Free Outside the Ordinary World by Dori Ostermiller Page B

breath. His glasses started to fog. “And sometimes hunting. But not so much anymore.”
    Then he let go of me so suddenly, I shivered.
    “There’s an amazing spot ahead,” he called as we started to climb up a steep incline, and I followed again, light-headed.
    “I should get home,” I blurted. “I don’t even know what time it is.”
    “That was the idea.” Turning back grinning, a maple leaf stuck in his hair, he looked like a middle-aged Puck.
    At the top of the incline, the woods thinned to a rocky outcropping overlooking a meadow, through which a narrow path meandered toward a small farm bordered by a low rock wall, a white-steepled church clutched in a stand of pines. A perfectly oval, emerald-green lake shimmered from the edge of the view, its banks dotted by the creamy backs of sheep.
    “It used to be an old reservoir, but it’s not used for drinking water anymore.”
    “It’s so serene.”
    “Hard to remember the screwed-up world from here,” he said.
    “Yeah. My daughter would love it—she’s always looking for the perfect, pristine New England scene. Funny, for a girl who likes punk and indie-rock, huh?”
    “Maybe you could paint it for her,” he said quietly. “Maybe this is the view that’ll get you going again, Sylvia.”
    The wind tugged at the ends of my hair, and I closed my eyes, surprised by the sudden urge to cry. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was—for seeing? For kindness? I wondered if I would ever again inhabit that intuitive, rigorous place where art was made. Was it true that Nathan was unsupportive of my work? And did such wondering explain why I was tromping through the Berkshire woods on a weekday, behind a near stranger who smelled like sage? What the hell was I playing at? I felt myself pulled backward into an old, peculiar dream—my body shrinking and expanding at the same time so that I could no longer tell what size I was.
    I was startled by Tai’s hand in the small of my back.
    “Let’s get you home,” he said.
    “Do you come up here a lot?” I asked as we started down the trail.
    He turned and smirked at me before replying, “Oh, yeah, I bring all my married girlfriends to this spot.” There was an edge to his voice I hadn’t yet heard, and my back stiffened. Had I irked him? Was this supposed to be funny? I also didn’t know how much time had passed since the café, and was again anxious about the hour, picking up the girls. It occurred to me—not for the first time today—that I’d have to make something up about where I’d been, how I’d spent the morning of my birthday. Or maybe I didn’t have to lie; it wasn’t as if anything had really happened. Relief rushed in as I realized I could still get the girls by three, run to the grocery store, set the table for our dinner with perfect equanimity—
    “I don’t know why I’m acting like a prick.” Tai had stopped in front of me again and was reaching out, his face too near. “It’s just…you throw me off balance.” He took hold of my upper arms, as if to steady himself.
    “Is that right?” And then he was pulling me in and— Jesus —kissing my collarbones. Half a dozen impulses shot through: I wanted to shriek, kick him in the shins, dissolve into his smell. Instead, I held my breath, watching myself fall right through my life, floorboards splintering. I don’t know how long before his lips found my mouth, his tongue unraveling me, the unfamiliar beard scratching my cheeks, solid hip bones pressed to mine. His tongue was warm, not cool like Nathan’s, and tasted of smoke, black tea, Granny Smith apples. Suddenly I was fourteen and hungry, devouring the salty tang of my first boyfriend’s lips before the waiting school bus. I grew dizzy, my heart thumping so absurdly it might have beat its way through my breast had his hand not suddenly been cupped there. His thigh wedged between my legs, I sensed the inevitable, terrifying tension at his groin. Finally pulling back, we both