn’t ask and I don’t tell.
I ask and he doesn’t tell the whole truth.
We can’t live like this, but we can suffer in silence until it kills us.
Well, mostly silence. The quiet hum of the engine keeps us company for a moment until he speaks.
“You can’t hold back from me forever.”
His words are heard, but not answered. Not for another two blocks.
“And you can’t keep lying to me and keeping secrets,” I finally counter, although my voice isn’t as strong. It never comes out as strong as his, but it doesn’t need to. My words are just as right as his are, and we both know it.
He’s reticent again until we drive out of Crescent Hills, away from where our past lies restlessly. I don’t understand why we didn’t stop or where we’re going.
He said we were going home. And Crescent Hills is the only home I’ve ever known, but we’ve driven out of it.
It’s not until we pull into a long gravel driveway, nearly fifteen minutes away from the world I once knew, that I give him a questioning gaze laced with worry.
“I thought here would be better,” he tells me and with his words, massive iron gates part, creating a large opening for us to enter.
They’re beautiful and behind the gates is a grand estate, but it’s far too much and there’s no way in hell I want to live like that. In a massive house with more rooms than I would ever fill.
“We could never afford something like this.” Anxiety consumes me, wondering what the hell he did, who he stole from, or if he sold his soul to the devil until he speaks.
“Not this one,” he tells me when he catches my gaze. “That one’s not ours.” The relief is only slight.
“None of these are ours,” I remind him. “Our apartment is on the other side of the country. I said I’d come for a week, but none of these are ours unless we decide together.” I stress the last word, together, waiting for him to look me in the eyes. I can hear the gravel lift up under the tires just as easily as I can hear the pounding of my chest. Even if it still feels like a faint tick. That damn tick is loud.
“I know,” he finally agrees with me, rounding the large white stone home and driving past it, down into a tree line for a slow minute and then another. The trees are a mix of burnt auburn and evergreen. And the evening light casts shadows and sprays of light on the gravel road and barren dirt path.
We have to drive deep into the winter forest before I see a much smaller house. I almost want to call it a cottage, but it’s too contemporary. I have to lean forward in my seat to get a better look as he parks the car, although he keeps it running.
The word “motherfucker” nearly leaves me under my breath. If I could pick a dream house, it would be this one. It’s set back deep under a canopy of mature trees, but with an opening for sunshine. There’s a wraparound porch and so many windows with pale blue shutters.
“This isn’t going to be like the last time, is it?” I ask him and he doesn’t answer immediately. “You’re not going to buy this house and wait for me to cave, are you?” I push him. Suddenly, that tick is becoming more of a slam with his ever-passing silence.
“Do you like it?” he asks me and I close my eyes, refusing to believe he did it again.
“You didn’t,” I whisper, praying he really didn’t.
“I bought it,” he tells me, letting the words slip out as if they don’t matter. Just like the last time he decided to have a house built here.
“Motherfucker,” I mutter, finally speaking the profanity aloud.
“I’ll sell it if you don’t love it, Chlo. We can up and leave and sell it no problem,” he’s quick to tell me, but that’s not the point.
“You can’t keep doing this shit!”
“Keep? It’s only here, only about finding a place to stay,” he argues back, letting his voice rise.
“Yes! Only here, the place I told you I never wanted to see again,” I retort, and my voice cracks with outrage. “Do I have to remind you what happened to the last place? Good things don’t happen here, and you should have taken that as an omen!”
The sky darkens at my words, the sun setting further into the trees, and I don’t like it.
“This isn’t okay,” I tell him in the calmest voice I can manage. I focus on taking one deep breath and then another.
“Don’t get worked up. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“How could you have thought this wouldn’t upset me?” I bite back. And then snidely add, “Oh, that’s right, because you don’t listen to me. Because I say words that don’t mean anything.”
