While I Was Away(68)

No wonder he tried to keep me from jumping off that cliff. He's scared to take chances.

“Alright,” she finally managed to reply. “We'll just live in this moment, okay? We'll ... we'll be in this now together.”

He looked at her and smiled, and his green eyes seemed so big, she felt like she could crawl inside them.

“I like that. This now. Let's be in the now together.”

*





SO MUCH FOR BEING IN the now.

Unfortunately, the awkward damage had been done, they couldn't quite get back to that comfortable place again. When they'd finished their sandwiches, Jones had packed up the cooler and they'd headed back to the cabin. They'd stayed silent for the whole walk, Adele watching his back as they picked their way to the road. Memorizing him all over again.

Once they got inside, Jones settled in behind his canvas again while she cleaned up their picnic supplies. When she was done, she wasn't sure what to do with herself. She didn't want to go home – even if it was just friendship, she supposed she'd rather be with him than without.

So she sat down on the floor and leaned her back against the bed, then she took out her sketchbook. She smiled, realizing they were both artists. Earlier in the day he'd told her no one knew he liked to paint, except for his father. And now her. It made her feel special, to know a secret about this real world Jones.

When she put her pen to the paper, Adele wasn't sure what she wanted to draw. After a few lines, though, it became clear what was on her mind. She did a rough sketch of their castle. When it was done, she ripped the page out of the book and let it fall to the floor. Then she started on a broad picture of Old Town.

Soon, multiple pages of paper were littering the floor. The moon, the sizzling sun, the diner, her bedroom in her parents' house, they all joined Old Town and the castle. She couldn't believe she hadn't tried drawing her dreams before; she once again wished for colors. Crayons would've even sufficed. Maybe Jones had a spare canvas she could paint on.

“You're very prolific.”

His voice interrupted her thoughts. She'd almost forgotten he was there. When she looked up, it was to find him staring at her. The sun was low now, filling the cabin with shadows. She glanced around at the mess she'd created and laughed.

“I didn't even realize. I'll pick it all up.”

“Don't worry,” he said, then he leaned down and grabbed a sheet of paper. “These are ... good. Really good. Wow.”

He was holding a sketch of the magnolia tree – she would've killed to see those pink petals in all their glory.

“I think the tree was me,” she said, leaning her head against the mattress behind her.

“Excuse me?”

“The tree,” she repeated herself. “You were so concerned about it, in my dream. You kept warning me that the roots would take hold, and that when they reached the bottom of the cliff, it would be there to stay. I think the tree was representing me, and you were warning me if I stayed in the coma too long, I'd never wake up.”

He stared at her for a long time, and she stared right back, not afraid of his naked gaze.

“I said that to you a lot,” he spoke softly. “So what happened to the tree?”

The soft light and the warmth in the room was making her sleepy, so she gave him a lazy smile.

“You were upset. The little girl had died. Mary? Marigold. You begged me to wake up. So I did, and I saw Ocean. And the tree fell into the ravine.”

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You know about Marigold.”

“I do.”

“I never talked to anyone about her.”

“You talked to me about her.”

“I did,” he said, raking a shaky hand through his hair. “I took a couple days off when she died, and I was so scared it would happen to you. The doctors were discussing transferring you to a care facility. I would've ... I would've lost you.”

“That would've been horrible,” she whispered.

“It would've.”

They stared at each other for a second longer, then he abruptly got up and went into the bathroom. A second later, she heard the shower come on.

Shower as a defense mechanism, that's a new one.

Adele got up and cleaned up all her sketches, piling them into a neat little stack. She almost put them into her bag, then thought better of it. Smiling to herself, she went and tucked them into a wooden box alongside his blank canvases. The pictures were his, in more ways than one.

She thought about peeking at his painting, but decided against it. He would show it to her when it was ready. Maybe that would be tomorrow, maybe it would be a year from now, or maybe even never, and she would have to accept that – she couldn't force him to do things he didn't want to do.

She couldn't force him to recognize her soul.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Jones was fully dressed. She was searching the kitchen for something to make for dinner, but when she turned to him, he was slipping on his jacket.

“Can I borrow your car?”

Adele floundered for a moment, trying to think of how to respond.

“Sure, I mean, of course. Where are you going?” she asked. It wasn't really her business, but it was her car, and for a moment she was scared he was going to drive back to L.A.