An Ordinary Fairy (26 page)

“He could have been here when you were gone. When we went to Danville, for example, or the night you came to the motel.”

“All too true.”

They sat in silence, each digesting the new information they had shared, sitting close to each other on the sofa despite its roominess. Noah gazed at Willow. She was lost in reverie, her eyes directed to the floor.

Every time I look at you, my mind goes blank.

Willow raised her head and smiled. Noah reached for her hands and took them in his. A soft glow he associated with affection surrounded her deep brown eyes.

“Willow, whatever the reason it happened, I am thankful you’re alright.”

“And I’m thankful you were here.” They drank in each other’s eyes. Noah gently caressed her hands. His fingers moved over the scars.

I forgot about those.

“Willow, last night I was holding your hand and I found these.” He turned her hands over and rubbed his thumbs over the two half-moon scars.

Willow’s body tensed and her glow winked out. A jackhammer of emotions crashed into Noah, first fear, then terror, then anger. She jerked her hands away and put them in her lap.

Calm down, I’m just curious.

“What are they, Willow?” he asked quietly.

“None of your business, that’s what!”

“You can’t keep these secrets from me. I care about you and I want to help.”

She turned a withering look on him. “I don’t need your help. You had no right to, to…”

Careful, Noah. Don’t let her anger take you.
“You seemed to want my help last night.”

Willow seethed, but didn’t respond.

“I found scars on your ankles, too. I’ll never know what caused them either, will I?”

Her eyes flashed. “What else did you fondle while I was helpless?”

Noah reeled back as if she had slapped him. Control slipped away from him, replaced by white-hot fury.

Sweet little fairy, my ass!

He sprang up from the sofa and walked towards the door, then turned back to Willow. He hooked a thumb towards himself. “I took care of you last night. I probably saved your life.”

“And conveniently undressed me whenever you wanted.”

“Damn you!”

Willow leapt from the couch.

Noah spun away and grabbed his hat and coat off the pegs while he swung the door open.

“So, you’re going to be a coward and leave?” Willow asked.

He turned around to face her. “I have
important
things to do. And by the way, your coffee sucks.” She burst into wailing tears, her face contorted with hurt.

Noah whirled around and stomped out, pulling on his coat as he walked. Willow slammed the door with such force he was sure everything in the cottage shook.

“Fairy fury,” he muttered.

He swore when he reached the truck and saw he would have to turn around. Gravel flew as he jockeyed the truck about in the tight space.

When Noah reached the motel room, he threw his keys across the room, grabbed a beer from the fridge and downed half the bottle in one long swig. His eyes came to rest on Willow’s picture. He tore the paper from the wall, wadded it into a ball, and threw it across the room toward the wastebasket. He flopped onto the bed, turned the television on to the Packers game, and forgot about Willow Brown.

Thirteen

W
hether it was the beer, exhaustion, or stress, Noah fell asleep during the game. He woke after dark and made a quick dinner from the junk food in his fridge. He wolfed it down, drank another beer and went to bed.

One well-known rule about intentionally forgetting something was the impossibility of success. Try as he might, Noah could not get Willow out of his mind, and sleep would not come.

Crap!

He climbed out of bed to pace and analyze.

The dissolutions of two previous relationships had not spawned words as cruel as Willow’s. Replaying them brought him close to a fiery rage, the burning only extinguished by throwing things.

I hate all her damned secrets!

Willow’s past was like a huge, cold stone standing between them. He chased her around it and sometimes was lucky enough to catch her and they could play for a time, but when he asked where the stone came from and why she stayed around it, she grew angry and ran behind the stone to hide. She refused to come out until he promised not to ask about it. Willow loathed the stone, he was sure, but couldn’t leave it. He had pushed her often about her past. No wonder she had lashed out.

“Fondle,” he said aloud, cringing at the sound.

Why did she have to use that word?

Noah replayed every time he had touched Willow, searching for a mistake, some slip, anything that might have been wrongly interpreted. She seemed free and comfortable with his touch; in fact, she sought it.

Her charms would resurrect a dead man, as Dad likes to say. But I’ve been careful about displaying those feelings.

Haven’t I?

Noah paced the small confines of his room countless times during the evening, thinking, rethinking, analyzing. He reached a conclusion: the only way he could ever hope to draw Willow away from the stone was to pretend it didn’t exist. Maybe when she moved far enough away she would look back and describe it to him, if she wanted. He must never ask about the stone again.

Of course, I’m assuming she’ll even speak to me again.

He stopped at the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He had the bottle in his hand before deciding it didn’t sound good and put it back. What he needed right now was a cup of coffee.

Coffee. She made coffee for me.

Noah sighed and his shoulders slumped. She had been excited, proud. He was vindictive. Coffee had nothing to do with their issues.

“Noah, will you never learn?”

He sat on the bed. His mind filled with Willow’s face twisted in hurt. Tears came to Noah’s eyes as well. He wasn’t one to cry, least of all over a fight, but this was not just a spat with a girlfriend; he had hurt the most remarkable woman he had ever known.

He lay down, then quickly rose, fished the ball of paper from the wastebasket and smoothed it out as best he could on the table.

“Sorry.”

He taped the picture to the wall.

This must never happen again.

Never.

Tree branches swished the truck as Noah pulled off the county road at the missing sign the next morning. The dashboard clock read five after eight. Willow should be up. If not, he would wake her. He had laid awake half the night debating what to do. At one point, he had thought he would get up and drive to the woods but decided it best to wait for morning.

When he reached the tree across the lane, he was shocked to see what a muddy mess he made the day before when he left. He positioned the truck for a quick escape, if needed.

Noah was on a mission: he would grovel at Willow’s feet and throw himself on her mercy. It was the one chance of winning her back. Being sorry was easy; gaining forgiveness was the struggle.

I can’t lose her.

He went over his prepared speech as he approached the cottage. When he reached the clearing, emotions swirled about too fast for him to keep up.

Protect me, Goddess.

About halfway across the clearing he heard the door bolts thrown. He stopped, unsure, and unwilling, to continue. The door swept open and there stood Willow. She pushed open the iron gate, but hesitated. She wore white shorts and a blue tube top, with the red amulet around her neck. Her wings waved uncertainly behind her.

Do you think I’m angry?

When their eyes met, a confusion of feelings passed between them. Relief, then remorse and last joy spread across Willow’s features.

“Noah!” she breathed out. She began to run, then took to the air and flew to him and wrapped her body around his, with her legs encircling his waist. She buried her face in his neck and squeezed him painfully tight. Fairy fragrance surrounded them.

Not knowing what else to do, Noah put his arms around her. Her body relaxed and she pressed herself closer.

“I’m so sorry, Noah. Please forgive me. I was afraid you would never come back.” She beat her wings again, drifted backward, and put her hands on his chest, floating eye to eye with him. Noah slid his hands down to her bare waist. Her face was happy but her eyes filled with remorse. “Please don’t be angry with me, Noah. I hate it when you’re angry with me.”

Noah was speechless but as Willow wouldn’t stop talking, it didn’t matter. She began to apologize again, but he shushed her and pressed his fingers to her lips. “Please forgive me,” she said around them.

What was I going to say?

“On one condition,” he said. “You have to forgive me first.”

Willow frowned at first, but then her eyes lit up.

“No, I asked first so you have to forgive me first.”

“Are we going to fight over this, too?” Noah asked with a chuckle.

Willow’s face fell. She lowered herself to the ground but kept her eyes on his. Her wings stilled and drooped.

“No. I don’t ever want to fight again.” She hugged him again, with her head laid sideways against his chest. He held her for a few moments while he stroked her golden hair.

“I’m sorry I called you a coward,” Willow said. “It takes a brave man to deal with a fairy woman.”

I think we’ll just let that one lie.

“Let’s go inside,” he said. Willow let go, took his left hand with both of hers and led him into the cottage. Noah closed the gate and door behind him. He removed his shoes and jacket with one hand because Willow would not relinquish her hold on his hand except to thread it through the sleeve.

“Are you afraid I’ll run off again?” he asked.

Her eyes twinkled. They sat close together on the sofa, facing each other. She let go of Noah’s hand, but rested one of hers on his knee.

“This is exactly where we were yesterday when things disintegrated,” Noah said.

Willow shook her head. “No. We’ll never be there again. We’re … different now.”

“You’re right. Willow, give me your hands.”

She raised her hands and began to extend them to him, but paused and turned their palms up before he took them in his. Noah took her hands and caressed the offending scars.

“Willow, I will never ask you about these again. I promise. I will never ask you about your past again. I promise.”

Sorrow filled Willow’s face. She took one of his hands in both of hers, lifted it to her mouth, and tenderly kissed it. She kept her eyes averted. Noah continued. “If I’ve ever said anything or touched you in a way that—”

“No, no, stop,” she interrupted, placing a hand over his lips. Dismay filled her features. “How can you ever forgive me for what I said? You’ve treated me with such care and compassion, Noah, ever since you came here. Everything we’ve done has revolved around me and been for my benefit. You’ve never complained and for some reason you keep coming back. You saved my life.” Willow dropped her eyes to his hands. “I’m so ashamed of what I said.”

The ache in Noah’s throat caught his words. Before he could speak, he removed a hand from her grasp and cupped her cheek. Her eyes remained downcast.

Maybe this is what love is all about: nothing mystical, but hanging on through fighting and laughter and bills and kids and fear and vomit.

“Willow,” he said. His throat rasped but the melody of her name warmed his heart. She raised guilt-ridden eyes to his. “Willow,” he whispered. Then louder, “Of course I forgive you. I’m sorry I did anything—” She tried to interrupt but he shushed her. “Let me say this. I don’t ever want to do anything to scare you or make you uncomfortable or that you think is inappropriate. I’ve been free about touching you and maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“No, Noah,” Willow interrupted. “I like your touch.” She pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed it. “Fairies like to touch and to be touched, it’s how we are. You’ve never done anything wrong to me.” Her cheeks began to glow.

“Okay. I think we’ve apologized enough, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“So let’s see what’s wrong with your coffee maker.”

Her face fell. “I’ll have to buy a new one. I smashed it to pieces.”

“Good. I was afraid you might throw it at me.”

Willow exploded into cackling laughter. “I didn’t really. It did cross my mind, though.” She paused. “We can’t make coffee yet. When you make up you’re supposed to kiss. You haven’t kissed me yet.” She stated this not in a flirtatious way but as if stating an obvious point of law, as if they had written a contract but failed to sign it. The shine of her face intensified.

“Oh. Pardon me. I suppose we should stick to protocol.”

“Yes. As my favorite cowboy likes to say, it’s the right thing to do.”