CHAPTER 24 - SWEET SORROW 

            The days that followed were filled with the frenzied activity of packing up and getting ready to move 270 miles away. It wasn't easy, but I managed to steal a few moments with Michael whenever I could. Yet there was now an underlying note of sadness in our time together because we knew that each day brought us one day closer to those dreaded good-byes. Since we were about to part for who knew how long, I had hoped that perhaps Michael might relax his rigid morality just a little, but no such luck. He continued to behave toward me with circumspection appropriate to the hero of a Jane Austen novel. Though Michael was still disinclined to act on his feelings for me, he had at least become slightly less averse to admitting those feelings.

            Our last day together dawned clear and hot, but there were storm clouds in my soul. Finally, with only a couple of hours left before departure, it was time to say my good-byes. I walked the distance to Michael's small white house with all the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner walking the last mile.

            In those halcyon summer days, we had created a utopia inhabited by ourselves alone. But now the outside world was about to intrude on us with a vengeance. I was afraid that our refuge would prove no more substantial than a soap bubble. Could what we had together really survive this separation? Despite all my feelings to the contrary, perhaps I really was just a child with a crush on an older man. Perhaps I had only been deluding myself that he cared for me as deeply as I was sure I cared for him.

            He was waiting for me on the porch, and he stood up when he saw me. Arms folded across his chest, he leaned against the post. As I came up the path, he gave me a slightly lopsided smile, trying to put on a brave face for my sake.

            My lord, he's a good-lookin' man! Tall and handsome, he looks like he just walked out of a Harlequin Romance novel. What in the world does he see in me? I paused briefly, getting drunk with the beauty of him. I wanted to burn the moment into my memory. Unable to restrain myself for very long, though, I dashed up the steps and threw myself into his arms. "Is it too late to run away to Mexico?" I asked.

            He held me against him, burying his face in my hair, his careful reserve finally abandoned. "'Fraid so, my love," he whispered. Leading me to the wicker sofa, we sat down. "So this is it," he said.

            "Guess so," I replied, my gaze firmly downcast. "Mom and I are takin' the car and hitting the road in a couple of hours. Dad's gonna finish loading the truck and closin' up the house, then he'll follow us. We're going to be livin' in an apartment until the new house is finished. I'll write and let you know as soon as I have the address." I was rambling nervously.

            He placed his finger lightly on my lips. "God, I'm gonna miss you," he whispered.

            "Oh, you'll go back to your nice, uncomplicated life without a kid hangin' 'round an' forget all about me." My attempt to be flippant failed, rooted partially as it was in a real and nagging fear. Michael had as much as promised to wait for me, but I knew how fleeting such assurances could be. People often make promises with the best intentions, but sometimes rather than making the heart grow fonder, absence simply makes the heart go wander.

            He gently touched my cheek, turning me to face him. "Is that what you think?" he asked. "Do you really think that's all you mean to me?"

            I lowered my gaze to escape the searching scrutiny of his beautiful blue eyes. "I don't know what to believe anymore," I confessed, "I'm just so afraid of losin' you."

            He put his arm around my shoulder and drew me closer, leaning his cheek against the top of my head. "You're not gonna lose me," he said softly. "There's a ‘Magnolia-shaped' hole in my heart. It can't be filled by anyone but you. But, what about you? You'll be in a new place with lots of new people. You'll be more likely to forget all about me."

            "Not a chance!" I protested. "I could forget my own name before I could forget you." I turned to face him and put my hand up to touch his cheek. "You've been my friend, my protector, and you've taught me so much." I bowed my head for a moment before looking back up and assuring him in a voice choked with the tears that were threatening to spill, "I love you." And I knew in my heart of hearts that it was true. Whoever else might dismiss my feelings for him as only a teenage crush, I knew in my soul that I loved him.

            I dropped my hands in my lap, and I looked at the gold ring shining there as though seeing it for the first time. Two hands clasped a crowned heart. "Would you accept somethin' from me?" I asked, shyly. "If you don't think it's inappropriate?" I slid the ring from my finger and held it out to him. "My Uncle Joey sent this to me from overseas. He said it came from Ireland. It's called a Claddagh. The hands are for friendship, the crown is for loyalty, and the heart is for love."

            "I'd be honored, and I don't think it's inappropriate at all," he said as he tried it on. Of course, it was too small for his ring finger, but it fit his little finger easily. "I'll wear it always," he promised, solemnly. "And I have somethin' for you," he said, as he rose and stepped inside his front door to retrieve a thin rectangular package, wrapped in ivory-colored paper and tied with a pale blue satin ribbon. "It's probably better if you waited to open it until you get to your new place."

            I nodded my assent as I took the package, unaware, of course, that it was the book of poetry. "Thank you," I whispered, knowing that we had nearly come to the time when those dreaded farewells must be said.

            When I looked up at him, I saw that his expression had changed. His pale blue eyes were bright, almost feverish as he gazed at me with singular interest. "I'm not a saint, Maggie," he said softly. "And, I'm not made of stone. Nobody gets through life without a few regrets, and I've always figured it's better to be sorry for doin' somethin' than for missin' an opportunity."

            He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me, so I just sat there looking up at him like an armadillo in the headlights, caught between fight and flight.

            He took the package from my hands and placed it on the settee beside me. Then, he gently raised me to my feet. "So, you're ‘sweet sixteen an' never been kissed', hmm? Well, that's a shame. That's a real shame. We'll just have to do somethin' about that . . . " He was stroking my hair and caressing my cheek as he spoke.

            Okay. Now I felt like an armadillo in the headlights. Something was bearing down on me with all the force of a Kenworth truck, and all I could do was stare stupidly and wait for it to smack me in the face. The predatory gleam in Michael's eyes was something totally new. It was exciting and scary all at the same time. He cupped my chin in his hand and kissed me lightly on the cheek, a sweet and innocent salute.

            I thought that was to be the extent of it, a chaste peck in parting. Imagine my surprise when his hand slid down my neck, gently tracing the line of my throat before he bowed his head and bestowed another kiss on the throbbing pulse just beneath my left ear. His breath was hot on my neck, tickling and causing an involuntary shiver as I felt the goose bumps rising on my arms, and on various and sundry other parts of my anatomy.

            I heard Michael's throaty chuckle. "Somethin' wrong?" He half-purred, half-growled the vaguely mocking question in my ear.

            "Um, ‘possum ran over my grave," I replied. This must be what an earthquake feels like, I thought absently, when ground that's supposed to be solid suddenly starts shifting underneath you. Reality had suddenly shifted, and I was losing my balance.

            With his left arm around my waist, he pulled me against him, and this was no innocent, brotherly embrace. I could feel his sinewy body pressed against the length of mine, and I don't know whose heart was pounding harder. "Relax, Magdalen," he whispered. "I'm not gonna bite you . . . much."

            I squeaked in surprise as I felt his teeth nip lightly and playfully at my earlobe. He chuckled again at my reaction, and gently kissed the ear that he'd just bitten. Now, my goose bumps had goose bumps.

            I felt light-headed, and my knees went weak. I sagged against him. Then, I felt his strong hands cup my buttocks as he lifted me up and set me on the wide porch railing in one fluid motion. I held on to his shoulders to keep from tumbling backward into the rose bushes. Now, he was looking up at me with that same intense, burning gaze. With his hands still cupping my butt, he pulled me close until he was standing between my parted knees. I suddenly had a mental picture of that goofy robot on Lost in Space, waving its arms and shouting, "Danger, Will Robinson!" But it didn't matter. I was past the point of listening or caring.

            I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, several in fact. I was panting as though I'd just run a race. I'd been dreaming about this for weeks. Now that it was happening, I had no idea what to do. I was trembling as his hot hands slid around my waist, just under the hem of my tee-shirt. Then, he took me completely by surprise. He bowed his head and laid his cheek against my hammering heart.

            I'm not sure what I was expecting, but this display of vulnerability touched me deeply. Cradling his head against my breast, I entwined my fingers in his thick, soft hair and pressed a tentative kiss to his forehead. With my other hand, I brushed back an errant strand and touched his cheek. He covered my hand with his and closed his eyes as he placed a kiss in my upturned palm.

            I brushed my thumb against those full lips, and they parted as he drew the digit into his mouth, lightly suckling and caressing it with his tongue before he released it. I felt as though I was teetering on the edge of a precipice above heaven only knew what, and those rose bushes were the least of my concern.

            When he kissed me, I went sailing over the edge. In his arms, though, I was flying instead of falling. His hands rested lightly on either side of my neck as he drew my face down to his. His lips just brushed mine gently with the utmost reverence. I wanted to weep at the sweetness of it. Then his kiss deepened, becoming more insistent and more intense, first teasing, then probing, and devouring. At last, I felt the passion that Michael had been keeping under control, and it excited me.

            I felt his hands slide under the hem of my tee-shirt again, spanning my waist. His touch was hot on my bare skin, the simple point of contact sending an electric current straight through me as he kissed me harder. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed against him as I returned his kiss, compensating with enthusiasm for whatever I lacked in skill. I reveled in the delicious, throbbing ache at the center of my body. For those few moments, our entire world consisted of his front porch, and there was nothing in the world but the two of us, and the union of our lips, our hearts and our souls.

            All too soon, though, Michael forced himself to pull away. "I think it's time for you to go," he said, thickly, "before I decide to do somethin' that'll damn us both to hell."

            Desire warred with guilt as he disengaged himself none too gently from my embrace and helped me down off the banister. I felt as though someone had doused me with fire hose. My whole body was vibrating like a plucked guitar string. I stood swaying on rubbery legs. "Oh God, Michael," I whispered, "How am I supposed to leave you after that?"

            He was trying not to look at me. "You have to. We both have to." His voice sounded choked, and he covered his eyes with his hand.

            I was doing my best to maintain my resolve not to make a scene. "I never knew anything could hurt this much," I whispered.

            He gathered me quickly into his arms and held me tightly. "I know, baby. It hurts me, too. But, remember, it's just for a little while." As he bent to place a kiss on my forehead and I noticed the tears shining in his eyes. He took me by the shoulders and held me out at arm's length. "I do love you," he said. "If you never believe anything else, believe that."

            I picked up the package and looked at him one last time before walking away. "I believe you, Michael. You can believe that I feel the same way." By this time, I was fighting back the tears, but I promised myself that I wouldn't cry. On an impulse born of bravery that has nothing to loose, I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him roughly toward me, giving him one last kiss, full and hard on the lips. Then I turned to leave, hurrying down the steps and out of his life. I was so wrapped in my own grief, that I never saw my father sitting in the big Buick beneath the oak tree on the corner, watching our tender farewell.