Terms of Love

TWENTY-NINE

The gentle sounds of the waves breaking on the shore soothed me. I rested my chin on my knees, trying to lose myself in the beauty of the beach. The gulls flying overhead, the ebb and flow of the moving water, and the utter peace.

Except, I wasn’t peaceful. I felt lost, torn. I was grateful Penny was no longer trapped in a never-ending nightmare of forgotten moments, but I missed her terribly. Her voice, her laughter, the tender way she would cup my cheek, kiss my forehead, tweak my nose, and in her rare moments of clarity, provide her wisdom.

If she were here I could talk to her, tell her what I was feeling, and she would explain it to me. She would tell me what to do next.

I was in love with my wife, a woman who wasn’t in love with me. A woman who felt love made you weak and couldn’t love herself. She would never be able to see her good traits; the ones she had buried deep inside in order never to be hurt again.

She had changed a lot since that fateful day she asked me to be her pretend fiancée. Gradually, she allowed a gentler, more caring side of herself to emerge. Penny broke through her remaining barriers. She reminded her of a time when she had felt love from another person. Graham Kim had shown her how to work with people, not endlessly compete. He’d proved to her there were good people and she could be part of a positive group. His wife and children showed her a different version of what she believed a family could be. One filled with support and care, not neglect and pain.

I wanted to think I had something to do with her change. That somehow, in some way, I had shown her love was possible. Maybe not with me, but it was an emotion she was capable of giving and receiving. She didn’t give herself enough credit, though.

I wasn’t sure when I realized I had fallen in love with her. The seed might have been planted on our wedding day and it grew every time she shed a bit more of her caustic, hurtful nature. Every real smile and easy laugh watered the sentiment, making it stronger. Each kind act toward Penny, one of the Kims, or me, had fed the fledgling emotion until it took hold so tight I knew it would never change.

The day Jennie showed up was the day I knew I loved her. The headache that plagued her all day, made her unusually vulnerable. She not only allowed my care, she seemed to enjoy it. Her teasing had been sweet and funny, bordering on affectionate. When she came to bed, she had shown a different side to her character. Her voice had been a low hum in the dark as she comforted me, her apologies rang sincere as she asked for forgiveness for the way she had treated me in the past. Forgiveness I granted —that I had granted days, maybe weeks, before she had asked for it. Then she drew me close and made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t since my parents died. I slept content and warm in her embrace.

The next morning, I had seen yet another side — her sexy, funny side. The way she reacted to waking up entwined together; the amusing way she ordered Jennie out of the room, kissing me until I was breathless. Her passion simmered below the surface, her voice low and raspy from sleep. Her comment about expanding our boundaries made my heart race, and I knew for the first time in my life, I was falling in love.

Sadly, though, I knew she would never change enough to allow my love. That she would never want my love. We had a truce. To her shock, and mine, we became friends. Her insults were now teasing, and her dismissive attitude gone. However, I knew that was all I was to her. A friend — a collaborator.

I sighed as I dug my toes deeper into the cooling sand. I would have to go inside soon. Once the sun set, it grew colder, and I was already a little chilled, even with a jacket on. I knew I would pass another night pacing and rambling around the small cottage. Chances were I would end up back on the beach, bundled up, walking to try to exhaust myself so I could fall into a restless, unsatisfying sleep. Even in my slumber, I couldn’t escape my thoughts. Asleep or awake, they were filled with her.

Lisa.

My eyes burned as I thought of how she had taken care of me when Penny died. How she acted as though I would shatter like glass if she spoke too loud. When she had carried me to her bed, intent on comforting me, I already knew I had to leave her. I couldn’t hide the love I felt much longer. I couldn’t stand the thought of watching her face morph into that cold, haughty mask she used to cover her true self as she dismissed my confession —because she would.

Until she could love herself, she could never love anyone. Not even me.

Impatiently, I brushed the tears away, hugging my knees tight to my chest.

I had given her the one gift I had left —myself. It was all I had, and in truth, I was being selfish. I wanted to feel her. To have her possess my body and be able to keep that memory as the one I held the tightest. It was still painful to think of, but I knew as time passed, eventually the edges would soften and wilt, and I would be able to smile thinking of the passion. Remembering how her mouth felt on mine. The way our bodies joined perfectly, the warmth of her form surrounding mine, and the way her voice sounded as she moaned out my name.

Unable to take the barrage of memories, I stifled a sob and stood up, brushing off my jeans. Turning, I stopped, frozen. Standing in the waning light, tall and stern, hands buried in her coat pockets, staring at me, with an unfathomable expression, was Lisa.