White ribbons flow through the leaves, some loose, others with lighted balls of tissue on the ends. Some are tied to jars with lights stuffed into them, hanging at different heights. Mason jars holding LED tea lights are set around the clearing. A blanket covers the ground at the foot of the magnolia, in the same spot the other quilt laid the last time I was here.
A stream of warmth rushes to my pussy, just thinking of that magnolia tree. My nipples pucker as they remember the way the bark on that tree rasped across their tender tips as Buck made love to me.
He drops the basket at the foot of the tree. He sits on the quilt and pulls me down too. When he lies back, he drags me with him so my head rests on his chest. His heart beats frantically.
We lay in silence until I can’t stand it anymore. “You’re such a morning person. All this so we can make love under the trees before you leave? We could’ve done this tonight.”
“No. I mean, yes, we can make love out here later tonight, if you want. But that’s not what all this is about.”
He rolls to his side, so I shift to face him. We both lay with our heads propped up on our hands.
His finger draws lazy circles over my bare shoulder. “You know, I’ve been thinking…this is the place where we played together as kids, where we pretended to be grown-ups with our own house. This place kept you safe that—that terrible day. But, I guess that day wasn’t all bad. It was that day, in this place that I first truly wanted to make you mine. I wanted so badly to keep you safe from the world, to protect you from the unfairness of your childhood.”
I cover my mouth as tears gather, prickling and stinging as they try to get loose. All the memories of all the moments we’ve spent under these trees, too many moments to count, rush to mind.
He’s right. We used to pretend all sorts of things in the safety of this hidden place.
Buck leans close, looking deep into my eyes. “I bought this property yesterday, Lou.”
“Wow. That’s—that’s really great.”
“I figured it was time.” Buck rolls to the base of the magnolia, digging the leaves away from the base of it, scraping away the dirt from around the roots with a little gardening spade he must’ve brought.
I sit up, peeking around his shoulder. “Time for what?”
He tugs something from the ground and holds out a dirt-encrusted pickle jar. “Don’t you want to open our time capsule?”
Oh, out time capsule; I’d forgotten.
But do I want to stroll back through the memories that jar is likely to call forth? I put them in there with Buck, so…
“Sure, we may as well. There’s no telling when we’ll both be in this spot at the same time again.”
Buck twists the lid off and hands me the jar.
A little kernel of excitement blooms in my chest. “I can’t even remember what I put in here. Do you?”
“I think so. I think there’s some bubble gum, an action figure, maybe a picture or something.”
I pull out the first thing my fingers touch, a piece of notebook paper folded around something.
Holding it up to him on my flattened palm, I ask, “Was this yours or mine?”
“That must be yours.” His dimples deepen.
I lay the paper aside and move to reach into the opening again.
Buck’s hand stills mine. “Let’s do this one at a time. Open it. Let’s see what it is.”
I shrug. “Okay.”
The old paper is in surprisingly good shape to have been in the ground in a glass jar all these years. I pull the edges, and as it opens, a pencil and crayon drawing appears, stacked atop another sheet.
I smile. I remember this. It was from school. The teacher told us to draw what we’d do when we grew up. Heat rushes over my cheeks. Two stick figures smile up from the page, the one with a top hat, the other wearing a veil. The childish handwriting labeled them as Buck and Loula Mae.
Buck bumps my shoulder with his. “So you’ve always wanted to marry me, eh?”
I shake my head. “Naw. I was young and didn’t know any better.”
“Ah, I see. What’s behind that one?” He flicks at the edge of the page, pushing it to the side.
The paper on the bottom is blank. In the middle of the creased page lies a ring. A gasp escapes me as my fingers cover my mouth. I fumble with the papers, dumping them and the ring onto the blanket as I scramble to my feet. I back away a couple of steps. My heart fumbles to find its next beat.
Buck snatches the shiny object from the quilt. He gets to one knee, holding up the small ring—not the one from the blue box. I know this ring.
It’s Nan’s.
I take another step away.
“Loula Mae Fontaine, if you run off on me, I’ll have to tie your ass to a chair next time. So, just wait. Hear me out, and then you can decide if you want to run from me, though I’m hoping you’ll run to me.”