Chaste (29 page)

With shaking hands I pry open the coffee table drawer and take out the shirt Kat left in the kitchen on the day she made me breakfast. Spreading it out on my knees, I run my fingers over the soft fabric, remembering how comfortable she looked standing in my doorway in mismatched socks. Why can’t I let her go? Lifting the shirt to my nose, I hope to catch the smell of her soap, but the scent is gone. It’s been gone for weeks now. I guess that should tell me something.

Carefully I fold the shirt up and place it back in the drawer. It creaks when I push it closed. Elijah smiles up at me and squeals.

I grin at him and feel a rush of love. For the next half hour I’m lying on my stomach tickling my nephew and playing peek-a-boo while the television blares behind us. The noise grates on my nerves. So I stand and flip the movie off.

There’s a knock at the door.

I pick up my nephew and bounce him in my arms.

As I go to answer the knock, rain makes the windows rattle. I wonder who would brave this kind of weather to come to my house this late in the evening. Maybe our neighbors have locked themselves out of their house again. Maybe a car has broken down on the street, or maybe, just maybe—

I open the door.

A girl in high heels is standing on the bottom step, legs covered in opaque black tights, head hidden under a giant green umbrella. The flower designs on her painted nails make me think of Kat. I open my mouth, but no words come.

It can’t be her.

Then the girl tilts the umbrella back and those amazing green eyes lock with mine. My breath catches.

Kat has come. She stands only two steps away as my feelings for her rush back like a crashing wave. My heart pounds hard in my chest. My palms sweat. My tongue feels thick in my mouth.

Elijah giggles and squeals. When he sees Kat, he tries to jump from my arms and into hers, which scares me out of my state of shock. He squirms when I catch his head with my left hand. My nephew is oblivious to danger.

“You must be cold,” I say to Kat in a shaking voice, opening the door to let her pass.

She closes her umbrella and leans it against the wall before handing me her coat, which I hang up in the closet. She follows me into the living room where I place Elijah back on the blanket with his plastic keyboard.

When I turn to glance at her, I’m taken aback by the striking change in her appearance. Her pleated skirt, which falls to her knees, is the kind of skirt a modest Mormon girl would wear. Her hands, once so soft and smooth, are crisscrossed with scabs. And her beautiful dark hair, which she used to wear straight, now falls down her back in a mass of untamed frizzy curls.

She looks wild.

She looks tamed.

She looks like wind forced to fight against itself until it turns into a tornado that aches to do some damage. And here I stand, unable to move, caught in the deep green storm clouds of her eyes.

“Why did you come?” I ask.

“I had to see Elijah.”

My feet are rooted to the spot as we stare into each other’s eyes. “You drove here in the middle of a rainstorm just to hold my nephew?”

“Well, there’s maybe another reason too,” she says, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I’m coming back to West Springfield in January.”

“You’re moving back? I thought you left in case Mike got out.”

“Come on, Quinn. Mike’s locked up. Even if he weren’t, I have a restraining order. It isn’t like he can hurt me again.”

I put my hand over my gunshot scar as phantom pain shoots through my ribs. “You should be more careful, Kat.”

She slips her hand under mine. Her gaze is searching and soft, like she wants to soothe my pain.

“It takes a long time for wounds to heal. Yours are physical, but mine are on the inside. The things I did to escape the hurt, like sleeping with Mike and making a bet with Tasha to seduce you—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I cut in, betrayal threatening to close up my throat. Her hand on my stomach shakes.

“How could I when you saved my life?” Her lower lip trembles and her eyes are wounded. It’s both tragic and poetic that by sparing me she made things worse.

“I forgive you,” I mouth, taking her hand in mine to steady it. Her pulse races against my fingertips.

“None of that hurt like leaving you. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. When I said it was over in the hospital, it was because I thought I was a monster. You were so sweet, and I didn’t know how to thank you, let alone protect you.” She blinks and a tear slides down her cheek. “I won’t abandon you again, Quinn. I promise.”

My heart aches as her breathing turns ragged and tears fall down her face.

“Come here,” I say, wrapping my arms around her. She buries her face in my shirt. “You’re wonderful, Kat. So you’ve made some mistakes. That hardly makes you a monster.”

Elijah giggles as he pounds on the toy piano with his fists. He turns onto his back, smiles and squeals, kicks his feet until a sock falls off. I’d like to think he agrees with me. More likely he’s happy to play with his toys.

The girl in my arms lets out a sigh and rubs her hands up my back. My shirt, now covered in black mascara smudges, is wet with tears. Two months ago I would have hated getting dirty; now I don’t care. I hold her close and stroke her hair, feel it rough against the palm of my hand. “I love you, Kat.”

“I’ve decided to keep your rules. To stay chaste and respect your beliefs even though they don’t match mine.” Her storm cloud eyes gaze up at me, pulling me in so deep I could drown. “Because I respect you, Quinn. Because I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Whatever you need, I’ll give. If you want more time, space to heal—”

She kisses me and my words stop. The bookcase could collapse, the couch could explode, the world could end and I wouldn’t notice. Not with Kat’s warm lips against mine, her hand on my back and her words in my head.

“I love you,” she whispers again and again. “I love you, Quinn, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Angela Felsted is a Northern Virginia native who is overly fond of Olive Garden and Red Lobster. She grew up in a faithful Mormon home with three brothers and one sister where she learned to stand up for herself by tickling her attackers until they broke out into laughing fits. Her work has appeared in issue fifteen of Drown in Your Own Fears, Chanterelle’s Notebook and Vine Leaves Literary Journal. Her poetry chap book, Cleave, was published by finishing line press in 2012.