Page 56 of When Fences Fall
It’s become a habit of sorts—these quiet evenings where we sit on my porch steps or his swing. I bring my fluffy blanket, and we throw it over our legs.
It feels like every evening we become a breath closer. Wehaven’t kissed again or even attempted to—neither of us—but somehow it’s not needed right now. I haven’t trusted the man enough to tell him anything about myself, so just sharing some of my quirks with him feels like big progress. While the rest of the world finds them odd, he finds them funny. At first, I thought he was making fun of me, but eventually I came to understand that he’s really interested in them. And that makes me feel… normal.
I ask him questions too. Innocent ones, because every single time I ask him something about his childhood or early years of adulthood, he shuts down, and our evenings are cut short. The only thing I know about that time is that he’s from Maine too, and he knows a few people from around here because they played hockey together in high school, and that’s about it. I’ve avoided touching on triggering topics that might cut our evenings shorter.
He likes to talk about his family, about his sister and niece the most. About his mom. He’s a little less enthusiastic to talk about his brother, but sibling relationships can be complicated, so I don’t push my luck. He also has an insane number of funny stories from his contractor gigs. Turns out, there’s a ‘situation’ at every single one. Sometimes they are so hysterical, I end up crying from laughter.
On those nights, I sleep lighter. Deeper. Better. Dreaming of good things in the world.
It’s not like we plan it—at least I don’t think so—but somehow, we always end up here around the same time.
So I’m waiting.
Tonight, he hasn’t shown up yet, and the minutes stretch longer than usual. My eyes drift to his porch more than they stay on the pages of the book in my hands. Glancing at his door for the hundredth time, I sigh loudly, disappointed that I’ll have to miss our quiet evening because I have to open the diner tomorrow, and the damn rooster will most likely wake me up at the butt crack of dawn, so I need to get some sleep.These permanent dark circles under my eyes make every other townie question if I’m all right. The next one who asks about ‘my poor health’ probably will get hit in the face.
I’m about to give up and head back inside, when I see a flash of headlights heading our way. A regular black sedan. Something that anyone would drive, but no one in particular I know.
There’re only two houses here, and I’m not expecting any guests. But the car is not coming my way. It parks behind Jericho’s truck, and a woman appears out of the driver’s side. She can’t see me from there, but I can see her moving just fine. I stretch my neck, trying to figure out who she is, but her face somehow always remains in the shadows. All I know is she has dark, shoulder-length hair in a sleek bob, and I’ve seen her somewhere.
I try getting a better look, because I’m on a mission to figure out who she is, but she’s already standing with her back to me and ringing his doorbell with a confidence that makes me feel like she’s been here before.
She can’t have been though, right? I would know, wouldn’t I? I’ve been spending the past however many evenings with Jericho, and before that, I was too busy spying on him through the window for someone to slip through my watchful eyes. Though I’m rarely home during the day.
A heavy stone settles in the pit of my stomach, and I instantly tell myself it’s stupid—Iamstupid—for feeling this way. He’s not mine. We’re not… anything. We’re barely even friends half the time when the light shines on our faces, and we have to face each other without the cover of night. But that doesn’t stop the knot in my belly from tightening when the door opens, and he gives her a look like he knows her.
She says something I can’t hear, and he leans against the doorframe, looking… sleepy. Like it’s no big deal that there’s a woman at his door so late at night.
I try to look away, but I can’t. It’s like I’m frozen here, onmy porch, staring across his driveway while they talk about something I’m not privy to.
And then he steps back, holding the door open wider, inviting her inside and throwing a pile of heavy lead straight into my chest. His head turns toward my house, but he can’t see me from this angle. Especially when I’m hiding in the shadows.
The door clicks shut, and the silence that follows feels louder than the dang rooster in the morning.
As I sit there, gripping the edge of the railing so hard that the wood might crack—or my fingers—the stone in my stomach becomes even heavier. I suddenly gasp for air.
And it’s ridiculous. I know it’s ridiculous, and I have no right to feel like this—like I’ve just been punched in the gut. I don’t even know who she is. Maybe she’s his cousin or a friend or his sister. Maybe she’s there to sell him something, though I seriously doubt it, given the hour. And even if she is his hookup for the night, why should I care? She might as well become his girlfriend or something because I don’t care. I shouldn’t.
But my mind doesn’t care about logic. Nor does it care about my poor heart that’s breaking for no reason. It only cares that someone else is in his house, right now. With him. While I’m out here, sitting alone in the dark with a book I’m not reading and a railing in my hands I’m about to crack into pieces like the Hulk.
Even though we are not something in particular, I thought we were… still something. And this, right here, is the moment when my dreams and hopes come crashing down.
I tell myself to get up from my knees, go inside, and stop staring at his closed door like some pathetic creep. But instead, I sit there, letting the night settle around me, feeling like a fool for ever thinking that these quiet moments between us meant anything more than… whatever it was. Looks like it was mutual therapy and nothing more.
When I’m finally swallowed by humiliation, I push away from the railing and stand up, shoving the long-forgotten book under my arm, and head to the door. Desire to slam it is stronger than ever, but I’ve humiliated myself enough in front of the universe, so I quietly close it behind me.
My mind is such a mess that even the idea of something warm and cozy doesn’t sound welcoming, but the right crystals might improve the mood. So I start from the living room, placing the crystals in the right places, while I keep glaring at the window. I probably should place something warding there as well.
Suddenly I see them. He doesn’t have curtains which I used to be grateful for, but not now. She walks up to him, possessively places her sneaky hands on his shoulders, and heads for the kiss.
My heart stops beating.
Gulping for air, I pull my curtains closed as fast as I can. But not before my eyes meet his through the glass.
I lean against the cool wall, closing my eyes and telling myself that I’m a fool for dreaming about something that’s not there.
He can sleep with whoever he wants. It’s none of my business.
And maybe, just maybe, if I say it enough times, I’ll start to believe it.
