“Will?”

“Mmph.”

“Are you still asleep?”

“Yes.”

“No, you’re not. I can see your eyes opening.”

“I was asleep until an annoying little bird kept chirping in my ear.”

“Oh, hush you.”

He was lying across her stomach, his eyelashes tickling her bellybutton, making her squirm. She couldn’t help it. She was just too ticklish. He ran his fingers up her inner thigh, itsy-bitsy spider style, and made her gasp when he sank them deep inside her. Stroking her onto another wave of bone-shaking sensation. It came and left her writhing and gasping on the kitchen floor, her hands fisting in his hair, digging her nails heedlessly into his shoulders. When she stopped shaking, she bit her lip in remorse, noticing the red half-moons on his skin and his hair sticking up in unruly tufts.

“Oh, I hurt you.”

Kissed his scratched shoulders and smoothed down his sweaty hair. Blushed when he lifted his hand and licked her essence off his fingers and palm. He pulled the tie from her ponytail and threaded his other hand through her hair, bringing her mouth to his, hard and rough. Biting at her chin, her lips, demanding entrance with his clever tongue. She gave it willingly. There was nowhere she wouldn’t let him in. When he pulled back, they were both panting for air.

“Hurt me some more.”

He found her hand and guided it to where he needed her touch most.

“Touch me. Feel how much I want you? How hard I am for you?”

Oh, she could feel herself flushing to the roots of her hair. The way he talked…it was so filthy and thrilling. His voice saying those things, making her feel wild and crazy and beautiful. He was murmuring in her ear, his tongue darting out to play with her silver hoop earring.

“Tell me. Tell me how much you want me. How much you want my cock.”

She jerked away. Oh dear Lord. She couldn’t say that. She didn’t ever talk like that. Riley had never even said that word, much less asked her to say it.

“Will…I can’t.”

He pulled her up gently into a sitting position and crawled over her body on his knees to straddle her. Cupped the back of her neck and teased her lips with his tip.

“Yes, you can. Whisper it if you want. There’s no one here but us. God, I need you so badly.”

She could taste him on her lips. Like the sea. She did want him. In every way.

“I…I…I do. I do want you. So much. I want your cock.”

He ran his blunt nails sharply down the curve of her hip, leaving red furrows.

“Then take it. Take what belongs to you.”

She opened her mouth and took him in. He tasted the same. Hot and hard and urgent. She closed her eyes and imagined what he felt when she touched him. All she saw was darkness, but every sound, every soft low moan he made, every deliciously dirty thing he whispered, blossomed in her mind. He came with a long drawn-out sigh and slumped backwards, taking her with him. She curled on her side and he spooned up against her backside, nestling his softening cock between her thighs, running his tongue along her spine, tasting the beads of sweat gathered there.

“Ummm, you taste so good.”

She laughed and moved her hand back to caress the jut of his hipbone.

“Better than Sal’s curly fries?”

“That’s not a fair question.”

“You wound me.”

He leaned over to place a soft kiss at her brow.

“I could some more, if you want.”

“Horn dog.”

“Prude.”

“Um…stupid head?”

“Weak, Summers. Really, weak.”

She dug her fingers into his hip until he yowled.

“Who’s weak now?”

“Good God, woman. File those daggers sometime, won’t you.”

“All the better to scratch you with my dear.”

“You really should seek some help for that violent streak.”

“And you really should shut up and kiss me.”

Of course, being the ornery idiot he was, instead of doing what she asked, he slid his hardening cock back into her. He grabbed her leg and draped it back over his hip, opening her up to him. Oh, he needed no welcome. All her doors would always be open to him.

It wasn’t quick and desperate and frantic this time. Soft, softer than a feather pillow, undulating together, building slowly then holding off. Not trying to reach the top but just enjoying the climb. Finally, finally, when one especially deep thrust touched the edge of her womb, she fell over with a cry muffled into his palm. He buried his face in her hair, nuzzling the nape of her neck, and followed her. Just like how he always followed her in the cornfield. Running behind her, his breath warm and familiar and loved. Brushing the back of her neck. Oh, those were his lips now brushing the back of her neck.

He slipped out of her and she turned in his arms so they were face to face. Kissed the tip of his nose and rubbed it with her own. Kissed him full on the lips, once, twice, three times for good luck. For forever.

“Your mouth tastes different today.”

“Oh, I was wearing lipstick.”

“Really? What kind?”

She giggled and couldn’t help but tug on his bottom lip with her teeth.

“It’s red. Blood red. The color of those red tiger lilies by Shannon’s Pond. The color of that valentine your mother made you give me when we were in fifth grade. Do you remember what you wrote on it?”

He frowned, thinking hard. He looked so serious and sweet, she wanted to smooth the little wrinkles away from between his brows. She did.

“I think I wrote something like, Happy Valentine’s Summers. P.S. Your hair looks like a rat’s nest today. Sincerely, Will.”

She flopped over onto his chest and howled with laughter. Felt his body shaking with mirth underneath hers. Could barely gasp out any words.

“That was it exactly. Good grief, William James, you were such a sweet talker.”

He smirked and grabbed a generous handful of her ass.

“I talked you right out of your pants, didn’t I?”

“I was wearing a dress. So technically, I charmed you right out of YOUR pants.”

He chortled and flipped her over on her back to suck on her nipples. Made her moan and shudder with the softness of his lips, the sharpness of his teeth.

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“You like that?”

“You know I do.”

“I know a lot about you, Summers.”

“You know everything.”

“Not everything. Tell me more about this lipstick you’re wearing. You never used to wear any of that.”

“I did once. Remember? My fifteenth birthday party? You told me I looked like I kissed a monkey’s bottom.”

He squirmed in embarrassment and she felt a tiny thrill of satisfaction that she could make *him* squirm.

“Oh, right. Sorry about that. My mouth used to run away from me a lot.”

She shrugged and stroked the barely-there stubble on his cheek.

“It’s alright. I probably did look hideous.”

“I never said you looked hideous. So…do I have your lipstick all over me too?”

She rubbed his mouth gently as he tried to nip her fingers.

“Just a bit. There…all gone. Quite a blow to my ego, it looked better on you.”

“Summers, YOU look better on me.”

She slapped his arm mock-angrily.

“God, Will! You can be such a pig sometimes.”

“You know you love it.”

She sighed and tightened her arms around his neck, ran her fingers through his mussed hair. God, she loved his hair. Like mercury. Like a white gold beacon, leading her home. She would be able to find him anywhere. In a crowd of thousands, in the darkest forest, at the bottom of the deepest ocean.

“Yes. I do. I really do.”

She sat up, suddenly struck by inspiration. Something new for her to share with him. He knew her so well, but they were just discovering each other in so many ways they never had or could before.

“Will, I have an idea.”

He flopped onto his side and groaned loudly, his hand sneaking between her thighs. She stopped his wandering fingers which only made him pout. Mother of God, it was criminal the things he could do with that bottom lip.

“Please, don’t think Summers. For the good of humanity, I’m begging you.”

Oh, he could be so infuriating sometimes. She’d had many good ideas over the years. She got to her feet unsteadily and grabbed her purse off the kitchen table. Hauled him off the floor and dragged him over to the large gilt mirror in the front hallway. Both of them naked.

“Where are we going?”

He complained and yelped when he accidentally barked his shin on an end table. She bent down and rubbed it for him.

“Oops, sorry baby.”

“Are you trying to put me in a wheelchair now, Summers? And did you just call me ‘baby’?”

She flushed and pinched his ass hard.

“No and no. Definitely not.”

“Ow! Yes, you did! I’m blind, not deaf. I distinctly heard you say the b-word.”

“I meant it in a derogatory way. As in you’re a big whiny baby.”

“If that’s how you get to sleep at night…”

“Oh, shut up.”

She stood in front of the mirror and grasped his arm, positioning him behind her, her back to his front. Both facing the yellowing mirror. Took out her lipstick and uncapped it, setting her purse on the end table underneath the mirror. Gently placed his fingers over the lipstick tube. And guided his hand to paint her lips. He shuddered and muffled a groan in her hair. Her hand over his clutching the lipstick, filling in her mouth carefully, watching her lips slowly unfurl like the first red rosebud under the summer sun. Oh so precisely, so that every inch of her mouth was suffused by scarlet longing for him. When they finished, she quietly recapped the lipstick as he stroked the side of her neck with trembling fingers.

“How does it look?”

“Wonderful. It’s so red and lush. It makes my lips look fuller, wanting, hungry for something to touch it.”

Her breath slipped away when he pushed into her from behind, his hand traveling up her neck to find her lips. Watched in the mirror as his thumb smeared the red lipstick out of the lines of her mouth. Watched herself bite down on his thumb, her head lolling back against his shoulder in complete abandon. Shivered as he thrust into her faster and faster, craning her neck to the side to find his lips with her own. Almost fell to her knees when he whispered against her mouth.

“You’ve been touched. By me. Does this mean I’m your man, now?”

“Do you want to be?”

He said nothing but continued to move inside her, hard, harder until she felt her breath being knocked out of her lungs with every stroke. She bit down on her own lip and screamed inside her head, her body growing limp and slack in his arms. He held her up, pinning her between his body and the end table, the wooden edge biting into her stomach. She could hear the table shaking with the force of their movements. Finally, he came inside her with a silent shudder, his teeth sinking into the nape of her neck. Collapsed over her back, both of them panting. Every breath a thousand sighs.

“Ow.”

He lifted off of her and kissed the back of her neck contritely.

“Sorry.”

She reached back and touched her neck, her finger coming away with a smear of blood.

“You made me bleed.”

“How can I make it better?”

“Kiss me.”

He did. Turning her around in his arms, brushing her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, and finally her lips with the softest, feathery touches of his lips. Oh, forget about Fry Heaven. This was the real heaven, she was sure of it.

“Better?”

“Yes. I love you.”

He said nothing for the longest time and she concentrated on wiping the traces of lipstick from his mouth. Didn’t want to think about what his silence meant.

“Will, when I say that…it’s not to guilt you to say it back. It’s just how I feel...about you. You don’t have to say it back ever. When you told me you couldn’t love me, I understood. I understand. I accept it. I’m just happy that you’re letting me love you.”

She led him carefully back to the kitchen and helped him get dressed again. Put her dress back on and got on her hands and knees to pick up all her scattered buttons and the lemons she never finished making into lemonade. A glance at the clock told her it was almost five. She no longer needed the clock; their separation time had become singed into her internal rhythm. Gathered all her things and put them back in the bag. He was leaning against the refrigerator, a shadow play of the position he had been in when she first entered. Did he feel as bereft as she was sure she looked? She walked up to him, placing an unsteady hand on his thin arm.

“I have to go. It’s nearly time. You have some scratches on your shoulders, she could see them.”

“I’ll go up and get dressed.”

“Alright.”

“Do you have everything?”

“Yes.”

“Summers?”

“Yes?”

“You can’t come back tomorrow. Tomorrow’s Sunday. She won’t be at work.”

“I know.”

She turned and walked to the back door. Took a deep breath and steeled herself to leave him. She hated this. How could she do this? He was her home. The only place where she belonged. He spoke and she had to grab the decaying wood of the doorframe to keep from falling to her knees, overcome by a lifetime’s worth of swallowed bitterness.

“Will you miss me?”

“I am already missing you.”

I do not remember what it is to not miss you. My whole life has revolved around your absence. The days, the hours, the minutes and seconds only distinguished by With You and Without You.

If she did not leave now, she would die. If she let him kiss her one more time, they would be lost. She walked out without looking back. Don’t look back. You can never look back.

When she was back in her mother’s house, she finished making the lemonade mechanically. Then fell into a chair in the kitchen and rested her head in her hands. This was what her life had come down to. Living like a ghost, like a sleepwalker. Haunted by the past, tortured by the present.

She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until the harsh shrill of the telephone woke her up. She wiped the fuzziness from her eyes. Her mouth dry and barren as the desert.

“H-Hello?”

“Buffy?”

“Speaking.”

“It’s Rupert Giles.”

“Oh, Mr. Giles. How are you?”

“How are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for near on a week. I drove by a few times but you have not been in. I called but no one answered. I even left you a note in the mailbox.”

She hadn’t checked the mailbox since…well…she hadn’t checked it at all since she came back.

“There are things we need to sort out, Buffy. Your mother’s affairs, the sale of the house. Have you forgotten?”

“No. No, I haven’t forgotten. What do we need to do?”

“Your mother’s will was very simple. She left everything to you. I assume that you still wish to sell the house, since you will be returning to Baltimore soon?”

“Yes. Yes, I still want to sell.”

“Fine. There are just some papers and things you need to sign. My office isn’t open tomorrow but I would be very pleased if you could join me for dinner at my home tomorrow night.”

“Thank you. I would love to.”

“Wonderful. We haven’t had a chance to really talk in so long. I believe the last time was when you were five and I took you out for ice cream.”

She remembered that day. That was the day her father had not come home from work. Mr. Giles had come instead to tell her mother that her husband had run off with the secretary and all the money he stole from their small two-person law partnership.

“Yes. I remember. We have so much to talk about. What time should I come by?”

“How about seven-thirty? Do you still have the address?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Good. Until tomorrow then?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at seven-thirty, sharp. Goodbye Mr. Giles.”

“Goodbye Buffy.”

She hung up the telephone. It seemed that no matter where she turned, the bad memories kept crowding in. Will, her father, her loneliness, her mother’s sadness. And floating above it all, death. The Chief, Will’s almost death, her mother. So much death.

She dragged herself to the refrigerator and peered inside. Nothing but endless stacks of casseroles. She picked one out at random and put it into the oven to warm. Sat back down at the kitchen table, chin in hand, to stare over at his house. White and falling apart like an elaborate wedding cake accidentally dropped and clumsily reassembled. Looked out the window at her mother’s backyard. Her mother’s garden, now gone to seed. All those unbearably hot weekend afternoons in the summer when she would have to help hoe and water and pull weeds. Strange how her mother had let it fall into itself. There were a few foolish yellow daisies here and there, still struggling to live. Still struggling to lift their bedraggled heads to the sun. She put her head down on her folded arms and tried not to cry.

********************************************************************

Jesus H. Christ. This was hell. She officially hated her life with the fire of a thousand burning suns. Who else had to help their mother weed and water the stupid garden on a Saturday morning? And not just any Saturday morning. Oh no, it had to be the first Saturday, the first day after sophomore year of high school had ended forever. She wiped the sweat off her brow and squinted against the sun to peer at his window. Probably still sleeping, like other normal, noninsane people. Stupid, lazy, worthless, horse’s bottom. If he was any kind of friend at all, he would come out and ask her to a movie or a soda down at Willy’s. Anything to save her from her mother’s evil gardening. Worthless, no-good idiot. Why didn’t he come out? Who slept until ten o’clock? She may have only been on this godforsaken earth for fifteen years but she already knew her life rivaled Job’s in its utter patheticness. She stared at her arms. Dear God, they were bright red. She would be sunburnt so badly, she wouldn’t even be able to lie down in bed tonight. All her mother’s fault. She hated gardens. When she grew up, she would have an all cement backyard with statutes instead of trees. Cary wouldn’t mind. He would be so in love with her, he’d give her anything she wanted. And she did NOT want gardens.

“Buffy Anne Summers! Watch where you’re swinging that hoe!”

“Sorry, mother.”

Grrr, argh! She could never do anything right. How many times had people told her she was too clumsy, too awkward, too unladylike? If she had a dime for every time, she wouldn’t need to marry Cary Grant. She would be the richest woman ever.

She poked at a wriggly pink worm with her index finger. Poor little thing. She dug a larger hole in the dirt for him to burrow into so no birds could peck him to death.

“Buffy, what are you doing? Hand me the watering can, dear.”

“Yes, mother.”

She handed her mother the gaily painted red watering can and bent back down to pulling weeds. Oops, that wasn’t a weed. She’d accidentally pulled up one of her mother’s prize tulips. She quickly pushed it back into the dirt before her mother could notice and ground her. She could not be confined to the house today. Will had promised her yesterday they were going to play baseball with Xander and Angel this afternoon.

Speaking of the no-good louse, there he was. Coming out into his backyard, still clad in his pajamas. Dear God, he had been asleep. Lazy wretch. If she had to be up and working outside, no one should be able to sleep in their comfy beds. He shuffled over to the fence separating their backyards and she tore her eyes away from his lean, muscled arms. Disgusting. Some people had no sense of decency. Walking around in their sleepwear for God and everyone to see. He leaned over the fence and ran a sleepy hand through his already rumpled hair.

“Hey, Summers! What are you doing?”

She gritted her teeth and yanked hard on a stubborn weed.

“What does it look like, you lazy idiot? I’m knitting a sweater.”

Her mother glared at her and then turned to smile at Will. He grinned back, his teeth so white and even they blinded her. Sickening. The way he was always trying to get in good with her mother. Sometimes she wondered if her mother liked him better than her.

“Buffy Anne Summers! Mind your manners. That is no way to talk to William.”

She clenched her fists to keep from punching that wide-eyed, hurt, innocent look off his stupid face.

“Yes, mother.”

Her mother turned to Will and patted him on the hand he draped insolently over the top of the fence. Oh, gag.

“How are you going to enjoy your first day of summer vacation, William?”

“Dru’s supposed to come over for lunch and later I thought maybe Summers could come out and play a little ball with me and Xander and Angel. Would that be alright, Mrs. Summers?”

She forgot to hate him and sent a silent prayer that his big blue eyes would melt her mother’s resolve to keep her at home today.

“Well…I don’t know.”

Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease.

“We could really use a fourth person, Mrs. Summers. And I need the practice for varsity baseball next year.”

“Alright, William. You talked me into it, you devil.”

She snorted and muffled her laughter behind her hand. Forgot she had dirt on her hand and accidentally rubbed it on her nose. She was just about to tell him all about the end of the Three Musketeers so she could spoil the ending of the book for him. He was such a slowpoke reader. But then his mother’s thin, reedy voice echoed into his backyard.

“William! Drusilla’s here.”

Oh great. Rah rah. Dru had made varsity cheerleading and would be waving those annoying red and gold pom poms at every one of his baseball and basketball games next year. Before she could mutter an oath under her breath, Dru had slipped out of his backdoor, blushing when she saw him standing at the fence in his pajamas. Geez, what a big faker. Like Dru hadn’t seen him in his pjs before. She’d probably seen him naked. They were so perverse. She couldn’t help but think of that day she had caught them behind the school, his hand up Dru’s skirt. She’d almost lost her tuna sandwich right then and there.

“Oh, Will…I…I didn’t know you weren’t dressed yet.”

Jesus Mary and Joseph. Could she just be swallowed up by the ground so she wouldn’t have to see this pathetic display? Watching them shuffling around each other, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“Sorry, Dru. I’ll be right back.”

He ran back into his house, leaving Dru standing in his backyard, her hand over her chest, eyes bright with admiration. Oh, puh-lease. He was no Cary Grant. Thank god she wasn’t as silly as Dru. And besides, she didn’t even like blondes with blue eyes. Nope, she most definitely did not. She liked them dark-haired and suave with brown eyes and big shoulders. And tall. The taller, the better. Will was much too short. Dru walked up to the fence. Oh great. Bring the neighbors and children to see Buffy sweaty and filthy, laboring in her mother’s hateful garden.

“Hi Buffy.”

“Hi Dru.”

“Hi, Mrs. Summers.”

“Hello, Dru dear.”

She wanted to shove the garden rake in her eye.

“Your garden looks really lovely. Is that lily of the valley? Oh, those smell heavenly. My mother has a bottle of lily of the valley perfume.”

“Yes it is dear. Would you like some? It would look beautiful in your dark hair and with your green sundress.”

“Really? Oh, thank you. It’s so pretty.”

She averted her eyes as her mother tucked a sprig of lily of the valley in the gold clip Dru wore in her hair. Her mother was right. It did look nice, the delicate white bells of the flower contrasting with the rich mahogany of Dru’s hair. The glossy green leaves and stem matching her green shirtwaist dress perfectly. Dru smiled at her.

“What are you doing this summer, Buffy?”

“Um…I don’t know.”

“Maybe, you could come over to my house sometimes? We could swim in the pool or mother could take us shopping in Hemery. They have a lot more shops in their downtown. Well…that is…if you want.”

“Maybe.”

Maybe never. She had no money to go shopping with Dru and she would rather die than let Dru buy things for her. And she hated Dru’s house. Especially her bedroom. She’d only been in there a few times but Dru’s big, white lacy four poster bed made her sick to her stomach. She could just imagine Dru and Will sprawled on top of it, kissing and touching each other.

“Great. Just call me whenever you want.”

“Uh, sure. Will do.”

Luckily she was saved from further torturous small talk when Will vaulted out of his house, shirt buttoned crookedly, sleeves rolled back to expose his strong, tanned forearms. He kissed Dru on the cheek and she had to look up at the sky and blink her eyes hard as Dru blushed and her mother sighed.

“Hi, baby.”

Christ on a crutch. Was it possible to die from disgust? She could just see her obituary now. ‘Buffy Anne Summers, aged 15, passed on at approximately ten-thirty in the morning today, when she fell down dead, her heart stopped by an overdose of complete and utter disgust.’

“Do you mind? Some of us have to work here.”

“Buffy!”

Her mother was staring daggers at her. She didn’t care, she would rather be grounded for life than have to witness another minute of this disgusting display of melodramatic true love. Dru waved goodbye as Will glared at her and tugged Dru back into his house. Fine, let him be mad. She hoped his big fat head exploded with anger at her. She bent back down and started digging hard at the ground. Her mother looked at her sharply and sighed.

“You’re in a mood today.”

“I am not! I’m perfectly cheery. I’m just peachy keen.”

“They make a good-looking pair.”

“What? Who?”

“William and Drusilla.”

“I suppose. I never thought about it.”

“William reminds me of a boy I used to admire when I was about your age.”

She looked up at her mother, shocked. Her mother never talked about her childhood or anything to do with the past.

“Really? What happened?”

“Oh, nothing. He did not share my feelings. And then, I met your father. It worked out for the best.”

“Oh.”

How could it have worked out for the best when her father had left them?

“William is a nice boy. He and Drusilla seem to be very much in love.”

She blinked hard and looked at her mother calmly.

“Yes, they are.”

***************************************************************

Oh, shit. She had forgotten about the casserole in the oven. She’d drifted off into another daydream again. She ran to the oven and turned it off. The casserole was charred and black. Oh well, she hadn’t been hungry anyway. She put on an oven mitt and took the dish out. Yuck. Jolted and almost dropped it on the floor when she heard knocking at the door. Who was that? She wasn’t expecting any visitors. She put down the casserole dish, refastened the remaining buttons on her dress and went to the front door.

Oh, shit. It was his mother.

Mrs. James was standing on the porch, looking cool despite the choking heat, her eyes gimlet sharp. Holding a covered blue dish.

“Hello, dear. May I come in?”

She opened the screen door wordlessly, her mind reeling. What the hell was his mother playing at?

She led the way into the kitchen. She could hear the swishing of Mrs. James’ skirt behind her. Mrs. James sat down gracefully in a chair and placed the dish on top of the kitchen table.

“I brought you some of my tuna noodle casserole. I remember how you used to like it.”

She’d always lied about that. She hated her tuna noodle casserole. She always had.

“Thank you. May I get you something to drink?”

“Oh, thank you dear. Anything would be fine.”

She poured some lemonade into a tall glass and handed it to the woman. Watched as she sipped it delicately.

“This is very good, dear. Just like your mother’s.”

She flinched but Mrs. James’ face was smooth and calm. She searched those pale fading features that had once been so beautiful for any hint of malice. She'd once thought Will’s mother had wandered off the front of a chocolate box. Her face had been so similar to the pink-cheeked, blue-eyed, rosy-lipped ones she saw in magazines and advertisements. Her hair used to be a silky gold ribbon. Like the most expensive gold. She had once seen Will’s father wrap a strand around his finger, joking that his wife’s hair was finer and more beautiful than any gold wedding ring. She had always thought Will looked so much like his father. It wasn’t until now, sitting across from this woman, that she saw how much he was his mother’s son. The narrow, cat-like build. The angular face. The dusky hollows under razorblade cheekbones. The high arrogant nose. The finely etched mouth with its thin upper lip and impossibly full lower one. She couldn’t even believe she never saw it before. He looked so much like his mother. Had it always been so? Or was it because they had lived alone together in that house for so long? So many years that they grew to look more and more similar? Oh, her head hurt.

Mrs. James leaned forward and put a hand on her arm.

“Dear, are you alright? You look pale.”

She jerked away.

“I’m fine. Mrs. James, please pardon my bluntness, but why are you here?”

His mother crossed her legs sinuously and wiped the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin from the table.

“You’ve grown up, Buffy. I think we can talk now woman to woman.”

His mother leaned forward again, her pale, powdered face so close to her own, she could smell the cloying scent of rosewater. When his mother spoke, her voice was very low and soft.

“I know you’ve been to see him.”

It was all she could do not to shrink from that triumphant gleam in his mother’s eyes. She straightened her shoulders and stared back, face hard.

“Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. How is it your business?”

“He is my son. I have to protect him. He’s lonely and in a vulnerable position.”

“You speak of him as if he were a child or defective.”

“I can see I must tell you plainly. You always were a shockingly dense and stubborn girl. After the incident, I had to send him away…”

“I know this. You sent him to a home for the blind, so he could readjust.”

“You don’t know anything. He wasn’t in a home for the blind. He was in a mental institution.”

She knocked over her own glass of water. Ignored it trickling off the table and wetting her dress.

“What?”

“It’s true that the bullet bypassed his brain so there was no retardation but the doctors thought that either his injury or the trauma from the incident caused him to suffer from…mental imbalance.”

“What do you mean ‘mental imbalance’?”

“He goes into these wild mood swings. Sometimes he is perfectly fine, almost happy. Then without provocation, he will fly into a rage or become so morose he refuses to eat or sleep or move for hours, days at a time. I love my son. I don’t want anything to upset him. I don’t want you to raise his hopes. You will be leaving soon. And where will that leave him?”

The silence was heavy and stifling, only broken by the ticking of the clock and the drip, drip of water onto the tile floor. When she spoke, she made sure her voice was strong and even.

“I love your son. More than anything. I’m going to be with him. With or without your approval.”

Mrs. James clucked her tongue and shook her head, a stray wisp of faded blonde hair falling from her tightly coiled chignon.

“Dear girl, for I can see that despite your maturation, you still think like the silly girl you were. Your love means nothing. Tell me, has he ever told you he loves you back?”

Oh, god. I can’t love you.

His mother nodded in satisfaction, as if she could divine the truth.

“I see. Well, Mrs. Finn, pardon me, Ms. Summers…I think we have come to an understanding. William will no longer see you. He agrees it is for his own good. I hope that if you love him as much as you proclaim to, you will also come to your senses. And stay away.”

“Or what?”

His mother shrugged her thin, elegant shoulders.

“It is not up to me. After all, God sees everything and punishes without mercy.”

She stood up and Mrs. James did as well, smoothing out her skirt, looking her over.

“That’s a lovely dress, dear. I seem to recall your mother had one very similar. Of course, I believe hers had more buttons.”

Mrs. James took out something from the pocket of her skirt and placed it carefully on the kitchen table.

Oh god. It was one of the pearly buttons from her dress. Shining up at her in its glowing whiteness. Mocking her for her carelessness.

“Mrs. James, my mother is dead. For all intents and purposes, this is my house now. Get out.”

His mother smiled thoughtfully, her head tilted to the side. The familiar gesture made her want to vomit. He always did that.

“I see. Good day, Ms. Summers. Enjoy the casserole.”

And with that, the woman walked out and back to the falling down white house. She slammed the door and locked it. Threw a dusty magazine from the coffee table across the room. Tossed the tuna noodle casserole into the trash. She ran up to her bedroom and looked out of the window. His window was closed and shuttered. She fell to her knees and rested her head on the windowsill and cried silently, her tears dripping down onto the white painted wood.

What are you doing now? I am sitting in my room. She found your button. She was angry. I know she told you lies. She says she is protecting me. I don’t want to be protected. I just want you. You won’t come tomorrow. Will you ever come again? I will die if I never feel you again. I think you will come back soon. You are too strong and brave. I am waiting for you. I would wait forever.

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