Unbroken Connection Read Online Free PDF Page B

get married at Christmas. Wonder if I can get off? If I have to, I’ll quit. No way will she resist me asking her in person. If I can get her hot, it’ll be easy. Why didn’t I think of this back in Florida? It would have been so much better than breaking up. That was right, though. Hurt like hell, but I needed to give her up—let her go before I destroyed everything that made me love her. It was the only thing to do. Then.
    I can’t help it if she came back.
    I can’t help it if she still loves me.
    I can’t help loving her.
    She’ll marry me. Not even the Mormon stuff scares me. She can raise our kids like she was raised. That’s cool with me. I’ll respect it all our lives together. Support her, help her.
    I promised I’d listen. I think I can do that now without getting livid. Before I was so freaked. My parents’ loss was fresh and raw. Every time she tried to reassure me with her holy act, it felt like she was raking through my oozing wounds. I hated that.
    I can listen to her now, fake nice, let her pray all she wants, if it means keeping her—really making her mine after all.
    She’ll say ‘yes.’ Sooner or later, she’ll say ‘yes.’
    Freak, I got to go, babe. Where are you?
     
    LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM # 52, HOMECOMING
     
I bake a mob of chocolate chip cookies,
chewy with oatmeal, expensive
when you have to buy all the stuff,
and wonder where Michael was last night
while I pack the cookies with the last
of the Washington Delicious Apples
Dad mail-ordered me. How did he know?
I never said.
     
I check my face, add concealer.
I fell asleep waiting for Michael,
but the alarm went off at 4 AM.
I waited until 6. Nothing.
Nowhere. I fight not to imagine
the somewhere he could be.
     
Noah’s on time, and we walk to the stadium,
milling with all the guys who made him ask me
and their giggling dates,
enjoying a crisp touch of fall,
trees golden and scarlet,
beds of fall flowers and soft green lawns
perfectly tended by an army of students
early this morning.
The whole place glows.
Why don’t I?
     
Noah smiles. “Can I carry that?”
I swallow away my dry mouth and nerves.
“You’ve got the blankets.”
“I’ll manage both.” He touches my arm when he takes
the picnic basket I borrowed off Roxi,
my California roommate,
who’s prepared for everything.
     
I have a boyfriend in Thailand.
I have a boyfriend in Thailand.
I want to shout, turn and bolt.
We’re back together—sort of.
Either that or we’re engaged.
Need to change my online status:
Complicated. That’s us.
     
Then boys like Noah won’t call.
They want pure, simple.
He spreads the blankets
on the bleacher.
I reward him with cookies.
Best he’s ever tasted.
(Gram gave me her secret recipe
when I was part of the family.)
I gaze off into sky as blue as Michael’s ocean.
“You should try my apple pie.”
“Is that an invitation?”
Noah’s mouth is full of cookie.
The crowd roars kick-off so he misses
the no way, that’s Michael’s, plain
on my face.
     
We score a lot and win,
pass the cookies around.
I’m the only one who eats the apples.
     
Later, riding the Creeper steaming for Heber,
the train cars chugging through the night to a Top 40s beat,
we salsa and waltz.
He talks about brothers on missions
in hot, steamy places.
I grab his shoulder. “Did you say Thailand?”
“No, South Korea.”
I relax my grip. “Know anyone serving in Thailand?”
He shakes his head, watching me,
getting it. “Do you?”
     
“I have a friend working there. He needs
some missionaries.”
Noah’s hand slips in mine—
suddenly slicker than it was before.
“Maybe more than a friend?”
Heat rises to my face—and I stare
out the window at the lights speeding
away from me. “Used to be.”
     
We both know I’m lying.
He eases away from me, swallows. “My dad
joined for my mom.”
“My mom, too. Is he still active—your dad?”
Noah’s head shakes. “He stuck it out
for awhile—five kids—then it fell apart.
A mom on