Carved Into Bark

Roy sat on the bench beneath the oak and let the shade swallow him.

The air was cooler here, the sun filtered into broken patches through the leaves overhead. He leaned back, feeling the rough grain of the wood through his shirt, and let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. His shirt clung to him with sweat, his legs ached pleasantly from the hike, and his heart was still beating a little too fast. He could hear them down by the river. Not words, not clearly. Just voices. The unnamed woman's low and steady. Evan's sharper, more restrained. Claire's softer, careful.

It was peaceful.

He understood now why they had chosen this place. The river moved steadily below, unseen but present, a constant sound beneath everything else. The forest seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of what was happening and unwilling to intrude.

Roy closed his eyes.

He told himself he would just rest them for a moment.

Sleep came quietly, without warning.

In the dream, he was sitting at his desk at work.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. His computer screen glowed with unread emails. His coffee had gone cold. It was all familiar, mundane, safe.

Except he was not alone.

Charlotte leaned against the edge of his desk, smiling at him like she knew something he did not. Tabitha sat on the corner behind him, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his shoulders. And this new woman, the one mourning her husband, stood close, impossibly close, her hand resting on his chest as if it belonged there.

They spoke over one another, voices warm, affectionate, encouraging. He could not make out all the words, only the tone. Approval. Want. Belonging.

Tom appeared in the doorway.

He looked just as he always did. Sharp suit. Thin smile. The kind of confidence that came from believing the world would always bend for him. He opened his mouth, and Roy felt that familiar spike of fear, the instinct to shrink, to brace himself.

But the women closed in around him.

Their bodies blocked Tom from view. Their voices rose, drowning his out completely. Charlotte laughed. Tabitha leaned in, whispering something against Roy's ear that made his breath hitch. The new woman pressed her forehead to his, steady and sure.

Tom kept talking, but Roy couldn't hear him anymore.

Hands touched him. Lips brushed his cheek, his mouth, his ear. A kiss lingered at his neck, soft and deliberate, sending heat down his spine. He exhaled, sinking into it.

Then he felt it for real.

Roy stirred, confused, half-asleep, the sensation still there. Warm breath against his skin. Lips at his neck.

His eyes opened.

The unnamed woman was sitting beside him on the bench, turned toward him, her body tucked into his. One hand rested against his chest. Her mouth was at his neck, pressing a kiss there, lingering as if she had forgotten herself.

She pulled back when she realized he was awake.

"Oh," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

Her eyes were red. Her cheeks blotchy. She had been crying.

Roy's heart lurched.

"It's okay," he said quickly, awkwardly, unsure where to put his hands. "I was just resting. Are you... are you alright?"

She shook her head once, a small, helpless motion.

"The kids went back to the van," she said. "I told them I needed a few minutes. With you."

That did something to him. The way she said it. Quiet. Certain.

He nodded. "How did it go?" he asked. "Down there. With them. With... everything."

She sat back slightly, wiping at her face with the heel of her hand. "It was hard," she said. "But good. Evan said what he needed to say. Claire cried. I cried. I think... I think it was what we all needed."

She laughed softly, without humour. "I didn't expect it to hit me all over again like that."

She blinked, and tears spilled over.

Roy felt a spike of panic. He never knew what to do when people cried. Especially not someone like her. A stranger, but a hurting stranger nonetheless.

"I'm sorry," he said, uselessly. "I'm probably not very good at this."

She shook her head again. "No. You are. Just... stay."

He slid his arm around her shoulders, tentative at first, then firmer when she leaned into him. Her head came to rest against his shoulder, her hair brushing his jaw. He could feel the warmth of her through their clothes. The weight of her trust.

She lifted her head slightly and pointed toward a nearby tree.

"See that?" she asked.

Roy followed her gaze.

Carved into the bark, weathered but still legible, were two names.

Mark + Elaine

His chest tightened.

"This was our spot," she said softly. "Years ago. Before the kids. He brought me here on my first real hike. I complained the entire way." She smiled faintly. "He pretended not to notice. When we sat here, he carved that and said it meant forever."

Her voice wavered. "I miss him so much."

Roy did not trust himself to speak. He squeezed her shoulder instead, pulling her closer, as if he could anchor her to the moment, to him.

They sat like that for a long time. The forest breathed around them. The river moved on.

Finally, she spoke again, barely above a whisper.

"One day," she said, "I would like you to carve my name into a tree."

Roy turned to look at her, stunned.

Her eyes met his, searching, ****, unflinching.

Before he could say anything, she leaned in and kissed him.

It was not tentative.

It was not polite.

It was hungry and full of feeling, her mouth opening against his, her hand sliding up his chest as if to pull him closer. Roy responded without thinking, his free hand coming up to her back, holding her there.

The world narrowed to the press of her body, the heat of her mouth, the unmistakable sense that something irreversible was happening.

And Roy kissed her back.