“Come here, girl!”
His tone was stern, but his brow relaxed. She knew he wasn’t upset, but rather, in need of the affection she’d hidden away from him since he’d entered the house. It was hard having him back for the afternoon only. She hated herself for wasting a moment of this precious time nursing a sullen attitude and pouting about her needs not being met. He’d only be here an hour; two at the most. How could she waste it wallowing in angst over his leaving again?
“I’ve got something for you,” he said.
“And for every pretty girl.” She replied. He acted as if he hadn’t heard.
He rose from the chair and headed to the back yard, to the wood pile and the bench where he’d held her in the past. The view of the sprawling oak was obscured by lace curtains he’d given her as a wedding gift, twelve years ago now.
‘He’s such an odd man,” she thought. “Who gives his bride valences for her wedding?” Then again, he wasn’t like any man she’d ever known before, ever thought to know; ever heard tell of.
“Eliza,” he called, “Eliza, look, there’s a squirrel on the roof.”
He pointed to the house, even as his eyes scanned the window pane in front of her for a glimpse of her figure standing at the sink. Her apron was fixed tightly around her waist, her hair falling down around her face, framing worry lines and catching tears. She looked a mess.
He knew her, knew she couldn’t hold out. Knew she couldn’t resist him; a creature wild, unkept, musky and uncontrollable. Against her better judgement, hungry now, she crossed the threshold of the cottage they’d built together. His eyes darkened with each step she took in drawing near. Near to the place where he’d lay her down. Near to the spot where she’d cry again.