Lovey didn’t agree with that statement. She felt a sick twinge in the pit of her stomach. The reality of what Royal did for a living crystallized, and Lovey wasn’t happy about it.
“Royal, doesn’t that scare you? What if it hadn’t been a bad shot?” She tried to look at Royal’s face as they walked down a grassy path beside a large shed that housed a tractor and the old truck she’d seen Royal drive the day of the bee sting incident.
“Yeah, to be honest, it did scare me a little. But it’s over now and I’m fine. I’m not going to dwell on it. Let’s talk about something else.”
Lovey wasn’t finished with this topic, but she decided not to push Royal at the moment. They continued down the path in silence. The grass grew taller around them and opened into a field that wrapped around the base of a gently sloped hill. After a few more moments, Lovey saw a large pond ahead of them surrounded by hardwoods.
Royal sensed that Lovey was upset. Lovey wouldn’t even look at her. She couldn’t stand knowing that some action of hers had made Lovey unhappy.
“Please don’t be angry with me.” Royal stepped in front of Lovey, walking backward. Lovey finally looked up.
“It’s hard not to be angry, Royal. Someone was shooting at you. That scares me.”
“I promise to be careful. Can you just not think about it anymore right now?” Royal wanted to shift the mood between them. She wanted to feel the closeness between them.
“I’ll try not to think about it.”
“Maybe I could find a way to distract you.” Royal entwined their fingers as they walked side by side toward the large shade trees gathered at the pond’s edge.
“Your family’s property is beautiful.”
“Thanks. We’ve got forty acres now. My great-grandfather used to have almost a hundred acres, but over time he had to sell some of it off. Before we started in earnest to turn crops into spirits.” Royal leaned against the nearest broad tree trunk and pulled Lovey against her. She caressed the contour of Lovey’s face delicately with her fingertips before she kissed her forehead, then her cheek, and finally placed a lingering kiss on her lips.
“I have a proposal.” Lovey leaned her head against Royal’s shoulder as Royal caressed her back.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“My father has an overnight revival Friday. I was hoping we could spend the evening together.” Lovey pulled back so that Royal could see her face.
“Really? You mean, the whole evening?” Royal tried to temper her excitement at the suggestion that they might spend the night together.
“Well, if you aren’t dodging bullets or whatever else you daredevils do.”
Royal pulled her into a hug. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up for dinner and then we can go to my place in town.”
“I was thinking I could make you dinner. Would that be okay? I want you all to myself, not in some public venue.”
“Even better.” She kissed Lovey again, this time longer, more passionate.
Their bodies were pressed against each other, and it was difficult for Royal not to let her hands drift up and down the gentle slope of Lovey’s hips. After another moment, she gave in to the impulse. Lovey wrapped her arms around Royal’s neck and deepened the kiss. Royal ached deep inside for Lovey to touch her, be with her, to be cradled in her arms.
They separated slowly. Royal felt weak kneed and suggested they sit down in the shade. Bees hummed in the clover nearby as they settled at the base of the tree. Lovey sat between Royal’s legs, leaning against her chest. She pulled Royal’s hand into hers and turned it over, caressing it with her fingers.
“Have you been writing lately?”
“I’ve been feeling a bit distracted for some reason. It’s been hard to focus.” Lovey pressed her soft lips to Royal’s fingers, which Royal felt all the way to her toes.
“What was it that made you start writing? Did you attend college?” Lovey settled her head back under Royal’s chin.
“No, I stopped after the tenth grade and started driving for my granddad.”
“What about all the books in your room?”
“I love to read. Maybe that’s my college. Books.” Royal caressed Lovey’s shoulders and let her hands drift slowly down Lovey’s arms.
“I loved college.” Lovey picked a clover and twirled it between her fingers. She had to remind herself that to others it might seem that she’d come from a world of intellectual privilege. And now she was in a region populated only with one-room schoolhouses. “I think you would have enjoyed college.”
“Maybe.”
“You didn’t really answer my question about what made you start writing.”
“I’m not sure I can put my finger on any one reason. I’ve always loved books and I love words. I suppose that sounds strange.”
“Not to me. Language is powerful.”
“Discovering the perfect word, a word that captures something complex, that makes me feel elated. It makes me feel understood.”
Lovey watched Royal’s face then prompted her to continue. “Why poetry and not some other style of writing?”
“During the time after my father died I discovered poetry. My grandfather taught me to drive and then gave me one of his dog-eared poetry collections.”
“So does your grandfather write also?”
“No, but I discovered as a child that he had this secret love for poetry.” Royal caressed Lovey’s cheek with her fingers. “He told me that poetry was like bread for the soul.”
“That’s a lovely way to think about it.”
“A thoughtfully crafted poem can speak to our deepest selves.”
Lovey was focusing on Royal’s lips as she spoke and feeling it in the deepest part of herself. If they kept talking in this way Lovey might completely swoon and have to be carried back to the house. She looked out over the pond to give her heart a moment to slow its pace. Feeling a bit more in control
