PART TEN

IN A TRAIN

There has been a light snow.
Dark car tracks move in out of the darkness.
I stare at the train window marked with soft dust.
I have awakened at Missoula Montana utterly happy.

By Robert Bly

Liz combed out the tangles in her wet hair, padding softly through the semi-darkness of her living room. While she’d showered, she’d left Michael resting on her sofa by the fire, pensive and quiet. They’d nestled close together on the floor for several hours, she just stroking his hair, soothing him, until finally he’d settled his head in her lap sleepily. A hush had fallen over them, a sacred closeness--though something pivotal had changed between them permanently.

When Michael’s eyes had grown heavy and he’d seemed ready to drift off, she’d pulled a pillow and blanket out of the hall closet, and suggested that he sleep on her sofa, since neither of them wanted to part from the other. It was as if they needed to be physically near tonight, as if that proximity provided strength—then again, that was the way it had been between them for ten years now.

As Liz stepped into the living room, she was greeted by his peaceful snoring, rhythmic and even as it filled the silent room. He slept soundly on his side in front of the dying fire, and Liz tiptoed cautiously past him toward her computer, determined not to wake him. He needed the rest, but even more than that, she could no longer restrain herself from checking David Peyton’s two unopened emails. And she didn’t want to hurt Michael any more than she already had tonight.

The hardwood floor was cool beneath her bare feet, as she settled at her computer, her pulse instantly racing as she logged online. A quiet thrill raced down her spine as she began to read.


Beautiful Liz,
So it seems I must paint something by tomorrow night…something that will say far more than I ever could. When we meet, you’ll find that words don’t come very easily to me--unfortunately, I can thank the injuries to my jaw on that count.

In fact, I fear you’ll find it much easier to understand my paintings and e-mails than my broken sentences. But perhaps here in the midst of my paintings and books and countless bits of things, you’ll hear my heart. It seems you’ve already been doing that from the very beginning, doesn’t it?

Besides, I’m tired of staring at this November issue of Santa Fe Trend . Although it truly is a beautiful picture of you, Ms. Parker, I have no doubt it will pale in comparison to the real thing.

Yours, David

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling where she’d unconsciously gathered them against her chest . My paintings and books and countless bits of things.

The image invoked something deeply personal, something surprisingly romantic and intimate. Perhaps it was the notion of David Peyton’s world, such a palpable and real thing, that she would enter within a matter of hours. And that he would then cease to exist only in her fantasies, and instead, come to life on her own canvas. Her eyes drifted shut a moment, as she imagined his graceful hands, the way they’d looked in Windows of the Soul. And they were touching her…roaming over her body, through her hair, stroking her breasts. He was caressing her as a lover would, undeniable and gentle.

She gasped a bit, arching slightly into her chair and it was almost as if she could feel his mouth graze her cheek, as she imagined his hands threading through her hair. David, sweet David, she thought. How is it you’ve woven such a spell over me like this?

And she swore she heard him answer, a quiet, unknowable voice. I am the morning sun, and your heart the frozen earth. Open your eyes, my Liz…

She did open her eyes then, sighing dreamily as she stared at his poetic words again. Finally, she clicked on his second note, and immediately felt a sharp pang of guilt when she glimpsed directions to his home. She saved the note, and began composing a careful reply to his first letter.

David,

You express yourself perfectly with your art. Every lift of your brush, every color, every shimmer of light. Words are highly overrated anyway, don’t you think? They can reveal so much, and yet often not at all what we hope. Then again, I’ve seen quite a lot of you in these spare emails of yours. How was it I knew you were quiet???

Apparently, somehow, that notion suits you very well. I can’t wait until tomorrow night!

Yours, L.

Yours, she suddenly thought, noticing that she’d slipped into his hallmark phrase. From the very beginning, David had signed every letter with that word, and suddenly it seemed as if all along, from the very first e-mail, he’d been promising something of himself to her. Had been declaring, whispering in her ear, that he would ultimately belong exclusively to her.


****


She was walking through downtown Santa Fe in the middle of the night, alone through freshly fallen snow, deep and silent. Cascading flakes settled on her lashes, and she brushed at them, needing to see—determined to follow the path ahead of her.

Tracks led the way, clear imprints in the otherwise pristine snow. And even in the bright darkness, she spied the faintest trail of blood, winding through the darkness ahead.

Someone had been murdered here, she was sure of it. And she shivered, drawing her coat closer around her shoulders, following the trickle of red against white through the silent town.

"Someone died here," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder fearfully, as she quickened her pace. Then why was she so certain that it was safe to be here, she wondered.

The trail of blood led up a walk, straight to a small bungalow, a familiar one. She paused, gazing up at the porch. Not here, a voice keened like the wind. Not here.

She hesitated, feeling conflicted, unsure, and that’s when she spotted him. Further up the blanketed sidewalk stood Max, hands in the coat of his leather jacket, as if he’d been waiting for her all along. His dark hair was dusted with snow, and he stood still as a marble statue.

She glanced again up to the darkened porch of the bungalow, then back at him, as he waved her closer.

"Liz," he whispered, beckoning her with his hand.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice edged with irritation, as she approached him.

"Some way to greet your soul mate," he laughed, opening his arms wide to her.

"Max, this isn’t funny," she complained, allowing him to fold her close against his chest. "You’ve got to stop doing this to me."

"Doing what?" he teased gently, kissing the top of her head. It was such a familiar feeling, as if he’d cradled her close within his arms only yesterday.

"Just…showing up all over the place."

"In your dreams," he clarified, as if there were a world of difference.

"So what?" she cried, pulling back to look into his eyes. "You’re dead, and yet you’re everywhere."

"I’m dead?" he laughed uncertainly.

"Max, you’re the one who keeps telling me to let go, to move on, to…God! You’re so frustrating!" she stomped.

He cupped her face within his palms, suddenly very serious. "I love you so much, Liz," he whispered, drawing her lips up to his own. "That’s never stopped, no matter where I’ve been."

"Stop it," she said, pressing her eyes shut, as their lips grazed softly together. Somehow she’d not expected his kiss to feel so warm, so utterly alive.

"Why’s it so hard to hear?"

"Because you’ve left me alone, all this time."

"No, Liz," he murmured, kissing her softly again. "Never left you alone. Never."

"I’m alone now."

"Liz, you just have to live," he urged gently, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"I’m trying," she said, her voice breaking on the words. "But it’s so hard without you."

"Open your heart, Liz." The words were familiar, yet not quite right.

Open your heart…open your heart.

"You can love him," he whispered fiercely, stepping away from her as he glanced up at the bungalow meaningfully. "Just open your heart."

****

Liz clutched Max’s leather jacket within her hands, just drinking in his scent, desperate for any last bit of him. She closed her eyes and breathed… in and out, in and out, the rhythm of sleep. The rhythm of wakeful dreams.

The years spread ahead, then dissolved like a mist until she lay in her old bedroom, the one above the Crashdown.

Max had just left for Antar days before, and every one of her emotions was raw. She could only cloak herself in slumber, and wish that he’d taken her with him--that he hadn’t slept with Tess or fathered her child.

She could only bury the restless hopes within her dreams, and pray that reality would cease.

So many bits of their lives had been arranged like mislaid tessarae in a mosaic. She ached to gather the tiny shards into her palm, and lay the tiles out correctly, forming a new picture. One where Max had stayed on Earth, where he’d made love to her that night, instead of Tess. One where even at a mere seventeen, his small baby would have been growing within her own womb, not Tess’s.

Yet her regrets were mere wisps of smoke, ethereal as misremembered dreams in the night. As pointless, she realized as her eyes fluttered open.

And there he was, standing in her moonlit bedroom, gazing down at her with those mesmerizing, golden eyes, as if he’d never left her for a moment. As if nothing had ever wedged between them, and they were only two soul mates, meeting for a clandestine tryst.

"Liz," he whispered, settling on the edge of her bed. "You’ve got to get up now."
He began slowly easing the blankets back, even though her fingers instinctively curled around the edges.

"I can’t," she complained, as their eyes locked in the darkness.

"If you don’t, Liz, it will be too late," he disagreed, prying her fingers loose from the quilt. "Come on," he urged, taking her by the hand. "Follow me."

Liz allowed him to tug on her hand, slowly leading her out of the bed, even though she still clutched his leather jacket within her hand. His gaze fell on it momentarily, and a sweet smile spread across his features. "You still have that?" he asked in surprise.

"It’s all I had left of you," she responded archly, even though her heart thundered at his sudden nearness. "That and your letter."

"I didn’t want to leave you," he explained, leading her toward the open window. "God, it killed me, Liz. But I had to protect you from Tess, no matter the cost." The curtain fluttered in the breeze, and beyond she glimpsed her balcony, gilded in moonlight.

"I know, Max," she answered, as he paused at the window, gathering her hands within his own. She stared up into his familiar eyes, always so expressive and lovely. Even now, after everything, she didn’t want to hurt him. But there was something she had to say. "But no one made you sleep with her."

He stared at her a long moment, his expression shifting visibly, even in the near-darkness of her room. "Is that what you believe, still? That I slept with her?" He sounded almost hurt, disbelieving that she’d still begrudge his betrayal.

"Max," she began quietly, shaking her head. "You can’t change that fact, that she was the one you chose."

"She chose me. But I chose you." His answer was final, definitive. "I only ever chose you."

He turned to climb through the window, and it surprised her that nothing about his presence was ephemeral or ghostly. It was as if he were truly with her, as he slipped through the opening onto her balcony, his legs disappearing as he emerged on the other side of the casement. She tried breathing as she reached up toward him, but it suddenly felt strangely difficult, as her chest labored hard, reaching deeper for more air.

"Come on, Liz," he encouraged gently, extending his hand to her. "Just breathe and follow me."

And then she was with him; there on the balcony as if none of the intervening years had elapsed. They were just seventeen, two kids defying her parents at midnight, as he settled on her lounge chair, patting the place between his legs so that she could nestle there against him.

Liz leaned back within his arms, and he folded her close against his chest. She could feel his heart, pounding softly against her back, even as he began stroking her hair in familiar intimacy. Her head fit neatly beneath his chin, and they snuggled silently like that for what felt an eternity, just staring up at the twinkling blanket of stars overhead.

"This was always the best part about Earth," he reflected, and for a moment, she thought he meant holding her. "All these stars. You don’t appreciate them until they’re gone."

"It isn’t this way on Antar?" she asked, interested despite the way his words caused her heart to ache.

"Different." His voice assumed a strangely distant tone. "Beautiful, but different than this."

"Do you miss it? Antar, I mean."

"I’ve never stopped missing you, not for one moment," he answered, and then his voice assumed a bitter tone. "And Earth is my only home."

"I’ve missed you so much, Max," she confessed, feeling tears sting her eyes, as the words came rushing out. "I wanted to be angry, wanted to hate you, but…"

"You couldn’t because of our connection."

She nodded silently, blinking back the tears. He smoothed her hair beneath his fingers, nestling her even closer between his legs with his other hand. "It never died, Liz…our bond. You do know that?" She nodded again, as the tears began coursing her cheeks.

"I wanted to believe it had."

"But you still felt me, always." His voice was quiet, comforting, yet the tears only welled up even more painfully.

"You keep telling me to let go, but you keep holding on inside my heart, Max." She buried her face in her hands, feeling her jaw tighten with indescribable pain. "How can I let go when you’re doing this to me?"

He sighed softly, his breath fanning the top of her head. "The way to move on, Liz, is for you to let go."

"But you’re still in here," she cried, clutching her chest. "Just like this, like it was yesterday."

"But you’re falling in love, Liz," he disagreed gently, covering her hand with his own.

"No." She shook her head forcefully. "No, I’m not."

"You are, Liz. You’re falling in love with David Peyton, and that’s okay. It’s the most important thing."

For a moment she fell silent, aware of how their chests rose in synchronous union, how their breaths had assumed an even cadence. A soft, rhythmic sound…in and out…in and out…the rhythm of remembrance.

"You’re right," she whispered finally, staring up at the midnight sky as her heart spoke with sudden clarity. "I am falling in love with him. I’ve never even met him, but it’s happening."

She felt Max nod, as he pressed his lips against the top of her head again. "I want that for you, Liz."

"But that makes no sense," she cried, as he splayed his palm against her ribs, drawing her even closer, so that she felt the way his chest thundered against her back.

"Your heart already understands, Liz," he explained quietly. "Your mind just has to figure it out."

And then, as if being called from the furthest reaches of a dark forest, she came suddenly awake.

4:34 a.m.