He suddenly felt so far from me that my heart ached.
He sighed, running a hand down his face and then through his hair, scratching at his scalp. After he had washed it earlier and it dried on its own, it stood up in long strands all over his head. “I’m going for a run,” he said. “You’re all right without me.”
Not giving me the chance to answer, he stood and threw on a hoodie, running shorts, and socks. He grabbed his Italian soccer team hat hanging on the dresser and put it on backwards.
He was gone before I even sat up.
No, I wasn’t all right without him! It all happened so fast.
During the night, I remembered him helping me out of my clothes and into the cotton nightgown; it glowed neon against the illumination of the moon. I didn’t bother to change.
Some of my mess was still lying at the bottom of the bed. I snatched up a folded blanket wrap; the weather beneath the oak had spread, stealing in on summer during the night. Coolness swept in from the balcony.
I wasted no time running down the steps, another blanket wrap untangling from the first. I must’ve grabbed two by accident. But not wanting to be cold, two seemed to give me better odds. A pair of red rain boots was at the door, so I stuffed my feet into them and shot into the night, like some reject the house ordered out. When the chilled night air made contact with my bare limbs, a shiver stole over me.
Brando hadn’t gone far. I could see the outline of his silhouette from where I stood. Even though the distance between us wasn’t much, the severe ache seemed to propel me toward him like a moth to a flame. The rubber boots on my feet crunched against dirt and leaves as I moved.
“Aspettami!” I whispered out.
He stood in the distance, watching, waiting for me, as I had asked. It seemed like he was standing directly underneath the moon, and it outlined him in an unearthly glow.
I’d always loved a full moon in Louisiana, the way it seemed to spill from the black-velvet sky, run through the boughs, leaves, and swaying Spanish moss of the gnarled old oak trees, and then coat the ground in silver pools—a cup that had run over with mercury.
A strong gust of wind picked up, and a group of leaves twirled together, crackling against the ground. I ran right around it, following the path of the moonlight, holding the blankets close together so that none of the cool air could sneak in.
“Hi,” I said, almost breathless, when I reached him.
He said nothing for a minute or two and then finally cleared his throat. “Did you follow me to make sure that I wasn’t leaving to meet another woman?”
I looked down at the bright red of my rubber boots, running the toe back and forth along the muddy path, making a clear line between us. “I deserve that,” I whispered. “Brando—”
“Yes or no, Scarlett.”
“No.” I looked up.Oh, I almost lost my breath. The moon was motionless in his dark eyes, making him seem almost unreal. He could’ve been ancient or very new.
Before another word could be shared, he took my hand and led me further away from the house. We were headed for the spot he had taken me to the night he had left me behind.
“Tell me,” he said, not looking at me.
“Tell…” I could barely keep up. “Why I followed you out?”
“Yeah.”
I put a hand on his arm, forcing him to stop so that I could keep step, but more than that, so I could talk to him. “There’s an ache,” I said, reaching out, setting my hand against his heart. “When we’re apart. Whether in true distance or emotionally, it haunts me,mio angelo. I don’t like it. It unsettles me. I don’t want to be unsettled anymore, not when you’re right here. I came after you because I couldn’t stand the distance.”
“Scarlett.” He put his hand over mine. “Every day you hope that I won’t hurt you.”
“You can do more than that,” I said, turning my eyes from his. “Hurt me, I mean. Hurts can heal.” I shook my head. “What you can do goes beyond healing. It’s the most frightening thing in my life—for you to have that much power. You have it, and you know you do.”
“Do you have it over me?”
I looked at him then. “Do I?”
“You have it, and you know you do. I’m at your mercy, woman.” He slid his hand into my hair, his thumb stroking my cheek. “If one suffers a deep cut, it’s the other who bleeds. Hurting you would kill me,mia moglie.”
“Brando!” I wrapped the blankets around the both of us, wanting to be as close to him as possible. “I’m sorry!” My voice came out muffled against his sweater. “I’m so sorry!”
“Me too,” he said, kissing the top of my head, “that a man who was supposed to instill trust instilled doubt instead.”
