Page 84 of The Strength Of A Woman

I know what Cosimo meant when he said Nona was a good woman. I know precisely what he referred to.

Some women travel alone, keep to themselves, yet feel more deeply than a room full of people.

That’s Nona.

Under her quiet, subdued appearance lives a woman with a big heart.

The kind of woman you want to come home to after a long night, after staring death in the eye, and making it another day.

Women like her are like a calm sea.

Stretching out all the way in front of you and around you, giving you peace and something steady to hold onto.

And then there are women like Leilani.

They seem to be something different than what they are. They may look crazy, superficial, a handful.

In other words, trouble.

But then, if you dare to ram open the doors to their hearts, you’ll find something different.

Something deep, profound.

A well of gentleness, a sense of justice, love that has never been met with love, and an ocean of life that needs to be discovered.

Their guard is up. Their games are misleading. Their fight to stay alive is crushing.

When you see such force contained in such a tiny, ugly place, it breaks your heart.

Life can be a beast even without confining a beautiful soul like hers in the slimy quarters of some ugly men.

She flicks her eyes to me, catching me staring at her, and I give her a smile, making her grin back at me.

Her eyes smile first, a mix of the sea, the sunset, and the gratitude she shows me.

“You’re not looking,” she protests playfully.

“I absolutely am,” I say, more truthful than ever. “Let me show you,” I add, stepping behind her and gripping the handrail on either side of her, making her lean back into me as the wind blows her hair over my face.

The smell of the water and wildflowers from her tresses washes over me.

I press my nose to her hair and inhale, my lips touching her head.

“You like this?” I ask, looking at the sunset, relishing her warm body being shielded by my arms.

“Yes, I do,” she says, taking comfort in my presence, leaning back even more, cuddling against my chest.

And then, she turns her eyes to me, her lips maybe an inch away from mine.

Our eyes keep talking about the things we’d like to do to each other, about how much we’d like to learn about each other.

About the ways we’d like to end this evening.

Some of them are possible.

Some of them are not.

Not now, at least.