Free Anxious Hearts by Tucker Shaw

together, until both he and she inhabited each other, until they both lay naked and silent under the stars and apple trees, kissing beads of sweat from each other’s lips, folded together into Evangeline’s cornflower cloak with Gabriel, softer now, still inside.
    Together, they listened to the tide below, approaching, approaching.

eva

    Gabe and I stay in the sleeping bag all night, sleeping and waking and sleeping again. Touching. Breathing. Feeling. Like the drive out to the lighthouse listening to Led Zeppelin, I never want it to end.
    Morning is near. Gabe crawls out of the sleeping bag, pulls on his jeans, and steps outside the tent. I have been awake for a long time, listening to him breathe, and as soon as he’s out of the tent I pull on my own jeans and follow him.
    He turns toward me, buttoning his plaid flannel shirt. He runs his hands through his hair.
    “Good morning,” I say.
    Gabe grabs my shoulders and presses me up against a birch tree. He kisses me, and I taste sleep on his tongue.
    He is a part of my history now, after the way we held each other during the night, the way we moved together, the way he pressed into me, eyes and arms and hips. I’d wondered about that moment all my life, wondering when it would happen. I always worried that I’d be embarrassed, that I’d do something wrong, that it would hurt, that I would regret it.
    But I wasn’t worried last night. I was just there . And Gabe was there with me. And now, we are together, leaning against the birch tree on the morning after, and I have no regrets.
    “See you,” he says, and steps away.
    “Where are you going?”
    “I’ll be back, angel,” he says, and I believe him. He won’t disappear. He can’t. Not anymore. He turns and walks into the woods, limping like yesterday.
    I stand against the birch tree and watch him go, listening to each fading footstep, each crack of a distant branch, straining my ears until every last sound of him has faded, until he is gone. The first rays of morning begin to stream into the clearing, but I don’t move.
    Later, I turn on Gabe’s radio and set about straightening up the campsite, humming along to pop songs I can’t understand. I air out the tent and rinse the dishes in the spring, then start to gather firewood to add to Gabe’s pile. I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but you always needwood. Da’ taught me that. I stay close to the campsite in case Gabe comes back.
    I am a million miles from Franktown, a distance that blocks out the guilt I feel about running away in the first place. I know Da’ must be frantic. I see him, still in his chair in the kitchen, watching the phone, as if staring at it would make it ring, afraid to call anyone to ask if they’ve seen me because he’s afraid that the line will be busy when I call him. I see the dried tears, caking the corners of his eyes, and I want to reach out and wipe them clean.
    But I am with Gabe now. Nothing else matters. Ada knows this to be true. She’ll explain it to Da’.
    I spend all morning and afternoon gathering firewood from the fallen trees in this part of the forest. I stack them precisely, twigs on one side, logs on the other. When I am finished and scoop water from the spring to drink, the pile of tinder is taller than I am.
    At dusk I light a fire so Gabe can find his way back in the dark. I lay beside it to watch the flames and wait.

Gabriel

    G ABRIEL AND B ASIL RODE WITH A MAJESTIC AIR , straight-backed in saddles and dressed in embroidered wedding coats crafted by Mademoiselle Gallan, the seamstress. Basil, father of the groom, wore a green coat with buttons carved from halibut bone. Gabriel wore black. Deep, pitch-black. The choice reflected the importance of the ceremony—true black was the most expensive color to produce, reserved only for high occasions. The coat was a gift from Basil, who’d been saving for it for years.
    Gabriel averted his gaze from the harbor as they rode, lest he catch sight of the