She felt his dextrous hand on hers again, this time to gently tug the smoldering butt of the cigarette from her fingers. "You're going to get burned," Lamont smiled.
"Sure, I felt something," Constance admitted quietly. She looked down at the smoking cigarette in her hand and had the sudden impulse to fling it away, as if she had accidentally taken hold of a snake. What had she felt, and what was she feeling now? "I felt like somebody was finally taking me seriously. Like I'd found someone who saw me as a person and not a problem to be solved."
"I take you very seriously, Constance," Lamont said, leaning closer.
Constance hesitated, her heart pounding. Wasn't this what she had wanted? Hadn't she been intentionally bold, purposely forward, just a bit transgressive? Hadn't she enjoyed the subtle tension, the discomfort in his expression?
She felt her lips tighten. Yes—alright. Perhaps she had baited the hook, just a little. But if she did, it was because something about Lamont told her that he would never bite it.
She felt his dextrous hand on hers again, this time to gently tug the smoldering butt of the cigarette from her fingers. "You're going to get burned," Lamont smiled.
Constance glanced down at his hand. As always, his silver wedding band glittered on his finger. She never failed to notice it. "What about your wife?" She whispered.
"Look at where we are," Lamont replied, his gaze briefly flickering to follow the direction of her yes before sweeping out over the garden. "This place has nothing to do with anything that happened before. It's timeless. Nothing we've done prior to arriving here matters at all. The only thing that matters for us is that we're here now, love. Here and now is all that there is. And now I want to be with you." He leaned even closer. She could smell the cigarette smoke in his breath as his lips hovered close to hers.
"You're not Lamont," Constance whispered, her lips brushing the stubble of his cheek. Then, with explosive force, she sprang backward, tumbling off the rock on which they had been sitting and scrambling to her feet. "You're not Lamont!" She accused, her voice finding volume again.
Lamont sat up straight, regarding her with an earnest smile. "I could be," he said.
"You're playing games with me," Constance persisted, trembling with rage. "Stop it. Let me go."
Lamont rose smoothly to his feet. "This is no game. We're trying to help you, to free you."
"Then let me wake up," Constance demanded, unable to keep a hint of pleading out of her tone. "What you're doing is cruel. Let me go."
"You misunderstand," Lamont said, his expression full of sympathy. "We're only trying to show you what we've seen since you first arrived. If it hurts a little in the moment, it's only because you're holding yourself back."
"Back from what?" Constance asked.
"From your flock," Lamont answered. He swept his hand to direct her attention.
Suddenly, she realized that she was back in the grove again. Dapples of rainbow light danced along the edge of the babbling stream's soft blue glow. Beyond the slender silvery columns, the small encampment of pilgrims seemed unaware of her, occupied with their own languid activities. It was toward them that Lamont was gesturing. He was standing precisely in the center of the grove, where the statue should have been.
"Look at them," Lamont urged. "See how they need you?"