Page 31 of Keepsake
“Urf,” someone else in the bunkroom said. “There she goes again.”
“Got it,” I whispered, stumbling out of my bunk.
Lark had woken me on several occasions. Sometimes all it took was a pat on the shoulder to comfort her. Sometimes she’d just snap out of it and apologize. But other times she didn’t shake it off as easily, and I’d wake up in her bed the next morning. Those were the nights when she couldn’t escape the dreams. After two or three trips into her room, I’d give up and sink down against the headboard. At dawn I’d wake up on her extra pillow.
Tonight I staggered into her room just as she uttered the name, “Oscar.” And then she said, “Stop!” It was alwaysstop. It made my blood run cold to imagine what it was she wanted stopped.
Lark was lying on her back and twisting around. So I sat right down and took her hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re just fine here, Lark. Everything is fine.”
Her eyes flew open, startling me. She had a panicked stare, and I waited for her to say something. But that’s not what happened. Her eyes seemed to focus on my face, and then her expression relaxed. Then her eyelids fluttered closed.
That left me holding her hand, and looking down at a beautiful, sleeping girl. She was so different from the country girls I’d grown up with. Her dark lashes pointed down toward a set of high cheekbones. It was a mystery to me how a face could be so strong and utterly feminine at the same time. The crescent of her mouth was relaxed and parted, as if she were just about to say something. I studied her lips, wondering how they’d feel against my own.
Whoops. I wasn’t here to admire her. I had to stop thinking like that. Right now, preferably.
I counted to one hundred, then began to slip my fingers from her grasp. But Lark shifted on the bed, squeezing my hand.
“Shouldn’t I go?” I whispered. I meant it as a rhetorical question, which was the only sort one should ask of a sleeping person. But I hoped the sound of my voice would relax her.
“No,” she breathed. She turned her head away then, as if embarrassed by this request.
It was late, and I was beat. I really needed to close my eyes. Also? It was cold. The temperature had dipped into the fifties tonight, letting us know that fall was coming.
For the first time since our nighttime visits had begun, I lifted the quilts before I lay down. Two weeks ago that would have seemed crazy, but I knew Lark wouldn’t want me to freeze. I put my head on her extra pillow, and straightened out my body.
I’d taken care to leave a nice spread of the mattress between us, but Lark wasn’t having it. She wiggled closer to my body until her hip and leg lined up against mine. She rested our clasped hands on her thigh and let out a sigh.
The night seemed to hold its breath for me. I heard the banging of my heart against my ribs, and the soft swish of her breath evening out. Outdoors, a single, determined cricket chirped outside Lark’s window.
Closing my eyes, I lay still, trying to take it all in. Lying in a girl’s bed was not something I’deverdone before last week. Touching people didn’t come easily to me. But Lark didn’t have the same hang-ups. She often hugged May and Griff and Audrey. When seating was tight at the bar, she’d sit on Griffin’s knee as if he were another piece of furniture. At the farmers’ market, she could talk to anyone, even people she obviously didn’t like very much.
Compared to me, she was socially fearless. Not that I had set the bar very high.
And she’d just ordered me to lie down in her bed. Whatever scared Lark so badly every time she closed her eyes must be horrible.
As I lay there, I became more comfortable. I loved the feeling of her slim hand in mine. Even though I was tired, sleep did not come. I listened to the settling sounds that the old building made, and the increasingly steady sound of Lark’s breathing. Tomorrow’s farm work would be here before I knew it, and I really ought to sleep. But there was something about this peaceful moment that held me in the present.
There were often times when I could stop to appreciate the beauty of my new life in Vermont. I might set down the rake and stare at the Green Mountains in the distance. Or I’d smell the wood smoke from the autumn’s first fire, and inhale the beauty of it all. But usually it was the landscape, or a job well done that I admired. And the satisfaction of knowing that I was free to enjoy my life out from under the angry whims of those who used to rule me.
But tonight held a different kind of beauty. It was rare for me to be truly useful to anyone. Sure, I was a good worker. If you needed a half ton of apples crated, I was your man. But I wasn’t close to many people, and nobody counted on me for support.
Probably the very definition of lonely.
Lying close to Lark made me want things that I usually didn’t think so much about. My body was rarely touched by anyone other than me. I was a sturdy piece of equipment, like the trucks that I often repaired. My body was good for moving things from one end of the farm to another. But it didn’t provide comfort to anyone, let alone love.
Until now.
As I studied the shadows on the ceiling boards, I felt Lark’s fingers twitch in my hand, so I squeezed gently. She gave a troubled gasp. I picked up her hand and pressed it between both of mine, rubbing her knuckles. “Hang in there,” I whispered. “The night won’t last forever.”
She relaxed, and I was the reason.
We both drifted off for a while. But I’d been smart to stay, because she had a rough night. She tossed and turned for a while. Then, letting out a big gasp, she thrashed her legs into mine, startling me.
Propping myself up on an elbow, I looked down at her. “Lark, sweetie. Shake it off.”
Her eyes popped open. “Shit,” she hissed, rolling onto her side to face me.
I found myself staring into her dark eyes, which were wide with fear. “Hey,” I whispered. “You’re okay.”
