by Grea Warner
And, once again, I found myself teetering ... both physically and emotionally. I wasn’t in heels or any shoes at all, but I felt like the outsider to their cuddled group of three. And maybe it was a case where I should have been. Even though I knew I was loved as part of their family, what they were going through—really, all three of them—didn’t involve me. So, my swaying legs made a decisive move back toward the bedroom I shared with Ryan.
“Why are you leaving?” Sallie called out, making me turn.
Ryan looked up at me. “I don’t have another leg, but there’s always room.”
With a grateful nod, I sat across from them, stretching my own legs out and allowing my left leg to rest alongside Ryan’s left. A strange stillness swept through the hallway. It was quiet, reflective, and calming.
“You wanna tell me about the dream, Joe?” Ryan asked his son.
When Joel shook his head and buried it a little further onto Ryan’s chest, Sallie used an adult, empathetic voice—not at all like the one she usually teased her younger brother with. “Was it about Mommy, Joe-Joe?” Ryan lifted his eyelids to look across at me, and I mustered a comforting smile as Sallie tried again. “It’s okay, Joe.”
Joel looked at his sister with what seemed like admiration. The dynamic was an awesome wonder to see. Complete opposites in so many ways, that all seemed to evaporate. They were then one. They had a connection like no other. It was both unbelievably sad and yet breathtakingly beautiful.
“I was in the bathtub, and I didn’t know how I got there,” the little boy started to open up. “And it kept going over.”
“The water overflowed?” Ryan used a soft, middle-of-the-night voice.
“Yeah. And it was getting on my bed and everyone’s beds. Then it was coming from the ceiling and the walls.” His poor little voice was accelerating as he told the story. “I got some towels and buckets.”
“Well, that sounds like a good idea,” Ryan reassured, and I watched Sallie look at her brother as if he was retelling an action movie.
“And Mommy came and told me to run to the next house. It was dark outside, but I did. I could see you and Bethany in the kitchen, Daddy, and I was calling for you, but I couldn’t get in.” His eyes seemed to grow twice their size as he looked up at Ryan.
“Hey, I got you now, don’t I?” He kissed the top of his son’s head.
“Mmmm-hmmm.”
“Was Mommy pretty, Joe?”
It was the first time I saw a legitimate smile from Joel that night as he answered his sister. “Yeah.” Pause. “Yeah.”
I wondered if Sallie was thinking of seeing Kari in the coffin. Pretty was the word she had used to describe her mother when we had been in front of the church. Pretty was important to Kari and, in some princess-like ways, it was to Sallie, too.
Ryan brought their two heads a little snugger onto him and hummed softly. I don’t think it was a song in particular, but it might have been. It might have even been one of Kari’s. It didn’t matter. It was simply a way to calm both of his emotionally spent children.
The kids sat silent, listening to Ryan hum for nearly a half-hour. And me? Part of the time, I had my eyes locked on my fiancé, feeling, as if by osmosis, his pain, love, and appreciation. The other part of the time, I closed my eyes and let my own brain relax to his soothing tone. I knew the road of grief for those dear children was only beginning, and we all should cherish any serene moment we could, even if it was sitting against a hallway wall in the middle of the night.
***
Instead of basking in the sun, sipping coconut rum, and saying Aloha, Ryan and I spent most of that following week hibernating in the house and trying to figure out how best to help the kids. Of course we had been planning on it. But Joel’s middle-of-the-night awakening was a definite prompt to get things started as immediately as possible.
So, on Monday we ignored all forms of media—social sites, the internet, ringing telephones, and television. We worked on keeping the kids active inside while calling professionals who could guide us in the area of grief. Despite school being out for the summer, we were able to contact Sallie and Joel’s elementary school counselor who recommended a child psychologist. Since she came very highly recommended, I couldn’t help but wonder if the fact that she had availability the next day had to do with the severity of the issue or Ryan and Kari’s star power. Sometimes fame had its advantages, and we weren’t about to question it.
The meeting with the psychologist wasn’t long at all. It was only a preliminary appointment to meet with us and the kids and to set up a schedule. For those, she wanted mostly to talk with the kids by themselves but would draw Ryan or both of us in as needed. While the kids sat in beanbag chairs looking at books, she emphasized to Ryan and me the importance of being flexible but consistent with schedules and expectations. The kids needed stability and normalcy more than ever. I couldn’t help but think how Ryan had done just that, with adapting the stay-in-their-own-rooms rule the night before. Before leaving, the psychologist also gave us some pamphlets and recommended a special center for the kids to visit. It was only for children who lost close loved ones.
Thinking the psychologist visit alone was a lot for Sallie and Joel, we decided on the center visit the following day. It was located in an otherwise residential neighborhood. In a lot of ways, it reminded me of my family’s one-hundred-plus-year-old home in Carolina. There were activities for the kids to do there—create art, sports, interact with animals, and more. Or, they could simply talk with other kids who were on similar sad journeys. It was obvious almost from the start that Joel would find a way to make friends there. But Sallie seemed hesitant, which then made Joel a little, too. I wasn’t sure if it was a protective thing of his sister or that he looked to her for leadership. Not that he would ever admit to either. Regardless, Ryan decided to just keep the grief house on standby. He wanted to see how the kids did with the psychologist, as well as going back to their regular summer day camp. Besides, seeing as either he and/or I would have to stay at the center with the kids, he was afraid it would draw out unwanted publicity. And that was the opposite side of fame—the persistent thorn in your side.
That Thursday evening, I followed the sound of Ryan talking while his phone was on speaker. It led me to the game room, nestled in the unique downstairs of the house. On top of dealing with lingering press over Kari’s death, Ryan was involved with some work-related things, too. I suspect even if we had been on our Hawaiian honeymoon, he would have still been on the phone a few times with someone at the office. Having your own successful talent agency kind of demanded that. As I was trying to determine who he was actually speaking with, Ryan, sitting at the desk, spotted me and waved me closer.
“She loved the kids,” the other male offered.
“She did,” my fiancé agreed. “She loved them ... no doubt. She talked about them, with them, was concerned ... I still remember how excited she was when we first found out she was pregnant with Sallie. Geez, that seems like a lifetime and two different people ago.”
I watched as Ryan’s eyes seemed to focus on a random, nondescript part of the edge of the desk. He was obviously lost in the past—one I knew only glimpses of. Sallie—who was named after Ryan’s grandmother, Sally, and Kari’s grandmother, Sadie—was planned. And they wanted another, but maybe not as quickly as Joel, who was conceived on the night Kari got to perform with the iconic Billy Joel.
As I leaned up against the desk, Ryan cleared his throat and continued to speak toward the phone. “Really, truth be told, she didn’t have much of a maternal bone in her body.”
“That wasn’t only because of her career, though, Ryan.” The male voice seemed to completely understand the Ryan and Kari relationship. “She didn’t have much of a role model in the mom category.”
“You said it, not me.” I noted his nod and roll of eyes.
“I live it,” he grumbled. “Having to give up her quote-unquote dancing career when she had Kari, and then having to keep try
ing for the male heir apparent. It—I—ruined her body!” On the mocking final words from who I then knew was Maks, I put my hand up to my mouth to resist bursting out in laughter. “I mean, what century do they live in? I wonder if Mama Irene got her tubes tied or just cut him off completely after me?”
“Geez, Maks, I don’t want to know!” Ryan’s face scrunched in obvious disgust.
“Anyway,” he continued, “even though she was groomed to be our mom’s mini me, Kari put her own spin on it.”
“She did,” Ryan agreed.
“So, honestly, how are my niece and nephew?”
“Hard to tell. I think there’s still a bit of reality that hasn’t set in.” That was something Ryan had mentioned to the psychologist, too—the fact that when Kari was alive, she had been gone so much ... the separation and divorce and her extended tour. He worried that the permanency of Kari being gone still wasn’t really registering to the kids, despite the funeral and viewing.
“For all of us,” Maks admitted.
“Yeah.” Ryan reached out and touched my hand.
“How’s Bethany?” Kari’s brother asked, as if he was on video chat and could see me instead of just a regular call. I couldn’t help but think how incredibly unselfish his question was. After all, I had not been his late sister’s favorite person in the world.
Ryan rubbed my hand. “She’s been our rock.”
“Good,” he answered, and I truly believed both men meant what they said. “So ... just you and me at Kari’s place. Go through what she would have wanted the kids to have?”
“Without your folks joining us?” I’m pretty sure that was relief in Ryan’s question.
“Let’s do it this way. I mean, I am the executor.”
“Your sister was very wise when it came to business.”
“Agreed. Saturday?”
Ryan raised his eyebrows in my direction and, understanding the implied question if I could watch the kids, I nodded back. “Yeah, okay. Hey, sorry.” He was looking at his phone’s screen. “I gotta go. Anamaria is buzzing in on the other line. There’s something wrong with one of our clients, and they are insisting on talking with me. She’s been trying to side-sweep it, but I don’t think it’s working.”
“No prob. Good luck. See you on Saturday then.”
Ryan ended the call and immediately put the next one on speaker. “Hey, sorry. I gotcha. Can you give me two minutes, Ana?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Sure, Ryan." I recognized Anamaria’s voice. Ryan’s loyal secretary had been around for my first meeting with him at his office and had subsequentially watched our relationship grow, even when she was oblivious that it was not only professional but personal.
He put her on hold and walked around the desk to sit on it next to me. “It’s one after another.”
“I know.”
“You sure you’re good with the kids Saturday?”
“Of course. Your parents are coming in, though.”
“Yeah. I should be back by the time they get in. I want my ‘Someone went to Hawaii and all I got was this lousy T-shirt’ T-shirt.”
I chuckled, glad to hear him able to joke. There had been very little of any humor since leaving Carolina. “I’m glad our honeymoon didn’t go to waste. It was a wonderful anniversary gift for them.”
“Forty-five years. Makes me feel old.”
“Oh, geez, you’re not even close to that!” I kiddingly smacked him. “And you have three older siblings. Take your call. Talk with Anamaria. She sounded stressed. I just came down to tell you I was going to start dinner.”
“Yeah? What are we having?”
“Meat ravioli with dried fruit and a sweet and spicy—”
“I love you.” He kissed the top of my head, and I knew right away he had made the connection.
The ravioli recipe was the first meal I had ever made for him, even before we were dating. It all seemed so safe and innocent back then. Could we get it back?
***
Ryan ended up going into the office and the building’s gym for a couple hours Friday morning. So, he dropped the kids off at their summer camp for a sort of abbreviated test run. They should have already started that Monday, when we were supposed to be in Hawaii and Kari had them. But ... well ... that didn’t happen. Kari was actually the one who had enrolled them and had the year before, too. That was the good part. Since Sallie and Joel had gone there previously, Ryan knew the rather elite facility and trusted it would be a free-from-gossip zone. And even though Ryan said the kids were clingy and sad on drop-off, they both saw friends and camp counselors they recognized and were okay with being there for a shorter than usual time.
Because I was a little leery the press might try to bother me, I had decided not to reclaim any of my shifts at the coffee house that week. Since becoming engaged to Ryan, I knew I didn’t need to keep working at the independent coffee shop. But I liked to. It was a personal, separate part of me I had since first arriving in LA as a wide-eyed but determined college grad just a couple years before. The manager, Gracie, allowed me to sometimes sing my original pieces for the customers. Plus, I couldn’t ask for a better schedule. Since I had proven myself to be a valuable employee, I was rewarded with a regular, weekday opening shift, which coordinated perfectly with both the kids’ and Ryan’s schedules.
So that Friday, I decided to hang out at the house with Lyric, who needed a good grooming. The doodle part of him definitely was high maintenance. But brushing him was cathartic for me, and he actually liked the one-on-one attention.
I also legitimately looked and reacted to some of my social media sites. It was something that had quickly gotten pushed aside after the news of Kari’s death broke. All of my sites had gained followers. I wished it was because of my songwriting talent—and still hoped that maybe some of it was. But the burst was surely, unfortunately, because I was mentioned plenty of times in association with Kari’s death. As Bethany Lenay—the professional name the world knew me as—I very rarely posted anything personal. But it didn’t matter. The gossip mongers felt like they needed something ... anything. Similar follower boosts had also happened when my relationship with Ryan initially broke in the media and, of course, when he first contacted me via Twitter.
Because of that, I knew whatever I posted next would receive lots of attention. What I said or didn’t say—just like Ryan’s press release—would get positive and negative feedback. No matter what I did, some would think I was being self-serving or hypocritical. But I had to do it. At some point, there had to be that first post after her death.
Grabbing a notebook, I penciled down some words as possible themes. I then looked up relatable lyrics, quotes, and photos. But nothing seemed right. And then I realized that was exactly it. I took a photo of my brainstorming list and posted it without any explanation besides the hashtag of “priorities.”
Faith
Family
Healing
A number of likes immediately emerged on the forums. Prayer hands, regular hearts, and broken hearts flooded the screen, too. And there were comments—overwhelmingly positive—telling Ryan, the kids, and me that they were thinking of us, asking how the kids were doing, and wondering if my post was possibly a new song title.
I didn’t respond to any of them, except for the one who wrote, @Bethany_Lenay Mine, too.
My reply? @RyanThompsonMusic xoxoxo
***
Going to an album release party was not originally on our plans for that evening. Soaking in the last day of our honeymoon had been. But God laughs when you make plans, right?
Since we were in town, though, and it was the first album for a client in Ryan’s firm, he thought it would be a good idea to attend. We happened to luck out that Vail—a fifteen-year-old neighborhood kid—was free to babysit. And Sallie and Joel knew and liked her, which definitely helped with transitioning out the door.
It was nice to actually get dressed up and go out, even if the event was casual. I wore a simple, white, spaghetti-strap
dress. And Ryan purposefully coordinated with a relaxed white button-down and jeans. It wasn’t the fashionista in him but instead his music, publicity-mogul brain at work. He wanted our first official outing since the funeral to represent a light feeling and unity.
It didn’t really matter, though. There were still a lot of questions and condolences from not only music colleagues but, of course, press representatives. Ryan just tried his best to deflect and keep everyone on point with the current, hopeful chart-topper we were there to celebrate.
In a way, I was glad my phone alerted me of an incoming call. It gave me an excuse to momentarily excuse myself of the constant buzz of the evening. I squeezed Ryan’s hand, pointed to my cell, and exited.
“Vail? Hey. Is everything all right?”
She had exchanged numbers with me and not Ryan because, even though she was a neighbor kid who understood privacy issues since her mother was a news anchor, she was also a teenager. And, well, teenagers tend to like telling their friends things. We didn’t want TV Judge Ryan’s cellphone number to be one of those.
“Yeah. It’s fine. Mrs. ... uh ... Miss ...”
I breathed in a little relief on her initial answer and then corrected her. “I appreciate the nice manners, but it’s Bethany. Please. Really.”
I was actually closer to Vail’s age than that of most of the homeowners in the exclusive neighborhood. And even though I was old enough to be married, in a lot of ways I didn’t feel it. “Mrs.” sounded even older. And, yet, I ached that I actually wasn’t Mrs. Ryan Thompson like I should have been.
“What’s up?” I refocused on the reason for the call.
“I really tried not to bother you guys, but you said to, and my mom said to, too. She’s at the studio prepping things before going on air. And my dad went out for the night.”
Rumors of the Bartons’ marital affairs and swinging lifestyle were not only neighborhood gossip but were starting to bleed into the public forum. I wondered if their daughter—an only child—knew anything of it. I vowed to hold Sallie and Joel close. Even though they weren’t mine, I felt the responsibility. I felt like I needed to protect their innocence, and if I couldn’t, then at least I could help keep an open dialogue for them to talk. Because they were most certainly a product/victim of LA scandals and media, too.
