Someone Like You
“What was it like—the war?” I asked.
Adam blinked and met my gaze, the tension in his face easing a little. “I don’t know how to answer that. If words exist to adequately describe it, I can’t think of them.”
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s not that I mind you asking.” He straightened, adjusting his position on the sofa carefully to avoid jostling his bandaged leg. “It’s just that I think you’d regret it if I answered you. Trust me, you don’t want to invite what’s in my head into yours.”
“Maybe you’re right.” I wished I could take the question back. I liked the easygoing Adam I’d come to know, and the last thing I wanted was to draw out the demons he kept concealed beneath that ready smile that had a way of melting my insides. At the same time I longed for a deeper glimpse into his heart and mind. I couldn’t really know him until I understood the pain that must still linger within him.
“Are you cold?” I asked, seeing him shudder again.
“A little.”
“I’ll get you a blanket.” I hurried to the closet and pulled out one of the blankets I’d stowed there. Throwing it loosely over him, I bent to tuck it around his shoulders. I was fully aware that I was coddling him like a sick child, but I didn’t care. It was all I could do for him.
When I bent forward, the St. Christopher medal slid out from the neck of my blouse and swung into Adam’s view. His hand emerged from under the blanket and curled around the medal.
He peered closely at the embossed image. “Which saint is this?”
“Christopher. My aunt gave it to me. I suppose it’s an heirloom.”
“What did she think you needed protection from?” A sly smile touched his lips. “Not me, I hope.”
Satisfied that I’d covered most of him with the blanket, I sat down beside him. “I think that’s the general idea,” I admitted, adding quickly, “But that’s not why I’m wearing it.”
“My friend Evan wore one of these. Some other saint, I think, but I don’t know which one. It got him safely all the way to southern Holland without a scratch. Until one morning when we were crossing a dike and we came under machine-gun fire. Not even divine intervention could get him out of that one.”
“He was killed?”
Adam nodded, his mouth compressing. He let the medal slip from his palm.
“Do you need another blanket?” I glanced down at the medal and tucked it back under my blouse.
“Thanks, but I’m warmed up now.”
As I raised my eyes he leaned closer, rousing my senses with the sharp scent of soap and his warm breath against my cheek. He held my gaze, his soft brown eyes tenderly searching mine. A warm shiver scooted down my spine.
His hand drifted up to stroke the sleeve of my cardigan. Taken by surprise, I caught my breath, but didn’t pull away. His fingers rested on my shoulder a moment before curling around my nape, and I let my eyes fall closed, my limbs wilting under his feather-soft caress. I felt weak but at the same time vibrant with sensation, my blood throbbing beneath his fingertips.