Flying

At the third chime, Stella’s hands started to sweat. She gripped the wheel harder, staring down the dark highway. No traffic lights to give her time to pause so she could fumble in her bag and find her phone. She had another twenty minutes’ drive to go, and when the phone chimed a fourth, then fifth time, she pulled over to the side of the road to answer it.

The messages, a string of casual conversation ending with “give me a ring when you have a chance,” had come from Craig.

First she was relieved that it wasn’t an emergency. Then a little annoyed that she’d had to pull over. And finally, as she pulled back out into traffic and finished the drive, Stella realized she was...anxious.

Confused. Anxious. A little excited. But mostly wary, she thought as she dropped her keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter and hung her coat and purse in the closet.

She put her phone on the table while she poured herself a glass of cold water. She eyed it as she leaned against the counter to drink. As if it might bite her, she thought, and laughed out loud.

It was Craig, for goodness’ sake.

She had told him to call her, she remembered that much. But, unlike those long-ago days when she’d counted the minutes in between conversations, she hadn’t been thinking much of him at all. She hadn’t really expected him to call her, as a matter of fact, and now that he had, it would be up to her to return it. Or not.

Still thinking about it, Stella took her phone upstairs and settled it into the charging dock. She showered and got ready for bed, taking her time, but even so it wasn’t quite midnight when she slipped into her bed and turned out the light. She turned on her side to stare at the dark, square shape of the phone.

It was reprimanding her.

Not replying to a message was one of the shittiest things to do to someone. She’d always thought that. Not simply not replying right away, but not replying at all, ever. Toward the end of their marriage, Jeff had started ignoring her messages, and it had driven her insane with rage.

Craig had always answered her messages...until he’d stopped.

* * *

They’ve ordered food, but Stella can’t eat. She pushes the food around with her fork and drinks too much iced tea, but her stomach’s too jumpy to put any food in it. Craig asked to meet her at a chain restaurant where you can create your own pasta dish, and she ordered chicken Alfredo, a stupid choice because it’s far too heavy and rich for her even on days when she’s not a bundle of nerves.

It doesn’t matter how many days they’ve already spent eating lunch together, or how many hours they’ve spent talking on the computer and the phone. This feels different. It is different, she reminds herself as Craig tells her a funny story she finds herself incapable of laughing at. Her face is frozen. Her fingers clumsy enough to knock her silverware on the floor so that, blushing, stammering, she has to reach for her fork.

Craig bends at the same time, his hand taking hers. He squeezes her fingers, and Stella drops the fork. They both sit up, facing each other across the small, intimate table for two. It’s a table for lovers, though that isn’t what they are.

“Hey,” Craig says quietly. “Are you all right?”

She’s not. Her hands still shake so much that she tucks them into her lap, linking her fingers to keep them still. She manages a smile she hopes doesn’t make him recoil. “Yes, sure. Of course.”

Craig carries the conversation all through lunch, and at the end of it, asks her if she wants to go for a walk with him along the river. The weather’s nice, not too hot. A little breezy. It whips her hair around her face as they follow the black curving path down toward the water. The river’s high right now, covering most of the concrete steps leading into it. She’s seen it low enough to expose them all.

That’s what Stella’s thinking about so she doesn’t have to think about the way Craig takes her hand as they walk. The height of the water in the river. How fast it flows. What would happen if she went down those stairs and into it... Would she be swept away?

He holds her hand only long enough to tug her to a stop, turning her to face him. “Stella.”

She can’t look at him. Past him. Beyond him. Anywhere but into his eyes.

“Hey,” Craig says in a low voice. “Please look at me.”

She does, and it’s not as bad as she’d thought it would be.

It’s worse.

So much worse to look into his deep blue eyes and see the lines in the corners. To lose herself in the way he tilts his head so slightly to the side as he studies her. To note the curve of his mouth and the flash of his tongue inside it when he talks.

“What is this?” Stella asks suddenly, interrupting whatever it was that Craig had started to say. Before he can say anything, she keeps going. “What are we doing? What do you want, Craig?”

He’s silent for a moment while the river breeze ruffles the light jacket he’s wearing. When it looks as though he’s going to reach for her, Stella takes a step back. Craig’s brow furrows, but he lets his hands fall back to his sides.

“I don’t know.” He sounds sincere. “I just like to be with you, Stella.”

It’s the nicest and worst thing anyone has ever said to her, both at the same time. The look of sudden longing on his face slumps her shoulders. Tightens her throat. It makes her want to leap into his arms and cover his face with kisses.... It makes her want to run away from him and never look back.

“I like to be with you too,” she says in a thick, choked voice that embarrasses her.

“Can we sit?” Craig points to a metal bench overlooking the water.

They sit. Their knees touch every so often as they turn toward each other. Stella keeps her hands in her lap so she won’t touch him.

She wants to touch him so much.

“Look,” he says finally, after long minutes in which neither of them speaks. “I know this is one of those things that is supposed to be wrong. But it doesn’t feel wrong. Does it.”

He makes it a statement, not a question, but she’d have answered the same way even if he had. “No. It should. I want it to.”

For a moment, Craig looks unsure and sad. Then he nods, as though her reply has made something clear that had previously been cloudy. “Do you want me not to call you anymore, Stella?”

This is not at all what she was expecting. It’s not what she wanted him to say, not what she wants to hear. The thought of it, of never talking to Craig again...of never seeing him... This is when Stella can’t pretend anymore that this friendship hasn’t gone too far, and she gets up on numb legs to take a stumbling step away from him.

Her voice is far away and cold. She’s made herself an automaton. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, I think that would be best.”

Craig looks stunned. Then he gets up from the bench. Neutrality slides across his expression, shutting her out, but she can’t let herself be upset. Stella lifts her chin. Tightens her jaw. Craig mirrors her stance.

He nods once, sharply. “Right. Okay, then. Well, Stella, thanks for lunch and...good...luck, I guess.”

“Goodbye,” Stella says, and does not offer her hand.

She watches him walk away from her, his back straight, shoulders square, but somehow, though not a single step he takes is in any way faltering, Craig is limping. There’s a moment when she sees herself run after him so clearly it takes her a minute to realize she hasn’t moved. Her hand’s raised, and Stella forces it back to her side.

She watches him climb the stairs to the sidewalk, and she waits for him to turn around, but he never does.

* * *

Hey, Stella typed quickly in the dark without letting herself think too hard about anything. Got your message, but it’s too late to call. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, if you’re free.

She settled the phone back into the dock and wriggled deeper into her pillows and blankets, her eyes at last closing. She was just drifting off to sleep when her phone lit up—it didn’t make a noise because of her Do Not Disturb settings, but the glare tickled her eyelids enough to wake her. She already knew who it was before she rolled to check. But even so, she smiled at the sight of Craig’s name.

Looking forward to it.

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