Coming Home to Greenleigh

Chapter 33

NORTHERN SOUL

Midnight, moonlight
The wind blows off Saint Clair
I'm stuck at a red light, waiting
At 6 Mile & Delaware
The sound of a distant Firebird
The echo of a rhyme - Smokey's words
And absence, sweet absence
Fills the freezing air

I've been wayside for years now
But no one seems to care
Their eyes on the distant horizon
I drove them out of here
I gave you the American dream
And the music for your movie scene
But you left me, bleeding
So listen to my prayer

You can break my heart and crush my dreams
But you can never take my soul
You can crack my stones and melt my steel
But you can never take my soul
You can break my heart and crush my dreams
But you can never take my soul
You can crack my stones and melt my steel
But you can never take my soul
You can never take my soul
You can never take my soul
You can never take my soul
Mmm, you can never take my soul
You can never take my soul
You can never take my soul
You can break my heart and crush my dreams
But you can never take my soul
You can crack my stones and melt my steel
But you can never take my soul
You can break my heart and crush my dreams
But you can never take my soul
You can crack my stones and melt my steel
But you can never take my soul

*Songwriters: Anthony Patrick Jam McGuinness / Jonathan David Grant / Paavo Olavi Siljamaeki*

***

It was the hardest wake-up of his life. He did not sleep well, but when he found himself staring at the ceiling in the dark, the gray edges of the hotel room drapes revealing the warm glow of street lamps outside, he realized he must have fallen asleep after all.

How long would the drive home take? He guessed at most three hours, maybe not nearly that long given that it was Thanksgiving and practically no one would be on the road, at least once he got past the environs of New York City. Thanksgiving! He could not even comprehend that he would be sitting down with his dad and eating turkey that very evening, talking football and arguing with him over whether the holiday was enough excuse for a double dousing of gravy on his entire plate. It was surreal.

He felt the warm pressure of Elisabeth's head in the crook of his left arm, her face pressed against his side. She'd slipped off the pillow, fitting neatly in the hollow between his arm and his chest, her right hand clutching his arm, her left arm thrown over his chest. She was sound asleep.

He hated to wake her. What if, he thought. Just, what if I didn't wake her up and she missed that flight? 

He already knew he wouldn't do it. He couldn't do it. She trusted him and he wouldn't sacrifice that. But oh, it was tempting. Last night, with its crushing disappointment, had been just as she'd said, a turn of the page, not a book slammed shut and put back on the shelf. After their conversation, he'd managed to tease her into the silk negligee that Christine had picked out for her, and she'd laughed at herself as she'd tried to pull it down to her knees. Shawn observed that she was clearly not seeing the point of that category of garment, that it wasn't meant to cover much at all, but all he got in return was more laughter.

"This is not me," she'd gasped."Sure it is," he'd countered. "Why shouldn't you wear something pretty and sexy to bed?" He'd felt a twinge of anxiety—he didn't want her wearing it to bed with Gunnar, that was for sure—but reminded himself that he was trying to stay in the moment. All that mattered was right now, when she loved him and he loved her. He needed to concentrate on not grabbing her and kissing her all over as she stood laughing at herself in the mirror. She trusted him not to try to change her mind, to respect her decisions.

But when she came to bed once more, she'd turned to him and kissed him, and all his willpower had fallen apart. He couldn't be with her like this and not want her. He had her in his arms and never wanted to let go. He asked her if it was all right—he didn't want her to refuse him, because that would just destroy him—and she'd looked up at him and said yes. She knew what he was feeling and that this was going to hurt, and she accepted it—it came with the territory, and he knew that she'd known that back on the highway, when she'd told him he could carry on to New York. She'd known what she was getting into and she'd known that it would make their eventual parting unbearably painful. Perhaps he was going to be unreasonable, perhaps he was going to be angry, but she'd taken a chance anyway. Because she loved him.

Their joining was blissful and it was awful. He'd wondered if he should be delirious with joy or weeping. As he'd kissed her, feeling the touch of her hands on his chest, thinking about the smell of sunshine on her hair and stolen kisses in a garden long ago and far away, he hoped that she wouldn't cry, because if she cried he would cry, too. And she hadn't. She was so much stronger than he was, and he had never known. This fact filled him with so much admiration, he hoped that there wouldn't be a lot of space left for despair. As it happened, he still felt the pain, but it wasn't despair. It was bittersweet sadness for things that had gone by and would never be again, but despair was something else, a pessimism in the world and the belief that things would never be right again. He wasn't in despair. He was just sad.

One sleeve of the lacy gown was falling down, and he gently pulled it up and smoothed it over her shoulder. He would never again feel her cheek against his bare skin; he would never again share a warm bed with her. But while his mind seemed to want to sink into dismal reflection over his failed attempt at recreating that long-ago elopement, his heart was full. Today he would trust his heart and see if he could ignore his mind.

He stroked her hair, and felt her stir."Good morning," he whispered.

"Good morning," she murmured. Then her eyes flew open. "Oh, my God. What time is it?"

"Don't worry," he said soothingly. "It's under control. It's still early. I'll get you back in plenty of time."