Caris was wrong about one thing: Marlowe has been trying, just not succeeding. She knows that Lucas is right; she has to keep going even into the fire. She's just been burned too many times to forge ahead without fear, without caution. Her thoughts shift as she drives away from the life she has chosen toward the life into which she was born; she is swallowed by ominous open roads where anything can happen and sanctuaries are few and far between. Mile after mile, Marlowe scrambles for purchase, for a safe road. She divides her mind into separate lanes of traffic that perhaps she can control one by one. She feels as though time is cracking its whip across her back; everything seems to be rushing head long towards a wreck. There is no safe road, but maybe she can keep something safe by holding it still, by hiding it from the greedy jaws of change. When she crosses the state line into Kentucky, Marlowe pulls off of the highway at a rest stop to stretch her legs and have a cigarette. She pulls out her phone, scrolls through the call list, and dials Lucas' number.
"Klein."
"Lucas."
"You didn't call yesterday," he comments coolly, almost accusingly. He milled around his office for half an hour. He even called his uncle to pass the time while he waited for his cell phone to ring. "Spank her or something, but get her back," Colonel MacAllister had ordered.
"No," Marlowe replies hesitantly. "But I have a deal for you today."
Lucas leans back against the wire grid of the fence while he watches his trainees moving and loading weighted dummies for a timed simulation. One of the 'injured' gets his head cracked on the helicopter door. Lucas frowns, shaking his head disapprovingly. "I'm listening," he says, making notes on his clipboard.
"Can you wait?"
Her voice is tiny, anxious, as though she is calling out to him from a great depth. "Wait for what?" he asks softly.
"Wait until I get back."
"Depends," Lucas replies carefully. "What happens when you get back?"
"Well, we could try it," Marlowe says shakily, sucking on her cigarette. "I mean, I want you to come over . . . I want you to stay," she declares, trying to firm up her voice. "That's what you mean right? You want to stay so you might as well just . . . stay." It makes sense to her now that she's alone on the road, heading towards a firing squad, wishing that she had stayed in D.C. Stay where you feel safe - it's just an instinct. "It's not like we're about to get married. Especially since your ass is likely to get shot every other week."
Lucas squints against the afternoon sun, watching the simulation. "Not that often," he replies dryly.
Marlowe's eyes widen. She was just being smart, but suddenly she recalls two shiny pale scars on his shoulder that could have been bullet wounds. "How often?" she demands.
He smiles grimly. "You really want to talk about that right now?"
"Maybe not."
Lucas nods. "What's the catch? You said you were making me a deal."
"Right. The deal is that we play it cool at this Fourth of July party. I don't need the extra drama," she croaks, swiping sweat from her forehead. "After that, we'll be back in D.C. and . . . it's different in D.C."
Lucas goes still, considering. He can refuse to put on a face, or he can yield something to this woman who is offering him the world in a hoarse voice rusty with jitters. "You're sure? About me?"
"Yes! I don't just sleep with people, you know," she blurts defensively. "I mean, I don't," she grumbles over a drag.
"Are you smoking?"
"Yes."
"Quit," Lucas orders. "What else?"
Marlowe blinks in confusion. "What do you mean 'what else'?"
"What else besides sex." Lucas grins broadly. "Is this a love situation, Marlowe Ross?"
Marlowe covers her thirty four year old face with her hand and blushes like a teenager. "Is this where I'm supposed to say that I'm crack-head crazy about you, boy?"
"Something like that," he replies. "Are you?"
She presses the phone against her ear and listens to the faint, faint sound of his breathing. "Yeah," she says finally.
"You miss me?" Lucas' voice is a gravelly whisper.
Do you yearn for me? That's what he's asking. Do you wake up in the morning half starved for me? "Yes."
"I miss you bad." Marlowe bites her lip. "I had a dream about you last night."
"What happened?"
A short low laugh lodges in Lucas' throat. "I'm not allowed to say things like that on the phone."
"How about a hint?"
"How about I had to change my sheets this morning." Lucas taps his pen against his clipboard. "I think I should get off the phone with you before I have a love situation in my shorts."
"It's not just sex, right?" Marlowe asks abruptly.
"No." Lucas heaves a deep breath full of feeling. "The sex is because of us, not the other way around."
"What else?" Marlowe asks, mocking him.
An image forms in Lucas' mind, a comical heartwarming image that makes him chuckle. "You're a turtle, Marlowe. You mosey along until it gets cloudy, then you pull your head in your shell and wait it out. When it's clear again, you keep going. You don't run and you don't give up. You're not a quitter. I can live with that," he says, his tone approving. "Slow Mo."
"So I'm the tortoise and you're the hare. Great," Marlowe replies, grimacing.
"But you're my 'hare' trigger, hot pants," Lucas murmurs. "Did I tell you that purple is my favorite color?"
Marlowe doesn't say a word. Her aura throbs like a heartbeat.
"I have to go," Lucas says over a chuckle. "Call back tomorrow."
"Okay."
"Goodbye."
"Bye." Not as elegant as a marriage vow but just as binding - Marlowe can feel it in the pit of her stomach. She feels love even though the words weren't spoken. Even after she settles into the car and resumes the long road, her heart doesn't call out for those three words; they are, like others, terribly too small. She just wants Lucas now, urgently; this is what he means when he talks about missing her. Needing is the weight of love; need is her new burden. And just like that, an old way of loving moves irrevocably out of reach.
It is the raw Marlowe Ross who pulls up at her brother's doorstep Friday evening just before sunset. Exhausted, she leaves her bags in the car and stumbles up the walk to the house.
"Hey girl!" Tamara exclaims warmly after opening the door. "Come on in here. What's going on?"
"Nothing," Marlowe replies out of habit, trudging through the door after her twelve hour drive. She rubs her red rimmed eyes and tries to smile as Tamara hugs her, but she only manages not to tip over while she taps Tamara's back. Suddenly, she winces as though she's bitten her tongue. Nothing is the wrong word - something big is going on, everything in fact. Marlowe brushes her finger over her nose, half squinting and half smirking.
"You must be tired hugging me like that," Tamara admonishes lightly. "What?" she asks, studying Marlowe's face as she shuts the door. "Where's your stuff?"
"In the trunk." Marlowe's lip twitches uncontrollably. "Hey. Something happened. With Lucas," she announces disjointedly. Even though she is perilously close to falling to the floor sound asleep, her joy rises at the mention of his name.
"Oh Lord," Tamara exclaims. "What? You kicked him to the curb, huh? You are so hard headed, Mo. Dang. I'm so . . ."
"No. No," Marlowe repeats a touch defensively. "I, uh . . ." She reaches around to yank her hair out from under the collar of her shirt. "I caught some feelings," she announces awkwardly, throwing up one hand. "I love him, I guess. Yes," she insists, nodding vigorously. "We're moving in. With me," she corrects, pointing at herself. "He's moving in with me." She rolls her eyes, moves her finger to her throbbing temple, and lowers her thumb, shooting herself.
Tamara gapes at her. She drops her weight to one hip, gasps faintly, and then folds her arms over her chest. "What?"
Road weary and crashing from sugar and caffeine, Marlowe can't pull together any further explanation. She simply nods again. "Yep."
Tamara continues to stare at her. She pulls the zipper on her shirt up to her chin, nearly covering her slight frown. "Well, damn," Tamara says shortly. "Okay then."
Marlowe blinks, trying to process Tamara's reaction. But her synapses aren't firing fast enough. I'm tired - that is the only thought she can come up with. Her disappointment, lacking direction, oozes into a generic grouchiness that makes her yawn hugely and then frown.
"You look a mess," Tamara comments. "I got dinner going in here. I'll fix you a plate in a minute, okay? Come sit down."
"Forget it," Marlowe says dully. "I'm tired. I just want to go to sleep."
Tamara raises and lowers her brows. "Okay then. Let me go get your bed ready."
Marlowe eyeballs the stairs, sniffing. "What about in there?" she asks, chucking her thumb toward the guest room.
"Fine, Miss Thang," Tamara replies sharply. "But you know Lucas is coming."
"Well he's still up North," Marlowe grumbles, lumbering to the guest room. Her joy has fallen to half mast just that quickly. "Where I should be." She closes the door between her and Tamara leaving nothing but silence in her wake.
"Huh," Tamara huffs, folding her arms over her chest. She scratches her head with one tapered nail and then shuffles off to the kitchen.
