Under the Northern Lights(61)
A part of me wanted that to happen, but again, I couldn’t condemn him to complete isolation. I helped him stand, even though I knew he could handle it on his own; I just wanted to be as close to him as I could be, for as long as I could be.
Michael leaned into my side once he was standing, and our eyes locked. There was so much I wanted to tell him, but most of it was along the lines of Leave with me—and I already knew his answer. No, no, and hell no. His mind was made up; my mind was made up. We were both impenetrable, unmovable pieces on this game board, and I think we both hated that we were. In another life, we might have worked.
Clearing my throat, I pointed to the door. “Are you sure you can make it? I can go alone.”
Soft words met my ear. “I’ll be fine, Mallory. I’m stronger than you think.”
When I looked back at him, his eyes were filled with meaning, and I knew without a doubt he was asking me to let him go, to let him stay here and live his life, and to not worry about him once I was gone. Fat chance. He would be on my mind every day. I was sure of it.
We trudged toward his plane in silence. Every step felt heavier than the last. I should have been happy, ecstatic, elated. I’d been waiting for this day for so long, waiting for a chance to leave for so long. Who knew that a warm smile and a set of pale-blue eyes—and a heart cleaved in two—could have so fully and completely changed my outlook? If only I could stay, stay and live out the remainder of my years in social solitude with him. But I already knew I couldn’t. When it came down to it, I needed people. I needed my family, my friends, my pets, the security of easily obtainable health care, medicine, and yes, even the convenience of modern technology . . . like running water. And also, I wanted to feel 100 percent certain that I wouldn’t be mauled by a wild animal when I opened my front door. Well, 80 percent at least.
There was just so much about my life that I couldn’t leave behind for the woods. But in an ironic twist of fate, I couldn’t leave the woods behind either. Or at least I couldn’t leave Michael behind. He was now one of my life essentials. And that meant that no matter what choice I made going forward, I was going to lose something invaluable. It killed me.
When we got to the brown package lying in the snow, I had to wipe away the stray tears that I couldn’t keep contained anymore. I didn’t want Michael to see them, but of course, his eagle eyes noticed. Holding the much-needed airplane part in the crook of his arm, he removed a glove and cupped my glistening cheek. The tenderness in the gesture made the tears emerge faster. “Mallory,” he whispered. “This is a good thing. You need to go home, and I need to . . .” He sighed, his breath frosty in the air. “This entire experience with you has been . . . so good. Better than good, but I don’t want it to end with tears. I don’t want to cause you pain. I was trying to avoid hurting you.”
He sighed again, and I knew what he was thinking: This is exactly why I wanted to keep my distance. I wanted to throw on a smile, tell him I was fine, but staring at the box that would eventually rip us apart made it too difficult to be cheery. “You made me happy. So incredibly happy . . . and that’s why it hurts. But I’m glad for the tears because they mean it was worth it. They mean my time here mattered. They mean you . . . matter.” You’re not alone. Even when I leave, you won’t be alone.
Sadness clouded his face, moistened his eyes. He started shaking his head, but then he dropped the box and wrapped me in his arms. “I wish there was a way . . . I wish things could be different. Maybe if I’d met you right after . . .” He paused, and I could feel him shaking his head. “You matter to me, too, Mallory . . . and I’m so sorry.” After holding me for a moment, he pulled back to look me in the eye. “On the bright side, we have a little more time together.”
I frowned in confusion. “What do you mean? The part is here—how long will it take you to fix the plane?” It was such a small part; surely he could replace it in an hour.
Michael glanced over at the fully winterized plane. Covered in snow, heavy tarps, and thick canvas, it looked like a mechanical sleeping giant, not yet ready to wake. Looking back at me, Michael gave me my favorite boyish grin. “Well, just a few hours, really, but I won’t be able to start on it until I’m fully healed. Doctor’s orders,” he added with a wink.
My eyes snapped to the injury hidden under his pants. Did he mean 100 percent healed? Because that could take weeks . . . was he seriously giving me weeks? I was momentarily torn. There were people back home who were hurting because of me, people who were terrified I was dead. Leaving them in limbo for even longer felt cruel. But Michael . . . once I left him, there was a really good chance I might not see him again—that was torturous. Michael was too important to me to pass on his generous gift of time. Beaming, I pulled him in for another hug. “We better get you back to the cabin then so you can rest up.” And so I could hold him, kiss him . . . and pretend that he was mine forever.
Anything to extend the joy and forestall the agony.
I made a big show of making him take it easy when we got back to the cabin, but really, the longer it took him to heal, the happier I would be. Although as I looked around at Michael’s dwindling supplies, the items he couldn’t make or forage for himself, I saw need. Michael needed to go into town. Him delaying for me—for us—was sweet, but he could only hold off for so long. Everything I looked at in his cabin, from the pancake mix to the antibacterial ointment, was suddenly a ticking clock, counting down our time together in a steady, unrelenting rhythm. What I wouldn’t give to be able to freeze time.