know. There’s just something...hopeful about it. Like we’re confronted with this big, menacing world, filled with so much pain and sorrow, and yet, in the end, it’s sort of impossible to quell the urge to look heavenward anyway.”
His eyes never strayed from her face as he contemplated her words. A moment later, his smile, though slow to form, provided all the affirmation she needed. “You—” He cleared his throat. “You’re just...something.” He dropped his gaze, chuckling a little to himself as he shook his head and rubbed a hand across his mouth.
Meg felt dazed by his reaction. Was that admiration in his voice, or was he making fun of her? She focused on paring away the last of the grapefruit peel, determined not to slip into another introspective stupor. “Do you have a favorite poem?” she asked without looking up, affecting a tone of detached interest.
“You know Yeats?” he asked. “‘Cloths of Heaven’?”
Her lips twitched in a grin, but knowing his eyes were still upon her, she resisted the impulse to look up. “I do.”
“Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths...” John’s voice trailed off. “I have trouble remembering the rest of it. I’ve never been good at committing these things to memory.”
Meg broke the grapefruit in half and handed one hemisphere of ripe, pink fruit to John.
“Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths,
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor—”
Here John chimed in, his memory refreshed.
“—Have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”
He smiled at Meg, and she blushed in return. Turning her head to gaze out at the quiet canyon, she slid a slice of fruit into her mouth and swiped away the juice that spurted from her lips.
“So now that you’ve graduated,” John said after a moment, “what will you do next?”
Meg’s slumped posture bespoke her disappointment at having to relay the truth. “I’m not sure yet,” she replied. “Find a job hopefully - something that will pay me to read all day, if such a thing exists.” She chuckled without humor. “It seems to be the only thing I have any real talent for.” Pursing her lips, she sighed. “Until then, I guess my only option is to go home to my parents’.” Again she bristled at the implications of her statement. She was growing weary of feeling childish.
John’s eyebrows knit together. “Don’t do that.”
She looked up, startled by the rebuke in his voice. “Do what? Go to my parents’?”
He shook his head. “Talk about yourself that way. I may have only met you a few days ago, but I can already tell you’re good at more than reading. You have this...magnetism.” He shook his head. “I’m still trying to figure out what it is exactly. I’d bet everyone you meet falls a little bit in love with you.” He didn’t look as if he was trying to flatter her. Instead, he looked at her as if she were a puzzle he’d yet to solve.
Meg breathed an incredulous laugh. “Hardly—”
She started to protest, but he interrupted her. “Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t so.” His smile was warm but slight. “Trust me on this one, Meg.”
Her jaw slackened as she beheld him in disbelief. She didn’t argue, however. Doing so, she felt, would be futile - at least until he grasped that she wasn’t without flaws, some of which she felt were fairly momentous. It was only a matter of time, after all.
A cool wind fell unexpected from the sky, tossing the pine boughs above them. The susurrant clicking of wax-tipped needles was nearly stamped out by the faint roll of distant thunder. In a matter of seconds, the sky had darkened by several shades, from faded denim to muted pearl-gray, to a mercurial hue that rested, for the moment, between heather and
His eyes never strayed from her face as he contemplated her words. A moment later, his smile, though slow to form, provided all the affirmation she needed. “You—” He cleared his throat. “You’re just...something.” He dropped his gaze, chuckling a little to himself as he shook his head and rubbed a hand across his mouth.
Meg felt dazed by his reaction. Was that admiration in his voice, or was he making fun of her? She focused on paring away the last of the grapefruit peel, determined not to slip into another introspective stupor. “Do you have a favorite poem?” she asked without looking up, affecting a tone of detached interest.
“You know Yeats?” he asked. “‘Cloths of Heaven’?”
Her lips twitched in a grin, but knowing his eyes were still upon her, she resisted the impulse to look up. “I do.”
“Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths...” John’s voice trailed off. “I have trouble remembering the rest of it. I’ve never been good at committing these things to memory.”
Meg broke the grapefruit in half and handed one hemisphere of ripe, pink fruit to John.
“Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths,
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor—”
Here John chimed in, his memory refreshed.
“—Have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”
He smiled at Meg, and she blushed in return. Turning her head to gaze out at the quiet canyon, she slid a slice of fruit into her mouth and swiped away the juice that spurted from her lips.
“So now that you’ve graduated,” John said after a moment, “what will you do next?”
Meg’s slumped posture bespoke her disappointment at having to relay the truth. “I’m not sure yet,” she replied. “Find a job hopefully - something that will pay me to read all day, if such a thing exists.” She chuckled without humor. “It seems to be the only thing I have any real talent for.” Pursing her lips, she sighed. “Until then, I guess my only option is to go home to my parents’.” Again she bristled at the implications of her statement. She was growing weary of feeling childish.
John’s eyebrows knit together. “Don’t do that.”
She looked up, startled by the rebuke in his voice. “Do what? Go to my parents’?”
He shook his head. “Talk about yourself that way. I may have only met you a few days ago, but I can already tell you’re good at more than reading. You have this...magnetism.” He shook his head. “I’m still trying to figure out what it is exactly. I’d bet everyone you meet falls a little bit in love with you.” He didn’t look as if he was trying to flatter her. Instead, he looked at her as if she were a puzzle he’d yet to solve.
Meg breathed an incredulous laugh. “Hardly—”
She started to protest, but he interrupted her. “Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t so.” His smile was warm but slight. “Trust me on this one, Meg.”
Her jaw slackened as she beheld him in disbelief. She didn’t argue, however. Doing so, she felt, would be futile - at least until he grasped that she wasn’t without flaws, some of which she felt were fairly momentous. It was only a matter of time, after all.
A cool wind fell unexpected from the sky, tossing the pine boughs above them. The susurrant clicking of wax-tipped needles was nearly stamped out by the faint roll of distant thunder. In a matter of seconds, the sky had darkened by several shades, from faded denim to muted pearl-gray, to a mercurial hue that rested, for the moment, between heather and
Similar Books
