The Middle of Somewhere(26)

Until the incident at the stream, it had been a good day. Dante’s appearance at Red’s and his apology touched her. Even the boots he bought—not to mention the duct tape—meant something to her. And the sex didn’t hurt his case either. As she’d hiked today, she had been grateful for the monotony of the scenery because it freed her mind to think about him. He was committed, he was reaching out to her, he was trying to give her what she wanted. Bending over backward, in fact. He wanted to be with her, to be close to her, to live with her and was willing to meet her at least halfway. She should think herself lucky.

And what had she done for him? Mostly protect him from herself, from her secrets, lies and misgivings born out of keeping the truth balled up and under wraps for too long. The half bottle of wine she’d had with dinner had loosened her. She wanted to be close to Dante, to let him in, just a little.

“Are you asleep?” she whispered.

“No. Just enjoying the sensation of not moving.”

“I’m with you. That was a lot of territory to cover.” She paused. “I was thinking of something today.” She paused again. “When I was in college, I was walking to class and this guy in a wheelchair cut in front of me. I fell over a curb. My knee was bleeding badly. He saw what happened but just wheeled away. Didn’t say sorry or anything. So, this older man, a professor probably, helps me up. I must’ve looked shocked because he says to me, ‘Just because someone’s in a wheelchair doesn’t mean he isn’t an *.’”

Dante rolled over to face her. “What are you saying?”

“It’s the same when someone dies young. Everyone thinks of them as an angel flying up to heaven. The marriage the person had gets the same pass.”

“Are we talking about Gabriel? And you?”

She nodded.

“But I thought you two were happy.”

“You and I have never spoken about it.”

“We haven’t?”

“No.”

“Maybe I heard it from someone else? Valerie?”

“Possibly. Like I said, it’s what people think. No one dares to ask, because it’s taboo. Someone’s dead, suddenly dead, you don’t ask those questions.”

Dante looked as if he was about to dip his toe in a pool of piranha. “Were you happy?”

Liz exhaled. She’d half expected him to take this first tidbit in a different direction and speculate about what trouble might be hiding in their relationship. After all, she and Gabriel were old news, but the secrets she kept from Dante were right here, walking with them every step of the way.

“No, we weren’t. Not for most of it.” There. She’d said it. Now what? How long would the entire story take to unravel?

Dante propped himself up on an elbow. “And no one knew?”

“You’d be surprised. People see what they want to see.”

“But you must have been happy when you first got married.”

“I thought so. Optimistic, anyway.”

“You weren’t married very long, right?”

“Less than three years.”

“So what changed?”

Liz almost said Gabriel had. It was an easy reach, especially since he was gone forever, and Dante had nothing to go on but her say-so. “I’m not sure.”

He turned onto his back and examined the tent ceiling. “Well, you guys were pretty young.” He was marking the distance between her failed marriage and their relationship.

“I was twenty-one when we got married.”

“That’s young.”

Age had to be the reason. No one to blame, just immaturity. She said, “Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

A long pause. “How well do you suppose you know me?”

“Oh, Dante. That’s such an impossible question for me. Getting closer to someone doesn’t necessarily clarify anything. It’s like staring at an electron micrograph. You’re closer but nothing’s any simpler.”

“So much for optimism.”

“I’m trying to figure it out. I really am.”

“I know, carina.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly. “I’m so tired. Let’s sleep.”

She repositioned her makeshift pillow and settled into her bag, her limbs sinking into the ground. She conjured an image of Gabriel. His features were vague, but distinct enough that she winced with shame. Maybe she had never seen him for who he was, never understood what he wanted from their marriage. Maybe she never realized that she, the person who had had so little, was the one who wanted more.