Page 77 of Whispers of Helena
With one final slam of my hips, I tumble over the edge. My body shakes and I scream his name just as I feel his cum filling me.
“Shit, Caroline!” His body goes rigid below mine, his hips jerking upward, like he can’t get deep enough.
My head falls to his shoulder as we both come down. I open my eyes and see the window to our side, completely covered by a sweat-filled haze. I reach my fingertip out and draw our initials in the condensation.
“We steamed up the windows.” I giggle.
He kisses my shoulder before leaning his head back against the headrest. “We sure did, love.”
The memory fades,leaving behind the tender weight of the past and the sting of longing. I laugh, shaking my head. “I was so embarrassed when Old Man Simpson knocked on the truck window. Thought I’d never live it down.” I take a slow sip of my beer, letting the cool bitterness settle on my tongue. “And thatbartender, he wouldn’t even let us leave. Made us call for a ride home.”
Ruth smirks over the rim of her bottle. “Eli said you two looked like you’d been through a damn tornado. Said you looked guilty as all get out.”
A deep sigh slips from my lips, my fingers tracing the condensation on the glass. “I miss him, Ruth. I’ve missed him for so long.”
Ruth watches me for a moment before taking a long pull from her beer. “I know you have, dear.”
I swallow hard. “But what if I’m holding onto a man who doesn’t exist anymore? What if the Silas I loved is gone?”
Ruth reaches over, her hand covering mine with a comforting squeeze. “He’s in there, Caroline. I’m sure of it.”
Jealousy
Silas
Eli stakedout a few tables in the back corner, making sure there was a seat saved for Ruth. Pitchers of beer made their way around while Eli slid a glass of gin in front of me without a word.
When I stepped onto the gravel of the parking lot, my eyes had gone straight to the darkest corner. The same spot where, one reckless night, too much gin and too many slow dances had led to Kiran being conceived in the front seat of my truck. The bartender sent Old Man Simpson out to bring us inside after someone complained about our noise. Eli had to drive us home that night, both of us flushed and disheveled, Caroline failing miserably at hiding her rosy cheeks.
This town holds the ghosts of the life we built. The church, this old honky tonk, Ruth’s diner where we spent every Saturday morning over coffee and eggs. We weren’t just part of this place, we were woven into it. Every person we knew was like family, every street corner a chapter in our story.
I take a slow sip of my gin then lean back in my chair. My gaze drifts over the room. The dance floor is still mostly empty, the bar lined with familiar faces.
And then, a splash of pink in the middle of muted blues and browns.
My breath stalls.
I would know that dress anywhere. I would know that body in any lifetime, in any form of existence.
That’s my wife.
My eyes trace the curve of her hips, the way her dress clings before flaring out just above the tops of her boots. Her hair shifts as she moves, waves cascading down her back, parting just enough to expose the slope of her shoulders.
Ruth hands the bartender some cash, then her and Caroline drink their beers.
“I swear, Silas, I didn’t know Ruth was going to bring her here tonight. Swear on my Bible,” Eli says hastily.
I give him a sideways glance. “It’s fine, Eli. We can just stay out of each other's way. No ruining your night.”
“Are you sure? I can tell her to leave.”
I shake my head. “I’m an adult, you don’t have to tell anyone to leave for me.”
“Alright. Well, if you change your mind, say the word.” Eli nods before walking toward the pool tables.
Marcel spins a chair around, straddling the seat, resting his arms on the back. “She’s here.”
I take a slow sip of my drink. “I can see that.”
