Staring at the form for an hour, it seemed (had it been an hour already? her mind had wandered so), and still no decision. She lifted her pen and it wavered over the space for her signature; it did not make mark. She set the pen down again and her hand, free of indecision, cradled her forehead and covered her eyes.
It was yesterday…
… the cherry tree was loaded with fruit, was tall as the sun, and her mother had lifted her so she might sit on a low limb, within reach of the clusters, her flight contained in those arms and in that smile; cherry juice stained her blouse without shame; perfect mother perfect day
… they each held a hand of that little boy, the brother five years her junior, as he grinned and laughed and took supported steps into his future
… the snow swirled around her dancing lace, drifts rose to her waist, while she held a sunshine umbrella overhead and sang songs with summer in them
… swaying in her kitchen dance, was it happiness she kept her babies fed? (“not like me,” she admitted to herself; “maybe the racing world dissatisfies us, women and men both”)… maybe she loved cooking and loved dancing…?
… how her arms surrounded her with love the day of her wedding, love and loss, loss and love
“Robert, I can’t sign this!” Shaking her head, head in her hand.
A quiet sound behind her, she didn’t look up, but her heart relaxed and her eyes filled with tears in anticipation of the touch. This one she had grown to trust, had allowed herself to trust. She had allowed love, she had done so well.
His hand rested on her neck and then, with that controlled strength she felt through his fingertips to his arms and torso, moved it around to stroke her hair, and invited her head toward him. A sigh rose up in her like a wave, and receded like a wave until it was gone. Sometimes, Robert, you can be fragile; and sometimes I let you be strong.
She turned away from that damned contract, from her mother’s inevitable future, and the future’s insistence that she be its agent. Let it be for tonight (he said; she repeated) yes, yes. Let it be. We have our quarrels, don’t we? But this is why we are meant to be together. Thank you. Thank you. She stood away from her chair and held him.
“Cherry Valley” by tsigane @ DeviantArt.com
Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2012