Free After Eli by Terry Kay Page B

Michael said softly. “She’s lived long and good. Let her go with those memories cheerin’ you.”
    Her hands began to tremble and he took the cup and placed it on the floor. He touched her face and her hair.
    “Did you know?” he whispered. “Your hair’s shinin’ with rain. Clear as a mirror, it is. You can see yourself in hair that’s shinin’ with rain. It’s true. You look hard enough and you can see yourself.”
    She shook her head against his hand.
    “Please,” she mumbled. “Don’t—”
    “Hush, now,” he replied gently. “Cry it out. That’s what you’ve been needin’, Rachel. You’ve been needin’ it for too many years. It’s all dammed up inside, like some terrible river.”
    “No—no, I can’t.”
    “Can’t what? Can’t feel? Is that what you’ve managed to teach yourself, Rachel? Not to feel?” He caught her face and forced it to him. “No matter what you say, I won’t be believin’ that,” he said. “You tell me that and it’s like damnin’ yourself, it is. You ask all the questions you want, make up all the reasons in the world, and you won’t be findin’ anything to hide behind that’s big enough or wide enough to deny feelin’. Ah, Rachel, Rachel, I know. I’ve spent too much of a worthless life learnin’ it the hard way. Maybe that’s why bein’ here, on this place, means so much to me. Knowin’ the feelin’ that’s in you, beggin’ to come out.”
    Rachel dropped her eyes from him and rolled her face in his hand and began to weep openly. He pulled her to him from the chair and held her and took the surrender of her crying until it became an even breathing.
    “It’s a blessin’, it is,” he murmured. “It’s like drinkin’ you in, havin’ you let out the hurt like that. Do you understand, Rachel?”
    She nodded against his chest and the yes shot through his body like a shout. He could feel the hammering of his heart quicken in his upper chest and the sudden blood-rush filling his loins. He turned on the floor to touch his body lightly against her.
    “I know how you’re feelin’,” he said. “All the don’ts and all the wrongs and all the sins you’re tellin’ yourself. Especially now. Now, with that grand old lady dyin’—maybe dead this very second—and here you are miles away, bein’ held by a man who’s a stranger, and you given to another who’s been away all these long years. So many doors closin’ you in, lockin’ you up.”
    Her body stiffened. She lifted her head from his chest and pushed with her hands against his arms.
    “I—I’ve got to go in the house,” she said weakly.
    “No.” His voice was a command, and Rachel’s head recoiled as though slapped. She raised her elbows before her in the tight space separating them and began to pull away.
    “No,” Michael said again. He caught her arms and pinned them to her sides and forced her to face him. “Not now. Not this close to bein’ free.” His eyes flashed. A blue light danced across their pupils and his mouth closed forcibly over hers. She tried to turn her head but could not. And then he released her.
    He sat back on the floor and looked at her. His eyes softened and a mask of weariness fell over his face.
    “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve not the right, forcin’ you like that. It’s me who’s the weak one. Givin’ in to such needs.” He looked around the room and listened as the rain beat against the barn.
    “We all got needs,” she said quietly. “We all do.”
    “Some means more than others,” he replied. “Times like this—rainin’ times like this—my need is to be held.” He smiled faintly. “It’s a baby’s needs, I suppose, exceptin’ I’m no longer a baby and a man’s needs are not so easy to put to rest.”
    She reached for him and touched his face with her fingers.
    “I remember,” she said simply. “Eli—” She paused, expecting to regret having said his name, but there was no regret. “Eli always said it was a