King of the Woods, or Trivial Pursuit

Part 7 - Crown

She took Ray back a different way than they'd come. She stopped a few times to gather more wildflowers and weave them into a crown. He asked, "Who are you making that for?" Her eyes grew distant, and she smiled and said, "My true love fair." Ray didn't ask any more questions after that. They came to a place where three paths intersected. Down one of the paths, a jackhammer went t-t-t-t-t-t.

"This is my stop," Ray said. He tried to think of something else to say, but his molars were already starting to bounce around his gums, and all he managed was: "Man, I hate that noise."

"Not as much as I do," she said. Her eyes grew distant again, and she furrowed her eyebrows. The jackhammer sound cut off abruptly.

Ray smiled and said, "I guess he heard us."

"I guess so," she said.

"Listen," Ray said, "I know I don't even know your name-"

"I told you," she said.

"Please just let me finish," Ray said. "I know you've got a ... you know." He pointed to the crown meant for her true love fair.

"A crown?" she said.

"It doesn't matter," Ray said.

"Yes?" she said.

Ray said, "You're cool and so weird and beautiful and you smell amazing and—oh god, Byron would slap me if he heard me talking like this." He scrunched his eyes shut and palmed his forehead.

"You're very sweet," she said. "Is Byron your boss? I won't let him hurt you."

"Never mind him," Ray said. "I want to see you again. That's all I'm trying to say. I would regret not asking for the rest of my life."

"You might regret asking for the rest of your life," she said.

"You're teasing me," Ray said.

"I have," she said. "And I will again. It's fun. But I am not teasing about this."

Ray had seen this look before. Not when she had spoken of her friend who had died of cancer, but earlier. It was pain, or guilt, or sorrow.

"You might regret-" she said.

"No," Ray said. "I won't. I can't see the future, and neither can you, but regret is a choice."

She smiled and said, "Oakenheart, after all. But I did warn you."

"You and the deer," Ray said. "Why is everyone trying to protect me?"

"You are innocent," she said.

"That's not true!" Ray said. "I went to this party in college..."

"Let me show you," she said. She pressed her hand, and her body, into his chest. His heart ran a tin cup along his ribcage. Oak, sure.

"What are you doing?" Ray said.

"Close your eyes," she said. He obeyed. Her fingers climbed up his arms and neck like vines climbing a trellis. She traced his hairline, caressed his ears, and rested her hands on the back of his neck.

The wind rustled pine needles overhead and the grass at his feet. The sounds reminded Ray of the voices of his family. A bird perched nearby; a belted kingfisher, crowned with a shaggy crest and banded in white and blue as though dressed for a state dinner. Ray knew this without seeing. A beetle ran like Errol Flynn along precarious mushroom balconies jutting from an oak stump. Butterflies stretched their wings, greedy for more sunlight, and the sun obliged. T-t-t-t-t-t went a distant woodpecker.

She guided Ray's hand to her lower ribs. Through the fabric of her dress, he felt them rise as his fell and fall as his rose. They breathed each other's breaths until every other sound faded into memory. He slid his arms around her waist until his hands cupped his elbows, and pulled her to him.