The Long Way The Sound Of Footsteps Fades

When the footsteps stopped outside the window and did not turn back, June understood that the sound she had been waiting to hear again had already chosen another direction.

She stood in the narrow bedroom of the house where she had been born and never quite left, her fingers pressed into the curtain fabric as if it might still be warm from his passing. The glass reflected her face faintly, blurred by the early morning light. Outside the street lay empty and pale. A truck engine started somewhere far off and then disappeared toward the highway. June stayed where she was until the quiet grew so complete it felt like pressure.

Grief came first. It did not explain itself. It settled low in her body like cold and made even breathing feel deliberate. Only later would her thoughts try to name what had ended and why. For now she only knew that something precious had moved out of reach while she had been standing still, hoping the world might pause with her.

The town woke slowly. Doors opened. Radios hummed. The smell of coffee drifted through the open window. June let the curtain fall back into place and sat on the edge of the bed. The house creaked as it always did, familiar and indifferent. She pressed her thumb against the faint scar on her wrist, a habit she had never broken, and waited for the feeling to dull enough that she could stand.

Weeks earlier the same street had been bright with late summer heat. Dust rose when cars passed. June had walked toward the post office with no intention beyond getting out of the house. She had seen Eli before she recognized him, the angle of his shoulders too familiar to belong to anyone else. He stood by the bulletin board reading notices that had been there for months.

She stopped without knowing why. He turned and their eyes met. The moment stretched, awkward and tender. He smiled first, cautious and real. The town seemed to pull back slightly to give them room. June felt the old pull then, sharp and immediate, and with it the memory of all the reasons she had learned to resist it.

They talked about nothing important. About the heat. About his mother who had moved south. About the bridge repair that was taking longer than promised. Words came easily and carefully at the same time. When silence fell it did not feel empty. It felt full of what neither of them trusted themselves to say.

In the days that followed they found each other without admitting they were looking. At the grocery store near the freezer aisle. At the river path where cottonwood fluff drifted through the air. They walked side by side without touching. June felt every inch between them as acutely as if it were contact.

The river ran low and slow that year. Sunlight broke on its surface and scattered. Eli stood with his hands in his pockets and spoke of the work he had been doing in other towns. Short contracts. Temporary rooms. He said it without complaint. June listened and felt the familiar conflict rise. She had built a life from staying. He had learned how to leave without looking back.

One evening they sat on the bleachers at the empty baseball field. Cicadas filled the air. The metal beneath them still held heat. Eli leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and said he had been offered something steadier farther north. He said it like a fact, not a plan. June watched a moth circle the field lights and felt the future tighten around her.

She said she was glad for him. The words tasted practiced even though they were true. He nodded and did not look at her. The space between them filled with sound and movement that did not touch what mattered. June kept her hands folded in her lap to keep from reaching.

Nights grew cooler. The town quieted earlier. June lay awake listening to the house and to her own restraint. Desire made itself known in small persistent ways. In the way she noticed the shape of his name in her mouth. In the way she imagined his footsteps on the walk and then corrected herself.

The evening it finally broke open came softly. Eli knocked just after dusk. June opened the door and stepped back without thinking. He stood in the threshold as if unsure whether he was allowed to cross it. She did not invite him. She did not stop him. He came in and the house adjusted.

They sat at the kitchen table with mugs that went untouched. He said he was leaving in the morning. The words landed and stayed. June felt the cost of every response line up inside her. She said she had never been good at goodbyes. He said neither had he. Silence did the work neither of them could.

When he stood to go she followed him to the door. The porch light cast long shadows. He looked at her as if memorizing. She felt the urge to say his name and felt the fear of what would follow if she did. She did not speak. He nodded once and stepped outside. The door closed. The sound settled into the house.

Now morning had come and gone and she was still standing in the echo of that sound. June moved through the day with care. She worked. She smiled when required. She avoided the street where his footsteps had faded. Time passed because it always did.

Autumn arrived and with it a restlessness she could no longer ignore. Leaves gathered along the curbs. The river rose with early rains. One afternoon June found herself walking toward the highway without having planned to. She stood at the edge and watched cars move past. She felt the pull of motion and the weight of staying.

She turned back before deciding anything. The town met her with its familiar quiet. At the corner she saw Eli standing beside his car, hood open, frustration written plainly on his face. She stopped. He looked up and relief crossed his features before he masked it.

They stood facing each other in the cooling air. He said the car would not start. She said she had jumper cables. The exchange felt ordinary and enormous. As they worked side by side their hands brushed and did not retreat. The contact felt different now. Less tentative. More honest.

When the engine turned over they did not immediately step away. Eli said he had left but had not gone far. He said the road had felt wrong without saying why. June listened and felt something inside her settle. She said she had stayed but had not stopped wanting. The truth moved between them slowly and without drama.

They did not promise anything. They stood there until the light changed and the town sounds returned. Eli closed the hood. June stepped back. He asked if he could walk her home. She nodded.

This time when his footsteps sounded outside her window they stopped. She opened the curtain and saw him looking up, waiting. June opened the door and stepped onto the porch. The evening held them. The sound of footsteps did not fade. It stayed and learned the shape of staying.