WHITE WALLS (18 page)

Be he can’t.

And I won’t go to him.

I can’t.

I have a moment where I finally realize that the aching heart, the longing, the grief, the insanity…

I finally get it after all these months.

That all of those things combined are what letting go feels like.

Chapter Twenty Three

~After~

Dr. Watson insists that I don't call him Dr. Watson anymore. He wants me to call him Elijah. I'm okay with this. I like his name. It's different. He says it's biblical, but I like it because I think it has a nice ring to it.

Yesterday he took me to the stables and we rode horses. My horse was an Appaloosa named Betty. Elijah told me she was his mother's horse. I wanted to press on and ask him what happened to his mother, but I didn't. I thought he might give me a vague answer and I'm tired of him being vague.

I don't know what it's going to take for him to open up.

After horseback riding, my inner thighs throbbed with a dull ache and I thought a warm bath might ease the pain. On my way up to my room, I heard Elijah's voice bleeding through the walls of his office. I decided to be nosy. I don't normally do that sort of thing, but I found the more time I spent with Elijah, the more attached I was becoming. But I was getting better at not making my growing affection for him obvious. Part of me thought his cold demeanor was rubbing off on me.

Outside his office, I placed my ear against the massive oak door. He was on the phone with someone. He was shouting at them. “She's not a charity case!” They were talking about me. “It’s my house and if I want to have her here I will!” I wondered who he was talking to. “You know what, Sheila? Don't call here anymore!” Could Sheila be the woman I saw him with at the diner? “Of course I mean it!” He slammed the receiver
          
down and I ran to my room before he could question my eavesdropping.

Inside, I was elated and I wondered if I was slowly growing on him.

Today, I lie on my bed, staring up at the inner part of the canopy. I try to remember how long I've been here with Elijah, but time seems to blend together. I know it's only been a
        
few days, but somehow it feels like weeks or maybe even a month has breezed by. My thoughts on the perception of time are interrupted when Elijah barges into my room. I sit up, propped up by my elbows and he stands at the edge of the bed, his long fingers caressing the satin violet curtain on my canopy. “Let's go,” he says impatiently.

I'm puzzled by his abrupt tone. “Go? Go where?”

He doesn't give me an answer. He swiftly moves from his spot, picks me up from the bed and throws me over his shoulder. Fears grips onto my stomach and I'm not sure what's going on or why he's acting like this. “Elijah!” I squeal and pound my fists into his back. “What are you doing?”

He remains silent, walking down the wide staircase, and then out the front double doors.
His car is parked right in front of the porch and he puts me into the passenger seat. He makes sure my seat belt is fastened. Panic has taken up residency along with the fear and I start to fiddle with my seat belt. What if he knows I was listening to his conversation the other day? What if he's so angry about it he's decided to throw me out?

I abandon messing with the seat belt when he gets into the driver’s seat.
 
He starts the car
           
and peels out of the driveway. As we drive down a long, empty winding road, I examine his face. He doesn't look angry, but his expression is unreadable. “I'm sorry I was eavesdropping,” I admit in a low voice.

“Eavesdropping?” His voice goes up a level. “When?”

“On your phone conversation the other day. It's just...It's just...” I struggle to find words. “You were yelling so loud and I wondered what made you so upset.” He veers to the right and drives a half a mile up a dirt road, parking the car on the outskirts of an open field.

He puts the car in park, gets out, and opens my door. He folds his arms across his chest. “Get out.”

I'm desperate and I don't understand. “Please Elijah. Please don't send me away. I won't eavesdrop any more I promise.”

He exhales, shakes his head, and a soft smile curls on his lips. He puts both hands on my cheeks and gazes deeply into my eyes. “Calm down. I'm not sending you away. You shouldn't eavesdrop, but that would never make me send you away.”

The warmth from his hands bleeds through my skin and overheats my entire body. “Then what are you doing?”

He drops his hands from my cheeks and brushes past me, taking my place in the passenger seat of his car. I gawk at him, so confused by the way he's acting that that’s all I can do. “Get in,” he commands. “I'm going to teach you how to drive.”

My eyes widen. My mouth gapes. Excitement bursts through me and I do something spontaneous. A radiant, beaming smile appears on my face and I launch myself at him, hugging him, inhaling the exotic, musky cologne he's wearing. He stiffens upon feeling my arms around him, but then after a minute relaxes. He allows his arms to mold to my body and I can feel his nose in my hair. His warm breaths trail down my neck and I've got a full jar of loose butterflies in my stomach. I pull out of the embrace slightly, my lips resting almost against his ear. “Thank you,” I whisper. “This means so much to me.”

Slowly, even though he doesn't realize it, Elijah is giving me so much than he ever could and he's not even spending money. He's using time. Some people think time is a waste. But not to me. Time is a gift. Something to be treasured and never taken for granted. Something that's more precious than any dollar a person could spend. Why?

Because you never know how much time a person has left.

It can be taken away in an instant.

In a heartbeat.

And I'm determined to never waste a second of mine.

I back away and he grips my wrists, holding me in place, his eyes flitting back and forth across my face. In that moment, I know I'm not the only person feeling something. I know that he's more invested in me than he likes to admit. For a second I think he might kiss me and I welcome the thought. I'd welcome the feel of his lips against mine.

But he doesn't kiss me.

He lowers his hands.

Drops his gaze.

Then says, “Get in the driver's seat. This might take a while.”

~ ~ ~

After two hours of practicing my driving, I'm beyond frustrated and I've come to learn something else about Elijah.

He's a very patient man.

Slipping his fingers around my wrist, he positions my hand on the gear shifter thing in the middle area of the car. I'm still learning the terminology of what parts of the car are called and I can't quite remember what he called it. With his hand still on mine, he shifts the car into reverse. “Now ease up off the gas pedal and back up slowly,” he instructs. “And use your mirrors.”

I hesitate because I'm terrified of doing something wrong. “Ugh,” I moan, checking the mirrors.

Elijah squeezes my hand reassuringly. “Relax. I'll guide you through everything.”

Relax.

Ha!

That's a lot easier said than done when you're handling a vehicle that weighs over a ton for the first time ever. Also, because feeling his flesh against mine is sending my heart into an erratic wave of beats. I swallow hard and swear I can feel my organ pulsating in my throat.

It takes me a few minutes to regain my composure and once I do, I check the distance to the dirt road behind me, and then ease my foot off the gas pedal. The car begins moving at a turtle's pace and then Elijah says, “Now turn the wheel to the right, but not sharply. Go easy.” Turning the wheel, slowly, as instructed, I back the car up, slowly. Just before I'm on the dirt road Elijah says, “Okay, now straighten the wheel, hit the brake, and put the car in park.” I follow his instruction to the very last word and when I finally put the car in park, gratification explodes in my chest. There's a smile on my lips that won't disappear. An eagerness inside of me that is bouncing around the pit of my stomach.

And I can't even describe how it feels to know I've done something right for the first time in my life.

Years.

I spent years believing that I couldn't do anything right. I shouldn't have let Daddy's harsh words convince me otherwise.

Now, I know better.

Chapter Twenty Four

~After~

Sometimes I watch Elijah when he doesn’t know I’m watching him. This is mostly because I’m fascinated, captivated, and mesmerized by him.

I discover little things about him daily as the weeks pass. He hums at random. Whether he’s reading the mail, or looking over the morning paper. The little joyful vibration that leaves his vocal chords makes me smile whenever I hear it. I discover that he’s not all cold and sometimes he does small things for me that let me know otherwise. Yesterday, he left a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers on the dining room table with a note. That note said;
I thought these would brighten your day.
Vibrant oranges, yellows, and purples stared back at me from the crystal vase and I placed my nose against the blossoms, inhaling the outdoorsy, floral scent.

I’ve also put together another piece to the Elijah Watson puzzle. There are times at night where he disappears when we’re sitting in the living room together. But it’s not until I’m in bed at night that I hear it—the music. Classical music.

When I hear it bleed through the walls of my bedroom, I can’t decipher on whether he’s actually playing an instrument or just has the station on the radio turned up to an extremely high volume.

Tonight is no different.

I lie in bed, alert, straining to hear the beautiful music as it unfurls from the left wing of the house and trails down the hall. A stringed instrument weeps haunting melodies and even though I tell myself I shouldn’t go looking for where it’s coming from, I do anyway.

My bedroom is on the right wing of the house. Elijah’s rooms are on the left. I know that he separated us on purpose. I know he like his privacy and I don’t like to intrude, but I can’t help it. Not when it comes to this.

I’ve always had a soft spot for classical music. I can’t really explain why, but I can say that sneaking and listening to the classical station on the radio while Daddy was at work got me through my darkest of days. The overwhelming sensation that music implants in my soul is something I know I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.

The song flitting down the wide corridor is Canon in D by Johann Pachelbel.

And hearing it, as faint as it is, takes my breath away.

Sliding out of bed, I close my eyes and follow the sound of weeping strings out of my door, down the corridor, and across the stairs that lead to the left wing of the house. I come to a halt at the first door on the right. It's cracked slightly and the dim light from the room seeps out into the hall, washing over my face.

Then I see him.

He is playing.

The violin.

He faces me, a metal stand with sheet music before him. I take a deep breath and swallow the balled up wad of saliva stuck in my throat when I notice he’s only wearing his drawstring maroon pajama pants. He’s wearing glasses too. They’ve got thick black, rectangular frames. I decide I like Elijah in his glasses. I think they make him look more sophisticated. More sexy. I feel the heat creeping into my cheeks as I stare at his the muscle definition in his abdomen.

And as he plays…

As he plays, I notice that his eyes are closed and he’s not even looking at the sheet music in front of him. He must have this song memorized. I want to close my eyes and let the lilting song that reminds me of a lullaby, pull me into a deep trance, but I don’t. Because I can’t take my eyes off Elijah.

His eyes bunch tighter, his brow is creased, and his lips are pressed into a firm line. A violin rests in the crook of his neck, and he moves with the melody, sliding the bow across the stringed instrument so gracefully and so elegantly that witnessing him like this brings tears to my eyes.

I’m moved.

Awestruck.

I can’t find words.

I’ve never seen him like this.

He’s caught up in the notes.