Everly

I don’t sleep. It’s impossible, when the man who had unnerved me, fucked me, and undone me is so close. His back is against mine, and when he rolls over in his sleep his arm wraps around my waist. Seamlessly, as if it was made to be there.

The problem is, even if I wanted to be here, I have no idea where I would fit into his life.

I spent yesterday evening on my laptop. I figured I had waited to be a writer until I had some life experience under my belt, and I certainly had material to work with at the moment.

But as I sat there at the kitchen table, I kept typing a pros and cons list. Pros for being Silas’s wife. Cons for going back to Portland.

For every pro there was a con. The list was even. I deleted the entire thing, hating that I even started it. It felt so immature, and I’m an adult. A grown-up.

A wife.

The thing is, as angry as I was last night, we did get married. And that means something to me. Does it mean anything to Silas? Because he doesn’t seem to really care if I stay.

And I want to mean more than that to my husband. I wanted to matter, as a person, to him.

But I guess the fact that he was okay with marrying a stranger answers the question of what I mean to him. He doesn’t really care who I am. He agreed to marry me sight unseen.

But can I hold that against him, when I did the exact same thing? These questions rattled through my brain all night, and I wish I could hash it all out with Delta and Amelia … but I’m out here alone. If I want to hash anything out with anyone, it will have to be with my husband.

Which is not going to happen. He’s a man, a species I’m too unfamiliar with.

Especially his kind: a man so sexy, so completely confident. A man who doesn’t really need me here at all.

He makes coffee, dresses, and is out the door without a word. The entire time, I have my back to him, determined not to speak. Because I’m acting petty and don’t know the first thing about navigating relationships.

But that isn’t true, not really. I have my girlfriends; I had my parents and my grandparents. I know that honesty is the first step in understanding another person.

The problem is, last night I was honest with Silas. And he didn’t like that. He didn’t like me admitting that this was so not what I signed up for. He wanted me to be accommodating and willing, and not a person with feelings at all.

Maybe this is why mail order brides went out of fashion at the same time the West was won. I can vote and I can go to school and I have a voice. I need to be with a man who understands that.

Dressing in jeans and a tee shirt, I pour the last of the coffee into an enamel mug. Realizing that Silas doesn’t have half and half, I moan into the thick black liquid. I take a sip, resigned, and then pull on my Converse and slip outside.

It’s not even seven a.m., but the forest has been awake for hours, considering the sun rose at three a.m. Trees rustle as birds move about, and branches crack under my feet as I walk toward the lake. Maybe the sweet serenity of the glassy water will calm my nerves. Yesterday, when I gave my body to Silas, I experienced a free flow of emotions … but now they seem to be bottled up tight once more.

I see Silas fishing at the dock, but I can’t bear to go over to him. I don’t know what to say. I feel tricked into being here.

And maybe it’s not his fault, but it isn’t mine, either. I just need to get through the week, and get out of his woods. Sure, he was amazing to me in bed last night—and the night before—but that isn’t a marriage.

I’m going to need a project to get through the week.

Yesterday morning, after the courthouse, he mentioned wanting me to plant a garden. Wanting something to do, I walk around the perimeter of the cabin to a plot of land where a rototiller has already broken up the soil.

In a small potting shed I find shovels, seeds, and gardening gloves. Not wanting to mess up his plans, I decide to start weeding, until he returns from the lake and can give me more instructions.

A few hours later, I’ve weeded the majority of the area he’s marked out. I take a break, needing some water.

Silas is in the cabin and he gives me a curt nod, clearly not interested in making amends anytime soon, either.

“Can you tell me where you want things planted?” I ask him as I fill up a glass of water for myself. I don’t look at him. I can’t bear to.

“Sure. I made a drawing of the garden, you can follow that.”

“Okay. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“You want to make small talk, Everly? Because I’m not really interested in that.”

My emotions rise to the surface. I wish he would be more gentle with me, more gracious. This is a ridiculous learning curve, yet he seems annoyed that I’m less than thrilled to be so out of my element.

“Then what are you interested in?” I ask.

He looks me up and down, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking at all.

“I’m only interested in you if you want to be my wife.”

I cross my arms, frustrated that he isn’t giving me any wiggle room to figure out what I want.

“Just show me the map for the garden, Silas,” I tell him, walking back outside.