Sleeping in Eden (42 page)

In the years since their separation, Dylan had wandered wider and ran even farther than Meg. He spent nine months in Kuwait and another two rebuilding some small town in
Oklahoma where a tornado turned everything within a three-mile radius to matchsticks and tinder. When he decided to settle in one spot long enough to build a career in the Guard, he hoped to join the 161st Air Refueling Wing in Phoenix, Arizona, but he found the weather unbearable and the jobs too limited. A superior noticed his gearhead tendencies, the way he loved to tinker with systems and repair anything he could get his hands on, and suggested that Dylan try tactical aircraft maintenance and put his subconscious preoccupation with mechanics to good use.

“I specialize in F-16s,” he told Meg proudly, and she grinned at him like she knew what an F-16 was.

“Look at you,” Meg said. “You were the boy with no plans. No future.”

He gave her a wry look. “It's not glamorous, but I like it. I work on engine maintenance, hydraulics, and other systems . . . It's what I'm going to school for.”

It sounded impressive, but Meg was even more affected by how he could be so familiar and yet so changed. Dylan appeared larger, taller, wiser. His characteristically unshorn hair was buzz-cut, and all his lines were defined, as if someone had taken a razor and done away with any edge that hinted at even the slightest softness. And yet, in spite of all he had done and seen, in spite of where he had been and the way it erased his ability ever to truly go home again, he was still Dylan. His eyes were still a door that seemed to open just for Meg, taking her in, glittering at her with some singular understanding that made her feel known.

I love you, she thought, marveling at the realization that seemed so obvious in retrospect. I always have. But as quickly as it tripped across her heart, Meg quashed the skip of emotion. She chalked it up to the storm, the circumstances, the past that circled between them like a specter.

“How did you find me?” she asked for the third time, to give herself something else to focus on.

“We've been over this.” He laughed. But she knew he'd tell her.
She could see that he wanted to say it as much as she wanted to hear it, as if going over every particular could only lend depth and substance to what had already been set in motion.

“Come on,” she coaxed.

There was a moment of silence, and then he said, “I came for you.”

“How did you know?”

“I ran into Sarah picking up gelato at Giovanni's. She said I'd just missed you.”

“You were in town . . .”

“Just passing through.”

“But your family lives in Arizona,” Meg said, wondering aloud. She hadn't realized until now that there was no reason for Dylan to be in Sutton at all. He wasn't visiting relatives or hanging out with old friends. Meg had gotten the impression that Sutton was not the high point of Dylan's past.

“They moved back the year after I graduated. We haven't had contact with anyone from Iowa for years.” The corner of Dylan's mouth tipped in a wry smile. “I guess we weren't suited for Midwest life after all.”

“I'm not sure I am either,” Meg said. “But if you've cut ties to Sutton, what were you doing back?”

“The guy I bunked with in Kuwait lives in Minneapolis. We hung out for a few days, and on my way home I decided to swing through my old stomping grounds.”

Meg shook her head. “It's crazy. We were so close and we almost missed each other.” The coincidence was delicious, whimsical, and romantic. And yet it seemed both mysterious and fateful that the weekend she had planned to rekindle something with Jess, providence intervened and gave her Dylan instead.

“I was looking for you,” Dylan confessed. “I wondered if I'd see you walking down the street with Jess. Maybe pushing a stroller.”

Meg punched him in the arm. “Barefoot and pregnant? That's how you pictured me? Jess and I are ancient history, and babies are the last thing on my mind.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Jess is an idiot.”

Meg flicked his arm with the back of her hand. “No, he's not. He's a good guy. It's not his fault you never had the courage to ask me out.”

The truck went strangely quiet. Meg looked over to see the harsh angle of Dylan's chin, the way he clenched his teeth in an attempt to bite down on whatever had so suddenly infuriated him.

“What?” Meg didn't want to be afraid of him, but the cab of the truck was dark and all at once he was foreign, intimidating.

“He owned you, Meg. For all intents and purposes, you were property of Jess Langbroek.”

“That's not fair.”

“It absolutely is. He staked his claim on you.”

Meg fumbled for words. “That's insane.”

“We were such kids,” Dylan said, shaking his head. “When I think about it now it makes me sick, but back then it was big, you know? I believed him, heart and soul.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jess assured me I wasn't good enough for you. And he swore he'd tell everyone all the Reid family secrets if I ever forgot that.”

“That's blackmail.”

Dylan laughed. “Hardly. We were, like, fifteen. It's ridiculous, really, but we were trying to start over in Sutton, and I couldn't stand the thought of my mom having to suffer through all those small-town rumors.” He shrugged. “Not like it made any difference at all. People knew who we were. What we were.”

“I didn't.”

“I guarantee your parents did. It's why there was no weeping or gnashing of teeth when I slipped out of your life.”

“I can't believe he did that,” Meg fumed, trying to get her mind around everything Dylan had said. “I can't believe he's the reason . . . All those things you told me, they all came from Jess?”

“He was trying to protect you.” The words came slowly, but Dylan seemed to mean them. “And he was right about a lot of things. I didn't know who I was or where I was going. We both believed you deserved better.”

“I don't know if I can ever forgive him.”

Dylan swallowed hard and seemed to consider something for a long moment. Then he reached across the seat and grabbed Meg's hand as if he needed to feel the touch of her skin. Now. He said, “Jess loved you in his own way.”

“But you came for me.” To Meg, that one truth meant everything. It erased all that had come before. It left room for all that was to come. And though there were a lot of things that she would still have to deal with, it was enough for now to let go.

“When I heard that you were on your way to the airport, I figured I was too late.”

“But you came.”

He laughed. “Doing eighty. And when I pulled up at the airport . . .”

“There I was.”

“The rest is history.”

No, Meg thought, it's yet to happen. But she wouldn't let herself think that, and she buried the hope deep, rebuking herself for indulging foolish dreams.

She would have liked the road to go on forever, the night to stretch until the mystery of their shared past—what they had been and what they could yet be—was as real and tangible as the shell she still kept on her nightstand. But the storm had other plans, and as the rain fell heavier and the lightning became too infrequent to ignore, Dylan turned on the radio to try to catch a weather report. He didn't have to wait long for an assessment of the current conditions, because the first station he found was running a recording of the emergency broadcast system.

“It's a thunderstorm warning,” Dylan told her as if she couldn't hear for herself. “Fast accumulation, hail the size of golf balls, and winds up to sixty miles an hour.”

The rain was starting to pelt the windshield in an onslaught so fierce, Meg was convinced it was hailing. And then, as a peal of thunder spun into a flash so bright there seemed to be a moment of daylight in the truck, she saw pebbles like frozen snow ping off the hood of the truck, and she knew it was hailing, with worse to come.

Usually, Meg wasn't concerned about a storm unless the word
tornado
was attached. But as the rain continued to fall and fall and fall, already rushing over the interstate an inch deep and pouring into the ditches, she felt a moment of fear.

“What should we do?” she called over the noise of wind and water.

Dylan was clutching the wheel in both hands and didn't take his eyes off the road to address her. “I don't know,” he half shouted. “We're still a good forty miles from Sioux Falls, and I don't think we can make it that far before the brunt of the storm hits. It seems like we're driving straight into it.”

“We can't just pull over,” Meg cried. “What if it floods?”

Squinting at a roadside sign that was all but obscured by a veil of water, Dylan's shoulders squared. “I know where we are. My corporal lives close to here. Maybe we can make it to his place.”

“It's the middle of the night!”

Dylan risked a quick look at her. His eyes were hard and serious. “You got a better idea?”

“A hotel? A motel?”

“Have you seen anything like that recently?”

They took the next exit, and although Dylan assured her the farm that would be their refuge was just over ten miles away, it felt like it took an eternity. The rain was falling so hard now that they could barely see past the rusty hood ornament of Dylan's pickup, and even though the windows were rolled up tight, rainwater gushed down the inside of their doors and made shallow puddles on the floor. When they turned off yet another abandoned blacktop to risk the perils of a gravel road that looked more like a quick-moving stream than a safe passageway, Meg almost screamed in frustration. She wanted to ask Dylan if
he had any clue whatsoever of where they were or where they were going, but she held her tongue. She didn't want to hear him admit that they were lost.

Just when she had given up hope of their ever finding sanctuary from the storm, Dylan hit the steering wheel with his open palm and whooped. “I found it!” he cheered, and they pulled into a lane that Meg assumed led to the farm they had been searching for.

The house was in complete obscurity, but when lightning flashed, Meg could make out the shape of a hulking barn on their left. She also caught sight of a heavy metal fence blocking the driveway a heartbeat before they crashed into it.

Dylan saw it, too, and slammed on his brakes at the last second, nosing the gate with the bumper of his truck. The whiplash stunned them both silent, and as the engine stilled for the first time in hours, they became aware of the full fury of the storm that raged outside.

“The barn,” Dylan yelled, grabbing Meg's hand. “I don't see any lights on in the house, but I don't think we'd make it there anyway. Can you run to the barn?”

In spite of the situation, Meg mustered an indignant scowl. “Are you kidding me?”

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Dylan indicated her attire with a sweep of his gaze. The sundress and sandals that were so perfect for a leisurely plane ride to her temperate home in California were laughably inappropriate for the current state of affairs they found themselves in.

“So I'll get wet.” She shrugged. “You will, too.”

He squeezed her hand, then let go to reach under the seat and grab the blanket that he had stored there. “Slide out my side,” he instructed. “We'll make a run for it. The hail has stopped for now. Hopefully it won't come back until we've made it to the barn.”

Meg nodded.

“On the count of three. One, two, three!” He threw open the door and dragged her out, slamming it behind them.

Meg landed in a puddle so deep, it lapped at her ankles and splashed the hem of her dress. The rain was a sheet of water, heavy and dense, and she hunched her shoulders against the unanticipated weight of it. Even so, she was soaked from head to toe before Dylan began to pull her in the direction of the barn.

“Come on!”

They stumbled and almost fell, the mud and gravel and water dragging at their feet, sucking one of Meg's sandals off before she could bend down and refasten it.

“Leave it!” Dylan shouted, feeling her pause and presuming the reason when she reached for her ankle. “We'll find it in the morning!”

She obeyed, and they scrambled over the slippery fence together. Then Dylan wove his fingers through hers and they ran headlong for the barn. Using bursts of lightning to measure the distance to their destination and adjusting accordingly, they crisscrossed the lawn in breathless abandon, sprinting for shelter as if their lives depended on it. In less than a minute they reached cover by the aging building, and Meg huddled in the slight protection of the eaves as Dylan lifted the heavy latch. He pushed Meg into the sagging refuge and followed, but there was no way to secure the door from the inside, so he put his back against it and stood drenched and panting in the darkness.

The barn was stuffy, the air musty and stagnant, but to Meg it was a blessing because it was dry. She could feel water dripping off her fingertips, her dress, the tendrils of hair that clung to her forehead. Raising her hand to smooth away the worst of it, she pushed her hair out of her face and was tempted to shake herself off like a dog. A flash of lightning lit the barn and she caught sight of Dylan looking at her, a rakish grin on his face.

“I'm soaked,” she complained, but against all odds, her voice melted into laughter.

He started to laugh, too, then he reached for her in the darkness and drew her bit by bit into a wet embrace. Her resistance was halfhearted, and when Dylan took her wrists and secured them around his waist, she held him. Their clothes were
clinging and heavy, their arms and legs splattered with mud that they had kicked up as they ran. But Meg didn't really notice those things. Instead, she was aware of Dylan's arms around her, the hot exhale of his breath, his saturated T-shirt against her cheek, and beneath that the furious beat of his heart. She shuddered, but not because of the storm.