We walked through the woods down the main path once again, away from Paradise Bottom and along the ridge that overlooked River Avon toward Nightingale Valley. We didn’t say much, once again, because we didn’t need to. Something had happened in the woods, just after the Lindy Hop. We’d just looked at each other, and it was like whole conversations were being spoken with that simple exchange. I will never leave you, his expression seemed to say. You can be sure of that, Jessica. I will never leave you.
It might sound strange that I believed I could read exactly what he meant simply from his expression, but I really could. A closeness had developed between us that was completely at odds with common sense, and neither of us cared. If common sense was something that would keep us apart, common sense could go to hell. We walked through the sun, beside the trees and the flowers, until we came to Clifton suspension bridge and the entirety of Bristol, laid out beneath us.
We looked down at the city for a short while, and then moved away. I remember thinking that somewhere, down there, amidst the countless buildings, was the hotel where a wolf and a lion had met, and now here Eli and I were. But I couldn’t find the hotel. It must’ve been somewhere in the far distance, out of view.
Eli kissed me just behind the ear, sending warm tingles down my neck as we walked back down the lane which would eventually lead us home.
Jessica
We had been living in a dreamland right up until two days before Dad and Annabelle returned. We had thrown ourselves into each other with a force that basically told the entire world (or would have, if we ever left the house): We want each other, and we don’t care what anybody thinks! That was how we thought—what we whispered to each other in the dead of the night, sore and satisfied from sex—what we told each other when anxiety attacked. But as the days wore on, the topic of Dad and Annabelle became more and more relevant. They would be back in five days—in four—in three—in two—in two . . .
I paced up and down the bedroom, daylight waning outside, as though the sun itself wanted to speed the confrontation along. I had bitten my thumbnail down to a stub, and when I looked at the other nails of this hand, I saw that they were gone, too. I looked at my other hand; there were no possibilities there, either. I threw my hands up and continued to pace. I felt more than saw Eli come in.
He walked to where I was pacing and stopped me with his firm body. The dagger-marked hand rested on my shoulder, and I when I looked up I saw that he was staring intently into my eyes. I wished, not for the first time, that I could stare into those eyes forever. It would have been convenient to beat back the world—to fight off the impending firestorm of Dad and Annabelle—by staring into his eyes, by losing myself in them, by shunning time and just being happy for a while longer. But eventually he spoke, ruining the spell, and I remembered once again that soon something would have to be done.
“I’ve thought about it, Jessica,” he said, his voice way too calm for the circumstances. Didn’t he understand how serious this was? Didn’t he realize that this could ruin everything? The scenario played in my head over and over. I told Dad, and he was so angry, so upset, so disgusted, that he broke it off with Annabelle, he took us back to the States, and I never saw Eli again. Or, worse, he shunned me and not Annabelle, and decided to stay married to her, but told me to go back to the States. Or, or . . . They were endless, and never good.
“So have I,” I laughed cynically. I slumped down on the bed, but my legs kept fidgeting, as though they wanted to continue pacing. “I’ve thought about it a lot. And I can’t see a way where we come out of this without destroying our parents. These days have been nice—nice, that doesn’t even come close, but you know what I mean—but we were idiots to think that they could last forever. Dad and Annabelle will be home soon, and we either have to stop doing what we’re doing, stop feeling how we’re feeling, or—” I stopped. The possibility was volatile, too unexpected. I felt about it as I would feel about priming a bomb. My hands weren’t steady enough for this task.