Page 3 of Ezekiel
“Excuse me, ladies,” I interrupted, forcing a smile onto my face. “But it is time my wife and I headed out. Thank you so much for celebrating with us on our joyous day. Good evening.” With a hand on the small of her back, I led her away from the women and towards the door.
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I remained quiet, focusing instead on the way the beaded lace of her dress felt under my hand. It was simple, as expected for the women of Zion, but there were tiny pieces of lace and beadwork that adorned the dress, giving it a feminine flare. During the ceremony, I had noticed it as she had walked down the aisle, the little pearlescent beads catching the late afternoon sunlight. The sight of her there, walking down the aisle, had been stunning, like something you’d see in a painting.
I was a man who appreciated silence. I yearned for it. Yet, the quiet in the car as I drove out of Zion and towards my home with my wife at my side was nearly deafening. Instead of calming me, it only riled me up further. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly.
My eyes drifted over to her, to my wife, there in the passenger seat. She was beautiful. There was no questioning that, but I had no idea how to speak to her. Let’s be honest, aside from my mother, I’m not sure I could name a single time in my life I had actually spoken to a woman — well, a woman from Zion, at least.
“How far from Zion do you live?” she asked beside me. Her voice echoed through the car’s quiet, almost grating to my ears. I gritted my teeth as the anxiety rose inside of me.
“Not far. About ten miles is all,” I answered succinctly. I wished more than anything I could tell her I lived in a small town nearer to St. George, somewhere far enough away from the private land reserve on which Zion was located, that we wouldn’t have to worry about the idiotic nature of this fucking place. As it was, I lived just far enough away to give myself some peace and quiet, yet still technically within the reserve, so as not to be suspicious.
She nodded, and the quiet resumed once more. It seemed to stretch on forever, broken only by the rumbling of tires as we rolled down the gravel roads.
“Mind if I turn on some music?” she suddenly asked out of nowhere, already reaching for the dial on the car’s dashboard.
“Please, don’t—” But it was too late. The sounds of music blasted through the car, setting every nerve ending in my body on edge, making me want to scream. I roughly hit the button on the dash, turning the agonizing noise off.
Her head hung and her hands folded in her lap in defeat. Dammit. Not the way I wanted to start this whole thing.
“I’m sorry. I just prefer the quiet,” I explained, or tried to.
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m sorry.” The words rolled off her lips, well rehearsed in her atonement. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to be a quiet, compliant doormat.
“I didn’t mean to overreact, Talia. I —”
“No, it was wrong of me.” Her words were firm and felt final. Her eyes stayed lowered, head hung in shame.
Great job, Zeke. Great job.
We pulled onto the dirt road that led to Malachi’s home. A short distance down the bumpy course, I turned off. My home sat on the outside edge of Malachi’s property. I had purchased a small, five acre piece of his larger property when I had decided to build. He and I had worked tirelessly for a year to build my house. While it wasn’t extravagant or modern, like Levi or Ollie’s home, or large like Malachi’s, it suited me. A modest three-bedroom home built more like a cottage. It was perfect. I hoped she would think so, too.
“This is it?” she asked quietly as we pulled into my driveway. I had a single garage that was situated to the left of the house, and I hit the opener, letting us into the space. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or if she approved. Her tone was flat, giving away nothing.
“This is my home, yes,” I murmured, closing the garage door behind us. I exited the car, pulling her suitcases from the back seat and heading for the door that led into the house. I had already opened it when I realized she was not following. I set the suitcases down inside the door and then returned to open her door. “Are you alright?” I asked, marginally concerned. She nodded her head, turning to look at me with a smile that did not come close to reaching her eyes. Not that I could blame her.
I offered her my hand, helping her from the car and into the house.
“It’s not a lot, but this is the living room; the kitchen and dining area are that way. Down that hall, there is one bedroom and a small office. And upstairs there is the main bedroom and bathroom, plus another bedroom.” I gestured to each part of the house, not really taking her on a tour, but giving her a general idea of where things were.
“Shall I put my things in the bedroom, then?” she asked. I internally chastised myself for not taking her things up the stairs, but she already had one suitcase in her hand.
“Here, let me. Right this way.” I led her up the staircase to the upper level. It had been too long of a day with too much going on. I felt on edge and fried. Even the sound of her footsteps was getting on my last nerve. It wasn’t her fault, of course it wasn’t, but it didn’t change the fact that all I wanted to do was scream.
Setting her luggage inside the bedroom, we both looked around awkwardly.
“Well, um,” I stuttered lamely. “Make yourself at home. You should get some rest.” She looked up at me with confusion in her eyes. Confusion I didn’t want to answer; that I couldn’t answer. “Oh, before I leave you to it, I wanted to let you know the Elders have cut our honeymoon short,” I stated awkwardly.
“Short?” she questioned.
“Yes. I will be taking a position at the church starting a week from tomorrow.” We both stood there in stiff silence. “Well, goodnight, then.”
I turned on my heel, moving away from the bedroom, away from my wife, and bolted down the stairs. I wasn’t dumb enough to leave, but I also couldn’t stay. My hands remained flexed at my sides. I needed to busy myself with something, anything. I could feel the tension and anxiety running through my body clear to my fingertips and toes, like a million ants crawling all over my body. I needed to get out of here. I knew leaving through the front door was stupid. I couldn’tactuallyleave. But I had to.
So, grabbing my coat and donning my boots, I walked out of the back door, slamming it behind me and walking off through the yard and into the timber toward Malachi’s property.
The frigid late January air hit my face, stinging my skin. I welcomed the pain. I walked, stalking quickly through the heavy timber that stood between my property and Malachi’s open fields. He had several for his livestock. Not that he had many. His “farm” was more of a hobby farm than any real business for capital gains. The rough terrain below me kept my focus there instead of on my sheer inability to control myself.
I made it to the edge of Malachi’s field before I let those feelings take over, letting it well up inside of me, searching for a way out.
