Post by dianahawthorne on Mar 10, 2009 0:09:50 GMT -5
Seasons
Spring.
They lay in bed, their limbs entangled, and she ran her fingers along the contours of his chest. He allowed his hands to gently pull her closer to him, sighing contentedly as she looked up at him. Her blue eyes held affection, even love, even as she regarded him gravely.
“When do you have to leave?” she asked him, her delicate, fragile voice breaking the silence. He lifted his arm in order to look at his watch. It was ten o’clock.
“In a few minutes,” he sighed. He rolled out of bed, gathering his clothes together.
She propped herself up on her elbows and watched as he got dressed.
“You’ll be back?”
“In three months,” he said, “possibly sooner. I’ll call you.”
She nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He gave her a last smile as he slipped into his blazer. “Take care,” he said as he opened the door.
“I’ll miss you,” she whispered as the door closed. He didn’t hear her.
Summer.
Her skin glistened as she emerged from the pool, her hair dripping water. She bent down to pick up her towel, which she wrapped around her body before turning to him.
“It’s been a while,” she said, and he nodded, his eyes hidden by mirrored sunglasses.
“I’m here for a week,” he said.
“Only a week?”
He nodded again.
She stepped closer to him and he thought that she was going to embrace him, but she surprised him, brushing past him on the way to the house.
“You know where the bedroom is,” she called over her shoulder.
Autumn.
The leaves were falling from the trees the next time he appeared.
“I thought you’d never arrive,” she said, pouring him a glass of cider as they stood in her kitchen.
“Deirdre kept postponing her trip,” he said.
“I see,” she replied, pushing the cider across the counter to him. He took a sip. “Did you make this?”
“While I was waiting for you,” she said.
“It’s good.”
She had turned away, placing the jug back in her refrigerator.
“I’m going for a walk.”
“Want some company?”
“No.” She left him standing alone in her kitchen. He set the glass down and followed her anyway.
Winter.
The house was covered in snow when his rented Jeep pulled up to her driveway. The house was dark, save for a single lamp in the downstairs window. Parking the car, he hopped out and took his suitcase from the backseat. He bounded up the stairs to her front door, unlocking it, and entered the house.
“Fiona!” he called out. She emerged from the bedroom, a diaphanous white nightgown only slightly obscuring her slender form.
“You’re back,” she said, still at the top of the stairs.
“Of course,” he said. “Did you not expect me to return?”
“If I didn’t, would I have left the light burning?”
He set his suitcase down and took her into his arms, looking into her eyes.
“I’m glad you did,” he said, and kissed her.
“Come to bed,” she said after their kiss ended. He followed her into her bedroom, the suitcase waiting patiently at the top of the stairs. It would not be needed that night, nor the next, but it would be needed soon. It would always be needed.
Spring.
They lay in bed, their limbs entangled, and she ran her fingers along the contours of his chest. He allowed his hands to gently pull her closer to him, sighing contentedly as she looked up at him. Her blue eyes held affection, even love, even as she regarded him gravely.
“When do you have to leave?” she asked him, her delicate, fragile voice breaking the silence. He lifted his arm in order to look at his watch. It was ten o’clock.
“In a few minutes,” he sighed. He rolled out of bed, gathering his clothes together.
She propped herself up on her elbows and watched as he got dressed.
“You’ll be back?”
“In three months,” he said, “possibly sooner. I’ll call you.”
She nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He gave her a last smile as he slipped into his blazer. “Take care,” he said as he opened the door.
“I’ll miss you,” she whispered as the door closed. He didn’t hear her.
Summer.
Her skin glistened as she emerged from the pool, her hair dripping water. She bent down to pick up her towel, which she wrapped around her body before turning to him.
“It’s been a while,” she said, and he nodded, his eyes hidden by mirrored sunglasses.
“I’m here for a week,” he said.
“Only a week?”
He nodded again.
She stepped closer to him and he thought that she was going to embrace him, but she surprised him, brushing past him on the way to the house.
“You know where the bedroom is,” she called over her shoulder.
Autumn.
The leaves were falling from the trees the next time he appeared.
“I thought you’d never arrive,” she said, pouring him a glass of cider as they stood in her kitchen.
“Deirdre kept postponing her trip,” he said.
“I see,” she replied, pushing the cider across the counter to him. He took a sip. “Did you make this?”
“While I was waiting for you,” she said.
“It’s good.”
She had turned away, placing the jug back in her refrigerator.
“I’m going for a walk.”
“Want some company?”
“No.” She left him standing alone in her kitchen. He set the glass down and followed her anyway.
Winter.
The house was covered in snow when his rented Jeep pulled up to her driveway. The house was dark, save for a single lamp in the downstairs window. Parking the car, he hopped out and took his suitcase from the backseat. He bounded up the stairs to her front door, unlocking it, and entered the house.
“Fiona!” he called out. She emerged from the bedroom, a diaphanous white nightgown only slightly obscuring her slender form.
“You’re back,” she said, still at the top of the stairs.
“Of course,” he said. “Did you not expect me to return?”
“If I didn’t, would I have left the light burning?”
He set his suitcase down and took her into his arms, looking into her eyes.
“I’m glad you did,” he said, and kissed her.
“Come to bed,” she said after their kiss ended. He followed her into her bedroom, the suitcase waiting patiently at the top of the stairs. It would not be needed that night, nor the next, but it would be needed soon. It would always be needed.
