Tracy

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The morning was chilly for February, and Danny had been up in the night with chills and a fever, he'd thrown up at two and then drifted into a fitful slumber afterward, as long as Momma was there holding him, he slept. At five she managed to sneak out of bed, leaving him cuddled in a nest of quilts and softness, with the ferret, and she snuck downstairs for some alone time, but that wasn't to happen. Richard was up, the light in his room on brightly.

She padded to the bedroom door and peeked inside. He really was awake, she'd thought maybe he'd fallen asleep with the light on, but no, he was there, sitting up, his top half bare, his foot un-casted, but up on a few pillows.

She knocked on the door frame and peered around the corner.

His eyes rose slowly to meet hers—and she was startled that they were red-rimmed. Oh, no. Was he using again?

But when she approached, she realized he'd been crying. "Hey."

He closed the book he'd been reading and stuck it inconspicuously under the bedcovers. His smile was weary and grim. "How's it feel to come home to a sick monster child?"

"I've already changed the bed twice." She admitted, with a shrug, as she sat on the foot of his bed. He drew his legs up sitting cross-legged.

"Sorry, I'm not dressed. Didn't expect you."

"What were you reading?" She leaned forward expectantly, her hair falling over her shoulder. He wasn't used to seeing it down and untied, and was amazed at how long it actually was, even with its full capacity of spiral curls. Tonight she wore actual flannel pajama bottoms, and a long sleeved t-shirt, red—slightly more appealing than her cut off sweats and less appealing than the over-sized diaphanous linen shirt from the other night.

"Something."

She leaned over to see the corner of it under his pillows, and he moved it away so she couldn't see it. Her eyes rose. "Seriously?"

He rolled his. "Whatever, why do you have to see everything?"

"Is it dirty?"

"Depends on what you consider dirty. It's making me feel dirty, yeah." He finally retrieved it and she saw that it was a book by one of the church leaders, she wasn't very familiar with extra church reading, and smiled up at him unperturbed. "The Elders gave it to me. I am having a little trouble seeing myself as worthy of baptism, and this pretty much confirms it."

Her brows rose. "It's about miracles? And forgiveness? What could be so bad about that?"

He chuckled and put it back under his pillow, leaning slightly forward to look at her. "I'd rather not get into it tonight."

"Is it about what you told me about?" She persisted, as was her way and he felt instantly annoyed. Why couldn't she drop it? Did she have to confront everything head on? Everything about others, and nothing about herself?

He grunted noncommittally, and she closed her eyes as if seeking patience.
"Well, whatever floats your boat, buddy. I'm high on life tonight."

"You're giddy from lack of sleep." He informed her.

"So, do you believe it, Richard? Do you really?"

He cocked his head at her. "I do, what about you?"

She shrugged. "I think so. I mean, yes, of course, but I'm not very knowledgeable."

"Who is? I think we're all just fluttering around in our own little bubbles--- trying our best. Except maybe Raine. He seems to have got it together. He's a good man, Trace, he's worthy of you. I just worry about you two--- you're from two very different places."

She looked down and away. He didn't know, and she hadn't been clear with him, that she was marrying Raine--- soon. In a few weeks. She hadn't told many people at all.

"I know, but somehow we work."

Richard sighed. "I believe you. I just wish things were different. What if--- what if you had met me first? Can you honestly say what you'd have done then? Can you feel what we have? Does it mean anything to you?"

Her face crumpled. "Gees, Richard, way to push it. I mean, there's nothing here to keep beating the dead horse, so to speak. I've got permanent plans, why speculate?"

"On what might have been? Because I still feel that there's hope. I still feel that if you'd met me first, it'd be you and me talking marriage tonight. It'd be my kisses you'd be purring to. It'd be my arms around you."

She pulled her knees up and looked like she might cry. Her body swayed back and forth. "Oh, Richard. Richard!"

He kept his eyes on her. "Don't you feel it, baby? What about us? What about what we need?"

Her trembling filled the bed. She didn't look at him, didn't know what to say. Why couldn't she answer him? It was the same old same old. He was pushing her, and she wanted to be decisive, but he whispered confidence, logic, and truth, and reality. And a part of her was seduced by it, a part of her longed for the freedoms and connectedness she felt with him. Like she was part of him---- when she let herself feel, which wasn't often.

"The band is going to England. Casey wants to play the new Hacienda Club. Madonna played there."

"You can see your dad again, that'll be good." He was disappointed that she couldn't face her inner feelings, he was sure she had them. There had been too many indications of it. He'd fallen for her in a different way than he'd ever fallen for a woman--- against his wishes--- and that told him something. That what he felt was real. As if it couldn't be denied. Because it had been denied and it kept cropping back up.

"Um hm." She answered, lost in thought.

Richard watched her, seeing the lovely girl who had pulled him from the depths of his self-induced despair and apathy and given him her light and hope. Why wouldn't she allow him to give some back to her?

He reached for her, and she--- in her weariness or her languid early morning sleepy self, leaned into his arms, holding him, laying her head against his chest.

"That for all your hard work to get clean." She hugged him again. "And that for all your dedication to renewing life. You're not just getting rid of the bad, you're replacing it with something worth living for. I admire that, Richard. You truly inspire me to do better."

It was devastating--- holding her like holding liquid fire, like holding his dreams as if they were real and tangible things, encompassing desires that raged so impetuously he had no control. Holding her spoke to him--- gave him incredible hope. And dashed all his hopes at the same time.

He longed to find a chink in her armor, make her see him as a man--- the man who loved her and wanted her more than any other man alive.

When had he fallen so hard? How?

She backed up, and he felt his heart wrench. She would leave him again--- again. He didn't think he could handle it. Admit you feel it, Tracy, just admit it....

But she kept her feelings locked behind the iron-barred duty bound promise she'd made to someone else, someone she barely knew. As far as he was concerned, somehow, some way, she was still his.

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