Redemption Lane

by Rachel Blaufeld

“Bess, want me to feed Brooks?” I called out.

  “Sure! I’ll be right out. I just want to brush my teeth,” she called back.

  I definitely want to drop off the face of the earth with her.

  I hunted around the kitchen until I found the dog food, then scooped some into the bowl on the floor, filled the other with water, and patted the big dog on the head as he ran by me to his meal.

  Then I searched through the cabinets until I found some mugs, and poured us each a steaming cup of coffee and went looking for Bess. I found her standing in her room, staring at herself in the mirror, fingering the heart necklace now around her neck.

  After setting the mugs on the dresser in front of her, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her back into my embrace. Feeling her wiggle her ass up against my semi almost tempted me to take us back to bed. But this wasn’t about making love or fucking or anything more than the way my heart beat in sync with hers.

  Sliding my other hand along her collarbone, up her neck, and pushing her hair back, I whispered in her ear. “Looks perfect, but could be a little bigger.”

  She bumped her hip back into mine. “No way, it’s already too much.”

  “Well, I like seeing it on you, its rightful owner.”

  “I don’t think I can even wear this to work,” she said with a frown, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

  “About that, I’m sorry you had to get someone to cover for you. I decided I’m going to stay a week now, so maybe you can get a few more days off,” I said with puppy-dog eyes.

  She turned in my arms and lifted a hand to my beard. “I like this, by the way. A lot,” she said with a wink.

  Leaning forward, I rubbed my face over her cheek, letting the tiny hairs tickle her skin.

  Her gaze pinned to my chest, she said softly, “But I can’t miss a whole week of work, Lane.”

  “If it’s the money—”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “I have more money than I know what to do with, Bess. And if we’re gonna make a go of this, which I assume is where we’re heading, you have to learn to accept things from me,” I said firmly, knowing it was probably not going to win me any brownie points.

  But Bess went somewhere I never thought of. She continued to amaze me.

  Raising her big brown eyes to meet mine, she said, “Listen, I’m sure I won’t always be comfortable with letting you do so much for me, but work is something more to me. It keeps my mind and hands busy, because too much idle time is bad for me. Work is part of my coping mechanism with my past, and maybe for you too.”

  She was wrapped tightly in my arms at this point, and her revelation shook me to the core. Kissing the top of her head, I let my mouth linger before responding. “You may be right. Thank you for explaining how you feel about work to me. I can’t say that I don’t want you to call off work for forever and be with me, but I get it.”

  Her stiff posture relaxing somewhat, Bess brought her arms up around my neck and kissed me. We tangled tongues and lips, allowing our actions to speak our feelings.

  Breaking free, she said, “I’m going to take a few days off, and then I have to go back. But you can stay however long, for forever if you want. I want as much as I can get of you.”

  Without thinking, I said, “I can’t be here for forever,” ruining the moment.

  “I know, but a girl can dream,” my girl said, halting any more conversation.

  Then we ended up back in bed. For the day.

  After a few days of bliss, Bess told me she was going in early the next morning for work, but she would be home around two o’clock. Figuring I could use the time to catch up on e-mails and calls, I begrudgingly told her that would be fine.

  When she got home, we spent the afternoon taking a walk in Cooke Forest with Brooks by our side, his tail wagging madly. With every step we took together, holding hands, my fears and anxiety drained further from my bones.

  Yes, I still craved my life in Florida. The office, the hours, the job . . . they were indeed my coping mechanisms. But I was facing my demons here in the chilly air with the leaves turning all around me, and began to feel a glimmer of hope that everything might turn out okay for us.

  Bess had packed lunch and we stopped for a picnic, sitting on rocks next to a stream bubbling beside us. We warmed our bodies with coffee she’d packed in a thermos, and while rubbing all over each other in a mad kiss on the mountain.

  When we got back from our adventure, she told me about work before making dinner. That was when the air changed, and I wasn’t sure why. Bess was busy destroying a salad she was making, taking out some unknown tension on the poor lettuce when I asked, “What’s up,” placing my hands over hers, stilling her jerky movements.

  “I just feel like a bad person . . . girlfriend . . . or whatever I am,” she said in a tight voice, jolting my heart.

  Bad?

  Turning her to face me, I said, “Why would you think that?”

  Her eyes wide with emotion, they brimmed with tears until they began to overflow.

  “Bess, what the hell?”

  “B-because I’m here making dinner after a beautiful day together and I don’t have any beer or wine to offer you.” She sniffed, reaching up a hand to wipe at her nose as she said, “I don’t think it bothered me that you have a cocktail when we’ve been out in the past, but I just don’t think I’m good with keeping any of that around, here in my house.”

  At that, her shoulders heaved and she began to wail.

  I was at a loss, but did my best to find the right words. “Bess, I don’t need beer or wine. I’m fine. You don’t need to keep any of that stuff for me, and I can clear my house out. This moment is perfect, baby. No substances needed to make it any better.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, sniffing back tears. “I just feel like if this were a real relationship, you’d be having a cocktail while I made dinner.”

  “This is a real relationship, Bess.”

  “But it—”

  I dug deep inside me, thinking fast for a solution. “Bess, I’ve been here for four days, and you haven’t been to a meeting. I don’t know much about all that, but I know you go and it’s important that you do. Maybe you need to do that tonight?”

  Averting her eyes, she said, “I didn’t want you to see that part of my life.”

  Frustrated, I tipped her chin up so she could see me. “Bess, did you hear me? This is a real relationship. I know we’re both avoiding talking about the geographic difference between where we live, but this is real. I told you the truth about all my secrets, and you accepted me. I want all of you, accept all of you, love every bit of you . . . meetings and all.”

  “Are you sure?” she whispered, her eyes red and her lower lip trembling.

  I walked over to the oven and flicked it off. “Is there a meeting? Soon?”

  She nodded.

  “Come on,” I said, grabbing the car keys.

  Lane

  I didn’t know what to expect or hoped to gain from the whole suggestion, but it was clear Bess was hurting and needed something more than I could give her. After all, I was a fixer despite the fact that I needed repairing myself.

  We hustled into the small town in Bess’s Jeep. I’d rented a car, but liked that Bess enjoyed me driving her little SUV. It made this whole thing feel even more real.

  Although, driving to an AA meeting smacked with reality.

  Bess is an ex-addict. The woman I love is an alcoholic and a junkie.

  This was something I couldn’t ignore. Not now, not ever—even when I walked away from it almost five years ago at the gym.

  “Make a right up there,” Bess said, interrupting my thoughts.

  For most of the ride she’d been silent, looking out the window and leaving me to my own thoughts, when I should have been attentive to her. Because that was Bess. She thought she was selfish, but she was the most selfless person I knew.

  As we pulled into a church parking lot, Bess turned to me. “I have
to go in alone. We don’t allow visitors unless they’re pre-approved, and I know you’d be confidential and all, but it’s just the rules.”

  I nodded. “No worries, I understand. I can wait here?” I posed it as a question, sensing that Bess needed to be in charge of the decision-making regarding this. After six months of intensive therapy on the heels of being in and out of it for a half a decade, I was almost a shrink myself.

  “Do you mind?” she asked.

  “Of course not. I’ll be right here. Take your time.”

  She got out of the car without another word and ran toward the door in her Air Force Ones, her lithe body wrapped in a sweater coat, her long brown hair blowing in the wind.

  As I waited, I fidgeted with nervous energy, hoping her support group didn’t encourage her to cut ties with me.

  They wouldn’t. Would they?

  A while later a group of people exited the building. I got out of the car and waited, leaning against the passenger door as I huddled in my down parka, facing the mismatched crew heading my way.

  They were all so different—tall, short, fat, black, and white—yet while they all struggled from similar addictions, they persevered. Unlike Jake and myself. We were identical in appearance, but carried different emotional burdens. And neither of us seemed to be able to get a hold on them very well.

  But I would die trying for Bess.

  She was walking out with another woman, talking as they held on to each other’s hands, bundled against the wind. Deciding I wanted to meet her friend, I headed their way, rubbing my hand along my beard as I walked before stopping dead in my tracks about ten feet away. The sky could have parted and dumped an avalanche of snow on me, and I wouldn’t have moved. My feet were glued to the concrete as if it weren’t dry and they were sinking into its wetness.

  Miss Shirley. I wasn’t sure if I said it aloud or in my head, but my initial thoughts were confirmed when she lifted her head.

  “Lane.”

  “Miss Shirley.” She was older, not as skinny as she used to be, and a lot shorter than I remembered. Or maybe I was just a lot taller.

  We stood frozen in our spots, confined to our corners as Bess looked between us in confusion. This was no happy reunion where we went running into each other’s arms. At one point in time, this woman brought only a smile to my face. Now all I saw was blackness surrounding her form.

  Sorrow swirled in and around me like the ravaging wind. Wracked with emotion, I was afraid I was going to fall, blown over by either the sorrow or the wind, or both.

  Bess

  Lane stood there, his eyes no longer caressing me but stealing my resolve, sucking all my strength right out from under my skin. He’d turned deathly pale, his eyes widening as his jaw went rigid, just like the rest of his body.

  “Lane, are you okay?” I separated myself from Shirley and walked over to him, sliding my arm around his back.

  We’d had a good meeting. I’d shared, asked for help when it came to being in a relationship, and had spoken my fears aloud. I felt a lot better just from that alone.

  Shirley had been particularly quiet as I’d shared with the group, eyeing me with a curious expression. I hadn’t seen her in a week or more, and chalked it up to us not seeing each other. But now I wasn’t certain.

  “Shirley, what are you doing here?” Lane said through gritted teeth.

  Taking a wary step toward him, Shirley said, “I live here now.” She’d clenched her hands, but I could still see them shaking.

  “How?” he wheezed out.

  When he balled his fists at his sides, I slid my hand over one of his and pried his fingers open, slipping mine in between.

  Shirley pressed her lips together, obviously trying and failing to keep them from trembling. “I came here years ago, cleaned up, got married. I work in the diner now. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you and Jake.”

  Shocked, I struggled to keep my mouth shut as my gaze pinged between them. Think of you? And Jake?

  “Come again?” Lane responded, his brow pinched tight.

  “I think of you two all the time, how I was wrong and I’m an awful person.” She shifted nervously from one foot to the other, then licked her lips before saying, “It plagues me, but then Bess met you. When I heard how successful you’d become, I was so proud of you. And I thought I’d be able to watch you succeed more through Bess.”

  “Through Bess?” he said through gritted teeth. “My Bess? Successful? Shirley, I have nightmares like a prison inmate, ones where I lash out and hurt people, like Bess. Thanks so much for tampering with my life once again, but no thanks.”

  Grabbing my arm, Lane turned and dragged me to the car. Once inside, he locked the doors and turned to me. “Did you know she knew me? Did you?” he yelled.

  I wasn’t afraid. Lane’s bark was bigger than his bite, but I did back up against the window at the cruelty of his accusations.

  “Know? How would I know? Know like you knew I was a drug addict and nearly OD’d in yoga? That kind of know?”

  He buried his face in his hands, running his hands through his thoroughly mussed hair as he let out a loud, “Fuck. This is so fucked up.”

  “I didn’t know anything, Lane. You have to believe me. I met Shirley after I met you, at the morning meeting because I was avoiding AJ. She took care of me, but she did encourage me to pursue you,” I admitted, wanting to be transparent.

  Still unsure of how Shirley was woven into the very tangled web we’d already spun, I sat quietly.

  “Shirley was our sitter. Mine and Jake’s when he fooled around with the car. The one who told us to not tell anyone,” he said in a whisper.

  Gasping for air at this news, I jumped in my seat when Lane yelled, “Shit!” He banged his hand against the steering wheel. “Jake mentioned something about Shirley when we were fighting, and I completely ignored him.”

  “Jake? I’ve never introduced the two of them . . .”

  Lane cupped his head back in his hands, leaning into the seat as he sighed.

  “Ugh!” Again he slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “We saw her, when we were leaving AJ’s when we got the necklace. The woman in the Buick, I knew she looked familiar. Jake must have pursued it. Little asshole.”

  Leaning forward, I turned and put my hand on Lane’s chest, resting it above his heart. I felt the pounding beat, coming strong and fast through his jacket. “Lane, I didn’t know. You have to know that. I would never do anything to trick you,” I said, sensing he needed to know that, especially after the scam Shirley had pulled on them. They were kids, for God’s sake. They wouldn’t have gone go to jail.

  But she would have.

  My world spun as my emotions unraveled. Self-loathing filled me at the thought that Lane had tried to do something right for me, and it ended up crumbling at his feet. I hated myself for ever trusting Shirley, and at the moment, I despised Jake for not filling me in.

  But I loved Lane, so I said, “Why don’t we call Jake? Maybe he can fill in the blanks.”

  Later that night, after making coffee and sitting around the fire with Lane and Jake hashing out the present muck they waded in, I crawled into bed next to Lane. He was on the left side, his arms behind his head, his chest bare, and I crawled into the crook of his arm and shoulder, running my hand along his stomach.

  As Lane had assumed, Jake had recognized Shirley leaving AJ’s and took it upon himself to find her. A few of the times I’d seen him over the last few months, he’d really been up in Ligonier scoping her out, confronting her and not being able to appropriately put her in her place. He’d wanted to tell Lane in Miami, but Lane had become wholly focused on getting back to me.

  I made slow circle eights on Lane’s abs while I thought about how painful his and Jake’s childhood must have been, and now another scab had been ripped off. Abruptly.

  Shirley had never mentioned any of this to me. She’d probably thought that being able to watch Lane through my eyes—to see him succeed and fall i
n love—would ease her conscience. Jake had tried to tell her that was bullshit, but she wouldn’t hear it.

  As we lay quietly in bed, sneaking soft touches while we listened to Brooks snoring on the dog bed, I came to terms with losing the second person crucial to my staying sober. Who would be my rock now? I wasn’t strong enough to do it on my own.

  “I’m there for you now, Bess. And you’re a lot stronger than you think,” Lane said, turning to face me as he threaded his hand through mine.

  “Did I say that out loud or are you a mind reader?”

  “The latter. This evening started out about me supporting you, and ended with you taking care of me . . . again. I just want you to know that I’m right by your side, no matter what,” he said before kissing me.

  “I said it out loud.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah.”

  I ran my hand through his dark hair falling on his forehead. Seeing him with his head on my pale pink pillowcase, exposed and vulnerable, did something to my heart. I fell more in love.

  “I love you, Mr. Wrigley.”

  “Lane,” he said with a wry smile, reminding me of when we first met.

  “Why me?”

  “We were always meant to be, Bess. You were the bright yellow in my colorless, bland life.”

  And then he kissed me again, this time not stopping. With his hand traveling south, his fingers found me.

  “Don’t stop,” I said, my breath coming in small pants as he stroked me.

  He put another finger inside me as his thumb teased my sensitive spot, and I concentrated on pulling air in and out of my lungs.

  “I believe you like calling me Mr. Wrigley,” he teased, then nibbled on my neck.

  My fingers dug into his back, scratching their way down to his ass as I called out his name with my orgasm.

  The second his fingers left my body, I wanted something to replace them. Reaching down, I wrapped my hand around his erection, stroking up and down its length, my thumb smoothly grazing over the tip.

  “Bess,” he growled.

  I didn’t answer; instead I straddled his legs and guided him inside me. Exhaling a low moan, I sank all the way down.