“Thanks,” I say as I drag my stuff in behind me.
I spin in a full circle, taking in every corner of the room. I stop when a wooden trunk at the end of the bed catches my eye. I point at it. “That’s kind of an odd decoration for a teenage boy, isn’t it.”
“Yeah, it’s a cedar chest. Kind of a funny story with that.” He picks his chain up from where it hangs around his neck, twisting it around in his fingers, the N flashing silver.
“Now you have to tell me.”
He steps closer to me into my space. “It’s for you.”
I crinkle my brow in surprise. “A gift?” He nods. “For winning the championship?”
“No, I actually got this a while ago. I’ve been holding onto it since senior year.” He leans down and opens the top,which is intricately carved with flowers in each of the four corners.
“Why didn’t you give it to me then?”
He chuffs a laugh. “Would you have taken it with you to Italy?”
My lips turn down in disappointment. “I guess not.”
“I figured I’d just hold onto it for you until you were ready to have it.”
I run my fingers along the edge, feeling the grain of the wood and inhaling its scent. “Am I ready for it now?”
Wyatt’s smile is wide. “I hope so.”
“Wyatt,” his mom calls from downstairs. “Can you come help me carry this?”
“I’ll see you downstairs for dinner,” he says, planting a kiss on my lips that I think is supposed to be quick, but ends up sucking us both in. I have been insatiable when it comes to him. Is it because we knew each other so well before we added sex into our relationship, or is it just hotter when you know you’re running out of time? Does it stem from the special form of intimacy that comes with sleeping next to someone every night? He breaks the kiss, flashing me a million-dollar smile. Like he knows if we hadn’t been interrupted, we might be on that bed. Then he’s gone, disappearing from the room and back down the stairs.
I’ve been to his house before, but I didn’t stay the night on Thanksgiving. I drove back to school late that evening for an early practice the next morning.
The bed has the classic navy-blue bed sheets, comforter, and matching pillowcases. The shelves on the walls are filled with sports trophies and medals. Pictures of him and his brother in various Halloween costumes including Luke Skywalker and, of course, a Butcher’s jersey. Other jerseysadorn the walls, all pinned up unceremoniously with thumb tacks. The biggest wall is covered in Butchers’ memorabilia. A poster from their 1998 Super Bowl win, a poster of their hall of fame receiver, and in the center of it all, a huge poster of Jared Clark looking decades younger than he does now. He holds the football in one hand out in front of him, the yellow and green helmet obscuring some of his face. The number on his jersey reads twelve. What a small number. Wyatt is number sixty-nine, as he loves reminding me. He thinks it’s hysterical. A small smile cracks my lips thinking about it. A man as quick to laugh and as carefree as him totally fits into a town like this, a family like this. I can see why he’s so dead set on coming back. I put my big bag on the luggage rack that I have no doubt is his mom’s addition to the room, and hang up my dresses.
I change out of my leggings and sweatshirt and into shorts and a t-shirt. I’m always freezing on planes, and if I’m too cold, I can’t sleep like I want to, so I always bundle up no matter how roasting it is outside.
When I wander outside to find Wyatt, I’m met with the nicest weather I’ve felt in three months. It’s the end of June now, and in Houston we are buckling in for the hottest month of the year come August, but here, just a few miles off a Great Lake, the breeze is cool, and the sunshine feels like a kiss instead of a burn. In about three hours I’ll need to run back upstairs and get my sweatshirt. The small amount of heat there quickly dissipates when the sun goes down. As I settle down in a patio chair, I look at the vast land surrounding us. I think Wyatt told me once that the farm is four-hundred acres. There are cows, chickens, and miles and miles of corn. From here I can see that it’s about to hit the ‘knee high by July’ milestone all the farmers follow.
Wyatt’s dad, Charlie, comes through the back door and I stand to greet him. His smile is wide, just like his shoulders, kept strong through years of farm work. It’s obvious where Wyatt gets his build. Football has just added a few more layers of muscle. His is more packed-on bulk, while his dad’s is lean. Wyatt’s affinity for pizza keeps him a bit thicker. “Nash, it’s so good to see you.”
“It’s good to be here. The perfect time to escape the Texas heat.”
“It’s been pretty toasty around here lately. Let me know if you get too warm, I’ll get the misting fans out.”
He, Barbara, and Henry will probably have those fans out before the end of the weekend anyway, so I just smile and say thank you.
I laugh to myself. It was ninety-two when we left Houston this morning. Charlie didn’t ask, but the rest of the family will, and they will all give me shocked expressions as if they can’t fathom how any human being could live at that temperature. And I’ll tell them exactly what I tell all Wisconsinites—it’s no different than the winter here: you just don’t go outside.
I sit on the front porch letting the lake breeze lift the hair off my shoulders. There’s something about the time in small-town Wisconsin. It’s like the fewer stoplights a town has, the slower the days go. It feels like you can get one-million things done, and it will still be early afternoon when you check the clock. Maybe it’s the long days of summer, but even in the winter when the sun sets behind the sugar maples at four-thirty, the time still feels slow. In summer, it’s like you have all day to do what you want because the sun sets so late. In the winter, it’s like you have all this time to just hang around because the sun sets so early. It’s fascinating compared to Houston where the rush-hour traffic starts before seveno’clock in the morning and doesn’t end until after seven in the evening.
The screen door behind me slams again and I glance over to see Wyatt coming through the door holding two sodas. He plops down in the chair next to me and hands me one.
“I could sit out here all weekend and feel like I got my money’s worth out of this trip,” I say as I stare out onto the wide green lawn again.
“Babe, you didn’t pay for this trip,” he laughs, taking a long sip of his soda. Half this state calls it pop, but you lose that when you get this close to the lake and, I guess, Illinois.
“Tomatoes, potatoes.” I wave my hand away, brushing off his comment.
“Do you ever miss it?” Wyatt’s voice is so quiet, I almost think he’s talking to himself, except he turns to look directly at me.