By the end of the third week, the terrible nights outnumbered the hopeful ones. Fear was deteriorating into a panicked grief. The dam was sprouting more leaks than I had the will to fix. I spent my days off from work curled on my bed, crying until I turned inside–out, sometimes sick to my stomach from weeping. I had to force myself to shower and dress and eat. To keep up my end of the deal. Evan had never given up on me. I couldn’t give up on him. But it was hard. So fucking hard.
One evening at twilight, I sat on the houseboat’s tiny deck, wrapped in Evan’s flannel shirt, sending my call into the skies. My eyes picked out all the blues of the lake, every orange and yellow in the desert stretching beyond. The sun slowly slipped away and I counted stars as they appeared.
I found Orion’s belt, and Gemini, the twins. My mother pointed them out when I was six years old, and the vibrant color of the memory reminded me that anything was possible.
Anything.
Even footsteps on the dock. At this hour. When all the rented boats were docked and asleep in the rocking cradle of the lake.
I turned in my chair. A man was walking out of the east, the last of the sun’s rays behind him, throwing his face into shadow.
Before my eyes could confirm it, my heart knew it was him. It stopped, then started again with a dizzying ferocity.
“Evan.” My voice was hardly more than a whisper around his name.
He stopped and let the bag in his hand fall to the planks. I scrambled down from the boat and jumped onto the deck as he began to run. Twenty feet separated us. I closed the distance in seconds and crashed into him. Threw my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist and held on with everything I had.
His face pressed against my neck, bearded and scratchy. His arms wrapped around me, squeezing the breath from my lungs. His body shuddered against mine and then we stood still. Not speaking. Waiting to believe it was real.
He set me down and we stared at one another with hands and eyes. He cupped my cheek, then ran his fingers through my chin-length hair, over my scar, around my lips before bending to brush his mouth over mine in a tentative kiss. As if he were still trying to sort out if we were really here.
I clung to him, my fingers tangled in his hair that touched the edge of his collar, and kissed him hard. When he groaned and opened his mouth to take me in, I nearly slipped out of his arms in watery relief.
“Evan,” I breathed. “You’re here. You came back to me.”’
“I came home.”
I led him inside. He stared in awe at our little houseboat, his eyes warm and full of questions.
But we needed each other first.
I pushed his jacket off his shoulders while his hands slipped under the worn flannel of his own shirt. My breasts curved into his hands. His palms were chafed with strange callouses and filled with the familiar greed for my skin. I could smell a journey on his skin: dirt and dust of the road, truck stops, cigarette smoke and burnt coffee. He broke our kiss, breathing hard.
“I need to wash it off,” he said, as if he’d plucked the imagery out of my mind.
The shower was just big enough for us both to stand in. I soaped up a washcloth and scrubbed dirt and sweat off him, cramming my eyes with muscles that were larger than I remembered, skin that was darker with sun. He turned around so I could wash his back. My soapy fist swept over a small, black tattoo on his right shoulder blade. Two lines in a scratchy script.
“Why eleven?” I asked, though I was sure I knew.
“It’s how long I was under,” he said, his voice heavy. “I didn’t usually time myself, but that night I needed to.”
I closed my eyes. Eleven minutes in the black, cold water that tossed, churned, and sucked everything down deep. I couldn’t imagine how he held his breath that long, much less counted the passing seconds. The ordeal would’ve driven me mad.
I pressed my lips to the tattoo. “I timed you, too. One month, two weeks, five days and sixteen hours until you walked up the dock.” He turned in the slippery circle of my arms as the shower rained down on us. “Give or take five minutes.”
“I love you, Jo.” He hands moved slow over my skin. “I’ll love you forever. I’ll never stop.”
I nodded, biting back tears. “I love you, Evan. I never said it enough. Not once in high school and only once on the riverbank. I love you. I’ll love you forever and I’ll never stop.”
His mouth found mine again and he pressed his hard, rough body against mine
“There’s no room to move in here,” he said, his voice like a growl. “And we need to move.”