“There’s a winter storm blowing in across the lake,” I tell her, and she turns to watch it with me.
“It’s a good thing we’re not still out there,” she points out as we watch the dark clouds build and roll in across the water. Lightning flashes across the blackness and the air seems charged with the power of the storm.
I glance down. “It’s a good thing. It’s definitely more comfortable being naked here.”
She giggles and pulls me down to her, her tongue in my mouth again. I decide that it’s where her tongue always belongs. My hands slide to her ass, bringing her leg up around my hip.
“This is where your leg belongs,” I tell her firmly. She smiles against my lips.
“That might make walking difficult,” she answers, as she trails her fingers down my back.
“We’ll figure it out,” I growl and I slide my fingers inside of her. She whimpers and arches against my hand, just as the thunder cracks outside. And then our talking dies as a storm of our own rages in my bedroom.
Chapter Sixteen
Mila
The last thing I think about before I cross the hazy threshold into sleep is that Pax’s arms are so strong and warm. And safe.
I’ll never forget what it felt like when he dove into the lake after me and pulled me to safety. The stupid coat was weighing me down and I couldn’t get it off. He probably saved my life. It’s ironic that he is so reckless with his own life, but seems so protective of mine.
I snuggle more closely against him, against the strength of his chest. My face is pressed against his heart, and it beats loudly against my ear. It’s that thrumming cadence that soothes me to sleep.
And then I dream.
I look down and find sunlight bathing me, glimmering over my skin.
I’m in the church again.
But this time is different.
Instead of the black dress that I wore to my parents’ funeral, I’m wearing a white one. A simple cotton shift that is basically transparent. And my father is sitting in the front of the church, in place of the caskets. And instead of sunlight shining in, he is sitting in the shadows.
My pulse races because this is the first time either of my parents have appeared in a dream. It’s so good to see my father’s face. I rush down the aisle toward him, but my feet will only move one speed. It’s so frustrating because I want to run and my feet just won’t cooperate. But eventually I reach him.
I stand in front of him and simply stare. He’s wearing his favorite faded green flannel shirt and broken in blue-jeans, the ones that he always used to work in the yard in.
He smiles.
“Hi, peanut.”
“Hi, daddy,” I eke out. I have a lump in my throat that I can’t seem to swallow. “It’s so good to see you.”
He smiles the same smile that I have seen a million times over the years and holds his arms out. I fold into them and he smells just the same, like Old Spice and mints. I inhale and cry and hug him tight.
But after a few minutes, he pulls away.
I stare at him, at the large hands that have held me a thousand times, that have bathed my dog and pushed my bicycle and slapped my mother. I gulp and stare into his eyes.
“Daddy, why did you hit mom?”
He seems startled and holds his hands up, palms up to the sky.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Because I’m not perfect. Your mother and I should’ve gotten some help with our marriage. We loved each other, but we were unhealthy together. I’m sorry you saw that.”
“How can you love someone, but still hurt them?” I ask, and as I do, I feel the tears streaming down my face. Dad reaches over with a large hand and wipes them away.
“That’s a travesty of life,” he tells me softly. “Sometimes we hurt those that we love the most.”
“But you should never hurt someone in that way,” I tell him. “Having that kind of temper is being a coward.”
Dad stares at me. “Maybe I was a coward, then. But I was still a good person who just happened to have a bad temper. I love you, peanut.”
I feel rooted to the ground and then numb as realization floods over me. Somehow, for some reason, pieces click into place in my mind and I suddenly know what these stupid dreams have been trying to tell me all along…with the black and white caskets, the sunshine and shadows.
Life isn’t black and white. People aren’t all good or bad. I’ve concentrated so much on the meaning of life after my parents’ passed that I forgot that fact, because deep down, even though I didn’t acknowledge it to myself, my parents’ volatile relationship was hard on me. And I guess I judged them.
Truly, though, life is just a mixture of good and bad, of varying shades of grays and whites and blacks. I think that I’ve always been afraid of getting into a relationship with someone because I was afraid I’d end up in the same kind of relationship as my parents’ or that I’d make a mistake.
But life is all about mistakes.
I swallow hard and stare at my dad.