Page 61 of Hauling Ashe

I could argue with him that isn’t the safest method. “I have an IUD.” I don’t know why I offer the information. I don’t want to delve into his sexual history or provide mine. I appreciate the condoms he wore yesterday because I don’t know who else he’s been with since his wife’s death.

“I’m always careful, Mae. I wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t safe.” The assurance is a small consolation to a bigger elephant in the room. What just happened? What came over him and why did I love it so much?

He sits next to me on the edge of the bed and swipes at my back. I remain on my belly as he speaks.

“That was so intense.” While I’d like to think he means the sex, I believe he means the flight.

“You did good,” I remind him. I don’t want to point out the obvious—he survived.

“Thank you,” he says softer, still stroking my lower back where he’s cleared the mess. “I couldn’t have done that without you.”

“You could have,” I say. “You were ready.” He could have flown at any time, but he needed the right motivation. Perhaps seeing the Grand Canyon was inspiration enough. The experience cannot be replicated. The only way to see the immensity of the canyon is to fly over it.

Tucker slowly nods beside me. “I’m exhausted,” he admits as everything comes to a crash.

The flight.

The sex.

He falls to his back, tossing the towel to the floor and turns his head to look at me. “Let’s nap,” he whispers, and he stretches out an arm to tuck me into his chest. He presses a kiss to my head and quickly falls asleep while I lay there listening to his heartbeat.

He’s a survivor. He’s going to be okay after we separate.

Me? I’m not so certain.

+ + +

We sleep for a good ninety minutes before rising and showering. We could have prolonged the intimacy by showering together, but Tucker suggests I go first. He wants to check in with Mach and Julia. He hasn’t conducted any business that I know of today. His daughter is another story. I feel awful he won’t make it by tomorrow, but he assures me once I exit the bathroom that it’s fine. As long as he gets to her by Friday, he’s not concerned. He’s told me more about his relationship with his daughter, explaining how proud he is that she followed her own path and became a baker instead of an internet celebrity. He admits there’s still time for her to do anything she wants in life, and right now it’s making cupcakes.

In what seems like typical father of the bride fashion, he knows nothing about the wedding ceremony, other than the cost. A vineyard resort has been rented out. He’s met his future son-in-law only twice and has the typical concerns for their future. How will they support themselves? Will his future son-in-law always deserve his daughter? He admits Julia has a large inheritance and with the strong head on her shoulders, he hopes she’ll keep that financial gain in perspective. He doesn’t have any hint that her husband is after her for the money.

“Rochelle died before they were engaged but Chopper seems committed to Julia’s heart more than anything.” The sentiment is sweet. I don’t question the name Chopper. Tucker informed me it’s a nickname for Charles Henry.

Once we’ve showered, Tucker suggests dinner. The sky is shifting in color, and the time is late. We eat at a diner near the lodge. When we finish, Tucker drives, pulling out of the lot, turning south instead of north.

“Where are you going?” He’s headed in the wrong direction.

“I have somewhere I want to show you.” Quietly, we drive down the highway leading away from the Grand Canyon area. I watch the sky as if I can see the earth rotating and the day shift to night. As the overhead succumbs to darkness, Tucker leads us down a dirt path and cuts the lights. We stop in the middle of the desert where I joked you could bury a body.

“Let’s get out,” he says, already opening his door and rounding the car for mine. He pulls a blanket I had on the floor in the backseat out as well and drapes it over the hood of the car. After helping me climb up, I lean back on the windshield and look upward.

“Wow,” I whisper when he climbs up next to me. He places both hands behind his head, eyes aimed at the sky. We’re quiet for a moment, observing stars popping here and there, coming into view as the sky darkens. The moon is off in the distance, and a soft glow hovers around the nighttime jewel.

“Was I too rough earlier?” he quietly asks as if he’s afraid to break the silence around us.

“No.” I softly chuckle. “I liked it.” Rolling my head, I see the corner of his mouth curl.

“I’ve liked everything we’ve done together, sunshine.” He gives me a quick glance but then turns back to look at the heavens.

“Me too,” I whisper back to him. Waiting a minute, I finally ask what I’ve been holding in since we landed. “Was today difficult?”

“Not as difficult as I thought. I was freaking out if you couldn’t tell.” I could and I couldn’t. “My heart raced and for a second before we took off, I almost asked to be let out.”

Oh boy.

“But then I remembered what you said. I didn’t want to be afraid. What was the worst that could have happened to me?” He turned to look at me. “We would have died together.”

With sadness in his voice, something more lingers. I’d like to believe if death by helicopter is how my demise is intended, there wasn’t anything I could have done about it. I could avoid so many things and still die from a slip in my own bathtub. Being cautious and being ridiculous are too different concepts. It wasn’t like I planned to never bathe because there was a risk in my own shower.