Promise Me This(81)

Chapter Thirty-seven


Nate



I asked my mom to the festival in an attempt to get her out of the house. Since her separation from my father, she no longer saw any of those society ladies and as a result, might’ve isolated herself even further. I hoped that we could walk past the cooking instruction school and she’d be tempted to go inside. Which was exactly what’d happened. She also requested an employment application.

Mom and I visited more tents down aisle one, skirting past Raw Ink, which was mobbed.

“I really like Jessie’s mom,” she said. The fact that Mrs. Walters asked her to lunch was so damn cool.

“It’ll be good for you to make a new friend,” I said. “So I’m glad.”

“It seems you really like Jessie, too,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, I do,” I said, meeting her gaze. “I just hope she feels the same. Because sometimes she’s all I think about.”

She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I can tell that she does. And I also think you need to get to her tent already.”

“Okay, let’s go,” I said, looking up for the aisle two marker.

“No.” She shook her head. “Go by yourself and then tell her what’s in your heart. It’s time for you to go after what you want. You deserve it.”

My heart lurched. “So do you, Mom.”

“I know,” she said. “And I’ll get there. I will.”

As I edged past each tent, the same phenomenon occurred that always did when I spotted Jessie from a distance. It would begin as a slow burn in my gut, travel up the center of my chest, and then erupt into a raging firestorm. There was nothing I could do except attempt to pull air inside my lungs, that’s how damn badly I wanted to be with her.

Earlier she’d been wearing a light jacket, but now that the sun was blazing, she had shed her layers and her colorful sleeve of tattoos was exposed. When she turned to speak to a bystander, I noticed something new inked on the back of her shoulder.

The skin around the tattoo looked red and tender, which gave me a clue that it’d been fairly recent. As my unsteady legs carried me closer, I recognized the outline of a very familiar railroad bridge, and I nearly swallowed my tongue.

My lips parted to call her name, but I held myself back, needing to get my thoughts in working order.

Right then Jessie’s head twisted in my direction and our eyes met. I felt an instant jolt, as if a shock of lightning had been aimed directly at my center.

A wash of color spread across her cheeks and down her neck and I wanted to grab her and spin her in my arms, that’s how fucking alive she made me feel.

A spectator stepped into my line of sight and when she reluctantly turned to greet them, I entered at the side of the tent to check out the photography exhibits.

My gaze was drawn to her spotlight immediately. Not only because I recognized myself in it—but also because it was amazing. In the center of the display were the words: The sun’s PROMISE to the moon.

A breath lodged in my lungs as I took all of it in. There was a light and a dark theme to her project, which she created with black-and-white film and varying degrees of exposure. On the “dark” side were the covered bridge photos, near my childhood home. I materialized in the lower left frame in one of the shots, and it wasn’t lost on me how practically lifeless my eyes appeared.

I sucked in air as I read the script positioned in the middle of those photos, right above a dark and ominous zoom view of the bridge’s tunnel. It read, Let me be your moon—so that every night, I can illuminate the lonely cavern of your soul.

In the midpoint of the presentation there was a progression of color, which led to the other side—the “light” end of the display. It was the railroad bridge in full dazzling color, with the sun blazing and a vivid blue sky framing the shots.

And there I stood on the tracks looking so damn . . . I don’t know—full of life, happy. All because of her. The script on that end of the presentation read, Let me be your sun—so when I burn out each night, you can be the breath and the beacon that leads me home.

I felt Jessie’s body heat, but I didn’t turn. Instead I stretched my hand to find hers and interlaced our fingers. I tugged at her arm in order to position her in front of me. Then I slid my palms around her waist to draw her nearer.

We stood motionless, staring at her amazing creation and in that instant I was too choked up to speak. The tent had cleared so it was only her and me in that singular moment. And it was perfect. She was perfect.

She trembled when I leaned forward and brushed my lips across the raw skin on her shoulder. “When did you have this done?”