While I Was Away(69)

“To see a friend,” he said. “I haven't seen him since I got here. You okay here for dinner by yourself?”

He's lying.

She knew it. She could feel it. Just as surely as he'd be able to feel it if she lied to him. But she didn't say anything about it, just smiled reassuringly at him.

“Yeah, I've got plenty, don't worry about me.”

“Okay. Text me if you need anything?” he asked, reaching for the door knob.

“Kind of hard to do without your number,” she teased, trying to calm his nerves. He rolled his eyes and hurried into the kitchen. She handed over her phone and he quickly keyed in his number.

“Sorry, I forgot you didn't have it. I just assumed -”

“I'd already have it,” she laughed. “I'm not quite that good of a stalker. Not yet, at least.”

“Well, practice makes perfect. Don't wait up for me, okay?”

“Okay. And Jones?”

He'd already opened the door and stepped onto the porch, but he leaned back in and looked at her.

“Yeah?”

“Have a good time,” she said, and she meant it.

He wasn't going to a friend's place. He was probably going to drive around aimlessly, or maybe row out to the middle of the lake, or maybe just walk around town. Whichever it was, she wanted him to feel at ease while he did it.

“I'll try. Thanks, Adele.”

And then he was gone.

*





WHILE SHE MADE HERSELF dinner and toodled around the cabin, Adele let her memory drift back over the weeks and months. Her time with Jones in the real word, her time with him in her dreams.

He was running away from her. He'd been running since they'd found each other again – sort of the same way she'd rebelled against him at first in her dreams. She just had to wait him out.

I have to have faith in him.

Besides, worst case scenario, he never came around, and they went back to L.A. He would resume his life as a nurse, while she would fall into a bottomless pit of despair and never love again.

No big deal.

She found his paints and a small brush, then set about painting a picture. She almost drew their poppy field, but then stopped herself. The dream scared him. It scared everyone. Hell, sometimes it scared her.

So she painted something else. Something he'd appreciate. Something from real life.

She painted their clearing. Dozens of happy little daisies, with a butterfly caught in mid-flap over the center of the clearing. At one edge, she added a couple sprigs of fireweed, then she concentrated on the Bush Poppy, trying to capture as much detail as she could.

When she was finished, she admired her work for a moment, then ripped it out of the sketchbook. She propped it against a window near the door, letting it rest on the sill so it could dry, and so Jones could see it first thing in the morning. It was something concrete, something that had really happened between them. Something his reason-and-logic-only brain could grasp and appreciate.

By then, it was after ten. Jones hadn't lit a fire before he'd left and Adele wasn't sure how. She poked around in the stove for a bit, then decided not to try. She didn't want to burn his place down. So she just changed into his t-shirt, then crawled under the heavy quilt on the bed. She hugged the far edge of the mattress, making sure to leave him enough room to lay down when he came home.

Then she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

When she became aware of her surroundings again, she could tell it was much later. There was a distinct chill in the air, making the tip of her nose feel frozen. But she didn't open her eyes. She just laid there and listened.

Jones was home.

He was moving with soft steps around the cabin. He took off his jacket, then went into the bathroom for a bit. When he came back out, he wasn't wearing his shoes, she could tell.

He went about building a fire and she almost thanked him out loud. Even under the blankets, she was chilly. When he was done, he started across the room again, but then paused for a long moment near the window, and she smiled to herself. He'd found her little painting.

The paper crinkled as he sat it back down, then she felt the covers rustling. She turned on her side, facing his direction, but still kept her eyes shut.

“Adele,” he whispered as he slid onto the bed.

“What?” she whispered back.

“I'm sorry I left you.”

“It's okay,” she yawned. “You needed some space, I get it.”

“No, not tonight.”

She opened her eyes. She hadn't realized how close he was to her, their noses were only inches apart.

“What do you mean?” she asked. He sighed, then gently laid his hand over her cheek.

“I'm sorry I left you in your dreams,” he explained. “I'm sorry I don't understand all of this. And I'm sorry you're the one who keeps getting hurt. You don't deserve it.”

“It's okay, Jones, I'm not -”

“And I'm sorry we can't be together the way you want us to be.”

She didn't know how to respond to that, couldn't form the words, couldn't even think straight – her heart had stopped beating.

“It wouldn't be right,” he went on. “You were a patient of mine, it was just a dream. It would be unethical.”