Just One Night, Part 3_ Binding Agreement(40)

“You don’t like what you see?” He shakes his head. “That has not been my observation.”

“Oh, it’s an enticing world. You make fantasy reality. That bar, Wishes.” I smile slightly and repeat the word. “Wishes. It’s like a Pan’s Labyrinth–type fairy tale—”

“Which is a hell of a lot more interesting than the G-rated Disney fairy tales Dave wanted you to live in.” He lifts my arm, kisses the inside of my wrist.

“Yes,” I say, struggling to keep my focus, “except in this fairy tale good and evil have no meaning. You just make wishes and they come true. Those who don’t play along are kicked out of the game. Of course that’s appealing when you’re the one making the wishes. But it’s your world, Robert, not mine.”

He releases my arm; his face hardens. Anger passion, frustration, and yes, love, I can see it all there, smashing together, tearing him apart. “It could be our world. That’s what I want, Kasie. I want us to rule side by side. I want the wishes that are granted to be our wishes. It could happen, just give me some time—”

“Oh Robert, you can rewrite history but you can’t rewrite the present. I’m leaving you and this job not because of the power that I don’t have yet but because I don’t want to rule. Not like this.”

“So you want to play somebody else’s game?” he seethes. “You want to let them trample you? Take everything away from you?”

I reach out, let my fingers rest on his chest, right above his heart. “I used to wonder what it was that connected us. I couldn’t figure out why we were so intensely drawn to each other. I’ve been telling myself that you are the moon and I’m the ocean, that you raise my tides with your gravity.”

He smiles for the first time. “The moon and the ocean, I like that.”

“It’s a pretty metaphor,” I acknowledge, “but maybe a bit too simple. I think I sensed in you a kindred spirit, a fellow runaway.”

His brow creases; he moves out of my reach. “I’m not running away from anything, Kasie. I never have.”

“Robert, you’ve been running your entire life. So have I. The only difference is that I’ve been running from my sister’s mistakes and you’ve been running from the mistakes of your parents. We’ve worked so hard not to be them that we’ve forgotten how to be ourselves.”

“No,” he says, almost childlike now. “I saved you from that! It was Dave who wanted to remake you. He was the one who wanted to turn you into a little Stepford wife! I set you free!”

“No, Robert. You just got me running in a different direction.”

His hand goes to his stomach; he clutches the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment I see the little boy, the one who was forced to stand and watch as his father was dragged off to jail for a crime he didn’t commit. The boy who watched his mother count out how many apples she could afford to put in their shopping cart. I see that boy’s confusion. I see that he’s lost.

Again I step forward, again I reach for him, and again he pulls away . . . but not by much. When I reach for him again, he stays still, let’s me run my hand over his cheek, smooth from his last shave. He closes his eyes and there it is, the thing I didn’t think was possible. . . .

The moon sheds a tear.

I kiss it away, then the next one as it falls down his face. And then a soft sob as I pull him to me, take him in my arms, kissing each salty tear as it falls in increasingly rapid succession. I want to soothe the little boy inside. I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him it’s okay, he can relax. He can stop running.

He finds my mouth, kisses me fiercely; his arms circle me, pull me closer, his need so intense, it takes my breath away.

“Let’s stop running,” I whisper and in a second we’re on our knees, both of us clinging to the other. He’s pulling off my jacket. His skin is still salty as I kiss his cheeks, his jaw, his mouth.

Gently, he lowers me to the floor and when I whisper his name, a little cry escapes him and I can hear the release of the breath he’s been holding for all these years.

Our shirts are off; it’s skin against skin. I can feel it but can’t see it. Our eyes stay locked, closing only long enough for the kisses that we keep indulging in.

It’s never been this way before. It’s never been so . . . equal. The only power I feel is the power of our unspoken love. It fills the room, slides up the walls as surely as his hands slide up my thighs. Everything seems to take on a golden hue—soft, rich, nostalgic, and new all at the same time.