Steady as the Snow Falls(27)

"I have the beginning of your story ready for you to read," Beth said  after a moment of arguing with herself over whether or not she should  say anything about it.

A slash of dark brown eyes cut open her senses before moving away.

Fighting the beat of her hyper pulse, she went on to say, "It's all of  ten pages, but it's a start. It's in my vehicle. I'll get it when we go  back."

Harrison didn't respond.

"Aren't you at all curious about what I wrote?"

His shoulders lifted and lowered.

"What if it's completely inaccurate, or … " Beth's eyes narrowed, and she  felt the curve of a wicked grin take over her mouth. "What if I call you  Butt-monkey in it?"

Harrison stumbled to a stop, his eyebrows shooting straight up as he looked at her. "Butt-monkey?"

Beth laughed, nodding vehemently. "Yes. Butt-monkey."

"What the hell is a butt-monkey?"

Head cocked, she squinted her eyes and tapped an index finger to her  chin as she pretended to think about it. Beth dropped her hand and met  Harrison's bemused gaze. "I guess it's someone irritating, like you."

"I'm irritating?" Incredulity put emotion and volume to his voice.

Beth was enjoying his reactions, feeling light and happy as she teased  him. She'd surprised Harrison, and he couldn't get the walls up fast  enough to shield himself from her. Unpredictability, Beth decided, was  perfect warfare to use against an unsuspecting man.

"Especially when you're all-" Beth lowered her face, twisted her  expression into a scowl, and said in a deep, sandpaper voice, "-don't do  this, don't do that. Don't stand there. Don't say that. Do read this  book. Don't look at me like that. Do call me a butt-monkey." She skipped  forward, away from a shocked Harrison, who stood motionless, only his  eyes moving, and only to blink.

Beth laughed, and she laughed harder when he blasted a glare in her  direction as he shot past her. "I do not sound like that," he said  stiffly, his long legs widening the space between them.

"You might even be listed under ‘Butt-monkey' in my phone!"

His shoulders tensed, but he kept moving.

"How am I supposed to ask you questions when I can't keep up?" she called after him.

"I guess you'll have to learn how to keep up with the butt-monkey," he replied.

With a smile stamped to her face, Beth attempted to match her pace with  his long strides, but she had to jog to do that. It didn't take long for  her to get tired and lag behind, watching as he got smaller and closer  to a forest of tall, gangly trees. Frustrated, she flung her arms out  wide and let herself fall back into the snow. She hit the cushioned  ground with a soft thump. It was oddly refreshing, watching air leave  her mouth and nose in bursts of white, the sun above, trees in the  distance, and Beth resting in her cold bed.

She closed her eyes and patted the powdery floor, counting off two  minutes before talking. "Sorry about calling you stupid the other  night."

"Did you do that?"

Beth's eyes popped open, and Harrison came into focus above her. "The snow … I called the snow-never mind."

"Here I thought maybe you'd added a ‘stupid' to the ‘butt-monkey'." He  sat down beside her and set his arms on his knees, his face dipped in  somberness. "My dad used to take me for walks in the woods all the  time."

She went still, not even the coolness of the snow deterring her from  hearing what Harrison had to say. The light moment was gone, replaced  with a deeper ring of clarity.

"He'd point out the different kinds of trees and which leaves belonged  to them. We'd collect rocks and anything else that was interesting to  me. Find water, wade in it. Try to catch fish with our hands. Sometimes  we'd see a deer, and we'd just stand there and watch it until it took  off." Harrison's pale throat waved as he swallowed.         

     



 

"We'd spend hours and hours out there. We didn't talk a lot of the time.  We just walked, and looked around. Enjoyed the moment. Ate turkey  sandwiches and drank apple juice. It was simple. My friends were going  on trips and playing video games and getting all this expensive stuff,  and my dad and I walked in the woods."

Harrison packed snow with his large hands, his head down. "I didn't know  it at the time, but my dad was teaching me something great then."

"What?" she exhaled, carefully sitting up. Beth had to remember this conversation. This was important.

He tossed the snowball in the air, caught it. "To have solitude is a  blessing, always rely on yourself before anyone else, and appreciate the  beauty around you."

She got it, finally. "And that's what you're doing."

Beth held out her hands, and he dropped the misshapen snowball into her  bare palms. It stung her skin, melting from the heat of her hands. She  watched as it got smaller and smaller until it was a tiny pool of water  within her palms. Beth opened her hands, and it splattered to the snow.

"Yes." He got to his feet and offered her a hand, the significance of the motion one most people would overlook.

Beth took his hand before he changed his mind, feeling the strength of  his fingers as they gripped hers and helped pull her to her feet. When  he went to withdraw, she held on tighter. Harrison lowered his eyebrows,  an unspoken warning on his lips. His hand was touched by snow, the skin  dry and calloused. He was strong-willed, but even the most  self-sufficient of men needed to know someone unobligated to care,  could. Beth didn't want to let him go, not ever.

At some point since she'd met him, she'd unconsciously claimed him as hers, and hers he would stay.

"Don't," he said, soft as a light breeze, but as fatal as a tornado.

"Don't what?"

His voice shook as he told her, "I don't want anyone in my life."

She squeezed his hand, refusing to let his gaze look away from hers. "Then why am I here?"

For one catastrophic instant, he looked at her in such a simple, raw way  that it splintered her heart and flooded it with feeling. He was a man,  and she was a woman, and when his camouflage eyes became unveiled, Beth  saw something in them that she couldn't ignore. It was the look of a  man who saw what he craved, longed for, needed. Harrison stared through  her eyes like she was already his and she wanted to give herself to him.  She would, if he asked. Beth didn't care about anything but making  Harrison realize he could still have things like friendship, love,  purpose, happiness.

Even if his time on this earth was already foretold by fate, he could be  well loved for the remainder of it. No life should be regretted, or  forsaken, not even a compromised one. Especially not a compromised one.

But then Harrison stepped back, and the enigma was once more in place.  He was Harrison of the shadows, a man she didn't know. A man who didn't  want anyone to know him. She let go of his hand, and felt the emptiness  ricochet through her arm. Beth sensed him retreat into himself as they  walked, aware of the distance he purposely put between them.

"The book you had me read," she hesitantly began. "Why that one? What makes it your favorite?"

He took a deep breath, his shoulders lowering with the exhalation. "The  kid was afraid," he said in a low voice. "He didn't know his dad; his  mom died. He ran from anyone who tried to help him, because he was  scared to trust others. He was alone. Homeless. Penniless. He had  nothing." Harrison glanced at her, his eyes throbbing with emotion. "He  had every reason to give up, and he never did. He had the worst odds,  and he still won."

A twisted ghost of a smile haunted his visage. "I want to be like that  kid. He's a fictional character set in the eighteen hundreds, and I wish  I could have the courage he does. Talk about messed up."

"Everyone's scared of something," she told him, looking ahead as they  walked. Beth couldn't look into Harrison's eyes right now. It would  break something in her.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked after a moment.

Beth pressed her lips together. So many things, too many things. She  glanced at Harrison, her footsteps halting when she saw the intensity  with which he watched her. "I'm afraid I'm not good enough," she  confessed.

His head tilted. "At what?"

She shrugged, feeling nervous under the directness of his questions. "At  writing, more than anything." Beth inhaled slowly, sick with the  admission. "What are you afraid of?"         

     



 

"Everything," he replied in a whisper. "But especially you."

Harrison picked up his pace, leaving her behind. Her? Harrison was  afraid of her? Her heartbeat sputtered and Beth's surroundings darkened  and lightened. It almost made her smile to think of him possibly being  afraid of her, but the hint of a smile quickly fell from her face. Maybe  he was right to be afraid. She wanted to tell him to not be, but maybe  she was the foolish one out of them, daring to take chances he wasn't,  to think of possibilities better left unformed. To have hope. To dream.  Selfishly deigning to forget everything but the man beside her.