Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Nothing about this scenario should feel right to me, yet I find myself drawing our hands down to rest together on the table, fingers intertwined because touching her feels more than right. I let my gaze rest there a moment, considering that I’m not sure when I last held a woman’s hand in an affectionate way.
Certainly never when it felt like this.
I lift my eyes, letting them roam over her face. “I’ve never talked about the crash with anyone.”
She blinks at me in surprise. “Anyone?”
I shrug, letting my thumb graze over the side of her wrist. “After it happened, of course I talked to people about the horror of it. A lot of shared grief with family members and friends. That sort of thing. But I never told a single soul how it made me feel to lose all those people. Never entered into a meaningful conversation about the trauma of it.”
Danica remains quiet but her fingers flex, a silent gesture that she’s here and listening.
“Remember I told you that day in the garage that my dad and brothers are military, and they aren’t big on feelings.”
She nods, another squeeze to my hand.
“I tried one time to talk about it with my oldest brother, Caleb. I’ve never had a close relationship with my dad… he was too emotionally distant, but I did look up to Caleb.”
“What happened?” she asks hesitantly.
“Nothing happened. He listened and then sort of squeezed my shoulder. Said, ‘I feel you, brother. But you have to suck it up and be strong. That’s what we Poes do.’”
Danica frowns. “That wasn’t very comforting.”
“We’re not that type of family. My dad didn’t do a good job letting his boys grieve when Mom died. He said essentially the same thing Caleb said to me… you have to be strong. Then he told me that Mom would have wanted that.”
“I imagine your mom would have preferred you’d been hugged instead,” Danica says acidly.
That makes me laugh. “Yeah… that’s exactly what my mom would have wanted. My dad was all proud, military bearing, the rock upon which our family stood. Mom was the soft surroundings who soothed our hurts when we fell. Without her to balance us…” I don’t finish my thought as it’s not needed. Danica nods her understanding. “So after the crash, I did what Caleb told me to do. I was strong, and that meant pushing it all down. Not talking about it. Moving forward with my life.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone to lean on,” she murmurs. “But you have me now.”
I swallow hard, pushing past the lump of apprehension in my throat. “I keep dreaming of plane crashes. I had the first one about a month after the plane went down. By then the new team was back on the ice and I was focused on playing hockey. I felt like it came out of left field because I wasn’t feeling depressed or anxious or angry or heartsick or any of a million emotions that would be normal for me to have. I was sad for a time, I mourned and I moved on. So it made no sense why I’d have that nightmare. Or why I kept having them.”
“It’s your mind’s way of telling you something,” Danica says.
I nod in agreement. “The dreams are all different too. Sometimes I’m on the plane going down with the rest of them. Sometimes I’m on the ground and it drops out of the sky to land on me. Sometimes, it will crash in the distance, far enough away that I’m safe but then the fireball rolls my way, closer and closer until it consumes me.”
“Do you feel the same with each nightmare? Are they all terror-based?”
That question befuddles me for a moment. I’d classify them all as terror-based as they’re nightmares and they scare the shit out of me. But actually, one of them does feel different.
“The ones where I’m on the ground and the plane falls on me, or the fireball gets me, I’m scared. Panicked.”
“And the one when you’re on the plane?” she prods gently.
My eyes bore into hers. “I’m relieved. I mean… the free fall scares me and I can feel the lurch in my stomach as we plummet, but I’m surrounded by my team and… it seems okay.”
The waiter appears and sets down two glasses of amber-colored wine. It breaks the somber moment and causes Danica and I to pull our hands away from each other. She glances up and murmurs, “Thank you.”
When we’re alone again, I take my glass and hold it up. She does the same and we tap them together. “Thanks for coming on a date with me,” I say.
“Thanks for asking,” she replies.
We both take a sip, staring at each other over the rims.
“Mmm,” she says with clear delight. “That’s delicious.”
“A little too sweet for me but I’m glad to have tried it.”