Patrick is so gently present. Surprising me with little things all day long. Attentive. Sweet. Careful not to crowd me. Instead, he makes me reach for him, the steady rock in my life. Patrick Jane, the steady rock. Who would have thought? I can't stop smiling. He makes me so happy.
It's almost silly, schoolgirlish. All this bubbling joy inside. I never knew I could feel effervescent from the tips of my toes to the top of my scalp. Joy rocks my body when I'm near him. I want to talk. I want to tell him things. I want to be close, look into his eyes, hold his arm and know he's mine.
I know he sees the rolling little thrusts when I smile at him because he makes me happy. They come unbidden from joy. The ones that mean I remember our lovemaking and want it again. Have I ever been in love until now? I don't think so. I want him to live with me. Never be apart.
I stay still so that I can feel Teresa all around me. I've never seen her sweet animation, the happiness that flows unbidden and fills the space around her like a divine aura. She is so much more than I knew. I'm entranced, enthralled, under the spell she feels safe to cast over me. I'm bewitched and almost speechless under it. She blesses me to silence and reverence, waiting for her next step toward me. I love her where there are no boundaries. But I keep hers. And like a fawn newly born, she approaches my offering hand.
Today I made an origami swan for her and tucked it secretly in her pocket. I wanted to know she found it so I told her to check. The way she turned and smiled at me . . . Can any man be so lucky? . I don't know if she remembers the jumping frog I made for her so many years ago. But I do. Oh, how it made her smile, even fighting valiantly against it! I loved her even then.
The origami swan he hid in my pocket almost made me cry. His little ways touch me deeper than any grand gesture he could make. When he turned and smiled at me, knowing I must have found it . . . Oh, how he made me smile! And I haven't stopped. His face is new. Always tender and soft with the transcendent possession of love. I feel this. I looked it up because Patrick knows the symbolism of everything. Swans mate for life. His little way of revealing what he wants with me. I know just what to do with the swan, once I'm finished loving it for now.
He was waiting for me on the porch when I got home. He should have a key to make it easy for him to be with me as we both need. He accepts my offer and smiles in that new easy way of his.
While he changes in our bedroom, I go to a shelf that holds a cowrie shell, sitting on top of a lovely box. The shell is full and round in my hand, the talisman he chose to hold the place of his love until he could return from exile to me. As I lift the lid away from a box full of letters, letters from my beloved fugitive who risked everything to come back for me and give me a happy life, I smile and touch the long row of paper edges, some torn and ragged in my eagerness to open and read. But I push them back to see what I'm looking for just now.
There it is. Safely in front. His clever jumping origami frog. It probably doesn't jump any more but that doesn't matter. His first gift to me, sweetly made by his own hand to bring me a little joy and him a little forgiveness. It worked. He smiled at me then just as he did today when I found the swan in my pocket. A companion to my old frog. I loved Patrick even then.
They look so sweet together, the frog and the swan, quietly resting with so many letters full of love that couldn't say the word.
As I return the box to its place on the shelf and set the cowrie on top, Patrick emerges in homey evening dress, the cloth thin because he gets hot. It shows me new things I love about him, invites me whenever I'm ready. His footfall is as quiet as his soul as he approaches me to be kissed.