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Lust would derail them, as it always did, and she had more questions and more worries to allay. Hopefully, those were only her own, but she had to check, nonetheless.
“I also meant to ask you again if you are truly okay about what happened in my office earlier. You seemed so nonchalant about it then, both in how you came out and how you kind of just waved away my concern later on.”
“Ha, and you say it’s you who’s transparent.” Sam laughed, but Magdalene merely continued to observe her. “I don’t know, honestly. When I was saying it, my main impetus was to put that little toad in his place. I wasn’t afraid, and I’m still not. Hurray for the Supreme Court and their newly established workplace protections for LGBTQIA folk.”
Sam turned away, breaking their connection, her eyes on the expanse of the ocean in front of her, fearless and relentless. Magdalene knew what it meant to feel small, to feel insignificant in the big scheme of things.
“Look, it wasn’t that I was in the closet because I was uncomfortable with who I am. I was afraid, sure, but I don’t think that was the main reason. And at a pretty conservative school, even with Orla’s rather loosened regime, it still made no sense for me to be out. It’s not as if I had anyone to kiss out here.” Magdalene tried to hide her smile, but when Sam faced her, eyes full of yearning, she instantly regretted them being in such a public place. How many regrets would they accumulate by the time they were free to love each other openly?
Sam blinked away the longing and wet her lips before continuing.
“Jo knew, but that was pretty much it. Even Orla confirmed today that she had no idea before. Maybe it will hit me when I go to bed, as I lie there and watch the shadows play on my ceiling. I don’t know. But right then, and still now, it felt and feels like the most liberating thing in the world. It felt good to say it.”
Well, she had come here to comfort Sam. Instead, the tables had been turned on her and as allayment went, Sam had done brilliantly to quiet Magdalene’s worries, and she smiled before changing the subject, since the maudlin mood had settled over them. It was time for mischief.
“I see you’re drawing—if we can generously call it that—chalk hearts. Any occasion?”
Sam nodded shyly and looked back at the smooth rock that had served as her canvas, where half of her ‘art’ had already been erased by the elements.
“I hadn’t even realized what I was doodling, honestly. But just before you appeared in my line of sight, I smelled your perfume, and I thought about how much I missed you.”
Well, mischief be damned.Magdalene blinked. Sam’s confession made her chest ache again, the pain somehow enticing, sweet in its succor.
“You saw me earlier, Sam.” Magdalene tried not to let on that the remark stirred something in her, but she wasn’t sure how to express her deep-seated guilt over not being able to do anything more under the circumstances.
“Ha, I thought exactly the same thing. That I tasted you just this morning.”
“Sam…” The word was more whimper than any other sound, and she could see Sam’s eyes widen with want.
“I miss you all the time. Maybe that’s why I’m sitting here drawing hearts.”
Magdalene’s heart gave a treacherous thump, melting instantly. But she knew this wasn’t the right moment, and nothing could at this moment be said out loud that would have lasting repercussions. So when she spoke, her own words sounded harsh to her own ears.
“They keep getting wiped out. And if that isn’t some kind of a metaphor…”
“Today is just freaking chock-full of metaphors!” Sam jumped up, careful of the shawl on her shoulders, and brushed off her pants before picking up the chalk again, drawing bigger, if not prettier hearts in place of the ones disappearing under the onslaught of the drizzle and the wind.
Magdalene just watched her, the silence between them stretching like spun glass that was solidifying in front of their eyes, and one wrong move would shatter the gentle twists and turns of the creation. With a deep breath, as if stilling herself for a moment, Sam charged into the breach.
“Look, I don’t care. This hasn’t been easy from the beginning. Nothing about you and me has been easy. I think I walked into some kind of dream between the night in New York and the day you showed up here, like God’s avenging angel.”
Magdalene got up slowly and busied herself with her skirt, Sam’s exasperation rubbing off on her.
Angels again, for goodness’ sake…
“I’m no angel, Sam.”
“Would you stop interrupting for once, you aggravating woman?!” Sam paced around, startling Willoughby with the tension evident in her voice. He raised his head and gave her a disgruntled half-meow before settling back down.
Magdalene stared at her, taken aback by the tone and the words.
“We have a deal, you and I. And I’m honoring my end of it. But know this: it’s not easy, and while waiting is not something that comes naturally for me, you do. Everything about you is as natural for me as breathing. Missing you, recognizing your scent and your steps. Loving you. It’s all natural for me. So if I have to draw these damn chalk hearts on stone for you every day, despite them getting erased, I will. Because I don’t care about how hard this is. My heart is still beating, as upset, as hurt, as full of longing as it is. And while it does still beat, it will always be full of you. I love you.”
Something crashed in the distance, the sound of thunder rumbling among the rocks, narrowing down her senses to a single point in the universe. Dark, stormy eyes, full of pain, full of longing, full of love. Love. Magdalene felt lightheaded as Sam simply looked back at her with such fervor, such selflessness. And immersed in the light of those tortured eyes, that tilt of Magdalene’s world had disappeared entirely. Her balance, her very being, was suddenly in perfect alignment with everything around her. Three little words…
“Damn you, Sam Threadneedle.” And with nothing but that curse, Magdalene was in Sam’s arms one second and kissing her the next.
The timing, the circumstances, god… they were all wrong, and Magdalene felt she couldn’t say it back, despite having been in love for weeks, perhaps even months. Maybe since these lips devouring hers had whispered the words of a long-dead, tormented Russian poet.
