Light the Hidden Things (35 page)

She looked into his face. Her mind reeled with strange, disassociated thoughts. She was afraid to speak, believed she could hear his heart's excited rhythm matching hers. She saw inside him, where the mystery, the plainness, the indomitable spirit and the confusion all blended and contradicted each other. He made her think of the night, a place of hiding and protection, yet frightening in itself.

She said, "Finish what you started. You said, 'It makes me wish...' What do you wish, Crow?"

He said, "I wish things were different. I wish I was different."

"You are different. It's the man you've created who's out of place, not you. You're hiding the real you." She was amazed to realize her hand had somehow gone from his shoulder to his cheek. And his hand was covering it.

"I told you; I know who I am." He kissed her fingertips, his gaze locked on her eyes.

"Not as well as I do. I know you better than you do."

His eyes closed. A sound in his chest was like something tearing. He almost growled. "I believe you. I don't know what to do about it."

She inched closer. Her other hand rose to his other cheek and she watched it from the corner of her eye with a strange, detached pleasure, the way she'd watch a butterfly select a landing. He opened his eyes and found hers. She said, "Come back inside. Stay with me."

He grabbed her shoulders, the power of his hands a near-pain she welcomed. Then he groaned and stepped back. He released his hold only as he retreated out of arm's reach. Her own hands fell away, hung in midair at her waist. He said, "I can't. It's not right. Please. You don't know how much..." He shook violently. Beside him, his dog whined concern. Crow went on, "It's like you said; you know who I am. The real me... I'd destroy you, too. Don't you understand? What I touch I kill. What you said - what I want - it's not me. I can't."

He literally ran.

*          *          *          *          *

Lila waited until she heard the Airstream door slam before going inside to slump in the chair again. Zasu squirmed into her favorite spot next to her again. Lila absently tousled the small, furry head and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. It was minutes before she closed her eyes and the first tears welled, trembling diamond-bright under the lamp's soft touch. They slipped down her cheekbones. She ignored them and spoke into the waiting silence. "Why do I always fail?"

As if hoping for an answer, she fell silent again. Soon, however, she murmured to herself, imagining the words drifting like snowflakes. "If he'd asked, I'd have gone with him. Anywhere. I'd be good for him, I know I would. Make him whole again, make him better. He needs me. And he'd be good for me, too. That's the truth. Why can't that be enough? Instead, I'll end up married to Van. I'll spend the rest of my life longing for a man I'm not even sure I love. Not even sure he could love me. So that's the future; a pair of heartbreaking truths wrapped in the single worst lie a woman can tell."

Movement at the edge of his vision brought Crow out of his mesmerized concentration on the steam rising from his breakfast coffee. Major stood at the door of the Airstream, tail wagging furiously. At the same moment, there was a knock. Crow rose quickly, certain it was Lila, concerned that she'd apparently slept as badly as he had.

One look at her confirmed the hunch. He noted how she hugged Zasu to her, clearly projecting a need for support, but it was her physical appearance that demanded his attention. Her hair was simply pulled back and bound, as if done hurriedly. He pictured her coming to a decision, yanking herself together, marching out of her house. Still, although her sweatshirt was customary, it seemed new and her khaki cargo pants carried the creases of shelf life. She wore no makeup. Crow's breath caught at a delicate, vulnerable beauty he'd never seen in her. A closer look revealed distress so dark it threatened his resolve to deliver the goodbye speech he'd rehearsed all night.

Lila put Zasu down to greet Major. Gesturing her inside, Crow affected a matter-of-fact manner. "You need a cup of coffee. I need to get back to mine. Come in."

She managed a sketchy smile. She stepped past him, settled at the table while he poured. As soon as he was seated across from her, she raised her drink in a toast; "Here's to last night. It never happened."

He drank with her, said, "Look, I..."

She talked through whatever he had in mind. "Just listen. I want..."

"You do that a lot, you know." She gaped and he went on, "You say something and I try to answer and you tell me to shut up so you can finish."

Lila tossed her head. She wore a pale green headband and the richness of her brown hair flared. The color flurry that made Crow think of spring breaking past winter. She said, "I never told you to shut up. That'd be rude and I'm not a rude person." Crow coughed and buried his nose in his cup. Her eyes flashed as she continued. "This is hard enough without you making it nasty. I didn't sleep last night."

"Me neither. Must be something going around."

"Don't be cute. Last night never happened."

He rolled his eyes. She leaned forward. "Don't give me attitude. I'm serious."

"I can't just act like nothing happened."

"You have to. You need a place to stay, someplace where people can help you. I need help and you promised to help me. What happened last night - I messed up. We have to get past it. Because we're friends." She looked away, then her eyes sought his. "I mean that. I like you. I think you like me. I let that get ahead of me last night. It won't happen again."

He broke their eye contact. The silence stretched so long her fears over her boldness in approaching Crow slashed at her resolve. When he finally looked up, her hands were trembling. The backs of her knees tingled.

Softly, almost sadly, he said, "Your eyes brighten mine. Your voice is the best sound I know. I..." He hesitated, continued in a stronger voice. "I have to move on. There's no way I forget what happened last night. Or the night you fell and I caught you."

She was firm. "Forget or not, you'll act like you have."

Jaw muscles clenching, he forced words. "Didn't you hear anything I said last night? How do you think I get from one day to the next? I pretend all the time, pretend I didn't..." He stopped, looked past her, focused on another time. "My wife. I pretend I didn't... Nothing would have happened. It's my fault."

"Something else could have caused the problem, whether you were there or not."

"I
was
there. And you're missing the most significant point. I trust you so much I can talk to you about it. What happened between us last night shouldn't have. But it did. I don't dare forget."

They retreated into themselves again. He drummed fingertips on the table. His same blue workshirt made her smile inwardly. He had the fashion sense of a telephone pole and changed his appearance just about as often. He was equally rigid about maintaining himself. When she was pacing around the house in the dark she'd stepped out for a breath of pre-dawn air and caught a glimpse of him doing his morning pushups. Soon after, she'd watched steam rippling upward from his outdoor shower; light from the Airstream made it vaguely luminous. Now clean-shaven, he smelled faintly of citrus-scented soap and cologne. There was a different strength in his face this morning, though. She didn't know what to make of it, but somehow she sensed hope in it. She'd long since noted that when he was deep in thought, he looked downright grim. Otherwise, he'd never seemed withdrawn. He spoke freely, cheerfully. Only if you drew close did you find out how distant he really was. This look hinted that he might have realized he could break out of his self-imposed isolation.

There was no reason to suspect someone else might be allowed inside.

He trusts me. I can say what I need to say.

Lila told him, "I'm glad you can talk to me. It's what I meant about being friends."

The old suspicious withdrawal spread across his features like a wound reopening. She pressed ahead. "I told you I didn't sleep. I did some homework on the computer. About PTSD."

"I deal with my own problems."

"You're not solving them, though, are you? You're being unbelievably strong and brave. It makes me proud of you. But you do, too, need my help. Maybe someone else would be more or better help than me, but I'm the one you say you trust."

"I may have made a mistake."

"That's nuts. We've made a couple of mistakes about each other, but we're friends and you know it. I'm asking you to let me do what a friend does. Is that such a big thing?"

Crow shrugged. At first she took it as dismissal, but body language - the way he turned away, looked down at his dog - she was certain signaled admission he was in the wrong. Gritting her teeth, she plunged on. "Can I at least tell you what I learned?"

"I can't stop you."

She ignored that. "Recovery's a matter of empowerment. You have to know you can beat the thing."

"I know that. I'm doing it all the time."

"See? 'All the time.' It keeps coming back. Sure you win the battles, but war goes on. Nobody beats it if they're isolated. You're the most isolated man I ever saw. All you're proving is you're too strong for your own good."

He was out of his seat before she could move. Major lurched to his feet, alarmed. One step took Crow to the window. With his back to Lila, he said, "You know why I don't talk about any of it - not just the dreams, but her. Even if I wanted to talk to you about the dreams and all that, I'll never say more about her than I did last night. Don't ever ask me to."

Lila drained her coffee, used the time to collect herself. Then she rose to step toward the door. Talking to Crow's back, she said, "I didn't ask, remember? I never will. And I repeat nothing, so relax."

She opened the door. Zasu hopped down to join her. She inhaled deeply, savoring air so crisp it seemed to crackle, and added. "I don't really know that much about PTSD. I know you can't win in isolation."

Crow said, "I'm not staying here long enough to be mixed up with doctors. That's final."

Not trusting her voice to push past bitter disappointment, she nodded and left.

She was at the front steps to the house before it hit her. She'd said nothing about looking for professional help. He brought it up.

He thought about it. Maybe he's still thinking about it. Maybe...

She took the steps in a rush, turned to look out over the lake to the mountains. It was a far prettier day than she expected.

The scream of the saw couldn't get past Crow's protective earphones. Neither could his off-key whistling of "Wichita Lineman." When the saw's clamor ended, however, he continued. Lila and Herman rolled their eyes at each other.

With the angle cut, Crow rested the last piece of window frame trim against the wall. He turned off the saw and stripped away the headgear, unconsciously bending away from the earlier head injury. The bandage was gone. A multi-colored bruise and a stubbly burr marked the spot. Straightening, hands on hips, he surveyed the store. His vision dismissed the litter - the sawdust, the paint and varnish cans, the work table - everything but the completed work. New cabinets yawned empty, eager to be filled. The rod racks waited. Bake's politically incorrect antler chandelier, waxed to a sheen, seemed to drift above him, ready for its new life, new light.

Lila stopped polishing the other picture window, already completed, and joined him. She said, "I can't believe it. The end. At least it'll look like a real store now when people peek inside. Once we get rid of all the trash."

Her pleased look disappeared under a swift wash of sadness that took color from her face, made her makeup garish for the moment. Crow turned away, disguising a wince. He was accustomed to her lightning-quick mood changes by now, but far from willing to accept them. Ever since their agreement she'd been this way - there were moments when she was enough like the Lila he knew to lull him into thinking she was content with their arrangement. Then, like just now, what was underneath would crack the surface.

It had taken him two days to realize she was simply unhappy. His fault, and he was helpless to do anything about it.

The same two days it took for him to penetrate his own misery. He only recognized her discomfort when he allowed himself the honesty of looking inside himself. Twice there had been opportunities for him to tell her of the storm in him, of how much he wanted to live what he now thought of as a real life. Twice he hadn't been man enough. Once he'd admitted both of those things, there was nowhere left to hide from his truth, nor hers. His selfishness shamed him. It didn't convince him. He argued inwardly - and constantly - that their bargain was the only choice they had. He told himself she'd never understand, that he'd made decisions he couldn't undo.

Even as he thought about their strange magnetic poles relationship that attracted and repelled with equal force, her personality reverted. She was bright and pleasant again. "You ready to nail the frame in place?"

He nodded. "After I lay it out on the deck to be certain it's square."

The game went on. She grinned, shook her head. "It's a floor, jarhead. When're you going to stop that?"