Page 72 of Class Clown

He resumed walking, but our pace slowed and I found myself next to him rather than single-file.

“Lord Bunderton,” he answered under his breath.

I leaned closer, our shoulders brushing. “I’m sorry? Could you repeat that?”

“You heard me.”

“Yes, but I’d like it spelled out so I can have handkerchiefs embroidered for you.”

He looked sideways with a smile. “Don’t even think about it.”

“What did he look like?”

“Black with some white around his neck. He looked like he was wearing a little tux. So . . . Lord Bunderton. I usually called him Bunny.”

“It’s amazingly creative and truly obvious at the same time. You nailed it.”

Another tug at his lips. “Thanks.”

“Why are we talking about your pet rabbit?”

“Because I’m a wallflower?”

Amusement had me shaking my head, and then I tripped yet again, and before I could fully face plant into the forest his hand wrapped around my arm and held me up. I found my footing and blinked.

“This place is rough.”

“This place is paradise,” he replied.

I paused and looked around, happy to see the forest widening in front of us before opening up into a meadow where a few old wooden targets still stood, overgrown but visible. He didn’t try to get me moving as we soaked it all in.

“You’re right,” I sighed happily.

“I would picture places like this when I was out of the country on deployments. The peace and quiet, the cool air and green plant life. So many years were spent in the desert, and imagining places like this helped me relax.”

“Nature heals,” I agreed.

“If it wasn’t the forest, it was the ocean. I’d pretend that I was back in Galveston where the waves were warm and gentle, and the sky was sort of gray with humidity. I’d picture floating on my back and looking to the sky.”

I smiled to myself at the memories of weekend trips to the beach with friends and family. I’d always loved those days in the sun and sand, with the water lapping back and forth in its timeless rhythms. I hadn’t loved the diving pelicans as much, but you have to take the good with the bad.

“It must have helped a lot during those stressful times.”

He nodded. “It did.”

“When I’m stressed, I imagine I’m standing on a high viewpoint somewhere, overlooking a forest or city or the ocean, and I’m eating cake.”

“Cake?”

“Cake.”

“Any certain flavor?”

“I am not picky about cake,” I stated.

He smiled and reached for my hand, weaving our fingers together and giving me a gentle tug to start walking again. My heart thumped as my feet worked to keep up with my brain. His hand was warm and strong, and so easy to go along with. I felt like I was floating outside of my body, and I worked to remember all the reasons I needed to be cautious, but I couldn’t seem to dig up a single one of them.

After five minutes of walking silently together, we broke into the clearing and I looked around in awe. We’d stumbled into a private place where the stillness and warmth were so complete it felt like another world.

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