Chapter 53: This Love

August

It's a hot, dry day, but thunderstorms threaten in the Southeast. When I get to the swimming hole, I set down my fishing tackle and cooler. Then Homie and I follow the dirt trail back through the forest. I want to get up somewhere high, to watch the clouds roll in.

I love the way the air feels right before a storm. Full of electricity. And the energy from the wildlife shifts. Birds fly from tree to tree and call out to each other. I often wonder what it is they're saying.

I reach the trunk of my tree that stands at the edge of the forest.

"You gotta stay right here, boy," I tell him. "I'll be back soon."

I climb up to my favorite limb and look out at the ranch that rolls in green pastures of undulating hills. The sun is lowering in the west, lighting the trees up a bright neon green against the backdrop of the sky to the south that darkens like a purple bruise. We're supposed to be on the dirty side of a hurricane.

I hear thunder in the distance, and Homie wines a little, getting restless. I'm just about to call down to him, when I see her.

It's Peyton.

She walks up to the dog and squats down. "Hey, bud," she says. "What are you doing out here all alone?"

Homie wags his tail and licks her face. She pets him on the head, looking for a collar and tag. 

I pull off an acorn and toss it down at her, hitting her on the shoulder. Her head snaps back as she searches the canopy above her. 

"Hey!" she calls.

"Hey," I say back. "What're you doing here?"

She shrugs. "Just wanted to talk."

I gaze out at the distance, nodding my head.

"You coming down?" she asks.

"You coming up?" I ask back.

She takes a deep breath. "I can try," she finally says. The lowest branch is large, so she doesn't have trouble with that one. But they get much further apart the higher you go.

She finally reaches the branch below mine. "Okay, this is where I stop," she says. She grins, but she seems nervous.

Play it cool.

I pick a leaf off the branch and study it. "So, what's up?"

"Whose dog is that?" She asks, nodding at Homie.

I look down at him wagging his tail looking back up at me. "I guess he's mine now."

"He's so cute. What's his name?"

"Homie," I say.

Something like recognition filters into her eyes. "After my robot baby?" She asks.

"Long story. But, yeah. They both needed someone to take care of them I guess."

She nods.

"Why are you here?" I ask her.

"I don't know." She swings her legs back and forth. "Guess I just wanted to say goodbye. I heard you're going to college."

"I am. But I'm not going far. Gonna live here for the time being."

"Oh," she says.

"I renovated one of the cabins. Looks pretty good. Like a nice place to live."

"Just you?"

"No. Homie will be there too."

She smiles.

"Was that all you came for?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Just been thinking."

"About what?"

"My brother." Her eyes dart around the tree canopy. 

"What about him?"

"I was just remembering how he told me, right before he died, that I shouldn't spend so much of my energy being mad at people—at my parents, or my sister, or coaches, or other kids—for not understanding who I am or for getting in the way of what I want. Toward the end, he talked a lot about things I didn't really understand."

"Like what kinds of things?" 

"Spiritual things."

I raise my eyebrows. For some reason, a vision of her in the white dress with Bree's blood like a badge on the front flashes through my mind. That's what I saw that night. Something spiritual. Otherworldly. It was like my soul saw hers, as she stood in the doorway of that chapel. Since then, I've imagined her walking down between the pews to claim me as her own, as if on a wedding day.

"I remembered this one conversation. I was pushing his wheelchair around the park near our old house. It was October, and such a beautiful day. The sky so blue, the air crisp and cool. I remember thinking it wasn't right that the world went on being beautiful and lovely while he wasted away."

I tilt my head and study her as she gazes out at the darkening sky.

"He'd come home to die. The doctors said there really wasn't much else they could do."

I clear my throat. "I can't even imagine how hard that must have been."

"It was," she says and nods. Then she gets the faraway look in her eyes again. "But it was also beautiful. I was with him when he entered the world. And I was with him when he left." 

"Were you scared?" I ask.

"I was. Until his soul let go. Or until I was finally able to let him go. Then, I don't know. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace. Like he was still there."

My eyes water a little. "So, what did he say to you, that day in the park?"

"He said that he was afraid, not of dying, but of leaving me. And Mom and Dad. And Emma. He was afraid of the pain it would cause us."

"Wow."

"Yeah, and he told me he'd been reading the Bible, mostly about grace."

"Grace?" 

"Yeah. Grace. And he said, 'The thing I want you to know. Don't wait, okay? Don't wait to love people.'"

"What did he mean?"

"He said not to make people earn my love through their actions or words. Just love them. It's what he called grace. Loving people without expectation of a return. Loving someone despite his flaws. Like God loves us."

I glance at her profile as she stares out over the fields.

"And then he said I don't have to earn their love either. Through my actions or my words. That was harder for me to agree with. I always thought of love as a transaction. I had to be a winner in order to earn someone's love. What he was telling me was that I was worthy of love, without doing anything at all. That nobody's perfect, but that's all part of the process. And that I needed to stop shutting people out." She turns to look me in the eyes. "I think I understand better now."

"And what is it that you understand?"

"That you made a mistake. You didn't mean to, but after it happened, you were just trying to make it right. Do the noble thing, the brave thing. Your sense of honor wouldn't let you do otherwise. And I realized something."

"What's that?"

"That's the whole reason for this...this love." She shakes her head. "How could I not love you?"

I put my arms out onto a small branch next to me and swing down to her level, sitting so our knees touch.

"Will this branch hold us both?" she asks, eyes wide.

"For a hundred years or more," I say quietly. Then I take her hand.

"The first time you held my hand was on the football field, my birthday. I still remember that feeling. Electric. Familiar. Like coming home to someplace new."

I brush my thumb along her bottom lip until she raises her eyes to look at me. "I love you too, Thomas." I feel a mix of sadness and regret.

She swallows. "Oh, and I found this. In the book you returned." She reaches into her pocket and removes a small piece of paper.  "It was stuffed in my copy of All the Pretty Horses. I think it's a poem." She hands it to me, and I stare down at it.

"Bree gave it to me," I say. "After everything was over. She returned my great grandmother's engagement ring. It was folded up inside that poem. I forgot I stuck it in the book."

"She writes poetry?"

I nod. Then I sigh deeply. "I think she was trying to explain. Or apologize. I'm not really sure what it means."

"Oh," she says.

"Did you read it?" I ask.

"Yeah, I thought maybe it was a note from you. But it didn't look like your handwriting."

"Do you understand it?"

"Let me see it again." She reaches out as I hand the paper back to her. Then she begins to read it aloud.

You told me once

about the white-tails

as you watched them

fight in flight

Not combat, you said

But love

He is courting her

Soaring in slow silent circles

one thousand feet above

until his first brief, tender touch

becomes a catalyst for chaos

Locking bills, a painful kiss

Talons clasped midair

in violent embrace

aerial waltz of frenetic tumbles

Fighting the abyss

Steep dives plummeting

one hundred miles per hour

Undaunted in their reckless plunging

Freefalling until she alights,

and he spirals down, down

touching all the spaces

they occupied in flight.

Coiling to that one

concentrated moment

that will sustain them

for a lifetime.

But you and I,

we cannot fly.

Earthbound, we struggle and flail.

We strive, we try, we fail.

And even though we fall and break,

love's still worth the risk we take.

She's quiet for a long time. Then she says, "I think it's supposed to be about love. The illogic of it. The danger."

"Yeah, I think so too."

"But I think that she's also saying it's worth it, the price we pay in pain."

I nod, meet her gaze, and smile. "What do you think?" I ask her. "Are you willing to take that risk?"

She gazes out towards the setting sun.

"Come on, Thomas.' I nudge her knee. "Don't be such a wimp."

Her mouth tightens like she's trying not to smile. "Okay, Chaplin," she says. "I'll risk it if you will."

A stray strand of sun-bleached hair blows across her eyes in the breeze the storm has kicked up. I tuck it back behind her ear, letting my thumb rest on her cheek.

When I lean in, she meets me there.

I pull away to look at her face, and she's smiling. I squeeze her hand as we sit in silence watching two hawks soar against the clouds rolling in over the horizon.