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I shook my head, and he hung his.
A few beats later, he’d sat my coffee beside his and disappeared inside the car again, grabbing a backpack. I’d watched from the window as he balanced the backpack over his knee, unzipped, and dropped the white paper bag inside, I’m sure filled with croissants and pastries, before closing it back up. Ollie grabbed my coffee off the car and walked under the window and toward the front door, disappearing from my view.
When he walked back to the car, his hands were empty.
He’d left it all waiting for me.
Ollie paused before he got back inside the hatchback, car door half-ajar, shielding half his body. He looked up once more, his eyes saying everything I needed to know: I’ll be here tomorrow, I’ll do this forever, but hurry up because you’re killing me. And before he got inside and closed the door, the last look in his eyes said the very thing I needed to hear, taste, and feel instead. I love you, Mia.
I’d spent yesterday’s brisk morning walking up and down the hills of Bushkill with the camera Ollie left me from the backpack, which also held some old clothes, a new pair of Converse, and a few simple shirts he purchased, knowing he had everything I’d left at Dolor.
Bushkill, Pe
I’d went through two rolls of film, and remembered the way I felt behind a camera. Powerful and in control. I could give any illusion I wanted. Make anything beautiful. Even a gum wrapper carried by the wind amongst the leaves, I’d clicked and captured trash, a mint blue star dancing across brown hues.
From the busy day before, Ollie had beat me to the front door.
We stood on opposite sides, completely still and staring at one another, and I shivered from the cold-front seeping through the breezeway and into the house. Ollie had more layers on this morning with a beanie, the temperature in the high thirties or low forties. Though his feet were rooted in place, the rest of him was alive, ready to pounce if I’d let him. “You all right?”
He stood in front of me, him on the doormat and me inside the entryway of the house, and I forced my head to nod to keep myself from caving. Here, I felt more in control of the situation. Here, I trusted myself. But with Ollie here, no distance was safe.
Ollie’s chin dropped to his chest. “I won’t keep you, but I went into town yesterday and got you a phone with international service. I want to make sure you have a way to reach me,” he pulled out a phone from his front pocket and held it between us, “the young chap said the camera is the best feature, and I set it up for you last night, programmed my number. I also downloaded a few apps I think you’ll like. Mostly picture apps where you can choose filters and distort images …”
Ollie continued to ramble nervously, and I reached for the phone.
“Nah-uh-uh,” he pulled the iPhone away and held it over our heads, clouds from our breaths pillowing between us, “I want something from you in return.”
I shifted, leaning my hip against the doorframe in a pair of his joggers he’d packed me and his shirt that read, MAKE LOVE NOT WAR. He knew I loved this shirt, not because of the saying, but because it was his favorite. “What do you want?”
“If I give you this phone, you have to message me. And I’m going to watch you send me that first message now so I know you know how to use it.”
The phone lowered between us, and I held out my palm for him to drop it in. “I know how to use a phone, Ollie.”
“You’d be surprised how much has changed in two years.”
Shaking my head, I fumbled with the buttons to change the black screen to something different. The home button was gone. Ollie smirked but offered no assistance.
Finally, I figured it out tapped the green icon. “What’s your number?”
“It’s already in your contacts,” his hand jolted inside his pocket, “the only number in there, love.”
I backed out of the messages and went to contacts. “Ollie” was listed, something so simple, but seeing his name across a screen made my heart grow wings and fly. I smiled, texting him.
Ollie’s phone pinged in his other pocket. He took out his phone and dropped his head, his fingers working the screen to open the message, which simply read, “I love you.” His shoulders visibly relaxed, an exhale left him, and his gaze dragged from the screen until green eyes met mine. “I needed that.”
The late morning sun filtered through the lace curtains, heating the side of my face. All night, I’d tossed and turned, unable to get warm or comfortable. My throat burned, and my insides felt as if I’d been thrown into an inferno. An a
For the first time, in a long time, I was sick.
Groaning, I blindly patted for the phone inside the covers to text him.
The phone was dead.
“Diane?” I desperately called out, hoping she’d understand me through the animalistic sound that came out. My voice was gone. “Diane!” I tried again, this time pushing through the lodge inside my throat.
Fully dressed in yoga pants, Nikes, and Michael Kors black puffer jacket, hair and make-up perfectly in place, Diane entered the guest bedroom with her bag slung over her shoulder, pink yoga mat peeking out.
“I’m sick. I can’t get out of bed.”
“Well, what do you want me to do? I’m on my way to meet Lisa at Barre.”
“Can you tell Ollie I can’t come down? And I need medicine. Do we have medicine somewhere?”
“There’s Tylenol in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”
“And Ollie?”
“I’ll tell him,” she adjusted the bag, “He’s not allowed in the house, Mia. I don’t feel comfortable with someone I don’t know here.”
“I know. He won’t come inside the house.”
She sighed and reached for the doorknob. “I’ll stop to grab soup on my way back.”
That single gesture was both a shocking revelation and the very thing we both needed to put us in the right direction. Since I’d arrived, I’d followed by her rules, kept to myself, and not once made this time difficult for her, or at least I’d tried. Was this her way of giving a little back in return? “Thank you,” I tried to say, but it came out as a hoarse whisper.
After Diane left, I’d fumbled with the new charger, trying to stick the end into the phone, and waited impatiently for the phone to drink enough energy to light up. The Apple logo appeared, and I sat up in the bed, both sweating and shivering as my head pounded.
I immediately texted Ollie.
Me: I’m sorry.
His response was instant.
Ollie: Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Let me take care of you.
Little did he know, it was my fault. I hadn’t dressed for the weather yesterday, walking around without a jacket, taking pictures.
Me: You’re not allowed inside the house.