The Silent Waters
Page 25

That list was my promise of tomorrow.
And now I had nothing.
It only took seconds before Brooks’ arms were wrapped around me tight, and I fell against his chest, sobbing. “You’re gonna be okay, Maggie,” he whispered. It was a promise that felt empty. “You’re just tired. We’ll fix this in the morning. Everything’s okay.”
He led me to my bed and laid me down then began scrambling around my room, digging through the piles of books. When he found one that wasn’t damaged, he sat on the floor beside my bed and opened it to the first page. He bent his legs up and rested the book on his knee. Then he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and finally picked the book back up.
“The Walk Home,” he said, reading the title. “Chapter One. Lauren Sue Lock wasn’t having an upbeat day…”
He read to me as I cried uncontrollably. He read to me as my tears slowed. He read to me as my racing heartbeat calmed. He read to me as my eyes grew heavy. He read to me as I fell asleep.
I dreamed of his voice reading to me some more.
When I woke the next morning, he was gone. As I climbed out of my bed, parts of me wondered if he had truly been there at all, but he’d left enough evidence to tell me of our night.
Every book was placed back around the perimeter of the bedroom, going from reds to purples. Every book was carefully taped back together. On my desk was my to-do list, resting inside my journal, damaged, yet somehow more whole than before.
Resting on top of the journal was a Post-it note that read, You’re okay today, Maggie May Riley.
I loved him.
I wasn’t certain when it had happened. I wasn’t certain if it was a group of moments collected over time or simply the heroic act he’d performed while I was sleeping, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter when, or why, or how it had happened. It didn’t matter how many moments gathered together to form the love. It didn’t matter if it was right or wrong.
Love didn’t come with guidelines. It flowed into a person with only hope as its current. There wasn’t a list of rules to follow, making sure you cared for it correctly. It didn’t give you instructions to keep it pure. It simply showed up quietly, praying you wouldn’t let it slip away.
There was something to be said about timing. Getting the timing right in any situation was always important. Saying the right things at the right moments, making the right choices when choices had to be made. As I walked up to Maggie’s room, my chest was tight. As I’d spent the time taping all the pieces of her books together, I hadn’t been able to stop wondering what she’d think when she woke the next morning. I wanted to make her smile. If I could only do one thing for the rest of my life, it would be to make her smile, and it was time for her to know that, to know how I felt. How when we were together, she was always on the forefront of my mind. How when we were apart, that was where she remained.
“I wanted to return your book last night, but I really needed to see what happened to Lauren Sue Lock. Plus, I got you a new dry-erase board,” I said, standing in Maggie’s doorway. “You okay today, Mag—”
Before the words could leave my mouth, Maggie rushed over to me and pressed her lips against mine. I stumbled backward into the hallway, catching her in my arms. I didn’t question her kiss; I fell into it. I allowed her to kiss me as I kissed her more. When she pulled back a bit, I combed her long hair behind her ears.
She blushed, and I kissed her cheeks. She lowered her stare, and my fingers went under her chin to lift it up. I kissed her cheeks again. Then her forehead. Then her nose. Then every invisible freckle that trailed across her face.
Then, her lips. “Good afternoon, Maggie May.”
She smiled at me and kissed my cheeks. Then my forehead. Then my nose. Then every invisible freckle that trailed across my face.
Then, my lips.
I imagined her saying it to me, too. Good afternoon, Brooks Tyler.
She took my hands in hers and walked backward, leading us into her bedroom. When we were inside, I kicked the door closed.
For a while we were stupid and silly, simply staring and smiling. We kissed, too; that might’ve been my favorite part. Her finger danced across my shoulder blade and she studied my body, as if I were real. Her fingers moved down my arms, then down my sides, before traveling up my chest. She laid her palm against my chest, feeling my heartbeat.
“For you,” I said.
She blushed some more, and I kissed her cheeks some more, too. I took my finger, moving it across her collarbone, down her sides, back up her sides, and then moving my palm to her heartbeat.
She bit her bottom lip and held up four fingers then pointed at me. For me.
Her heartbeats were made for me, and mine for hers.
“I like you.”
She pointed to herself then held up two fingers. Me too.
“Date me?” I asked.
She stepped backward, almost shocked by my words. She shook her head.
I stepped toward her. “Date me?” I asked again.
She stepped backward again, shaking her head.
“Stop saying no, please? It’s kind of a punch to my confidence.”
She shrugged her shoulders and moved to her desk where she picked up a notebook and started writing.
How?
“How? How what? How do we date?”
Yes.
“Well, like anyone dates, I guess.”
How do you date other people? How did you date your ex-girlfriends?
“I don’t know, hung out with them a lot. Some liked to go shopping, to the movies, to…” My words trailed off. She frowned. The way I had dated in the past wasn’t the way I could date Maggie. “Oh. I get it, but I’m not trying to date them. I’m trying to date you. However that works, I want to do it. I want to be around you. I want to kiss you. I want to hold you. I want to see you smile. Plus”—I held up her journal—“dating is on your list.”
She shook her head.
“Maggie, I taped this book together piece by piece for over five hours. I think I know what’s in your journal.” I flipped through the pages and held it out toward her when I found it. “Number fifty-six: date Brooks Tyler Griffin, from The Book of Brooks.”
A sly smile found her. I didn’t write that.
I shrugged. “Listen, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m flattered. Even though I didn’t create the list, I’m here to make you follow it. Heck, if I’d known you were so madly infatuated with me, I would’ve started dating you years ago.”