White Flag
Chapter sixteen
Ethan had made a decision.
It was the right decision. He was sure of it, as sure as he’d ever been of anything. But there was Mara to consider, too.
Mara.
He’d been good. Chivalrous. Careful. Maintained an appropriate professional distance from the colleague who had kindly agreed to share resources so that he could complete his research.
And it hadn’t helped one damn bit. He lived for the faint sizzle of sand that heralded her arrival, died when she faded away each evening. Spent his nights lying awake in his tent, yearning and wishing and dreaming of something he wouldn’t even allow himself to take if offered.
He was a bonafide mess.
But it was time to end it.
It wouldn’t end for him, of course, He’d never be able to let it end.
He’d go back to the university, write up his research, submit it for publication.
Hope it was enough. But a part of him would always stay here, on a high hill in the Sonoran Desert, in the hands of a goddess who would never admit that’s what she was.
There. She wasn’t the only one who could be overly dramatic.
She was watching him now, steadily, sitting beside the plant she’d coaxed into blooming with her unending love for a man who was not and would never be Ethan.
And that was all right. He might not be the king of her heart, but he could be her knight.
Pledge fealty to her hand and go forth in her honor.
Maybe beg for a token he could wear over his heart. Fight in her honor and—
He was getting ahead of himself. He had to actually speak to her first.
“So,” he began, shifting to kneel facing her. His ankle twinged, but he didn’t care; he wanted to do this right. He planted his hands on his knees. “I think it’s time for me to go. I’ll pack what I can tonight and leave in the morning.”
“So soon?” Her face was blank. Which was strange. Had she somehow developed a poker face when he wasn’t looking? Her eyes seemed far away. “Have you learned what you need to gain your tenure?”
He huffed out a sigh. “No. And I’m not going to.”
There, something flickered. “You said you would need to run tests. That you would review your samples and—”
“I’m giving up.” He shrugged. “Not on tenure, but I’m not going to use your garden to get it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why not? Have I not helped you?”
“You did. Of course you did.” Ethan clenched his hands into fists on his knees to keep from reaching for her. “But it’s just not right.”
She was looking at him now, at least. He couldn’t read the expression on her face, but at least it was an expression. “I do not understand.”
“These flowers, these plants, everything here… You explained it to me, but I didn’t get it until I watched you just now.
Your garden is you—that, I knew all along—but it’s a part of you that I should never have touched.
I can see it now. The love, and the pain, and…
” He looked down at his fists, set his jaw.
“I won’t use your loss as a stepping stone for my career. ”
Mara let out a small sigh. “I do not mind. Truly.”
“I know. You’ve been…” He laughed. “Well, you’ve been glorious. And once you stopped trying to stick me with cacti, you’ve been so kind.” He took another deep breath. “Please let me be kind to you.”
“Ethan, I—”
He rushed on before he lost his resolve.
“You said you give the plants your memories, your pain. Like telling them a story. But the plants… They can’t really listen.
They bloom for you, but that’s not the same thing as telling a person about the man you love.
” He met her gaze again. “I’m a good listener. ”
She gazed at him for a long time, then smiled. It was a sad smile, but it was real. “Thank you,” she said.
He slapped his thighs lightly. “Okay then. Um, can we do it back at camp? I still have a few cans of mead, if you want them.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I…would like that.”
They walked in silence back to his little camp, where he settled in his camp chair and Mara summoned a throne of sand to lounge upon.
The sun limned her face in chiaroscuro, and for a moment she looked so like a Renaissance painting that he couldn’t speak.
She was silent as well, gazing thoughtfully at the sand between them, tracing the rim of her can of mead.
He could take a photo of her now. Ask her permission, of course—he was not a creeper, dammit—and preserve the memory. He had his camera in his backpack.
Instead, he engraved it on his memory. He might not be able to fuel a garden with his regrets, but he could fuel his life.
Be a better man, be the verray parfit gentil knyght he’d always aspired to be.
And maybe someday he’d meet someone who looked at him the way Mara had looked at Tristan.
He couldn’t have Mara, but he could have that look, couldn’t he?
He had to believe it could be true.
Mara’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you certain you wish for this?”
“I am,” he said, though it felt like a stab to the heart. “If you want it.”
She smiled faintly. “I believe I do. I think…it is time.”
“Okay then.” He took a drink of his own water. “Tell me about Tristan.”
It lasted well into the night, the telling.
Long past sunset, until the stars had come out and constellations had turned around the North Star and the warm summer breezes had been replaced by the colder winds of the high desert.
At some point, Ethan lay on the ground, gazing up at Mara, until she sank down to meet him.
At another point, he took her hand, and she never took it back.
She was more beautiful than he’d ever understood, when she spoke of her husband. The light in her eyes, the ineffable curve of her lips.
This is Mara in love, he thought dreamily as he drifted off to sleep on the sand. There you are.
Goodbye.