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I lean in, and he goes perfectly still. I swear he doesn’t even take a breath. My heart knocks against my ribs. Instead of touching him like I want to do—as if I could cast a safety spell or assure myself that he’s going to remain whole and put together with nothing broken or wrecked—I finger the rope. It seems sturdy. Like it will hold his weight and not snap in half when it’s his life on the line.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay,” he repeats, and his voice is deeper than I’ve ever heard it. We’re frozen for a second, standing so close to each other, neither of us moving. My fingers are still on the rope.
With a shaky breath, I lower my arm and step back. “I’ll hold the ladder for you whenever you’re ready.”
He’s ready in a few seconds. I watch him go up, but there’s no admiring his body today. I’m too afraid to even notice what a great vantage point I have from the bottom of the ladder. I don’t want to have a great vantage point. I just want this to be over and Thaddius to be back safe on the ground.
The ladder shakes with his every step, but then soon, the weight is gone completely, and that’s even more terrifying. With a gasp, I curse myself as I realize I forgot the blanket in the house. “I forgot the quilt inside!”
“It’s okay,” he says. “Go run and get it. I’ll wait.”
I hope he’s serious. “Tie yourself onto that branch. If you fall from there, it’s still a good twenty feet down.”
“Alright. I’ll do that while you get the quilt.”
At least he doesn’t argue with me. I race back to the house. It doesn’t matter that my feet are burning or that I’m sweating in the T-shirt. None of my discomforts matter at this moment.
Even after I’m back at the bottom of the tree with the quilt draped over my arm, it takes me a few minutes to realize that it’s not just about not wanting to see something gruesome happen. I’m not a trainwreck kind of person, so I’d definitely look away. It’s that I don’t want to seeThaddiusget hurt. I want him to be safe and well. If I could do something to protect him, I would. And if I could save that chicken myself so he didn’t have to put his life in danger, I would too. I think this is how people feel when they care about someone. The burn in my chest isn’t just the friendly kind of care either.
Is it possible that physical attraction can change so quickly into something else? Maybe. Maybe not. But I feel our situation isn’t like other people’s. We’ve lived through years since my car broke down, not days.
As the leaves twitch and crunch, I get it together enough to look up. I don’t want to watch, but I have to. Thaddius goes up a few branches, climbing with confidence. The tree is huge and old, the very same one we had that reluctant picnic under and where I tried sheep cheese for the first time. I want to yell up at him to be careful, but that would be distracting and redundant. All I can do is sweat it out here on the ground and watch every single movement like the force of my eyes can defy gravity and keep him up there in those branches.
At least he’s careful. He stops every so often and reties the rope. Then unties the other. Just like he said that he would.
Even if I don’t like how high he’s getting, how he goes from being man-sized to more like ant-sized, I keep quiet. I chew the inside of my cheek and bite on my lip until I taste copper and realize I need to stop. After that, I grind my nails into the palm of my hand and focus on the bite to keep from saying anything.
I have a long list of stupid questions, and none of them are helpful. Anything I do at this point will just be a distraction. I hate this helpless feeling.
“Am I heading in the right direction?” Thaddius finally calls down to me.
I need to step back and look up, way up, to see the white dot near the top. “Yes. Still the right direction.” The chicken hasn’t moved. It’s just sitting there, probably frozen in terror. Or maybe it’s enjoying itself. Maybe this is the adventure of a lifetime. How does a chicken even ascend to those heights? I hope this isn’t a repeat experience.
As I watch, Thaddius gets closer and closer, and I move without him telling me to, standing where I think the chicken would land if it fell. I hope Thaddius hasn’t run out of rope. A few agonizing minutes later, his faint shout of triumph fills me with joy and dread.
“Got her! It’s Bokmaster. I was wrong on both counts.”
I’m so happy he’s got the chicken, but I don’t know if either of us thought about how difficult it would be to get down the tree like that. It was probably hard going up, but coming down is always worse, and Thaddius won’t have both hands free.
“How are you going to climb down?” I yell up, unable to help myself.
“I brought a burlap feed bag from the barn. I’m going to put her inside and loop it around my neck. She’s not going to like it, but it will keep both of us safe.”
I finally let out my breath. He thought of this. He thought of everything. He was prepared where I wasn’t, and everything was going to befine.
I watch as, branch by branch and rope by rope, Thaddius makes his way down. I’m not sure what it means when he’s collecting the rope as he goes because that doesn’t seem to be safe, but at the same time, maybe he just reaches up and unties it. I can’t actually see because the leaves are so dense.
I drop the quilt and hold the ladder firmly as soon as he looks like he’s going to reach it. I almost let out a cry of joy at the first jarring shake of metal in my hands, and each step sends shockwaves through my palms, except they’re the most welcome kind.
I let Thaddius have about two point four seconds on the ground to untie the burlap sack and let out the disgruntled Bokmaster, who shakes her feathers at him and goes racing off across the yard in the opposite direction of the tree, before I rush forward and throw my arms around his neck.
He’s sweaty with the effort of the climb, but his warm body is safe and alive. His hard muscles are knitted together just the way they should be, and his bones are all in place, intact. Nothing is broken. Nothing is out of place. The disaster that could have happened didn’t happen, thankfully. But adrenaline is still pumping through my bloodstream. My heart is still racing fast, and my palms are sweaty when I clasp them behind Thaddius’ neck.
His arms slowly, mechanically, close around me. He likely wasn’t expecting this. But just like the times before, he warms up, thawing out the ice to become a living being under the frigid, steel surface. Most living beings want to be held. I think compassion, kindness, warmth, and even love are something that should be the cornerstone of every life. Thaddius just hasn’t had enough of it. His family loves him, and he probably has friends. But the woman who was supposed to treasure and protect him and take responsibility for him…well, she didn’t ever want to build a life with him, and that’s been the sum of his experiences. Mine hasn’t been great either, but right here, we’re more than our past. We’re more than our family’s expectations and rigid instructions for the future.
I finally force myself to step away. I have to physically halt myself from kissing him. I’m still not sure what exactly happened yesterday, though I think we would have been fine if we hadn’t been kind of walked in on. There was no getting the groove back after that. We still haven’t fallen into it. I don’t know if we ever will again, but it can’t be forced.
