by Beth Flynn
We were less than ten minutes into our ride when I insisted Christian find a place for me to use the restroom since I'd missed my opportunity at Chicky's.
Afterward, I climbed back into my SUV and decided we were in dire need of a change of subject and mood. I tried to lighten the tension by suggesting another game. Only this time, my motives were slightly different. Up until now, I was under the impression that everything Christian had done had been purely selfish on his part. When he admitted that he intended to let Sal's comments slide for me, I sensed a shift in my feelings about our situation. For some reason that I couldn't fathom, I wanted to share a nugget of truth with Christian about my family. I'd been willing to do it when I'd made the offer to answer any question, and he'd caught me off guard by asking about Lucas.
"Tell me something nobody else in the world knows," I coaxed.
He looked over at me, and I gave him a sincere smile. He pulled the edges of his mouth into a wide grin that caused my skin to tingle. I expected him to insist that I go first so I was totally surprised when he asked, "Do you have any memories of us playing wedding when we were kids?"
Yeah, I thought. I even mentioned it in one of my letters. Instead of going down that road again, I nodded and let my mind drift back to that innocent time.
"Let's get married by the water fountain this time," I told Christian.
"Why?" he asked as he returned the ring to his pocket and scooted into the tube that would eventually deliver us to the ground.
"Because I'm thirsty," I replied. I gave him a shove and jumped in behind him.
After taking turns at the fountain, we made our way to a small shaded area, waving to our mothers as we went. Still within their protective view, Christian yanked his white T-shirt over his head and handed it to me. The first time we played wedding, we got some help from Aunt Christy who showed us how we could turn a shirt into a makeshift bridal veil.
While I tucked my hair up under Christian's shirt, he picked some flowers that may or may not have been weeds.
The wedding preparations were complete, and it was time to take our vows.
"Some," I admitted. "I remember you showed me a ring with a huge blue stone. I think you said you got it out of one of those claw machines."
I watched him nod and then say with a laugh, "It was a big gaudy thing, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, I think it was," I agreed. "I'm sorry I don't remember what became of it," I sadly confessed. Recalling my earlier question, I prodded, "You were supposed to tell me something that nobody else in the world knows but you."
"I was getting to that. It took me a couple of years to figure out we weren't really married."
I busted out laughing and he quickly added, "Give me a break, I was only six."
I twisted around in my seat and leaned back against the door, thoroughly enjoying the playful side of Christian. He'd left Florida without permission and that nagged at me, but I couldn't deny the thrill I felt that Abby was his half sister, and not a girlfriend. Or that he'd not given Tina from Chicky's a second glance. Or that he was going to let Sal's racist statements slide because he didn’t want to get in a brawl that could’ve separated us. And that’s when it occurred to me that the looks I’d seen being thrown Christian’s way at the store held the same disdain as Sal’s remarks. I'd wondered if the comments were aimed at Christian because he was Native American or because his skin was so much darker than mine. Or maybe a little bit of both. Ignorant idiots.
"Your turn." His deep voice rumbled, gaining my full attention. His voice alone made me borderline giddy.
"My mom found Grizz's real family and they live just a few hours away in North Carolina." There. I said it. I shared a truth about myself. It was as if a yoke had been lifted from around my neck and I suddenly felt lighter.
"Your mother lives in North Carolina?" he asked. Even though I was staring at his profile, I could see his brow crease in question.
"No!" I answered louder than I'd intended. "But she thought it was important that I establish a relationship with them since Grizz was my biological father and they are really the only extended family I have. It's one of the reasons I go to school in South Carolina. I can spend weekends with my cousins and grandfather. His name is Micah."
I sucked in my breath, worried that I may have gone too far. But I was pleasantly surprised when Christian showed only mild curiosity, asking me how much they knew about Grizz's past, what they thought of it, and were they sorry he’d died on death row before they could meet him.
After giving him the best explanation I could, I closed with, "My grandfather was humbled when my mother and James gave my little sister the middle name Frances. It was Grizz's mother's name."
"Your little sister?" Christian interrupted.
"Yeah, Ruth Frances." A beat passed and I added, "I told you in my letters about Ruthie and Dillon."
"Dillon?" He sounded confused and I saw his forehead crinkle.
"Christian. You said you remember everything. How could you not remember that I mentioned in at least one of my letters that my mother and James had twins? A boy and a girl."
He looked over at me and there was no hint of recognition in what I'd just revealed about the twins. I knew instantly that he'd never received my letters.
"Tell me what it said,” he demanded.
“What what said?”
“The letter I sent you. What did it say, Mimi?”
Chapter 25
Pumpkin Rest, South Carolina 2007
I was somewhat reluctant to share what I remembered about the letter I’d gotten from him so many years ago. It was too humiliating so I was mildly relieved that I couldn’t recollect all of the details. I still had the letter, but hadn't looked at it since the first and only time I'd read it. I could’ve made the trip home in a few hours to retrieve it, but it didn’t seem necessary now.
Christian reassured me he’d never received or sent a letter and I knew he was telling me the truth.
Christian finally believed me.
And I believed him.
He shocked me when he unexpectedly pulled over to the side of the road. Turning to me, he reached across my chest to unhook my seat belt. He pulled me toward him and tenderly pressed my face between both of his huge hands. His eyes were filled with concern when he quietly said, “I could never even think those things about you, Mimi. Let alone write them.”
I tried to blink back the tears, but they couldn’t be stopped. They trickled down my cheeks as I confessed, “I really believed you hated me all these years. That I disgusted you.” I choked back a sob, and tried to swipe my arm across my cheeks, but he was still holding on to my face.
And then he did something that I’d thought only happened in romance novels. He kissed away my tears. I closed my eyes as I felt his feathery kisses on each eyelid, cheek, and I stifled a moan when I felt his tongue lick the saltiness that had made its way down to the corner of my mouth. He pulled back as I blinked, and stared right at him.
Our eyes locked in a battle of longing and desperation, and true to form, Christian didn’t ask when his mouth collided with mine. Bold at first, the intensity of our kiss was hurried and heated as if we both feared it wasn’t real. Eventually, he slowed the pace as he continued to explore the inside of my mouth, our tongues warring for dominance. I finally relented and let him take the lead.
Kissing Christian Bear had felt as natural as breathing and I quickly ignored the stab of regret I felt at all the wasted years. Even after he broke the kiss, he held my face in his hands and I realized I was tightly clutching his wrists, reluctant to let go. I stayed in my dreamlike state with my eyes closed and my breathing heavy. When I finally opened them he was smiling at me.
“When did you brush your teeth?” He slowly let go of my face, kissing my bruised wrist before separating us.
“At the last stop,” I laughed, amused by his question. I was still trying to catch my breath while Christian was curious about its minty freshness. “I always carry a t
ravel-size toothbrush and mini toothpaste in my purse.”
“You are full of surprises, Dreamy Mimi,” he teased as he shifted into gear and pulled back on to the road. I refastened my seat belt while reveling in how our kiss seemed to melt away years of pain, misunderstanding, and pent-up anger on both our parts. And it was obvious that the kiss was going to be responsible for allowing us to easily slip back into the comfort zone we'd had as children. I prayed that it wasn't an illusion. A tug on my heart wanted and needed to believe this was real.
After more discussion as to who could’ve intercepted my letters and responded to them, we both came to the sad conclusion that it could only have been Christian’s mother. I had a difficult time reconciling the sweet and caring woman I’d always called Aunt Christy as the author of the words that had shredded my teenaged heart into pieces.
I could see by the clenching of his jaw, that Christian was not happy with our concluded suspicions so I assured him that even though it was terribly mean-spirited, his mother was only following my mother’s wishes. He seemed to calm down and I popped a new CD in the player and turned up the music.
I burrowed deep into my seat, secretly reveling in how natural his hand casually resting on my left knee felt. I listened to the words of Paul Davis's “Sweet Life” and changed the song, its lyrics bringing up a sadness and truth I hadn't wanted to face. “I Saw the Light” by Todd Rundgren started and I hoped the melody would distract me enough to stamp out the memory of the day I received the counterfeit letter from Aunt Christy. But it was of no use. My mind couldn't stop itself from dredging up the hateful words I’d read so many years ago, and even though I now knew they hadn't been Christian's words, thinking about them brought me back to the day I’d decided to forget I'd ever known Christian Bear.
Four Years Earlier
"You need to shoo!" Aunt Tillie commanded the four of us from the kitchen. "All of you! We have this under control."
"I pumped enough milk for—" my mother started to say.
"I know this, darlin’. You've already told me and then told me again, and I'm pretty sure you told me again. These babies will be fine, and all of you need a break," Aunt Tillie replied, her voice a little gentler. "It's only three days. Now go!"
Aunt Tillie was Grizz's aunt, my grandfather, Micah's, older sister. And in typical Aunt Tillie fashion, she decided on her own that the family could benefit from a small respite away from the twins. Like a drill sergeant gathering the troops for roll call, she'd organized an around-the-clock babysitting regime of aunts and cousins who would stay at the house and care for the infants.
The four of us said our goodbyes and shuffled out of the house carrying our overnight bags. My mom headed for the car when Grizz grabbed her arm.
"We're not taking the car," he stated.
"How are we supposed to get there?"
"We're taking my bike. The kids are taking the car to Becky and Dave's," he answered matter-of-factly as my brother and I loaded our things into the family’s SUV. Becky was Grizz's first cousin. She was the mother of DJ and Rachelle, best friends to Jason and me.
"We had a plan. We're supposed to be going to Gatlinburg," Mom reminded him as Jason and I made our way over to her.
Grizz took the bag from her and said, "We're still going to Gatlinburg. But these two,” he nodded at us, “aren't coming with us."
"We don't want to hurt your feelings, but we'd rather stay at Aunt Becky's,” I volunteered. “Besides, we already planned it without you. We don't need to go off the mountain to get a break, but I think you and Grizz do."
My mother swung around to stare at Grizz who was squatting and rifling through one of her bags. He looked up and gave her a quick wink. I could see the love in her eyes as she watched him. At six feet five with a full head of golden locks that had slight streaks of gray that fell below his shoulders, even I had to admit my father was an impressive sight. Mom confided in me that she’d thought it the first time she climbed onto the back of his motorcycle in 1975, and I could tell she still thought it now.
Mom swiped her hand through her hair and smiled. "We haven't ridden in years. It'll be nice to be on the bike again. This is a lovely surprise. Thank you," she told me and Jason as she grabbed us for a collective hug.
I was heading back toward the car, keys in hand when something occurred to me. I spun around and said, "Umm, Mom, I was just wondering..."
My mother stopped walking toward the motorcycle and turned around to face me.
"What is it, Mimi?"
"I'm curious. What kind of Native American is Uncle Anthony? Did we ever know that?"
Grizz had been crouching by his bike and stood up. He exchanged a quick look with Mom.
"Why would you want to know about Uncle Anthony?" she asked, the curiosity on her face attempting to mask her concern.
"No reason,” I reassured her. “Just that with us being so close to the Cherokee Indian Reservation, I was thinking about the Bears and couldn’t remember if I ever knew what Uncle Anthony's background was. That's all."
"Cherokee and Seminole," Grizz answered, his deep voice floating over the sweet- smelling mountain air.
"Really?" I wasn’t able to keep the excitement out of my one-word reply. They both noticed and exchanged another fleeting look.
"Not a North Carolina Cherokee, though," Grizz quickly added. "Maybe originally. Bear was descended from a band of Cherokee that had migrated west in the 1800s. Oklahoma, I think."
"Oh," was all I said as I tried to hide my disappointment.
Jason, who had already stuffed his thirteen-year-old growing-like-a-weed body into the car, opened the passenger door and got out.
“I forgot something,” he yelled as he ran back into the house.
Again I approached the driver side while putting in my earbuds. I hadn’t turned up the music yet when I overheard my mother ask Grizz, "What do you think that was all about?"
Instead of getting into the car, I leaned up against the side of it and pretended I was listening to my music, bobbing my head to the silent tune.
"Not sure. Probably nothing. I don't see her curiosity as unusual. We're so close to the reservation. I thought about the Bears more than once myself since we've moved here."
I looked at the ground but could see with my peripheral vision that he’d walked toward Mom and pulled her close, wrapping his muscular and heavily tattooed arms around her. "Hope you don't mind my scheming to get you alone," he said as he buried his face in her hair.
"I don't mind at all. I'm excited. I've missed being on the back of your bike. It's been a long time."
I knew they’d planned to ride last summer, but after discovering Mom was pregnant, Grizz didn't want her on his motorcycle. Not to mention, she'd been too overcome with morning sickness to be able to enjoy herself. Then as she got larger, it wasn't practical. I knew this would be the first time in almost twenty years that they would be cruising together. I didn’t have to see my mother’s expression to know she was getting excited.
"Why is my breast pump unpacked?" she asked, looking over at the small pile Grizz had apparently made on the ground next to his bike.
"Can't fit it on the bike, baby," he told her without letting go of her.
"I need it, Grizz. I don't think I can go three whole days without pumping. My boobs will explode. I need a way to get the milk out."
I looked up and watched as she pulled away from him and started to walk toward the pile. But he grabbed her arm and swung her around. Staring at her chest, he gave her a wicked smile.
"I can think of more than one way to get the milk out, Kitten."
That’ll teach you to eavesdrop, Mimi, I scolded myself as I made a mad dash for the car door and suppressed a groan of disgust. Everyone knew their parents did stuff. But hearing my father's comment only exacerbated the reality, and I was secretly grateful I'd never accidentally walked in on something.
Once inside the car, I laid on the horn. “C’mon, Jason!” I yelled through the op
en passenger window, unable to look back over at my parents. I'd never been so grossed out in my entire life.
* * *
After delivering Jason to Aunt Becky's, I drove Rachelle to check her mailbox at the local post office just like I’d done almost every day since mailing my final letter to Christian.
Rachelle had gone to extremes to provide a way for him to reply to me and keep my location a secret. She gave the last letter I'd written to her friend who’d mailed it from Ohio during her family reunion. Rachelle even worked it out so that her friend Ariel, who lived in California, let us use her address for Christian to send a reply. He’d never contacted me via email so assuming he wasn’t a tech kind of guy, Rachelle hatched another plan. If she received a letter from Christian, Ariel agreed to mail it to Rachelle to give to me. It had already been a few weeks since I sent my last letter to him. Maybe it was just too much subterfuge to manage. Or maybe he wouldn't be replying to this one either.
I was sitting in my car waiting for Rachelle to come out of the post office. I gazed out the open window and swiped away a piece of hair that had blown in my face. The breeze was warm, and the air smelled like wet asphalt. A shower had doused our tiny town earlier, causing steam to rise from the ground as the sun burned the fresh rain off the road. Movement to the right caught my attention. It was Rachelle, running while wildly waving a piece of mail with a grin so huge her eyes practically disappeared. I knew it was for me. I was almost bouncing in my seat by the time she jumped into the car.
"It's from him!" she cried as she shoved the letter at me.
I took a deep breath and stared at the letter with the return address and postmark from California. Not wanting to get my hopes up, I said, "Maybe it's a letter from Ariel to you."
"Mimi, shut up and open it. If you don't, I will!" she screamed.
I carefully opened the letter and let out a shriek of excitement when I saw that it contained another note inside. I took it out and glanced over at Rachelle as I pried open the envelope. I could feel her anxious eyes on me as I slowly read Christian's words. The back of my eyes started to burn and I willed myself not to cry. A physical punch to my gut would've felt better than the metaphorical one I was experiencing. It was sharp and debilitating.
