Caleb takes two strides to where I point and lowers himself to his haunches.

“I could have sworn my phone was in the car….”

“Maybe you dropped it at Wal-Mart,” I suggest over my shoulder.

“Yeah…”

I hold my breath while he dials and pray that he isn’t calling Leah.

“Mum,” I hear him say and I slump against Pickles in relief.

“No, no, I’m fine. I just decided to take a little trip…she did? What did she want?”

I didn’t think about Leah calling his parent’s house.

“…Oh, but she didn’t tell you why?…well, I’ll be back in a couple of days, I’ll talk to her then…Yes I’m sure mum. Love you too.” I watch his face carefully. He looks worried.

“Hey,” I say taking my telephone from his hand and stuffing it in my purse.

“Come flirt with me while I heat these beans up.”

I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the plug outlet.

For the next four days, we stay cozened in our tent as the temperature drops to forty. We eat cup o’ noodles and fight over who got to sleep next to the portable heater. When it grows dark outside we pull our beach chairs together and wrap ourselves in blankets to watch the fire. Caleb keeps bringing up my failure to fill out my law school applications and I respond with a jab about his failure to propose to Leah. By the time we crawl into our separate sleeping bags at night, we have stupid smiles plastered on our faces. Every night Caleb engages me in an exchange that makes my toes tingle underneath all four pairs of my socks.

“Olivia?”

“Yes, Caleb?”

“Are you going to dream about me tonight?”

“Shut up.”

And then he laughs that beautiful, sexy laugh.

Chapter Eleven

The Past

“Do you love me?”

“I’m sorry—what?!”

“Do you love me? That’s a simple enough question. Would you prefer if I asked you in another language?” He rolled from his back onto his belly, rearing up above me. “M'aimez-vous? Você ama-me tanto como o amo?” Caleb, who was fluent in French and Italian, was showing off. The grass beneath my back began to itch like his question.

We had been dating for exactly one year and I had successfully skirted, ignored, and deferred my way through not answering it. It was hard work putting any of those techniques into use when Caleb Drake was inches away from your face, staring at you with his intense eyes. I took a deep breath to level myself and thought about the millions of starving children in Africa. We were in Georgia, camping much to my chagrin. I was tired and sweaty and wearing the same pair of pants that I wore the day before. We had been here for twenty-four hours and all I had received other than this rather obtuse question, was a bazillion bug bites and sore muscles.

“When I get home, I’m going to sponsor one of those kids from Kenya,” I said scratching my knee. “You know—from those Children’s Fund commercials?”

Caleb gave me a look.

“I…I…love…ice cream…” I said squirming underneath his gaze. “And I love hot showers and clean clothes.”

“Olivia?” he said in a warning voice.

“Caleb,” I imitated his tone. He frowned at me and I looked away. It wasn’t like I was holding back the Canaan wine here. He hadn’t said I love you to me either, though he asked me this question often enough.

“Why do you always ask me that?” I sighed, ripping a piece of grass from the ground. I began tearing it into little shreds and tossing it to the breeze.

“Why do you never answer?”

“Because it’s a hard question.”

“It’s a yes or no, actually. You have a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right.”

If only it were that simple. Did I love him at this point? I loved him from the first point…the point where our two lives crossed the first time. I couldn’t tell him that though, I didn’t know how and every time I tried, the words would get stuck in my throat.

“You’re pressuring me.” I pushed him away and sat up dusting my hands on my sweats.

Caleb sprang to his feet, paced, and then turned around to face me. He was seething.

“I’ve never pressured you to do anything.”

I felt my face turn white. It was true. It was a lousy thing to say to a twenty-three year old man who never complained when his girlfriend always stopped short of second base.

“You’re trying to make me say something that I’m not ready to say,” I choked looking away.

“I’m trying to find out where we are going. Olivia. I already know you love me.”

I glared up at him in shock and he shrugged.

“The fact that you can’t say it—is a problem. I love you.”

My lip trembled. Pathetic, but it did. I felt my chest heaving in an effort to breathe. He loved me.

“You can’t say it because you don’t trust me. If you don’t trust me, I can’t be with you.”

I felt panic swell in my chest. Was he threatening me?

He was still towering over me, so I stood up. It didn’t do much good because he was a foot taller.

“I hate you,” I said and he started laughing.

“You fight like a child. I’m not dealing with you.” And he walked away, leaving me both utterly bewildered and buzzing in excitement from this new information. He loved me. I collapsed back into the grass and smiled up at the sky.

Later, when I grew tired of sulking by the lake, I went back to our tent and moped around. Caleb had yet to appear from wherever he stalked off to and I was getting hungry. I was digging around in our food stash when he walked through the flap of our fancy tent. Our eyes met and I dropped the bag of pretzels I was holding. Something was wrong, there was trouble written on his face. Was he going to break up with me now? I prepared myself and lined up some nasty things to say to him.

“You’re spoiled.”

“I’m an orphan,” I pointed out. “Who is there to spoil me?”

“I spoil you. I let you get away with too much. I give you free reign, and you take advantage.”

“You don’t own me, to give me free reign,” I said narrowing my eyes at him. “What an as**ole thing to say.” I turned away but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back.

“I own you,” he said pulling me against his chest and holding me there. I stared up at him openmouthed.

“No,” I shook my head, but I wasn’t so sure what we were talking about anymore.

My wrists were tiny and they were clamped so securely in his big hands, that I didn’t even bother trying to pull away.

“Let me go.”

He held me tighter. We were so close I could feel his breath on my face.

“Who owns you then?” he challenged.

“Me. Not you, not anyone else…ever.” I felt petulant and foolish, but I lifted my nose in the air anyway and glared at him. Caleb’s eyes were cold and hard. He laughed at me, a deep throaty laugh. Then he looked down into my eyes and said;

“You are master of your own body, yes?”

“Yes,” I spat. Lava-like anger was erupting inside of me. I was ready to let the white trash out.

“Then you won’t have a problem controlling it,” he finished, and I stared at him through angry eyes—confused.

“What?”

He let go of my wrists, or more appropriately flung them away, but before I could move, he’d grabbed me around my waist and pulled me against him.

He kissed me, not a normal Caleb kiss, but a fierce moving of his mouth over mine. He was so in control of my mouth that I couldn’t have kissed back if I’d wanted to.

My hands pushed against his chest, trying to move the rock of him away, but it was useless.

My body started pounding in response to his touch. It was so powerful, I was sure I was going to split in half.

I picked up on the rhythm of his lips and returned his kisses, pressure for pressure, bite for bite. He broke away from my lips just when I had the hang of it and grabbed a fistful of my hair pulling my head back so that he had access to my neck.

Caleb peeled away from me and for a second I’d thought I’d won. But instead of backing away, he grabbed my t-shirt by the collar and with one tug, ripped it from top to bottom. My limp arms provided no traction and it fluttered to the ground. I stared, disbelievingly at him, and he grabbed me again, kissing my shoulders, running his lips over my collar bone. My bra came off, with a flick of his fingers and suddenly my legs lost their will to stand. Caleb scooped me up from behind my knees and placed me on my back, coming to rest on top of me. I wasn’t providing a shred of resistance at this point. My mind had stopped working—stopped making excuses. I was tangled up in the moment and for once I didn’t mind.

“Are you still in control?” he said this into my hair, as his hands climbed my thigh. I wrapped myself around him and nodded into his neck. Sure, I was. I was making a conscious decision to go along with this little roll we were having. I desperately wished that he would just shut up and get on with it.

“Stop me,” he said. “If you’re in control, then stop me.”

His hand was at the junction of my thighs now and stopping him was the last thing I wanted to do. I dug my nails into his arms in response. Caleb grabbed at the waistband of my sweatpants and tugged them down. Everything was blurry—everything except what I wanted to happen.

“Who owns you?” he said.

What? Weren’t we past this already?

I opened my eyes and looked up at him and I started to grasp what was happening. Caleb still had all of his clothes on while I was lying on the floor in my panties. I had lost complete control. He was playing with me. I let my body go limp and looked into his face.

“Who owns you?” he repeated more gently, placing his palm over the spot where my heart sat. He was right. He had my heart and every other piece of flesh that was attached to it. He wasn’t being a chauvinist. He was telling me something. I thought about sticking to my first reaction but the adult in me was struggling to get out.

“You.”

He stopped moving and I could feel his back heaving as he breathed. We were cheek to cheek, his arms resting on either side of my body. In one giant movement, he sprang off of me, and landed on his feet like a cat.

“Thank you.” He straightened his collar and then he walked out of the tent and left me—on the floor in nothing but my panties.

I burst into tears.

Chapter Twelve

The Present

“What is it like twenty degree’s outside?” I shiver and rub my arms. It is our last day and a ball of dread has taken up residence in my stomach.

“Try fifty,” he says handing me a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

I frown and climb back inside the tent to pack. I am folding clothes when I hear his voice.

“Olivia, we need to talk,” I peer over my shoulder suspiciously. He is spinning his thumb ring—always a bad sign.

I sigh. Is this about the phone? I wondered.

“Sure.” I am balancing on the very lip of disaster and I can feel our time sliding through my fingers like sand. I remember that creepo, rapist’s warning outside of the music shop; You should get home before it’s too late. The sky’s red with trouble. Red, red, red…like Leah’s hair.

I follow him outside, my coffee still in hand. He leans on the hood of his car.

“What’s up?” I try to be nonchalant as I sidle up next to him.

“What’s going on here, Olivia? What are we doing?”

“Camping,” I declare, which doesn’t even earn me half of a smile.

What does he want me to say? What’s safe?

“We are…I don’t know Caleb. What do you want me to say?”

He shakes his head. He looks disappointed. Am I supposed to spill my guts? Before I can open my lying mouth, he beats me to it.

“You can’t think of anything to say?” he quizzes. I shake my head. Why do I always lie? For real, it’s like a disease.

“All right then…” He does the unexpected, instead of pushing me for more, he starts packing up our things; sleeping bags, clothes, Pickles. They all get tossed into the car, one by one, two by two, and all I could do is watch with my mouth open. But then what could I say? I want to be with you Caleb. These few days have been the stuff of dreams. I love you more every second I’m with you.

I am in a corner. I reluctantly get into the car and stuff my cold hands under my armpits. Caleb turns the music all the way up and ignores me. I am so mad. I think about things I can say to piss him off but I am too chicken to carry any of them out. The old Caleb had a hot temper, and if this guy had inherited it, I don’t want to find out.

The hills became flatland, as Georgia melts into Florida.

I turn down the volume as we cruise through Tallahassee and turn my body until I am half facing him.

“Caleb…talk to me.”

I see a muscle in his jaw twitch, but other than that he gives me nada.

“Please—talk to me,” I try. This is going to be harder than I expect. New tactic.

“Why are you being so sensitive? I don’t say what you want to hear and now you’re sulking?”

That does it. He takes the exit, swerving to the right at the last minute. I hear a grunt from Pickles as she’s thrown across the backseat.

We are in the middle of nowhere and there is only trees and road ahead of us. Caleb zooms into the gates of what looks like a park. There are only three parking spaces and they are all deserted. He pulls into one and jerks on the brake. This place is really creepy. I fidget nervously and look at his face.