"I thought you said you beat me back to D.C.?" he asked. He flipped thought the mail, weeding out circulars and junk mail from the rapidly growing collection of bills.
"I thought you would be gone longer," she protested.
"Apparently, it wasn't as big of an emergency as we were all lead to believe," he snorted in disgust. "Most of my time was spent in transit."
"I'm sorry," her voice drifted through the speakerphone.
"When are you coming back?" he asked.
"I - I," her voice faltered. "My interview was re-scheduled. I got a different flight back."
His hands hovered above his mail and lowered to the countertop. He held his breath and counted to ten.
"It's so beautiful here." She changed the subject quickly. "I forgot how much I loved it out here. You should see it one day, Harm. You'd love it."
He counted to ten again. "Are you coming back here?" he asked softly.
The conversation grew quiet. He could hear her carefully measured breaths, the soft inhalations and shaky releases. "Are you coming back?" he repeated.
"Yes," she said softly. It sounded more like a question than an answer.
"Mac," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I can't chase after you and bring you back."
"I know. I don't want you to," she said quietly.
"I just can't keep doing it," he persisted.
"I'll come back," she promised.
"If you're happy and you want to stay, then stay. But I can't keep running after you."
"Harm," she broke in, "I'm going to come back."
"Alright," he agreed. His hand hovered above the 'end' button, knowing that she would begin to make her excuses and leave the conversation.
"But now I have to go," she said. "I'll call you later, okay?"
"Okay," he agreed, sighing at how the conversation had deteriorated. "Bye," he added, but she was already gone.
***
The breeze caught and pulled at her exhalation, stretching it into a sigh that drifted into the canyon. She wrapped her arms around her thighs, tucking her forearms between her bent legs. The wind pulled strands of hair from her ponytail and whipped them across her face.
It would be so easy to stay here. She could stay cradled in the canyon's walls. She could use them to build a fortress from her problems, to lock herself up in them and never leave. It was far from D.C., far from her troubles. They couldn't reach her here; they were locked up in the neutral walls of the tiny apartment where she had tried to kill herself.
Destruction was slower here. It came in deep, slow breaths of wind, in the soft gurgle of the creek. It was a constant, wearing at the rocks and soil, tearing at he sand. But it would be so easy to ignore it and try to settle down.
She shook her hair back, turning her face into the wind. She had been lying to him when she talked to him earlier. Lying by omission, but still lying. She had thought about staying. Since the moment she'd steered her rental car in the direction of Sedona, she'd thought about staying. Not staying, she admitted, so much as hiding.
So, here she was. Did she stay, try to plant roots in the rocky soil and wear slowly away, like the canyon walls? Or did she let the wind pull her East?
She didn't want to go back almost as much as she was homesick. She missed her friends. She missed him. When he called, she wanted to beg him to come out. But she couldn't ask it anymore than he could do it. She wanted him to see it though. She wanted him to see that there were bright spots in her past; even at the worst times, she had had good things.
He was disappointed in her, she could hear it in his voice. The tired, slightly angry tones said just as much as he didn't say. He was convinced she was going to run and he'd had enough of the chase.
Well, so had she. They spent so much time getting ready to run, whether to chase or be chased, that it was no wonder they were exhausted. It was a miracle they could recognize each other's faces, they spend so much time looking at the backs of their heads. She wanted to be able to face him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him. But she was afraid of him. Afraid that he was her last chance at that stupid fairy tale ending. If she never told him, if he never knew, then nothing could ruin it. She would never have to be unhappy, because she would never be completely happy.
She tugged on the bottom of her jeans, ripping a string on one of the cuffs. Wrapping the string around her finger, she watched the canyon floor. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and waited. She waited for something to prompt her along. For someone to make her move. It amazed her how tired she was. Until she'd been able to sit still, she hadn't realized how far she'd run. She'd had enough of running away. It was time to stop. It was time to go home.