understand me at all if that is what you believed.”
I bowed my head. “I left Windy Point thinking I did not understand anyone,” I said. “I had been wrong about so many things. I so easily could have been wrong about you.”
He lifted his hands to lay them on my shoulders. I felt the heat of his skin through my thin shirt; I felt the tension of his body in the convulsive grip of his fingers. “I was angry when you went to Raphael’s bed,” he admitted. “I was devastated when you disappeared. I have spent the last eighteen years trying to convince myself it would be better if I never saw you again. But nothing has ever made me so sad as learning that all this time, you have believed me capable of being so cruel.”
I lifted my own hands to place them on either side of his face. Along his jaws, I felt the faintest edge of roughness from his whiskers, though his cheeks were smooth as a baby’s. “I deserve your anger,” I said. “But don’t waste your time being sad for me. I don’t deserve your compassion.”
“I can’t help it,” he said, stubborn and sincere as always. His arms drew me slowly against his body. “I have never been able to bear the idea that you might be unhappy. I can’t bear the idea that anything I might have done could have given you a moment’s pain.”
“You never loved my sister,” I said. “Just hearing those words washes all the pain away.”
His arms gathered me against his body; his wings wrapped around us both, enfolding us in a cocoon of saturated white. I rested my head against his chest and heard the thunderous hammering of his heart. My arms went around his back, my palms flat against his warm skin, and I felt feathers brush my hands with a whispering touch.
Sweet Jovah singing, if I could stand—just like this—for the rest of my life, I would be unutterably happy.
“I do not know,” he said, and I heard his voice both above me and beneath me, rumbling against my ear, “that it will be possible for me to let you go again.”
I laughed shakily and clung more tightly. “Oh, it is very exciting to meet with an old lover again, and all sorts of crazy feelings are stirred up,” I said in a teasing way. “But then you start to remember her annoying habits—the way she gobbles her food or how she snorts when she laughs—and it turns out you didn’t really miss her all that much. In fact, you start wishing she would go away again very soon.”
He pulled back just enough to frown down at me. “What I remember now is that you would never let me be serious.”
I stretched up enough to give him a quick kiss on the mouth. Just to get it over with—that first kiss after a long estrangement, which can otherwise be so important and so disappointing. “What I remember is that you were always much too serious for your own good.”
“But I mean what I say,” he said. “I do not want to fly out of Laban and fly out of your life.”
There was a time I would have said, “Then take me with you to Monteverde!” and blissfully cut every other tie I had formed. I wouldn’t have minded if I harmed anyone I left behind; I wouldn’t have cared if my headlong action resulted in me being left alone and adrift when my angel protector grew tired of me. I never used to think about consequences or other people’s feelings. Back then, I scarcely thought at all.
“I have never been able to imagine a time that you would be back in my life, even temporarily,” I said quietly. “You have no idea how thrilled and hopeful I am that such a thing might occur. But I must behave rationally and I must think of others besides myself. I cannot abandon Sheba, and I do not want to abandon the farm. And so much time has passed! We may find that the emotions we feel this hour cannot be sustained for another year or even another day. Can we proceed slowly to figure out what we should do next?”
Now he was the one to plant a swift kiss on my mouth. “ Cautious —it is not a word I
I bowed my head. “I left Windy Point thinking I did not understand anyone,” I said. “I had been wrong about so many things. I so easily could have been wrong about you.”
He lifted his hands to lay them on my shoulders. I felt the heat of his skin through my thin shirt; I felt the tension of his body in the convulsive grip of his fingers. “I was angry when you went to Raphael’s bed,” he admitted. “I was devastated when you disappeared. I have spent the last eighteen years trying to convince myself it would be better if I never saw you again. But nothing has ever made me so sad as learning that all this time, you have believed me capable of being so cruel.”
I lifted my own hands to place them on either side of his face. Along his jaws, I felt the faintest edge of roughness from his whiskers, though his cheeks were smooth as a baby’s. “I deserve your anger,” I said. “But don’t waste your time being sad for me. I don’t deserve your compassion.”
“I can’t help it,” he said, stubborn and sincere as always. His arms drew me slowly against his body. “I have never been able to bear the idea that you might be unhappy. I can’t bear the idea that anything I might have done could have given you a moment’s pain.”
“You never loved my sister,” I said. “Just hearing those words washes all the pain away.”
His arms gathered me against his body; his wings wrapped around us both, enfolding us in a cocoon of saturated white. I rested my head against his chest and heard the thunderous hammering of his heart. My arms went around his back, my palms flat against his warm skin, and I felt feathers brush my hands with a whispering touch.
Sweet Jovah singing, if I could stand—just like this—for the rest of my life, I would be unutterably happy.
“I do not know,” he said, and I heard his voice both above me and beneath me, rumbling against my ear, “that it will be possible for me to let you go again.”
I laughed shakily and clung more tightly. “Oh, it is very exciting to meet with an old lover again, and all sorts of crazy feelings are stirred up,” I said in a teasing way. “But then you start to remember her annoying habits—the way she gobbles her food or how she snorts when she laughs—and it turns out you didn’t really miss her all that much. In fact, you start wishing she would go away again very soon.”
He pulled back just enough to frown down at me. “What I remember now is that you would never let me be serious.”
I stretched up enough to give him a quick kiss on the mouth. Just to get it over with—that first kiss after a long estrangement, which can otherwise be so important and so disappointing. “What I remember is that you were always much too serious for your own good.”
“But I mean what I say,” he said. “I do not want to fly out of Laban and fly out of your life.”
There was a time I would have said, “Then take me with you to Monteverde!” and blissfully cut every other tie I had formed. I wouldn’t have minded if I harmed anyone I left behind; I wouldn’t have cared if my headlong action resulted in me being left alone and adrift when my angel protector grew tired of me. I never used to think about consequences or other people’s feelings. Back then, I scarcely thought at all.
“I have never been able to imagine a time that you would be back in my life, even temporarily,” I said quietly. “You have no idea how thrilled and hopeful I am that such a thing might occur. But I must behave rationally and I must think of others besides myself. I cannot abandon Sheba, and I do not want to abandon the farm. And so much time has passed! We may find that the emotions we feel this hour cannot be sustained for another year or even another day. Can we proceed slowly to figure out what we should do next?”
Now he was the one to plant a swift kiss on my mouth. “ Cautious —it is not a word I
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