Broken

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: The Question

"As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment."



John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men

"I have to go to Atlanta next week. It's Thursday through Saturday. Will you come with me?" he asked, breaking the silence.

I thought for a moment about the money I would be missing from those days. Could I afford to miss that much work? I realized I had been hoarding cash in a way that would make Ebenezer Scrooge envious. I could afford it.

"What are you going to be doing?" I inquired.

He explained that there was a new technology that would fix a person's vision permanently. It was a laser that burned off a thin layer of cells of the cornea and corrected the curve to restore perfect vision.

"My practice wants to buy the laser but it's expensive. I want to attend the lectures and training, so I am positive it's a sound investment. I will be attending meetings in the morning and afternoon. We would have the evenings to ourselves."

I thought this over but said nothing until he picked me up and placed me squarely in his lap. "Paige, please come. I want you to be myself. I don't want to share you with anyone, even if it's only for a few days."

I took in his handsome face and couldn't refuse. "Okay, Evan. You may drag me to your boring work conference."

He kissed me with joyful pleasure and then released me.

He pulled my hair from its top knot and watched it fall down my back. He picked my panties off the floor and slid them back on me. "I am starving. You don't keep food in this apartment."

It was true. I only had diet soda, wine, and coffee creamer in my refrigerator. I shrugged. "I don't see the point in cooking for one person. My oven burns everything anyway."

He slipped my dress back over my head and then slid my sandals back on my feet. He dressed me like a child and I let him. There was something magical about everything he did. "Let's go get dinner before I faint from low blood sugar," Evan suggested as he took my hand to pull me from the sofa.

We walked hand in hand to the Coco Café for dinner and ate on the veranda. We smoked and drank wine while he told me funny stories about his patients.

After dinner, we spent the night making love in my bed. He held me and fondled my body, his fingers finding every scar and asking me how I got it. One scar was from a car accident and another from falling off my bike when I was six. I had one on the side of my wrist from a glass I had somehow broken in my hand. I questioned him about the one on his knee and he confessed, "Motorcycle accident."

I asked with some surprise, "You have a motorcycle?"

"Not anymore," he admitted with a silly grin.

He touched the almost imperceptible scar that ran along the side of my right cheek. "Where did this one come from?"

I stiffened. I didn't want to tell him about the night I climbed the rose trellis. I only said softly, "Rosebush."

Instinctively, he held me closer, whispering, "I love you."

He caressed me into sleep.