Chapter 159

Still, Beau waited, sitting, and finally reclining on the bed as darkness claimed the room. He may have slept—there were phantom snatches of joy when he thought he heard Jeanne-Marie returning, but he never did. When Beau would reach out in the darkness and touch the other pillow on the bed, hoping to feel Jeanne-Marie’s hair or even his scarred skin, there was nothing there but smooth linen.

He supposed that Jeanne-Marie’s tale of trauma and love deserted formed in the man a deep mistrust, one that would simply not allow him to entertain the possibility that someone else could care for him and see beyond what he considered his imperfections. Too, glancing into a mirror and seeing the destruction looking back at him would make it hard to believe someone could fall—romantically—in love with him.

But Beau had.

As he lay alone, yearning, he realized how much he wanted Jeanne-Marie to return, wanted to feel the warmth and power of his embrace.

But morning’s light eventually filtered into the room and Beau awakened from a troubled slumber exhausted. He rose and moved to the window, where outside he saw a silver pickup truck parked in the drive that circled in front of the house. A grizzled man, in jeans and plaid flannel jacket, leaned against the truck, smoking a cigarette.

Jeanne-Marie’s words came back to him, hurting as much as the pain he had suffered when he had first awakened here, after the beating he had taken…My driver will take you back to Seattle and I will have some money for you, so you can get back on your feet.

Beau dressed himself in the same clothes Jeanne-Marie had so recently brought him, slowly, hoping against hope that Jeanne-Marie would return, that the door would swing open and he would stand there, framed by the arch, smiling and explaining that he could never let Beau go. He simply loved him too much.

But Beau completed dressing, even taking time to wash his face, comb his hair, and brush his teeth in the adjoining bathroom.

The house was still as he made his way down the corridor, then the curving staircase into the foyer. On the oak pedestal table there, Beau found an envelope bearing his name. He opened it. Inside were ten twenty dollar bills and four one hundreds. There was also a note tucked inside that said only one word, “Love!”

Beau felt the hot prick of tears at the corner of his eyes and he brushed them away, feeling both devastated and sad, all at once.

Beside the door was a new pair of boots and, folded neatly next to them, a down jacket and multi-colored scarf and gloves.

“What? No hat?” Beau asked, hoping for some response, but there was nothing.

He slid the boots and outer garments on and was just about to open the door when he remembered something.

He raced back upstairs. He found the drawing he had done of Jeanne-Marie and he placed it, face up, on the bed, using a book at the upper left hand corner to pin it into place.

He hoped Jeanne-Marie would realize, when he saw Beau’s work, how he looked to Beau.

Slowly—and finally—he exited the room and headed downstairs.

Outside, the wind was brisk. Gray, bruised-looking clouds hung on the horizon, obscuring the mountains. The somber sight of the sky and the clouds matched Beau’s mood.

“You ‘bout ready, sir?” The driver called from beside the truck.

“Guess so.” Beau didn’t look at the man as he crossed behind the truck and then hopped inside.

The driver joined him, turning on the heat and upping the fan to combat the frigid wind. “Them clouds over there—they’re full of snow. We better get you back to the city before they decide to open up.”

Beau said nothing as the driver put the truck into gear and they lurched into motion. He turned in his seat to watch the house as it receded behind them, feeling like the days he had spent there were already taking on the aspect of a dream.

Just as he was about to turn back around, eyes facing forward and the future, his heart leapt as he saw the house’s front door swing open and Jeanne-Marie run outside. He began to dash after the truck and Beau could see he held a piece of paper in his hand.

“Stop! Stop!” Beau tapped the driver impatiently on his arm. “Stop the truck right now.”

The man slammed on the brakes and stared at Beau, confusion causing his brow to furrow. “Forget somethin’?”

Beau didn’t reply. He flung open the door and practically tumbled down from the cab. Snowflakes had just begun to dance in the air as he darted back toward the house—and Jeanne-Marie, who stood waiting on the stone front steps.