Back to Yesterday (29 page)

~ Dash Berlin, Roxanne Emery

Shelter

I
fell asleep on Sophie’s couch that night. I awoke sometime during the early morning hours with her asleep on my chest. A blanket had been placed over us and only the sound of the ticking clock could be heard. I thought about what she’d told me, about the monarch butterfly and what Tank’s message had meant. Then I told her about the time in the barn when I thought I was going to be captured by the Nazis and how I had seen her there that day, like a mirage. I explained how upset I’d been when I had to burn her letter and she showed me every letter I had written to her, bundled together. Then she showed me the paintings, pointing out her favorite, and told me how she would talk to me late at night.

Though Sophie and I may have been physically separated, we were never emotionally apart. Our love had held us together.

I gingerly scooted out from underneath her sleeping body, but she sat up and reached for me, panic in her eyes.

“Charlie?”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m not leaving. I’m just thirsty. Go back to sleep.”

She’d settled back down and closed her eyes. When I returned, she was awake and sitting up. I’d brought back a glass of water and handed it to her. After taking a sip, she set it on the table and curled into my side, her favorite place to be. I stroked her hair, thinking how I wanted to ask my question.

“Sophie,” I whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Will you marry me?”

She sat up, her hand flying to her chest. “What?”

I reached up, tucked her hair behind her ear, and then ran my fingertips over the line of her jaw. “Will you marry me, Sophie? Will you be my wife?”

Her eyes began to shine, and in them, I could see my reflection, liking the way I looked inside her ocean. “Yesterday,” she said, “I was the saddest person in the world. And today, you just made me the happiest.”

“Is that a yes?”

She leaned in, touching her forehead to mine, her hands caressing my face. I waited without breathing, holding it until her breath touched my lips like a prayer. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

We held each other until the sun came up and when her father came down for breakfast, I asked him if I could marry his daughter. He didn’t hesitate on giving me his answer. He didn’t question my love for her. He simply looked at the clock on the wall and said, “My wife owes me a meatloaf with no onions.”

“I’m sorry?” I said.

“I bet my wife that you would ask for Sophie’s hand in marriage before I even had my coffee.” He patted my shoulder. “I’m going to tell her she should make meatloaf tonight. The answer is yes, you may marry my daughter. Will you be staying for dinner?”

Needless to say, that night we did indeed have meatloaf, and no, there were no onions in it. I’d never seen Mr. McCormick smile so much while eating a meal. His face was pure joy. I don’t know if it was the no onions or seeing how happy his daughter was that made him blissfully happy.

Perhaps it was both.

I married Sophie six weeks later inside a little church on the edge of town. As far as bliss goes, that day was it for me. The autumn sun was setting, candles were lit all around, and I was as nervous as a man could be. I smoothed out my tux with fidgety, clumsy hands, and adjusted and readjusted my tie repeatedly. I think I was on attempt number seven hundred and fifty-three when my father spoke up.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, standing next to me at the front of the church as my best man. He helped straighten my bowtie. Afterward, he placed his hands on my shoulders. “So very proud.” He smiled. “Relax… and remember every single thing about this day, son. Every single thing. That’s my only advice.”

The music started to play and a hush fell over everyone attending, which were mostly family and friends, including Tank’s mom. She beamed at me from the front row, looking beautiful in a pale blue dress, her eyes brighter than I had seen them in a long time.

“Thank you,” I mouthed. I thanked her because her friendship with Sophie while I was away meant more to me than she could ever know.

She acknowledged my gratitude with a nod and a smile.

Then the doors at the back of the church swung open, and Elizabeth began her walk towards us. I owed a big thank you to her as well, but I knew she would brush it off, shrug her shoulders, and say…
What kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t there for her?

I thanked her anyway.

After she took her place to my right, the music paused, and then the Wedding March began to play. Everyone stood, and all eyes were on Sophie, who appeared like a vision, radiant and lovely.

Here comes the bride…

And absolutely breathtaking.

Her floor-length gown was white with lace sleeves, form-fitted through the waist and flared out like a bell from the hips down. Her dress was classically beautiful, much like the woman who wore it. Her hair was pulled up. Loose curls fell around her face. Her lips were painted red, like dark cherries.

I fell in love all over again.

She was elegance personified and I was the lucky guy who got to marry her.

Her father held out his arm. She latched on, and together they began their slow descent down the aisle. She moved like she was floating on air, graciously smiling at everyone she passed, completely unaware that I was mapping her movements, needing to hold onto this memory.

I wanted to touch her so badly. I wanted to run to her, not wait for her to come to me, but I was frozen to the floor, mouth agape, captivated like I was looking at one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

I want to hold you. I want to hold you now.

Her name fell from my lips without making a sound.
Sophie.

Then the words
I love you
sat fat on my tongue, feeling so big, bursting to be set free.

I love you so much.

And then she was in front of me.

There I was, holding back tears, but then, her eyes pierced my heart and her smile – that beautiful, contagious smile – knocked me over and I fell to my knees. Right there in the middle of the ceremony.

Sophie left her father’s arm and knelt down with me, touching my face, tears swimming in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

I was. And I wasn’t. I swallowed, feeling too much. I reached for her hand and placed it over my heart, not caring that tears dribbled down my cheeks. “I’ve been to war,” I croaked. “I’ve seen unspeakable things. I’ve fallen out of the sky and I’ve been behind enemy lines. Through all that, I stood tall and strong.” I swallowed and touched her cheek. “How ironic is it that you are the one thing who can bring me to my knees?”

“Oh, Charlie,” she murmured, her bottom lip quivering. She kissed my palm and then placed a letter in my hands. I hadn’t even noticed she had been holding one, far too focused on her face and her smile.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” she said, tears falling.

I unfolded the letter, and after reading it, I pressed her body into mine, still on our knees. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you so much.”

“I know how upset you were that you had to burn it,” she said, sniffling. “I recreated it, nearly word for word. I wanted to give it back to you.”

She had given me back my letter.

We embraced for a time, and then we got up from our knees and said our vows to one another. After the pastor pronounced us husband and wife, our guests, who had been quiet as church mice, gathered around us in congratulations and well wishes.

“Welcome to the family, son,” Mr. McCormick said, red-eyed and chin high with pride.

“Thank you.”

Sophie and I made our journey up the aisle, out the doors, and stepped into the rest of our lives together. We attended the wedding reception, danced the first song together, and managed to sneak away if only for a few minutes after an hour into the celebration.

Holding her hand, I looked at her. My wife. My everything. “I love you, Sophie Hudson.”

“Say that again,” she said.

“I love you, Sophie Hudson.”

“Keep saying it. I like the way my name sounds next to yours.”

“Sophie Hudson, you look beautiful,” I said, realizing I hadn’t told her yet. I had only thought it.

With love in her eyes, she said, “I feel beautiful.”

“You know what this means don’t you?” I said, giving her a roguish smile.

Her eyebrows drew together. “What?”

I leaned in and put my lips to her ear. “You lost the bet.”

For a moment, she looked down…saying nothing, and then she looked up, her blue eyes casting spells on me. “No, Charlie,” she said. “I think I had to lose to win.”

My lips fell on hers, shamelessly and aggressively. I devoured her mouth with mine.

I let her come up for air long enough to say, “Then your winning record is still intact.”

Later, after we hugged everyone and thanked them, we made our getaway. I swept Sophie in my arms and carried her over the threshold of the tiny one-room cabin I’d rented in the mountains for our honeymoon. It was cold, so I built a fire in the wood burning stove, and after that, I took her hand, laced our fingers together, drew her near, and swayed to the music our love made. Her heart played the melody while mine kept the tempo.

I unpinned her hair, letting her wavy locks fall past her shoulders. This was it, our golden moment, and once again I was as nervous as a man could be. My hands fumbled to unbutton her dress and then I let it puddle at her feet. Satiny, silky, smooth, and delicate were the words that tumbled from my brain and then stuck in my throat when I touched her skin. I got lost somewhere between her soft whimpers and my throaty sighs.

“I dreamt of this,” she said. “I dreamt of this so many times.”

“Me too,” I murmured, running my nose along her jaw, listening to the lilt in her voice.

We caressed each other’s skin, tasted and sampled exposed plains and ridges, hills and valleys. I treated her body like a fortress to be protected. She treated mine like a temple.

I never knew love until I loved Sophie. While our bodies moved in perfect harmony, I tried to place my finger on the exact moment I fell in love with her. My brain got fuzzy and the only thing I could think was how she felt against me, all warm and soft, tender and sensual. Pliant, in my hands, she bended and moved like a ballerina who was dancing to heartbeats and pulses, letting the rhythm move her body this way and that. Love filled the tiny room with breaths and moans and the occasional snap and crackle from the fire.

“It’s even better than I imagined,” she breathed.

My heart picked up the tempo and Sophie’s melody only became more beautiful with her breathy hums and her silent cries.

I love you
ripped from my throat as we shrieked and clawed, pressed and tumbled into each other.

Sophie’s declaration of love came in the form of groans and indecipherable sounds. We were two lovers joined together, the world falling away, and a sudden explosion of psychedelic colors lit up our world, and almost as quickly, it left us with stillness and absolute peace.

I felt Sophie’s wet cheeks against mine, and a dam inside me burst. Suddenly I had so much I needed to say.

“You are…” I said, wanting to sound like the self-assured man that I was, but my voice cracked like a pubescent boy’s. “You are the best thing to ever happen to me. I love you. I love you I love you I love you.” When I wasn’t looking, she somehow crawled inside my chest and made her home in my soul. It was the only explanation for how and why I felt so – full – so complete.

“I love you,” she said. “I love you I love you I love you a million times more.”

We lay still for a time, letting our hearts and breaths slow down while I pulled her closer and closer, never getting close enough.

“God, I love you,” she said. “I can’t say it enough or show you enough.”

Her head rested on my chest and I smoothed the strands of her hair, letting them fall between my fingers. I wanted to tell her so many things because I thought so many things but the words felt too big like I’d been swallowed up by them.

“I don’t know how to tell you everything I’m feeling,” I said. “I feel so much. Love is such a simple word and yet it’s the only word powerful enough to use. I need a bigger word – a word that is only meant for you.”

“Whenever you say my name you say it with reverence,” Sophie said. “You say it with emotion, with passion. I know how much you love me every time I hear you say it. Just say my name,” she said, “and I’ll understand.”

A tear trickled from the corner of my eye and tracked a line to my pillow. “Sophie,” I whispered, feeling the wonder of it, tasting the sweetness her name left on my tongue. “Sophie,” I whispered again.
“Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.”

I felt her smile against my skin and heard her soundless sigh. “Yes,” she said. “Like that.”

Later, as we were drifting off to sleep, she said softly,
“Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.”

I fell in love all over
again
because I knew what each
Charlie
meant. I pulled her tighter against me and let the weight of our love pull me under and into a deep, blissful sleep.