by Joey W. Hill
In the first few days they’d been together, Jon had as much as said he was going to marry her. You’re the type of woman who needs commitment. Love. If I wasn’t prepared to bring those to the table as part of what I can offer you, I never would have started this.
She hadn’t been sure she’d ever be willing to get married again. Her first husband had broken her heart in so many ways she figured it could never be glued together again. Jon hadn’t glued anything together. He’d made it whole once more, helping her find the strength to heal. So, no more than six months after they started being a couple, when he asked her to marry him, she told him yes.
She hadn’t wanted anything fancy. Just a simple affair, and Jon agreed. They’d exchanged their vows under the branches of a two-hundred-year-old live oak in the back yard of Lucas and Cassandra’s house. A reception of no more than fifty people had followed. Close friends from her yoga studio, and physical therapy clients. An aunt who’d driven in from Florida. Jon’s friends, and the K&A men and their wives, as well as Cassandra’s siblings.
The picture in the center of the frame arrangement had been taken just before the bouquet tossing. She’d looked toward the setting sun, its beams projecting through the branches of the nearby trees making her golden hair gleam. Her gaze was soft, happy and pensive at once. Though the photographer couldn’t have known what moment he was capturing, Rachel remembered it vividly. She’d been in the grip of emotions so strong she could barely breathe. She’d realized she was coming out of a darkness that would always be a part of her, stepping into a future she’d never anticipated having. And everything about that day had given her all the more reason to set aside her fears and try to embrace that future with every part of her heart.
Most the women attending were already married, so instead of throwing the bouquet as a token of luck for the single women, she threw it purely for the fun of seeing who could catch it, and with the promise of a kiss from the man of the lucky woman’s choosing.
Letty, the adolescent daughter of her physical therapy work friend, Beatrice, had caught the bouquet. The precocious, outgoing girl had wanted to kiss Tory, the teenage son of Sarah, one of her yoga students. A smile touched Rachel’s lips as she remembered the flash of panic on Tory’s face, followed by an attempt to appear “cool” about it—did teens even use that word anymore? But there’d been an endearing, innocent awkwardness to it as the two teens executed a self-conscious pressing of lips, Tory flushing and Letty smiling as they were applauded.
It made Rachel think of Kyle, her son. Her gaze slid away from the center photo, to several of him at different ages. Her gaze stopped on the one of him around Tory’s age, standing by a boat with one of his friends. Because Cassandra had certainly worked with Jon on the selection, Rachel knew why that particular one had made it into the montage mounted on her wall. A reminder not only of her son, but of what her new husband had taught her she could expect from him.
It had happened a few months into their marriage. She’d stayed home, telling Jon she was taking a personal day to catch up on some gardening to-dos and errands. She’d sent him off to work with a bright smile that had died soon after he left.
It hadn’t been a complete lie. She went to the grocery store, bought the cake ingredients, and returned home to mix the batter. After she put it in the oven, she went out into the garden and tended the plot where her poppies would come up in the spring. She added a decorative border, using some creek rocks she had discovered and gathered on their extensive wooded property.
As the smell of the cake filled the house, she set out the candles, took a seat on the stool and waited. When the oven dinged, she put it on the rack, let it cool, and frosted it. White butter cream frosting on red velvet, Kyle’s favorite. She put the candles in, one by one, focusing on the placement. For each one, she remembered him at that age, until she reached nineteen, and there were no more memories. She instead imagined if he’d lived, the woman he might have met and married, the children he might have had. What he would have done when he left the military.
At various ages, he’d talked about being a dentist, a race car driver, a zookeeper, an architect. He’d liked to build things, so he probably would have ended up in a related field. Construction, maybe. He hadn’t had the patience for a lot of studying, but he could learn anything hands-on.
Going up to her yoga room, she removed the photo album from the table. The small lit candle next to it floated in a wooden bowl of water. She paused, holding the book to her chest.
This was wrong.
She’d learned to recognize the signs. Sadness could still grip her when she thought of the past, but these days it was more balanced by the other good things in her life. Yet right now she was gripped by the despair she’d felt on his past birthdays, when she’d been alone. The familiar, terrible feeling brought a spurt of panic, as if she was suddenly on the edge of a rain-drenched bank and was about to slip, fall back into the muck below, and she might not find a way out this time.
She shouldn’t have done this by herself. She should have told Jon what she did on this day, let him know. But she hadn’t. Maybe she should take the cake into town, to K&A, share a piece with everyone. Go to her yoga studio and repaint the one wall that she’d decided to make a softer yellow color.
She tightened her arms around the photo album. But this was Kyle’s day. She couldn’t…leave him, on his birthday. But she needed to call Jon. Right now.
Shifting the album to one arm, she drew the phone out of her pocket and held it against her forehead, emotions warring in her. Then she hit the one digit to speed dial his number.
The phone rang behind her. She spun and nearly jumped back a foot as she saw Jon leaning in the doorway. The photo album slipped from her grip, but he closed the distance between them and caught it before it could hit the ground. Setting it aside, he pulled out his phone and answered it. The twitch of his lips as he did so didn’t dilute the seriousness of his dark blue eyes.
“What can I do for you, sweet girl?”
She wet her lips, staring at him, her mind whirling. With him so close, his voice created an echo with what she heard through her phone. She held the phone to her ear, silly really, but he was standing there as if he was in his office, miles between them.
That was the problem. By doing this alone, she’d put a distance between them that had no place in their relationship. And had brought back that terrible loneliness when she’d been genuinely alone in the world. She remembered what he’d murmured to her at their wedding, when they were dancing.
You stand in my soul; I stand in yours. That’s the room we always share, no matter where we are.
She clicked off the phone and set it aside. He did the same, putting it in his suit jacket, his steady eyes never leaving her.
“I was calling you because I wanted to hear your voice,” she said. “And I wanted to tell you why I stayed home today.” She found she couldn’t form those words yet, though, so she fished for something else to lead into it. “Um…what are you doing back?”
“I had to finish up a report for Lucas at the office, go over it with him. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have left this morning. I was coming back afterward, but I was hoping you would call first.” His gaze slid to the phone and back to her. “You did.”
The warmth in his voice eased the tightness around her heart. “I’m sorry, Jon.”
He’d slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, but he bent forward and brushed his lips along her temple, making her close her eyes and move her hands to his chest, palms resting against the heat beneath starched cotton.
“Tell me why you’re sorry,” he said.
“I think you already know.”
“I do. But tell me. I want you to say it while looking at me.”
She forced herself to open her eyes and look up at him. Though he wasn’t overly tall, she was only about five-three, so there were about seven inches difference in their heights. His face was close, though, bent attentively over hers
.
“Today is my son’s birthday,” she said. “I always stay home on that day. I bake him a cake. The first year, after he died, I planted poppies, in remembrance of him, both as a soldier and as my son. I’ve propagated them over the years. Those are the poppies I brought to our home here, in pots, from the balcony of my apartment.”
He nodded. He’d complimented her on how well the flowers were doing during their blooming season. Many men paid little attention to the details of their home. He missed nothing, always noting if she’d hung a new picture or bought a seasonal throw rug. “Earlier this morning, I cleaned up the spot where I planted them and added a border. I used the rocks I’ve been collecting around our place, and on our trips together. After I bake the cake, I look through the photo album of his pictures. That’s what I was about to do next.”
She looked down, then remembered, and looked back up. He closed his hands around her upper arms, adding support as the rest of the words came.
“I cry. I sleep. I think of what might have been. I think of him every day, but I give myself one day out of the year to let it all out, all the feeling I have about losing him.”
“Alone.”
She swallowed. “I’ve always grieved him alone.”
His lips tightened, but his tone gentled as he touched her face. “Do you want to grieve him alone? A truthful answer, Rachel. If this is something you prefer to do by yourself, you can tell me up front. I’ll try to respect and understand that. I’ll go back to work, think about you, hurt for you, and when I come home tonight, I’ll comfort you however you need, but if you want that space, you have it. No wrong answer.”
He meant it. She could tell him yes, to go back to work, but it wasn’t a truthful answer. And truth was important, to them both.
“No. I don’t want to grieve him alone. I think that was what I just realized. That I didn’t have to do it by myself. It was why I was calling you.”
His expression eased. She knew he didn’t like her to be hurting and him not be close enough to shelter and protect. Her nurturing Master.
“All right. When do you eat the cake?”
Her spirits tilted in an upward direction at the casually posed question. Her Master cared first and foremost about her welfare, but he also had a serious sweet tooth. His blue eyes twinkled.
“Whenever you wish,” she said. “I thought about taking it into town and leaving it in the K&A breakroom for everyone to share.”
“Maybe we’ll cut up the rest for them. Tomorrow.” He winked at her and moved toward the door, the photo album now in one arm while he held her hand in the other. “Let’s go down to the couch. That’s where you were headed with it, right?”
She nodded and followed him down the steps into their open living room, with the wide glass windows and plants that tied the interior to the natural exterior. Japanese maples, aralia with its starlike leaves, and several bonsai in various shapes and sizes, placed on earth-toned wooden pedestals. It made their living room feel like an atrium, and she loved the effect. Their entire home made her feel more at ease.
He set aside the album to shed his suit coat, draping it on one of the chairs pulled up to the high counter that flanked their open kitchen. He also loosened and removed the tie, unbuttoned his collar and cuffs, and rolled up his sleeves. It was one of her favorite looks for him, the dress shirt with the belted trim slacks.
Though there was a lot to be said for him in jeans and a well-worn T-shirt that clung to his toned upper body, too. She liked the way he looked in anything. Though he was one of the most breathtaking men she’d ever seen, it didn’t have anything to do with his outside. Not since she’d learned about the generous heart and loving soul that gorgeous exterior covered.
As he guided her into a seated position on the couch, she sighed. “I was being stupid, thinking you wouldn’t know.”
He sat down next to her, putting a hand on hers. He gave her a look. “That’s one. Correct yourself.”
He only approved self-criticism if it was intended to build her up, like if she decided she needed to learn more about a certain yoga practice, or if she realized a therapy strategy hadn’t worked out the way she’d hoped, and she was trying to figure out why. Calling herself stupid fell in his total disapproval range.
“Some part of me felt it was part of my old life,” she said slowly. “This ritual, that is. Not my son. I didn’t want to burden you with it. I didn’t want to darken what we have with the feelings I’ve always felt on this day.”
“What feelings are those?”
She shook her head, but the touch of his fingers transformed into a firm grip on her wrist. “That’s two.”
He also wouldn’t tolerate her not expressing her feelings, for fear of how he might react to them.
She closed her eyes. “Failure. A grief so strong and dark, it can swallow me. Loneliness. A loneliness I no longer should feel, because I have the love of a wonderful Master. So, to feel that way, even for a minute, compounds my sense of failure.”
“Am I more than your Master?”
“Master encompasses everything. Everything I want and need.” She swallowed, understanding the contradiction in her words, but he pressed on.
“Okay. What other things does a Master encompass?” His thumb was moving her ring on her finger, a caress as much as a hint.
It made her smile a little. “Husband.” It was still a miracle to her, hearing it said aloud.
“One more. It’s the most important job a spouse has. My wife told me that, on our honeymoon.”
The smile now bloomed in her heart, in the cracks. It helped, but it also widened them, causing pain. But maybe the right kind. She remembered the first night of their honeymoon, standing on a hotel balcony, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. They were so high up and the beach was so close, it was as if the ocean was right beneath them. Someone had a radio on, playing “I Need You” by LeAnn Rimes. When Jon had joined her at the rail, he’d drawn her into a slow dance. And she’d spoken the words in his ear.
You’re my Master, but you’re my friend, too. Thank you for that. I’ve realized friendship is the most important thing a marriage has to have.
“Friend,” she said. “Best friend, actually.”
“Yeah.” His grip tightened, a quick squeeze. He toed off his polished brogues and propped his feet, clad in thin black dress socks, on the coffee table. Then he picked up the photo album. Laying his other arm across the back of the couch, he glanced at it meaningfully as he balanced the album on his knees.
She settled back in the curve of his arm, inhaling the dry-cleaned linen smell of his shirt and his light cologne as she accepted that shelter. As she did, she let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Her heart felt lighter, even on this day, the day she’d often felt so weighed down with grief she couldn’t get out of bed.
She’d created the rituals, the cake and tending of poppies, the looking through the album, as a task list to ensure that she honored Kyle the right way. But also because the other way could easily turn into a week in that bed.
Jon had opened the album at a random page. “Tell me about this picture,” he said.
Kyle, around thirteen years old, stood by a boat tied off to a dock. The photo was somewhat washed out because of the brightness of the sun, Kyle’s hazel eyes like hers squinted against it. He had a huge grin on his face. He was standing with his arm thrown around another boy, overweight, with curly hair and matching grin.
“That’s him with his best friend in middle school. Deadhead.” She chuckled at his look. “They all called him that. His real name was Lawrence. He liked zombies. Notice the Night of the Living Dead T-shirt. I’d make them pizza snacks after school, listen to them talk about their day. They’d try to gross me out the way boys do, until I’d run them out of the kitchen and they’d go play basketball in the driveway. Sometimes I’d do bills or paperwork at the table, so I could watch them through the window.”
She realized she was rubbing her thu
mb over Kyle’s face, his sandy brown hair. In this picture, it had been lighter than Cole’s, but it had darkened to match his father’s by the time he enlisted in the military. “One fall day, I had the window cracked, and I heard Lawrence say, ‘Dude, your mom has an awesome rack.’”
Jon’s eyes lit with amusement. “Well, she does.”
She shook her head at him. “Kyle bounced the ball off his forehead and made this gagging noise before he said, ‘Deadhead, that’s my freaking mom. She’s…Mom.’”
“Do you feel like you’ve lost that identity?”
She pursed her lips. “Yes and no. No, because I’ll always be his mother. Always. But yes, because I lost it before he died, when I let his father turn him against me.”
Thinking about it, she realized that picture was the last one that had been taken before that change began to happen.
“I should have been stronger,” she said. “Should have stood up for myself instead of trying to placate and figure out what I was doing wrong.”
She didn’t need Jon’s affirmation or denial of that. It was an epiphany she’d reached, acknowledging her past mistakes, while understanding that she couldn’t change them. But she could do her best not to make the same ones again.
“There was a core to him that was so very gentle, so different from Cole. Yet he wanted his father to love and approve of him so much. Kyle already had my love, unconditionally, and he knew it. It sounds odd to say, but I think it made him value it less. Maybe because I realized too late that unconditional love doesn’t mean accepting unconditionally whatever your child says or does to you. It also meant teaching him to treat me with respect, because I deserved it.”
She sighed. “But it is what it was. Kyle did well in the military. I'm not sure if he wanted to be in the military as much as Cole wanted to have a son who was a soldier. He was a good soldier, but I noticed from his letters what Kyle liked most was the infrastructure stuff, helping villages rebuild, getting aid to people, that kind of thing.”
Jon stroked her hair, winding it around his fingers. “What happened to Lawrence? Did they stay friends?”
