Under the Northern Lights(52)

With a small laugh, I shook my head. “No . . . I was thinking you could fly down and visit me sometimes. My town has supplies too.” His bush plane was far too small for a trip that long, but he could fly to Fairbanks and take a commercial flight to me.

The look on his face instantly changed, morphed into one of pain . . . and anger. “You know why I can’t do that, Mallory.”

He picked up his cards and studied them, like the conversation was over. I knew I shouldn’t press him, but I hated the thought of this peace we’d found ending soon. Spring would begin thawing the earth around us in just a handful of weeks, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. “I’m not saying you have to stay, Michael. I live in the country. You wouldn’t even have to talk to anyone but me . . . except at the airport, but that’s a small price to pay to—”

Snapping his eyes up, he cut me off. “I won’t leave the state, Mallory. Wherever you want me to go, no matter how isolated you think it is, it’s still too many people for my taste.”

“Even if it means seeing me?” I asked, my heart ripping.

A worn sigh escaped Michael as his head dropped. “I knew we shouldn’t have started this. I knew I’d hurt you . . .”

Panic made me force brightness into my voice. “I’m not hurt. I don’t regret us, and I don’t want this to end.” Fearful that he was retreating from me, I reached out and grabbed his hand. “I was just hoping . . . you would visit me. It was just a question—that’s all.”

His penetrating eyes studied me, searching for a lie, and I worked as hard as I could to keep my expression the same. Don’t notice the crack forming in my heart. Don’t say something that will make it expand even faster than it needs to.

After a while, he finally nodded. “Then I guess . . . to answer your question . . . no, I’m sorry. I won’t be visiting you.” A sad smile cracked his lips. “Although I can already tell there will be nights that I’ll want to. Most nights, I think.”

My heart started seizing and beating harder all at the same time. He looked so sad, so desperate to connect, and yet at the same time, he absolutely refused to step foot outside his social comfort zone. It broke my heart even more than the idea of our upcoming separation. Who will make your eyes glow when I’m gone?

I fingered my cross necklace, saying a silent prayer for this broken man who meant so much to me. Michael’s eyes followed my movement, and like he knew what I was doing, he quietly said, “Do you pray for me?”

“Every day,” I said with a nod. Michael bit his lip, and I could see the questions brewing in his eyes. “What?” I asked.

He pointed a finger at my necklace. “What do you pray for when you pray for me?”

“I pray for a lot of things. Your health, your safety . . . your happiness . . .”

I could almost see the irritation rolling up his spine, his hackles rising like a wolf’s. “You think God cares about our happiness?”

Inhaling a deep breath, I nodded again. “Yes, I do.”

Michael looked away, and I thought he was going to drop the topic he hated discussing. He surprised me, though, by returning his eyes to mine. “Then why does he let so many bad things happen? Why does he tolerate thieves, rapists . . . killers?” His eyes hardened with every word he spoke. “Why does he allow such horrible things to happen to such good people?”

I slowly let out the breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. “Because he gave us free will. Because he didn’t want mindless automatons who loved him simply because we were told to love him. He gave us the freedom to choose to love him and his creations . . . or not to. And maybe that was a mistake, but if you think about it, what else could he do?”

Michael looked away again, but I could see him swallowing the lump in his throat; he was on the edge of an emotional cliff, about to go over, and I didn’t want him to go over alone. I clasped his hand tight, tears stinging my eyes. “Trust me, Michael: he is mourning what happened to your wife right along with you . . . and he’s taking very good care of her for you.”

His eyes returned to mine, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. “Do you think so?” he whispered.

Leaping out of my chair, I tossed my arms around his neck. “Yes,” I said into his skin. “I believe it with everything inside me. She’s safe and happy.”

Michael sighed as he held me back, and I felt a world of tension releasing from him with the exhale. He was silent for several long minutes, and even though my back hurt and my legs started cramping, I didn’t let him go. Finally, when I thought I was about to get a charley horse I wouldn’t be able to ignore, Michael pulled back. “Thank you, Mallory. That was surprisingly . . . therapeutic.”

Smiling, I straightened and massaged my back. “I don’t suppose that changed your mind?”

Michael stood with me, his face reflecting his inner peace. Twisting me around, he pushed my hands away and started rubbing my back for me. “No . . . it didn’t,” he said, his voice equally calm.

A small laugh escaped me as I enjoyed his ministrations. “Didn’t think so . . . but I had to ask.” A deep laugh rumbled through his chest, and then his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me tight.

The heat emanating from his body was as soothing as the steel strength of his arms. Even though the world we were immersed in was treacherous, I’d never felt so safe. Thinking of the lurking beasts waiting in the darkness for their chance to devour us made me think of the wolf who’d penetrated our defenses. Worn dishes and broken containers were a constant reminder. A thought occurred to me while that moment swam through my head, and I twisted in Michael’s arms so I was facing him. “Did your photo survive the . . . wolf invasion?”