"Please don't go."
Her eyes cast downward. "I think I should. I'm sorry. I've humiliated myself and said things I shouldn't have said and—"
"You can always be honest with me."
She finally lifted her head and looked at me. "I don't want to stop meeting you here. Or put an end to our . . . sessions. But, for today, I need to go." She smiled a small, trembling smile. "Tomorrow?"
I nodded my head. "Yes, tomorrow." I knew we were playing with fire before this, but now . . . it was even clearer it would be better for everyone involved if we put an end to our sessions right here and right now.
But try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to say those words. In fact, suddenly my desire to see her, to be near her was overwhelming. Her bravery stunned me, dazzled me. She had dared to dream beyond what someone else had ordained her destiny to be, beyond what even the gods had destined. And instead of that looking blasphemous or just plain stupid, something about it felt powerful, beautiful, brave.
Just like the bravery she had shown that day on the playing field.
As beautiful as a flower. As strong as a weed.
And something inside me felt like it had shifted, too, because I had dreams as well. In that moment, right there and then, I admitted to myself that I longed for more for my life and maybe those dreams were beautiful, too. Brave. I had always pushed that desire away, ashamed of it, thinking it sinful, selfish.
But maybe, just maybe, my own dreams weren't as sinful as I'd always thought them to be . . . somehow.
I watched her silently as she retreated. And somewhere deep down inside, somewhere where there were no rules and no limits, somewhere where only the beating of my own heart could be heard, love took root.
"Morning Glory," I called as she began to duck through the rocks. She turned. I walked over to her and handed her the rolled up portrait. It wasn't completely finished, but close enough. "Happy birthday." I smiled. And then against my own better judgment, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her, leaned in, and kissed her forehead. The sweet smell of fresh apples clouded my brain and I moved away, just a little bit dazed. Eden blinked at me and breathed out, giving me a small smile back. And then she was gone, and my arms were empty.
**********
Later that evening, after I had delivered the next day's drinking water around to the cabins, I saw Xander making a pass around the perimeter of our land and jogged out to where he was. When I slowed to a walk and joined him, he startled slightly.
"Hey."
"Hey, I see you'd be pretty useful in an attack," I ribbed him.
He snorted. "Lost in my thoughts. You're right. You're all pretty much sitting ducks with me out here."
I eyed him sideways. "What's on your mind?"
He sighed and stopped walking. "Do you really want to know?"
I stopped, too, and frowned.
Xander looked down. "I have a lot of time to think out here walking around." He paused. "Probably too much time."
"Hey, spit it out, Xander." I glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. I wasn't even exactly sure why.
He paused again. "This thing with Eden—"
I furrowed my brow. "Don't try to talk me out of it, Xander. I know everything you're going to say and I—"
"You're wrong," he interrupted, "you don't know what I'm going to say. This does have to do with Eden in a roundabout way, but not how you're thinking." He ran a hand through his straight, black hair. "I've been considering this for a while, and I never said anything because, well, I've been trying to get past my own sinful thoughts . . . I guess. My head is all jumbled most of the time." He glanced around. "But I," he looked around quickly and then back at me, "question things, Calder. I question Hector." He looked pained.
My body was tensed and I let it relax slowly as I considered Xander.
"I go around and around it in my mind out here," Xander said. "I work it like a puzzle, and it doesn't add up. So many things . . ."
I looked away, in the direction of our spring, Eden's and mine, and said softly, "No, I question things, too."
Xander let out a breath that sounded as if he had been storing up air for hours, years, perhaps a lifetime.
"The irony is, I walk the outside perimeter of Acadia a hundred times a day, and I feel like a damn caged animal."
"Why haven't you said anything to me before now? We talk about everything."
He looked off, over my shoulder. "Yeah, I know. I was trying to make sense of it . . . or get over it . . . or something. I swear to you, Calder, I don't even know."
I remained quiet while he ran both hands through his hair, leaving it looking like he'd just traveled through a windstorm.