IWOKE WRAPPEDin Mercer’s arms before the sun rose. A surprising fact when you know that the party waned in the wee hours of the morning. By the time the house emptied, we crashed in his bed face first. I didn’t drink, too wrapped up with my thoughts and worries for the future. I slipped out of his warm embrace as he snored lightly and retreated to my house. Before I knew what I was doing, I had on a pair of workout shorts and sneakers and I was staring down the empty, sleepy road. Then, I just ran.
I ran away from everything and nothing. Each step guiding me somewhere new, somewhere I’m not familiar with. In that Forrest Gump sort of way, and also in that brand new me way. Studying the quaint houses with their manicured lawns gave me a peace of mind—like playing pretend for just a second. Picturing what the families inside were like, and how I may be similar to them. Carving out a new path, in a new place completely foreign to me was always going to be a challenge, but Mercer gave me something I didn’t realize I was relying on. A safety net. A reassuring presence that looks, feels, and even smells like home. The soft comfortable blanket when I’m sick. Everything I was told not to grasp onto from a young age. They told me to rely on myself, and in the same breath spoke of marrying me off.
The soles of my shoes made a soft crunch each time I landed on the sandy sidewalk. While my mind wandered, time passed. The sun rose in the distance, coloring the sleepy town with a more promising hue. Spinning on my heel, I caught my breath before taking off in the direction I came from, passing the same houses that no longer were silent and dormant. Lights were on, and bodies moving inside houses where the curtains were no longer closed, a sweeping movement of life.
Mercer was waiting for me outside my house when I rounded the bend, dripping sweat, and heaving carbon dioxide. He proceeded to give me a tongue lashing about not waking him up to tell him where I was going.
I mop my brow with the hem of my t-shirt, concealing my face. “I couldn’t sleep. No sense giving you a dose of that. That’s just plain rude.” I’m still catching my breath in between words. “I needed to clear my head and get a feel for the neighborhood. I’ll be doing it on my own. It’s not like I’ll be telling you every time I leave the house from here on out.” I let the words I didn’t say hang between us.Because you won’t be here.
“It scared me,” he says, sighing. Mercer looks down at his watch and when his eyes meet mine, I see the finality of the moment. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight.” Shaking his head, he swallows hard. Worry lines crease his forehead as he glances to his house. His big bag, that horrible big bag, and all it signifies is waiting behind his truck. The bulging sides taunting me—proving that I’m not worth staying for. I’m surprised by my train of thought, and I set the negativity aside.
“I have a ride coming in two hours. I want to take you somewhere. It’s my favorite spot.”
Smoothing my tongue over my teeth, I nod. “Okay. Let me rinse off really quick.”
Mercer tells me he needs to go inside to grab something and we’ll meet back at my car in ten. It’s not until after I get out of the shower that I see Mercer patched the hole in my wall. It’s smoothed over with white, but still needs a coat of paint. I get a lump in my throat as I realize how thoughtful the gesture is. I can’t drown out the voices screaming obscenities about my life situation right now. I rush the door with my purse in hand. Mercer is waiting on the passenger side of the car. His eyes flick over my body once and he smiles a half-grin.
“I have a favor to ask,” he says as we get into the car. I start it up, and he tells me where to go. When I set down the road, he adds, “Can you keep an eye on my house? You can stay there if you want. I’ll leave you keys and stuff.”
“Sure. How hard can house sitting be? I can see it from my living room.” My reply is clipped. It’s unintentional, but Mercer picks up on my mood and tries to lighten it with his carefree charm and jokes. I smile as I head toward the coast, the road narrowing when we get closer to our destination.
“Park there,” he commands, motioning to a corner spot next to a walkway leading to a rocky beach that looks nothing like Alabama beaches. “It’s small, but there’s never many people here, if any at all. I always have it to myself when I come down here. It’s my almost place,” he explains, tipping his head down to gaze at me. “There are a million other things we could be doing right now, but Clover, I want to be with you, and I need you to know that what I feel for you is real.” Mercer looks away, off into the distance. I wonder if sunrise will look the same where he’ll be. I wonder if I’ll be the same person when he comes back. And if I’m not, what does that mean for us? Is wasting heartbreak on saying goodbye worth it?
“What’s an almost place?” I ask.
Mercer takes my hand and walks slowly, holding the wooden rail. “You know? It’s almost a beach, right?”
I nod, describing how it’s different than our favorite beach in Alabama. “As simple as that then? It’s almost a beach,” I prod. He breaks away from me, kicks his flip flops off to the side and walks to stand closer to the water. In that place where most of the waves can’t reach, but the brave few can tackle if they gather enough power. The sand is wet and hard-packed where he’s standing, and my feet sink into the craggy sand that has a mixture of broken shells and dried seaweed.
Mercer’s body shifts, he pops one knee out and in, his shoulder tilts to the side, his posture is slack and restless. He turns his head to the side so I can see his profile. “No. It’s not as simple as that,” he deadpans. “I come here when I want to recharge. When I want to fill up and recharge. It’s almost a beach, in a place that is almost home, where I’m almost happy.” His eyes lock with mine as he turns to face me. I take a few steps to close the distance between us.
“I’d like to give you something else for you to remember me by,” Mercer drawls, shoving his hand into his pocket and comes out with a small jewelry box. “But the timing isn’t quite right for anything other than this.” He bounces the box on his large palm as my hands shake by my sides. “Which is a horrific, unfortunate thing,” he says, swallowing hard. His eyes dart to the sand and back up to meet mine. “Because I almost had you.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I rush out in one big breath. Instead of replying, he opens the box. It’s a pair of gold flower earrings. Camellias. Intricate gold petals form the flowers and they are stunning. I take the box from his hand. “The Alabama state flower. They are perfect. I love them so much, Mercer. I’ll wear them every day.”
“You can remember our almost.” There’s an irrevocable tremor in his tone. A goodbye encased in a goodbye. He feels it too. My stomach sinks, but I know I have to be strong right now.
Going up on my tiptoes, I place my hands on the sides of his clean-shaven face. “Maybe in our world, almost counts.” My voice shakes, but my body is pressed against his and responds accordingly. Fire. Gasoline. Burning. Burning. Burning. For a man who I only half have. Who I will always and forever only half have. Mercer picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. Forehead to forehead we search for answers in each other’s eyes. Answers we both know we won’t find. I clutch the earring box in my hands, a reminder of the past. I squeeze it until a corner hurts my palm until the reminder of home causes me physical pain.
His lips brush mine. Back and forth, a feather-light touch. “It’s not going to be easy, Clover,” Mercer says against my lips. “I love you and I want you to be here when I get back. For me. Because you’re mine now and I will torch the earth to make my way back inside your arms.”
“I love you,” I reply, kissing him more forcefully. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” A lesson I learned the hard way many times. I’m better for it now, though.
I can feel Mercer’s smile against my lips. “You do it right the first time, or you do it again,” he returns. That must have been the lesson he learned. I grin.
“I can be strong enough. I want you. I want us. I want our almost,” I say, voice cracking. “Mercer, I’ve waited my entire life for a sign and I’m not even superstitious, or not really.” Mercer smirks. “I know that we are meant to be. I can feel it inside me. They say when you know, you know? I know. Go do your job,” I say, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “And come home. To me. We can finish what we started.”
“I’ll let you be a little superstitious if it’s telling you to stay here and wait for me.”
Scoffing, I lean back to study his face. “Then again, maybe it’s telling me to throw all your clothes into the front yard and see what they look like after six months.” He doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone. It’s mission dependent, so it could be shorter than six months or longer. I don’t want to think about the latter.
He kisses the sense out of me, and I let him. Sliding down his body, out of breath and turned on, Mercer takes the box from my hand and removes the earrings. The waves crash against the shore behind us and the scent of saltwater fills my senses. Mercer tucks my hair behind one ear and puts one earring in, using a soft touch. He repeats the motion on the other side and then steps away to look at his handiwork. “They look just as I thought they would on you. Perfect.”
Reaching up, I touch the flowers and think about what they mean. “If I had more time, I would have gotten you something.”
Before I even finish talking, he’s shaking his head. “Don’t even say it. I can’t bring much with me, and everything I take I have to be okay with it if it is lost forever. It’s like a life pause button. I would cherish any gift from you too much to be okay with losing it.” He blows out a breath and grabs my hands. “I do have a few more gifts for you. They’ll come while I’m gone though. One will take a while because it needs some prep work.”
“Mercer, seriously. I’m not a child that needs gifts to feel happy. I’m an adult and I’ll be fine.” It’s imperative he believes me. I want to be the woman he sees. A strong, capable woman who can make it no matter what. Not the spoiled princess who lived a pampered life. “Don’t buy me presents.”
