He turns back around and continues through the kitchen into the laundry room where I hear the dryer open and slam shut.
Bowen reappears in the doorway with a clean, grey t-shirt hanging from his fist, “Do you have enough vacation time?”
Maybe? I don’t know…I still don’t know what he’s getting at. I’m also distracted by the block of black script curving around his ribcage. I never actually found out what it said. I reach out for his wrist and raise his arm slowly, tilting my head to read it.
My spirit’s sleeping somewhere cold, until you find it there and lead it back home
“Why does that sound familiar?” I gently bring his arm back down.
“It’s from an Evanescence song.”
I arch my eyebrows in surprise, “Big Amy Lee fan?”
Bowen chuckles, “Are you?”
“Who isn’t?” I grin.
It’s not a lie, I do love Amy Lee’s voice.
“I had a friend who was. She was obsessed.” Bowen glances down at his ribs and smiles, each cursive letter filling the space above and below it like puzzle pieces, “She died when we were in high school and I got it a couple years later.”
“Wow,” I say as I run my fingers down his skin, examining the intricate script.
I don’t ask any more questions. I figure if he wants to say any more about it, he will. Instead, I look up and take a deep breath, leaning back against the countertop. I should be ecstatic that Bowen, the guy who completely wrecked me and has consumed my thoughts for the past week, is standing in front of me after showing up out of nowhere at Thursday Dinner.
But I’m not.
“What’s wrong?” Bowen asks, sensing my lingering irritation. “Are you still mad at me?”
I’m thinking it, so I might as well just say it, “Where the fuck were you?” I raise my head and look him in the eye, “Who goes radio silent for almost a week after…all that?”
“I should’ve just called you,” he speaks slowly, choosing his words carefully, “but I just wanted to see your face when you turned around.” He takes a step toward me, “And it was better than I ever imagined.”
I suppress the muscles in the corners of my mouth because, as much as I want to, I refuse to let him get off that easy, “Why?”
“Because,” he scoffs like I should already know, “you have this energy that’s fucking intoxicating. You carry yourself like you’re on your way somewhere and everyone else just has to keep up.”
The irony is that I can describe Bowen with the same exact words. And maybe that’s why I’m so annoyed—with him and myself—because he has an overwhelming energy that makes me feel like I’m part of something much bigger than myself. And when he abruptly left, I wasn’t anymore.
“And, tonight,” Bowen continues, “when you turned around and saw it was me, the look on your face was like—” he hesitates, shaking his head, “nothing I’ve ever seen.”
I reach out to Bowen and pull him in close, wrapping my arms around his neck. He holds me tightly, one arm around my waist while his other squeezes the back of my neck.
“I also made you a promise,” he murmurs into my hair.
Resting my ear against his chest, I can feel and hear his heartbeat. “What promise?”
“I told you if you asked me to stay, I wouldn’t leave. I didn’t just mean your hotel room.”
I snicker, releasing him, “Fair enough.”
“So,” he plants his hands on either side of me, getting back to his original thought, “do you have time off or not?”
“Yes…” Wolfsson is surprisingly generous with their vacation time, probably to make up for other shortcomings, but I’m still confused, “what about it?”
“I’m taking you on a real vacation,” he replies, “to some real mountains, just you and me. And you can write if you want, or not write if you want. All you have to do is walk out your door on Sunday and get in my truck.”
My eyebrows shoot up, “Sunday?” I croak.
Bowen tosses his t-shirt on the counter and reaches for his phone. He starts swiping and tapping until finally he turns his screen toward me and I see my name next to a seat number on a Delta flight from Columbus to Montrose, Colorado.
My eyes dart back and forth between Bowen and the phone. My mind is filled with everything and nothing all at once. Just like when he showed up out of nowhere, I want to say a million things, but nothing comes out. He’s grinning, watching me like he’s waiting for me to get over myself and just agree.
“Black Canyon of the Gunnison.” Bowen closes the screen and sets the phone down. “I didn’t bother with the bigger parks. It’s too late to even get in now.”
I feel a small jolt in my chest.
Gunnison.
I’ve never been there, but I recognize the name…what are the odds? I try to suppress the slow drip of adrenaline pooling in the pit of my stomach.
Stop it! This is exciting. Don’t ruin it with your stupid memories.
“This one’s smaller and a lot less crowded,” Bowen continues. “It’s no Glacier or Yosemite, but I bet you’ll still like it. There are still woods to tramp around in,” he says with a wink.
I tamp down the intrusive thoughts and focus on Bowen’s face in an effort to quell the mental assault.
“What?” he smirks, “Got nothing to say now?”
