Chapter 2: Gavin
Despite the decent news, Corabelle definitely doesn’t seem to be doing too well after the doc visit.
“I don’t have to go back to Bud’s,” I tell her. “Why don’t we do something together today?” We approach my motorcycle and I unlock our helmets. “There’s a rock in the desert with our name on it.”
Corabelle peers up at the sun. Summer is approaching, and the morning coolness has mostly burned off. San Diego isn’t one for blazing temperatures, although the desert will certainly be warm.
“I’m not sure I’m dressed for a desert rock,” she says, gesturing to her jeans and long-sleeved shirt.
“Where we’re going, we don’t need clothes,” I say with a wink.
This gets her attention. Her eyebrows lift. “We should make a snack stop on the way. At least for water.”
She’s on board.
“Ever practical,” I say, slinging a leg over the bike and waiting for her to settle in behind me. I hide my relief, as if I knew all along that she would come. “I could stand to melt some chocolate on your belly, though.”
This gets a small laugh. “Sounds messy,” she says.
“All the better to lick you.”
Now the bigger laugh.
This is working.
I fire up the bike and we take off like a jet from the parking lot, the gloomy building, and the freeze-dried nurse.
I’m more conscious than usual, though, of my crotch, the vibrations of the motor. Did this help or hurt my sperm count? I should have asked. I didn’t really ask any questions at all.
Pictures of my insides fill my head. Cartoon squigglies with long pointy tails, bumping around and popping like balloons until only a few remain.
I wash cold with the idea. Damn, I need to ditch that image.
I focus on the city passing by in a blur. Buildings. Trees. We get on the highway and zip alongside cars. Gradually, my buzzing head starts to get quiet. I can see the mountains in the distance, the red-brown of the desert hills before it.
The landscape gets quieter, the streets fewer and farther apart. We approach a gas station and Corabelle taps my arm. I pull in.
“I’ll go,” she says. “You stay with the bike.”
She’s always worried about losing the few things we have. I want to keep things easy today. Corabelle’s way, no questions asked.
She’s only inside a minute, coming out with bottles of water and a bag of trail mix. She holds up a bar of chocolate. That’s my girl. She unzips the cargo bag attached to the back of the seat and sticks everything inside.
Then we’re off again, into the desert, the air drying out. Traffic all but disappears, midmorning on a workday, and it feels like the entire world is ours.
I know where I want to take her. It’s a spot we went to early on, when we first found each other again in astronomy class.
My gut tightens, just thinking about how close we came to spending our entire lives apart.
Our history is long, going back to childhood, my parents’ house across the back alley. Corabelle was my first love, my only love, and we were inseparable even as toddlers. She saved me from my father. He wouldn’t lay a hand on me in front of her. So I practically lived at her house.
Then high school came and she got pregnant. The town helped us out with a place to live. We had plans to do college part-time with her parents’ help watching the baby.
Then Finn arrived two months early and with a heart condition. He lived seven days in the NICU.
My actions after that are not something I’m proud of. I blew up at Finn’s funeral and ended up walking out. At the time I was nothing but anger, frustration, and guilt. I got it in my head that the world had decided I should never be a father. So I drove my car to Mexico and tracked down a clinic willing to do the vasectomy no questions asked, happy for the cash in US dollars.
That’s what got me where we are now, trying to right the wrong, change our fate. I never thought I’d see Corabelle again, much less become her husband.
I aim to deserve her.
The reversal was a first step. There is nothing I won’t do to make her happy.
We ride out, surrounded by nothing but dirt and rock and the occasional scrub brush. The highway cuts through like a streak of silver, the center stripe worn down by dust and time.
We pass Alpine, and I turn off the highway to cut down a dirt road. The terrain is rough and Corabelle holds on more tightly as we bump over ruts and ridges.
“I remember this part!” she yells next to my ear.
It’s not far to the turn that leads to the plateau we visited before. It’s been two years since the night we came here to do an astronomy project. It was a key night, part of our reconnection after Corabelle transferred to San Diego to finish her degree.
She hadn’t known I was here, even though we’d both applied our senior year of high school, before she got pregnant. The plan changed with Finn and we chose New Mexico to be near her folks.
After Finn, Corabelle had stayed on in New Mexico. I’d burned that bridge by leaving, so I took up at the only other school to accept me.
I never dreamed we’d meet up again, and even though Corabelle had wanted nothing to do with me at first, I’d gradually convinced her to give me another chance.
The night on the rock had been part of that, and I hoped today would be another great memory.
We ride to the walking path, the motor revving to take on the incline. We’re in the foothills now, a wind tunnel shaping the land into its own brand of art, statues made of dust and rock.
Brush has overgrown the path more than the last time we were here, so I have to stop the bike sooner. I kill the motor and Corabelle sighs, stretching as she dismounts. “I’m not sure I’m in any better motorcycle shape than the last time we came here,” she says.
It’s true we only take short jaunts on the bike these days, preferring her car for anything more than a quick ride. But it makes my commute cheaper and the insurance break helps.
“Full body massage coming up,” I say.
She shakes her head as she unloads the snacks, but I know that smile. She’s with me. It’s going to be a good afternoon.
The sun is bright white overhead. The mountains are pearl gray on the horizon, the sandblasted world around us a burnished red in the searing light.
“About as hot as I expected,” I say and unlatch the rolled-up blanket from the side of the bike. We tramp around the brush, jumping on rocks and picking our way back to the path. I see the plateau ahead, a wide flat space among the hills and valleys.
I scramble up the embankment, then turn to help Corabelle. It feels like the last time, all nerves and anticipation. But right. We’re together. No matter what else happens, we have that.
And this time she’s my wife.
We straighten the blanket and lie back, closing our eyes to the blazing sky.
“Remember what happened last time we were here?” she asks.
“Why do you think I brought you?” I joke. “I’m aiming for a repeat.”
Her arm flings out to bop my chest. “We’ll get to that,” she says. “We talked about Finn. The stars were out. They always reminded us of him.”
“Still do,” I say.
“True. I think this wide open space does it, though. Even without the stars.”
I turn on my side to look at her. Beyond her the mountains and rock and wild brush spread out as far as you can see. We could be the only two people in the world. “You doing okay with the news this morning?” I ask.
“It’s hopeful,” she says. “Not the best, but not the worst either. Like life.”
I prop my head on my hand and trail my fingers along the buttons down the front of her shirt. “Maybe the test in three months will be better.”
She shifts on the blanket. It’s a subtle movement, like she’s trying to find a more comfortable spot. But I know her. It’s not her body that is unsettled, but her heart.
“You don’t think it will be?” I ask.
“No, I do,” she says quickly, then bites her lip.
“What is it, then?”
“Jenny. And now Tina.”
“Your friends?”
She doesn’t answer, her eyes closed, and flings an arm over her face.
“Hey,” I say. “Are they being all smug?”
Jenny just had a baby five months ago. Tina is expecting one in the fall.
“No, no. Of course not,” she says. “It’s just, oh, I don’t know. Stressful.”
“Because they have babies?”
“No. Yes.”
Her throat works, swallowing hard. “Jenny had such a breeze, well, other than that crazy ambulance ride. And Tina is out of the woods. The cerclage is working perfectly.”
“Still hard for her, though.” Tina lost her baby to premature labor when she was a teenager as well. It took her years to recover.
“I know. I do. I get it. But at least they get that chance.”
“We’ll get it too. I know we will.”
“When?” Her voice is high pitched and full of tears. “Two years from now, when I’m out of grad school? Or the day after never, because we’ll be in debt forever?”
Her words drive a stake in my heart. “I’m graduating in a year. I’ll get a great job and we’ll do better.”
She moves her arm so I can see her eyes. “You think so?”
“Sure.”
I’d move heaven and earth to make that happen.
“In geology?”
“I’ve been talking to the placement department. I can work for consulting firms, especially around here.”
I don’t say that my chances would be better if I got my master’s degree, but I can get started.
Corabelle goes quiet. I wonder if I’ve ruined things after all, if my stupid choice in Mexico will follow me all my life.
“Are you going to forgive me for all this?” I’ve asked before, a dozen times, maybe more. But I feel as though I need to keep asking, over and over, at least until we can build a family again.
She squints as she looks at me. I shift so that I shield her face from the sun.
“I forgave you a long time ago,” she says. “Every time you ask, the answer will always be the same.”
She turns to me then, pressing her palm against my chest. “You matter more to me than anything else.”
Even though I know this is what she will say, what she will always say, relief still washes over me.
“I love you, Corabelle,” I tell her.
She moves her hand to my cheek. “And I love you.”
I think about making a joke about the melting chocolate, but her face is so earnest, so fragile, that instead I lean down to kiss her.
She accepts it, her lips parting slightly.
I know her. She’s all I’ve ever really known. Her mouth. Her body. Her responses. She is everything. I have literally no recollection of anyone else. We were always meant to be. The four years we spent apart simply disappear, off in the distance, lost and forgotten. A blip in the passage of time. Not even a centimeter eroded on the landscape around us while we went through all that.
As if the universe has heard my thoughts, the wind kicks up and the sun slides behind a cloud, giving us a break and a cooling breath.
My hand moves to her buttons again and slowly, carefully, I release each one.
When my fingers cup her breast, she sighs against my mouth. I have her now. She is my Corabelle, my love. I shift over her, releasing her mouth to make my way down her jaw, her neck, her delicate collarbone, then the swell above the lace of her bra.
I slide my hand beneath her back, reaching for the clasp. It lets go, and I tug on the lace with my teeth. My mouth closes over the warm swollen nipple, and she arches up to meet me.
She is mine. I move more swiftly now, bracing on my elbow and moving my hand out from behind her to pluck open the snap to her jeans.
I know what she needs. I tug them down, the denim sliding over her hips. Her panties are soft blue and simple. I already knew this. I pretty much always watch her dress in the morning. It’s one of the best parts of my day.
We are not often out naked on a bright day like this, and the tiny lightning bolts of her stretch marks are prominent across her belly. She is no longer shy about them. I kiss each one, tracing their path down her abdomen. The evidence of Finn. I think of him every time.
She kicks her heels against the rock to knock off her shoes. One flies away and rolls off our plateau. I’ll fetch it later. I pull her jeans all the way off, my lips still pressing against her bare stomach.
When I’ve got her legs free, I part her knees and fit myself between her calves. My fingers flirt with the edges of the panties. She sucks in a breath. She knows where I’m headed.
I tug on the soft fabric, exposing her hip, then the first flirty hint of downy hair. I make my way farther down, taking the panties with me as I go.
When they’ve cleared her ankles, I lean in, gently sweeping my tongue against all my favorite spots. She lets out a soft sigh, her hands grabbing the edges of the blanket.
I’m done with gentle now, diving in and using all my knowledge of her to my advantage. Corabelle cries out, spreading wide, her voice echoing off the walls of the canyon.
Her hands bury themselves in my hair. I add fingers, moving faster, and I know right when she loses it, pulsing against me, her voice rising.
I bring her down carefully, massaging her thighs. Sometimes after an emotional day, being together like this can set her on an emotional spiral. She flings her arm over her face, but after only a moment, she recovers and sits up.
Her hands reach for my shirt, pulling all the snaps apart in a single swift motion.
Oh, this girl.
I toss the shirt as she reaches for my jeans. I have to pause to unstring my boots, and in my hurry to set them aside, one of my boots joins her shoe off the edge. We both laugh as I wrap my arms around her waist.
“You going to give me sore knees?” she asks. “Again?”
“I’ll do my best.” I roll up the side edges of the blanket as a cushion for her. “How’s that?”
“Good enough,” she says, bringing her leg up and over me as easily as she did the motorcycle.
I picture her riding my bike naked, and I’m so hard I feel like I could break the rock we’re lying on.
She settles her knees, then shifts her body over mine.
It’s like sliding into bliss. The sun shines down on her, as brightly as if we were riding one of its rays. She’s beautiful, like a goddess, and it’s not hard to imagine that the light comes from her and not the other way around.
She moves over me, knowing me just as well as I do her.
We fit. Always did. From that very first time in her parents’ sunroom to that sweet beautiful night in her apartment after we found each other again.
And now, we glow as if the world wants to pour all its beauty into one spot for the day.
She rocks against me, her eyes closed. Her breasts sway over me and I can barely hold anything in. When I feel her movements get more deliberate, I grasp her hips and increase the pressure, the intensity, the drive.
She loses it again, leaning over me, her voice in my ear. I release into her, pulsing with the bliss, overwhelmed by how she lets go, how she loves me, how we are together.
Her body flattens against mine, her head on my chest. My fingers trace her skin. My Corabelle. We stay like this for long minutes, time dropping away like the trickles of water in a cavern.
Only later, when we’ve dressed and I’ve hopped down on one foot to retrieve our errant shoes, do I realize we haven’t used condoms since I told her about the vasectomy.
But we might want to think about them now.