The Woodlands

He wrapped his hand around my finger and bent his head down to catch my eyes. I shivered under the intensity of his gaze. “Don’t forget the dried meat,” Joseph teased, knowing it would a

“You can’t just eat meat all the time,” I snapped.

“I know, I know,” he said, arms up in surrender, the sleeves of his shirt pulling back to reveal his forearms.

“What’s that?” I asked, grabbing his arm and inspecting it more closely. It was red and bumpy, the skin angry and raw. I ran my fingers lightly over the sore flesh and he sharply withdrew, wincing in pain.

“It’s nothing. I think my skin’s just irritated from all the sawdust. My boss is such a slave driver, you know,” he said with a smirk, jerking his sleeve down and pulling me towards him.

I was concerned, but as soon as he started tiptoeing his fingers up my arm, I forgot what I was thinking. Joseph had become very good at avoiding my huge stomach as his fingers meandered up my arm and found their way to my hair. Pulling my head gently to the side, he parted my lips with his own. My head filled with gold, pushing logical thoughts out of my head like loose slips of paper.

After a while, he pulled his head back and I felt his lips gently brushing my ear. “I’m so impressed with you,” he whispered.

“Really, why?” I asked, not really caring for the answer, just craving his lips on my ear again.

“You’ve come so far.”

I froze, no longer moving towards him. Feeling my body reluctantly, but instinctively, pulling away from his touch. A beautiful oak tree leaned down to hear us, its orange and yellow leaves lighting the branches up like flame.

“What does that mean?” I asked defensively, clenching my fists.

Joseph eyes fell. He scratched his arm again and let his arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Rosa, I don’t want to fight.”

I took another step back, my feet crunching and then squelching into the dirt as I stomped, vibrating with anger. “Just explain to me what I have done to impress you so much?” I spat.

“I just meant, you’ve changed, you’re more open, you’ve let me in.”

He stumbled over his words, trying to diffuse me. He held out his hand but I smacked it away. I hated when he tried to ‘manage’ me like this. It made it even harder to control my anger. It rose in me like an over boiling pot, bubbles surging up and burning me with hot steam. I was of two minds, one part of me trying to calm down but the other, overwhelming part, held onto the anger and pushed it forward.

“I didn’t realize I was so behind before,” I said sarcastically, knowing I was taking it too far, but unable to stop myself. As I grew in size, so did the strength of my changing emotions. I was fuming, although not entirely sure why. “You can’t change me, you know, this is it.” I was stamping the earth like a child having a tantrum, smattering the colored leaves with dirt.

Joseph’s expression changed from apologetic and calm to angry, his mouth pursed, eyebrows knotted, a temper starting to boil up to join mine.

“Believe me, I know that,” he said loudly, his deep voice booming through the forest. I leaned away, shocked; he had never really raised his voice to me. I knew I had gone too far, I knew it, so why didn’t I stop? I pushed his chest. He didn’t move. So I turned my back to him and uttered, “You need to leave, now,” even though I didn’t want him to go anywhere. I was desperate for him to stay.

“Fine, you get your way.” He walked away from me, his boots thumping through the forest loudly. But as his furious form retreated through the trees, I caught him mutter, “You always do.”

My face fell and tears brimmed over, splashing down my face. I willed him to turn around, to see my sorry face, but he never did. He just stormed through the soft undergrowth, trampling plants and scratching his arm furiously as he went, until he disappeared from sight.

I looked through the spaces between the branches of the oak tree. Little framed windows of white light sparked and shot down to the forest floor. What’s wrong with me, Clara? Why can’t I be happy? Why am I always pushing him away?

I thought back to the day when I was eavesdropping on Joseph and Clara’s conversation. “She trusts you, she just doesn’t trust herself,” she’d said. She was right. The closer it got to my due date, the more I worried about my feelings. I didn’t trust that I could make it work. I didn’t understand why he had faith in me, when everything I loved turned to dust. I fell to my knees, placing my hands in the dirt. This was what came of loving me. I picked up a handful and watched it trickle to the ground. Dust. Tears turning to mud as they merged with the ground.

I sobbed pathetically, sitting in a triangle of light that finally forced me to move. I rose from the ground and wiped my red face. I knew a lot of this was pregnancy hormones, but part of it was fear. The baby always drove a wedge between us because I was afraid of it. I resolved to try and talk to him rationally. I needed to explain how I was feeling.

I made my way back. Tonight was the first we would sleep inside. It was a good thing too; the nights had started to get icy, a fine frost gathering on the outside of our sleeping bags. I hoped Careen had made more progress with the fireplace. I hoped Joseph hadn’t stormed back angry and was telling everyone what a horrible person I was. No, he would never do that.

When I got back, everyone was hovering over something I had been working on. They were circling it and talking to each other when I broke the circle. I busted in, deliberately opposite Joseph, trying to catch his eyes, but he avoided my gaze. I frowned. I guess at some point it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t want to be my punching bag anymore but I was disappointed. I’d hoped he would realize that I was just overly emotional from all the hormones. With every second that he avoided me, I could feel myself prickling, feel the compulsion to yell or push him again, but I told myself to calm down. This time the calm side won. He couldn’t always be the understanding one. This time it was my turn to make it right.

“Why are you all staring at the door?” I asked, bending down awkwardly to wipe some sawdust off the roughened planks of wood. Joseph’s hand reached out to help me, but then it withdrew quickly. I stayed on the ground, looking up at the group. I had laid out the planks side by side neatly and placed cross braces on them to make a door, but I hadn’t quite worked out how to hang it in the doorway.

Deshi spoke first. “How are we going to put this up? We can’t have a house with no door over winter. It kind of defeats the purpose,” he said crankily, holding Hessa over his shoulder and bouncing up and down as he patted the child’s back.

Careen held out her hand and I took it. She pulled me up too quickly and I felt the blood rush to my head, swaying a little, Apella steadied me with her wispy hands. Joseph stood, hands by his side, silent.