by Lori L. Otto
When I put my hand on his chest as we kissed, I could feel his heart pounding as quickly and as hard as mine was. He gently laid me back on the bed, never once breaking away from our embrace. He was so slow and deliberate about every move he made, every kiss, every touch. With some things, it seemed like he was too slow, my desire for him taking over at times and causing me to be impatient. This always happened when we made out, and in most of those previous times, when we knew we wouldn’t go all the way, Jon got swept up in those moments, too.
He didn’t take advantage of the weakness I’d had that night in Mykonos, though, instead maintaining the slow and thoughtful pace during our entire night together. He had to talk me through a few moments, and wiped a few tears away, but never once did he rush me.
As his arm held my body close to his, my head rested on his chest and I was able to feel his breathing and heart rate return to something close to normal. Although, what normal was, I wasn’t entirely sure of anymore, because normal for us would never be the same.
Sex itself wasn’t what I expected. It certainly wasn’t what I’d seen in movies, and I wondered many times what I was doing wrong to not be enjoying it as much as I should have been. It hurt–a lot. The actual act was not pleasurable to me, but I didn’t tell Jon. He’d been so careful and so thoughtful, and just the way he was that night had its own special gratification. I would cherish that, but I hoped it wouldn’t always be so painful. I hoped I would someday be able to enjoy it the way the women in movies did–and the way that Jon did.
Even with my misgivings and slight disappointment, I felt a certain sense of accomplishment. I was finally able to understand what Jon meant when he would tell me he was satisfied just knowing that he could make me feel that way; that he could evoke such untamed passion in me. I got a glimpse of it that night, and I was genuinely happy to see his passion, and to witness such vulnerability in the person that I loved.
All of that disappeared before either of us had time to wake up the next morning. A quick knock on the door jolted us from our sleep before the sun had even risen. We both lay still in bed, confused.
“Livvy? Jon? It’s Matty. Open up.”
“Oh, my god,” I said, my heart racing as I sat up in bed. My body ached at the movement; at any movement, really.
“It’s okay,” Jon whispered, running his hand up and down my arm.
“You get it. I don’t want him to know what we did.”
“Olivia, come on. He already knows.”
“He only thinks he knows what we were going to do...”
“Liv,” he said, his voice pleading.
“It’s your room,” I argued. Matty knocked again.
“It’s our room,” he countered. “He’s your uncle. You get it.” He leaned over to get a robe from a chair and handed it to me. I took a deep breath before going to the door, wrapping the robe tightly around my sore body. I opened up the door just a crack, purposefully leaving the lights off.
“Little Liv,” Matty said, looking awful. He must have had a good time the night before. “Sorry to wake you,” he apologized.
“Are you okay?” I laughed at him. He looked oddly reminiscent of how he looked the previous morning.
“No, sweetie,” he said, his tone serious. “Your dad’s on his way here. His jet just landed and he’ll be here in about forty-five minutes.” The lights flipped on behind me and I looked back at Jon, who was hurriedly putting his boxers back on. When he got to the door, he opened it up wider to talk to my uncle.
“Why?” he’d asked, completely mortified.
“It’s not what you think. He doesn’t know about this arrangement, don’t worry.”
“Well, why is he coming?” I asked.
Matty pressed his lips together in obvious hesitation. “Your dad wanted to tell you himself, in person. I told him you were sound asleep when he called early this morning.”
“Is Mom okay?”
“Your mom’s fine. Your brother’s fine.”
“Dad?”
“He’s fine, too. It’s Donna, Little Liv.”
“What about her?” My breathing quickened and Jon put his hands on my shoulders, gripping tightly. He moved me out of the doorway and pushed the door open with his foot, allowing my uncle inside our room. I couldn’t move on my own, my knees locked as I waited for him to answer.
“She collapsed at home last night,” he said. “An aneurism or something.”
“She’ll be okay, though, right?” I saw Matty’s expression change, and I could tell Jon saw it, too, when he wrapped his arms around my body. He caught me as I started to fall to the ground and helped me over to the bed. “Please,” I whispered, “tell me she’ll be okay.”
I only saw his head shake once before I buried my own in Jon’s chest. He held me tight while I sobbed against him. They continued talking, but I couldn’t comprehend a thing they said. I heard the door close as Jon laid me back down on the bed. I missed his warmth, and curled into a ball. He tucked the blankets back over me, and I numbly watched him hurriedly pack our things into the suitcases while the tears continued to stream. I heard him turn on the faucet in the bathroom. He came over to the bed and told me I needed to take a shower. I told him I didn’t want to, but one step in front of the mirror convinced me otherwise. He showered with me again, but this time, he was the only one applying the shower gel and wiping away the soap. I stood with my back to him, arms crossed; just how he had first found me the night before.
He kissed my shoulder once after he turned the water off. He toweled me off and handed me some underwear and a robe. “You better go next door to finish getting ready. If your dad’s early, we’re dead.” As soon as he said the word, he cringed. “I’m sorry,” he said as more sobs erupted. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, pulling me into his arms and holding me tightly against his wet, naked body. My tears mixed with the rest of the water droplets on his skin.
Someone knocked on the door, and we both froze. “It’s Matty, guys. You’ve got to open up.” Jon grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself, leaving me in the bathroom where I sunk to the floor, still in shock and in tears. My uncle helped me to my feet this time and grabbed my suitcase as he guided me out of the room.
Jon handed me my phone on the way out. As I looked at it to check the time, I saw the display:
Donna Wilson-Shraeder (Missed 3 calls)
It also showed I had one voicemail from her. I’d forgotten she’d called the previous night, just before... I berated myself for not taking the call. Why had I silenced the phone? I would have answered on the second call, had I known!
When we got into the adjoining room, I listened to the voicemail as Matty finished packing his things.
“Your parents tell me you’re in Greece with Jon and your uncle,” she began. “I’d forgotten about that. I hope you’re behaving yourself.” She laughed a little, but it sounded strained. “Sweetie, I need you to call me as soon as you get this message. It’s important. I love you.” Her last two sentences seemed slurred.
I pulled the phone away from my ear and checked for another message, but it was the only one she’d left. I checked my texts, my emails, hoping for some other communication from her, but there were none.
What was important?
Did she know she was dying? Did she call to tell me goodbye? Her calls were placed minutes apart from one another. I couldn’t help but think that maybe I was dreaming. In a daze, I tried to call her back.
After one ring, the call was answered. “Livvy?” It was her husband, James.
“Can I talk to Granna?” I asked, sniffling, but waiting for the handoff. I wanted to hear her voice one more time.
“Livvy...” That was all he needed to say to evoke another fit of tears.
“She... called... me,” I told him, gasping for breath in between words.
“Did she?”
“Last night. She said she had something important to tell me.”
“I’m not sure what it was, Livvy,”
he said softly. “Maybe she knew, I don’t know. Every time I checked on her, she’d tell me not to worry; that she didn’t want to burden me, and that she’d be fine. I should have trusted my gut instinct to take her to the hospital.” His voice was full of remorse, and I felt bad for him, and even worse for myself. Maybe she was going to tell me how she felt. Now I’ll never know. “I loved her so much,” he muttered.
Jon walked in the open door and stood across the room from me, bags in hand.
“I loved her, too,” I whispered, my throat tight. “Do you think she knew that I loved her?”
“You told her often,” he says.
“We’re coming home,” I explained.
“I’ve spoken with Jack.”
“Are you okay?”
He paused, then cleared his throat. “I’m not sure.” The way he said it, though, I wasn’t sure, either. “I’ll see you when you get back in town.” He’d hung up before I could tell him goodbye. I could only assume he was trying to hide his emotions from me.
A minute later, my father was at the door. Jon kept his distance from me, but I could tell he was concerned. Dad looked worse than my uncle did, dark circles beneath bloodshot eyes. He took one look at me, and I rushed into his arms, crying. He held me tight, and he was quiet at first before he started talking to my uncle.
“Is everyone packed?”
“Yeah,” he’d answered.
“Why is that bed still made?” Dad asked curiously. I glanced over, and saw a mint on the pillow. I prayed for someone to come up with an answer, because I knew I couldn’t.
“This was my room,” Jon said quickly, as if he’d been anticipating the question.
“Yeah, Livvy and I were next door,” Matty lied. “Sorry, I gave you the wrong room number, huh?”
My dad didn’t answer, and I didn’t bother to look up to see his expression. Even if he didn’t believe the story, I knew he wouldn’t confront us now. He hugged me into him tighter and kissed the top of my head. It made me cry harder.
“Tessa, shhh...” he whispered. “Where’s her bag?”
“I’ve got it,” Jon answered. “We’re ready.”
“Grab some tissues,” Dad suggested, and I saw Matty returning to the bathroom to get some. “Did you check out, Matthew?”
“I did.”
“Let’s get going.”
“Where’s Mom?” I asked as we walked to the awaiting car.
“Mom, Jackson and Kelly all caught a commercial flight to New York early this morning.”
“What’s Lexi going to do?” Granna and my cousin had grown close over the past year when Lexi was teaching music classes at the Art Room.
“I think Steven and Renee convinced her to go on her honeymoon. I know Donna would have wanted that. After all, it was her suggestion to go to Thailand.”
We took a small jet to London, and transferred to a larger private plane that carried us back to the States. Dad spent a lot of time on the phone with Granna’s husband and friends, offering to make calls and other arrangements for them. She had no other family, but she had a lot of friends–a lot of friends who hadn’t yet heard about her death.
As Dad retold the story of her passing in phone calls between conversations with his brother, Jon and I sat a few rows behind them in the plane. He let me lean against him until his arm got sore, and then I moved to lay my head down on a pillow in his lap. We didn’t say much to one another over the long flight home, but what we did say were reassurances to one another. I had made sure he knew I loved him and had no regrets. I tried to sleep, but it was restless, and I was also preoccupied with Granna’s message, and couldn’t wait to hear it again once we landed. I thought I might be in a better frame of mind now to hear something in her voice: something that might have given me a clue about her reason for calling me. After all, I was pretty sure she had told me she loved me in the message. That couldn’t have been the reason for the call.
“Earth to Livvy,” Camille says as she snaps her fingers in front of my face. I can feel the heat on my cheeks and feel the lump in my throat, my emotions mixed and confused, remembering what it felt like that next day. The experience between Jon and me was marred by horrible news, and guilt had overcome me. Although I know there is no logical reason behind my feelings, I truly feel like the night I spent with Jon in Greece was the karmic impetus for what happened in New York that same evening. Would she have died if we hadn’t gone all the way? Could I have helped her if I’d taken the call? It’s something I don’t like to think about.
“What?” I ask, smiling inquisitively, innocently.
“Daydreaming?”
“Maybe a little,” I say. “And wondering how Jon’s doing today. I think I’ll go try to call him.”
My friends wave as I leave the table and make my way outside to the courtyard. The sky is growing dark, rainclouds moving in. I sit down on a concrete bench, purposefully facing the flowerbed and not the street, just in case there are any photographers nearby. I’m constantly on alert these days, and I don’t like that very much.
I know Jon won’t answer his phone, but I try him once more anyway. I leave him a voicemail, feeling more reflective than usual and wishing he was with me to get my mind off things.
“Hi. I was just thinking about Mykonos and wondering... you know. If we hadn’t... if you hadn’t... you know what? Nevermind. I’m just rambling. I miss you. When can I see you again? Call me tonight, if you’re not too busy.”
What if we’d stayed in England? Jon and I wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to be alone. I’m sure I would have answered my phone. Maybe I could have helped her. Would she still be alive?
It’s a dumb question. How could our relationship have anything to do with Granna’s fate? It’s completely unrealistic. I know this. The guilt still eats away at me, though, to the point that I feel like I might throw up.
Chewing tentatively on the inside of my cheek, I think about the project we were given in physics this morning. I have to construct a mini roller coaster this semester. It has to carry a ball through two full cycles. Taking out my notebook, I start to draw some preliminary sketches. I’m certain I could do this project on my own, but I know this is something Jon would excel at. It’ll give us more time together, if he has time to help me. When I finish the drawing, I snap a photo with my phone and send it to him, asking for his thoughts. Content that I now have an excuse to see Jon for school purposes during the week–knowing my dad will attempt to limit our time together as much as possible–I return to the building and find my way to the next class.
CHAPTER 6
On Thursday evening, I stake out a place on the metal staircase that leads up to Nate’s gallery, waiting for class to let out. I’d waited at the end of my street for awhile, watching until there were no loiterers with cameras outside the building before slowly wandering up to the Art Room. I never had any intention of teaching with Jon tonight, but I wanted to make some effort to show that I was trying. I hope he’ll be surprised to see me, and understanding about my absence again this week.
When a couple approaches, I pull my hood over my head and slump my shoulders, hiding my identity as best as I can. I’d been purposeful about my clothing tonight, opting for ratty sneakers and baggy jeans that I bought for this exact purpose. People had come to expect me in dresses and heels, and normally my desire to dress for Jon wins out over to my inclination to hide from the public, but this isn’t our normal date night.
“What are you doing, Olivia?” Jon laughs, and I look up at him.
“How’d you know it was me?”
“I know your posture,” he says. “I know your form. Every detail. You may be able to hide from strangers, but I know you better than anyone.”
I stand up and welcome his arms around me. His kiss is quick, but sweet.
“How was class?” I ask him.
“Great,” he says. “We stuck with sketching tonight. I went over different shading techniques. Remember Darcy?”
“Of course,” I tell him, taking his hand in mine and beginning our short walk to my house. Darcy is ten–very talented, but incredibly shy. She has fantastic ideas, and last year, we worked with her to give her the confidence to speak up or to act on her imaginative creations. I suspect her home life teaches her the opposite.
“She volunteered to draw with me in front of the class. I’ve never seen her so motivated and inspired.”
“What did she draw?”
“A self-portrait. But in her shading, Liv... she appeared to be drawing bruises.”
“What?”
“Yeah. On her arms and legs. I told your Mom. She held her back to talk to her.”
“Mom doesn’t have experience with those things. That was Granna’s forte.” I look away as soon as I see the sorrow in his eyes.
“Emi looks tired, Liv.”
“She’s taking on too much,” I acknowledge. I know it’s wearing her out. “She needs help.”
“Maybe you–”
“Jon?” I stop him abruptly, shaking my head. He releases my hand and puts his arm around me, pulling my body into his as we continue to walk down the street. He knows not to say anymore about it.
He stops walking when his phone rings. We release one another and move closer to the building, allowing others to pass us.
“Hey, Will,” he says. I run my fingernails up and down his bare arms, trying to distract him. He shifts his eyes to mine and smiles, clearly liking what I’m doing. As he listens to his brother, he runs his fingers through my hair. “No, simmer is low heat. No, well then you wrote it down wrong. Trust me, I know.” He covers the mic and whispers to me, “Mom didn’t come home and he burned the only thing he had in the house to cook.”
“She didn’t come home?” I ask him. He shakes his head in obvious disappointment.
“It’s okay, Will. Put Max on... hey, kiddo. I know you’re hungry,” he says to his youngest brother with a chuckle. “No, you won’t starve. I’ll bring you two something, okay? Anything you want.”
I sigh, slumping my shoulders, realizing that he’s not going to hang out with me at the house tonight. I walk a few steps away, leaning against the brick wall and picking at my fingernails while he takes orders from his brothers.
