A Lover's Lament

“Well, my grandpa built it after coming back from the war in ’45. He and my grandmother lived here together for almost fifty-five years before he had that stroke. Then my grandma lived here for about another three years until her death.”

“And she didn’t leave it to any of your family? Why not you?” she asks, just as we approach the spot I’ve been searching for. It’s a large clearing in the woods, void of anything but dried pine needles and fallen twigs. The dirt road continues down the property’s northernmost fence line, and a stream runs parallel to the road on our left and deep into the woods, acting as a partial border for this spot I’ve come to know so well. The farmhouse is just a speck on the horizon on the other side of the fence.

I get out of the car and Katie follows, nearly tripping over herself as she stares, mesmerized by the twenty or so horses galloping across the fenced land.

“Besides my mother and I—and I guess, Great-Aunt Ida—my grandmother didn’t have any family.” I reach out my hand, offering Katie a seat right in the middle of the clearing, then I follow suit.

“She sure as shit wasn’t giving it to my mother, and I hadn’t joined the Army or anything, so I don’t think she was too confident in my future at that point. She ended up donating the land, horses, and house to a non-profit organization. I have no idea if they just sold the property, or if they’re actually using it. I don’t even know who owns it.”

I thought about going up and asking if it was all right for us to be here, but I don’t have time to fuck around—well, not with anyone besides Katie, that is.

“Did you or your grandma ever ride them?” The kindness in her eyes makes the small distance between us almost unbearable. I scoot closer to her and place an arm around the small of her back.

“Well, no. My grandmother never really believed in riding them. They’ve always been kind of wild and just living on the land.” I throw air quotes up around ‘living on the land’ because, in reality, they ate better than our family did most of the time. “She really just loved watching them roam free.”

Katie pulls her knees toward her chest and drops her chin on them, her eyes moving in rhythm with the horses. She settles in close to me, allowing me to wrap her completely in my arms.

“I can see why. I could sit here forever.” Her gaze is fixed on the horses and mine is on her. I could too, Katie. I could too. Although eventually we’d need to—

“Oh shit, I almost forgot,” I blurt, rising to my feet. I make my way to the trunk, open it up, and grab a bottle of wine, two wine glasses, an opener and a picnic blanket. I carry them over to Katie and set them down. “Ma’am, if I could have you please stand,” I say playfully, holding out my hand so I can help her up. “I mean, seriously, what asshole would let you sit down in the dirt?” I flash her a wink and a smile, and she smiles back, rising to her feet.

“Obviously, a man not as gentlemanly as yourself, good sir.” She laughs and backs away a few steps. I set the blanket flat on the ground and proceed to open the wine bottle, filling each glass. I hand Katie hers and re-cork the bottle before sitting back down with mine.

I lift my wine glass for a toast, but I can’t seem to think of anything appropriate to say. “To us?” I ask, and she scrunches her nose and shakes her head. She gives me a very dramatic thumbs-down. “No? Too simple? Okay, how about … to my mother, may she find herself in a better place, and to my grandmother and grandfather for having the wherewithal to see the absolute beauty of this land, and to us and the four unexpected days we get to spend together. May there be many more to follow.” She smiles, her eyes welling with tears as she raises her glass, clinking it against mine.

“To Josephine, Hank and Harriet … and to us.” She takes a small sip and looks at me like I’m crazy when I down the whole thing.

“Long day,” I joke, setting the glass to the side and moving in front of her. I take her glass and set it down next to mine. “Katie …”

“Yes?”

“Isn’t it funny how you can have a million different things on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be said, but when it comes time to spill it, there’s nothing?” I find myself staring at the blanket and trying my best to make sense of everything going on in my head. Katie places both hands around my neck and pulls me in until I’m inches from her face. I can smell her perfume, and my eyes close as I let the scent consume me. I could sit here, just like this, forever.

“You don’t have to say a word, Dev. I know.”

“But I want to. I want to tell you everything. I want you to know that, regardless of the distance or time between us, I will make this work, and we will make up for the past ten years. We will be everything we ever dreamed of growing up.” She lets out a deep sigh, and in this moment, I know she’s feeling the same way I am. She needs me as badly as I need her.

We lie there for hours, completely lost in one another, talking about the past and making love like there’s no tomorrow. Only Katie could do this. Only she has the ability to take this horrible day and turn it around. Watching the horses gracefully streak across the land under the fleeting summer sun, I’m completely at peace. As her head rests against my chest and my finger traces pathways across her skin, I realize I am right where I’m meant to be. If I could only hold on to this moment and never let it go. But unfortunately, the sobering realization that I only have two more days with her lingers like a bad hangover.

“Arms”—Christina Perri

OUR FIRST TWO DAYS TOGETHER have flown by. Day one was pretty much all travel, but remembering how the night ended puts a fat smile on my face. Yesterday, of course, was the funeral, and then we spent the entire afternoon watching the wild horses. He eventually made love to me right there on the blanket before taking me to dinner and then spending the rest of the night worshiping my body.

And now here we are cleaning out Josephine’s house. It isn’t exactly the way I planned on spending day three, especially considering Devin is leaving tomorrow, but it needed to be done. We’ve been cleaning for hours, and Devin insists that whatever we don’t get through is simply going to get thrown away.

“Do you want this?” I hold up an old baseball glove I just found shoved under a twin-size bed in the spare room, which I assume used to be Devin’s. I recognize this glove. My parents bought it for Dev in seventh grade and he loved it. His mom couldn’t afford one—either that or she didn’t want to spend the money—and he was damn proud of that black Rawlings.

“Where did you find that?” Pushing to his knees, Devin crawls to where I’m at and he takes the glove, brushing off the dust.

“It was under the bed … way in the back.” Reaching under the bed again, I find an old shoebox and drag it out.

Devin sighs and slips his hand in the worn leather. “I looked everywhere for this glove after we moved here, but I couldn’t find it. Mom kept telling me that it would pop up, and then I guess she got sick of me asking because she finally just told me to get over it.” Balling his hand into a fist, he pounds it into the glove, a wistful look passing over his face. “She said I didn’t play anymore, so it didn’t matter. Except it did, and I probably would have.”

The look on his face tells me all I need to know—as if I didn’t already—about what kind of hateful woman Josephine was. It also tells me that we need a change of subject … fast.

Clearing my throat, I lift the lid off the shoebox. “What do you want to do tonight? I thought maybe we could go grab some dinner.”