by Jessie Cooke
“I fucking love you, Rusty!” It was over. There was no more holding back. They'd stopped using condoms a couple of weeks after they started fucking. Both of them had promised to let the other know if they wanted to be with anyone else. So far, Rusty hadn't even had the desire. And now, as he came deep inside of her and watched her face and body contort with pleasure, he was sure that for him at least, it would never come up. He still had a lot to discover about her...but the thought of it gave him a feeling of euphoria almost. It was like he was embarking on a trip to a place he'd never been before...but had always wanted to discover.
12
Rusty had been to Vegas a million times...but most of his memories there were fueled by an alcohol-induced haze. He rented a car at the airport and drove down the neon lit strip to the highway. From there he headed north toward the state line where Celia lived and worked. He'd been over this a thousand times in his head already. He even almost convinced himself to just mail the letter. But Saint was right...no matter how long it had been since she'd seen him, or how things ended between them...she had loved him, and she deserved someone sitting down with her face to face and telling her about his last days and handing her his last words...he was sick to his stomach at the thought of it, but he'd made a promise to his friend and he planned on keeping it.
He pressed in the address Hunter gave him into his GPS and followed the directions once he got off the freeway to a small little strip of residential homes not far from one of Las Vegas's largest shopping outlets. It was quiet though and lined with big shade trees. The homes were mostly small, two or three-bedroom, older homes. They looked like they'd probably been built in the forties or fifties, but they were all well-maintained. The weather was so different from Massachusetts. It was warm in Vegas, almost too warm and there were people out walking their dogs and children playing in their front yards. It was late afternoon, so people were home from work and kids home from school...it looked like a nice place to live and Rusty thought Saint would have been happy to know Celia lived there.
He saw the house and the lady and little girl in front of it before he saw the address. It was blue, with white trim and there was a big, green yard in front. A middle-aged woman sat in a lawn chair near the front steps that led up to the door and a tiny little blonde-haired girl in a bathing suit was dashing in and out of the sprinkler. The woman wasn't Celia...and Hunter hadn't said anything about her having kids, but the address was right, so he pulled up to the curb in front of the house anyways. As soon as he got out of the car, the woman called the little girl up to her.
Rusty smiled as he approached them and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. They were just both watching him curiously, but neither of them looked worried or frightened. “Hi, can I help you?” the woman asked.
“Hi there. My name is Rusty Daniels. I was looking for Celia...”
“Mommy's at work,” the little girl said, drawing an exasperated look from the woman.
“Maddie, why don't you go inside and get a snack while I talk to the nice man, okay?”
“Okay!” The little girl dashed up the steps and into the house, slamming the screen door behind her. When she was gone the woman said,
“I'm her Aunt Lisa, and yes, she's at work. Can I give her a message for you?” Again, the little voice in his head almost convinced him to just take the coward's way out and leave the letter. But something about that little girl's brown eyes told Rusty that Celia might still think about Saint even more than they would have suspected.
“Well, I really need to talk to her. Do you have any idea when she'll be back?”
“No, but you can leave your number...” The woman's eyes went toward the narrow driveway where a white mini-van was pulling up. She frowned as the woman driving it stepped out. Rusty recognized her from the picture Hunter had given him...it was Celia. “Is this about the mortgage? They told her she had until Monday...” Celia was looking at him curiously as she approached and Rusty's eyes were on her, but before she got within earshot Rusty said,
“No ma'am. I don't want anything from her, I promise.”
“Hi there,” the pretty lady said when she got close. She was petite, with soft brown hair that came to her shoulders and hazel eyes that were mostly green. She had on a casual business suit and she was carrying a large purse or briefcase.
“Hi. Celia?”
“Yes...?” She looked at her aunt questioningly. The older woman shrugged, and Celia said, “Where's Maddie?”
“In the house getting a snack.”
“Celia, I'm Rusty Daniels. I was wondering if we could talk for a few minutes. It's about Saint.” As soon as he said Saint, her face went pale and she dropped the bag she was holding. Her aunt stood up and looked at Rusty.
“She doesn't need to hear anything about him...!”
“Aunt Lisa,” Celia said in a soft voice, “it's okay, really. Will you go in with Maddie...keep her in the house...”
“Celia...”
“Please.” The older woman gave Rusty a glare and then looked at her niece with an almost pleading one. Saint was definitely not a dead issue in this house. Rusty wasn't sure that was a good thing though, judging by their reactions. Celia watched her aunt go inside and then picked up her bag and said, “Let's walk around by the garage, there are some chairs there.” Rusty followed her and they came to a cheery little area on the side of the house where there was a picnic table, a lot of little girl toys and a bird feeder. Celia sat down on a bench on one side of the table and invited Rusty to sit down on the other. Once they both sat she said, “Saint sent you?”
Rusty nodded. “Yes. He asked me to bring you this letter...” he pulled it out of his pocket as she said,
“Why? I mean, why would he send a letter with you if he knew where I lived? Why didn't he come himself, or mail the letter or...” Rusty wasn't good at controlling his facial expressions and before Celia finished talking, she must have seen what was written on his face. “Did something happen to him?”
He nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Saint died, a week ago today.”
He saw her grit her teeth together and set her jaw before she said, “How?”
“It was his liver, it failed.”
She let out a sound that was a cross between a snort and a cry and he watched her eyes fill with tears. It took her several minutes to compose herself and Rusty sat quietly until she did. At last she said, “His drinking, right?”
Rusty nodded again. “I'm sorry I didn't know about you before he passed, or I would have contacted you sooner...”
“For what? So I could go see a man who completely rejected me five years ago?”
“I'm sorry,” he said again, unsure if he should try to tell her the things Saint said about her, or if he should just let her read it in the letter. He held it out and when she didn't take it, he lay it down on the table in front of her and said, “He asked me to give this to you.”
She looked at it like it was something poison and she was afraid it would bite her. Finally, she said, “What is it?”
“A letter. He had a lot that he wanted to say to you.”
“And why didn't he say it to me himself while he was still alive?”
“He had someone looking for you since he found out how sick he was...”
“No, not after he got sick, before. He had almost six years. Why didn't he reach out in all that time? Was he too busy making love to a bottle?”
Rusty knew she had every right to be angry but hearing her talk about Saint that way and seeing how angry she was with him actually hurt his heart. “He had problems with alcohol, Celia. He was the first to admit that. But he also had a lot of regrets and from what he told me before he died, you were the biggest regret of all.”
She swallowed hard and blinked back the tears in her eyes. Rusty could tell that she was genuinely angry...but, she was sad too. She was trying to fight that part, but she was losing the battle. “I'
m not sure what I'm supposed to do with any of this.”
“Neither am I,” Rusty said. “I'm truly sorry to be the one to tell you this. I know it's been a long time since you've seen him, and things didn't end well...but if it helps any at all, you were on his mind right up to the end. He missed you, and he regretted letting you go.”
“He broke me,” she said with a tear sliding down her face. “I wasn't sure that I would ever be normal again after he left. I loved him with every fiber of my being, and he just walked away. He chose his lifestyle over me and...” She stopped there and when she didn't go on Rusty said,
“Is your little girl...is she Saint's daughter?”
She wiped at her face, angrily pushing the tears away. “Yeah. She is. She looks just like him too, and I have been haunted by his face every day of her life. I love her more than I've ever loved anything or anyone...and I'm angry with him not just for breaking my heart, but for causing that perfect child to have to grow up without a father.”
“Do you mind if I ask...did Saint know about her?” Rusty had a hard-enough time imagining Saint walking away from Celia after listening to him talk about how much he loved her. What he really couldn't imagine was Saint walking away from his child, or any child for that matter. He'd been so good to Blue and she had loved him like a big brother.
Celia sighed. “No,” she said, fingering the envelope in front of her. “I didn't want her to grow up with an alcoholic for a father who was either in her life out of guilt or shame...or not in her life out of selfishness. If he didn't want a steady girlfriend, or a wife...I'm sure he didn't want a child either.” Rusty's head was teeming with “what if's” that he almost let spill out through his mouth. But thankfully he caught himself. He knew the “what if's” were probably occurring to her already and probably had been for the past six years. All she could do now was move on and he hoped that the letter would help her, and not make it that much harder.
“Well, I guess I should get out of your way, I'm sure you want to go in and see your little girl. I'm really sorry we had to meet this way.”
She looked up at him as he stood up. “Thank you for bringing this to me. I really loved him...I still do.”
“He loved you too.” Rusty regretted that as soon as he said it because it sent her into another torrent of tears. He stood rooted to his spot, unsure if he should try to comfort her, or leave her there alone. Finally, he chose the latter, giving her shoulder a little squeeze as he walked away. When he got to the rental car and put the key in the ignition, something her aunt said suddenly came to him. “Is this about the mortgage?”
He took out his phone and called Hunter. The bounty hunting biker answered on the first ring. “Hey Rusty, problems finding her?”
“No,” he said. His voice was still thick. “I found her. I was wondering if I could ask you one more favor.”
“Shoot.”
“Can you find out for me who holds the mortgage on her house?”
“Absolutely, that'll be easy.”
“And how much she owes?”
“Okay, that one is a little more difficult, but give me a few hours.”
“Okay, thanks.” Rusty reached up and touched the cross hanging from around his neck. He closed his eyes for a second and whispered, “No worries, buddy. I'll take care of them, I promise.”
13
The morning after Rusty had dropped off the letter, Celia still hadn't opened it. But after breakfast, she'd left Maddie in Aunt Lisa's care and she'd gone for a walk. She knew she'd have to open the letter. She knew that she had to get the questions out of her system so that she could clear her head and handle the real problems she had in her life...like losing their home. Celia worked hard, but she didn't make a lot and being the sole breadwinner for herself, a child and her aunt who she couldn't live without her help, was hard. She did her best, but she'd been late on her mortgage one too many times. There was a clause in her contract about late payments and the bank's right to call the loan. She'd never imagined they would do that...but the market was high at the moment and they could probably resale her home for a huge profit. So...they called it and she had no way of coming up with over seventy-five thousand dollars. She had seriously considered asking her boss for a personal loan...he was rich, he owned a casino...but, she was terrible at asking for help and she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Besides, it might mess up her job security and she needed the job even more than she did the house...she tried to convince herself it was nothing more than wood and brick and mortar...but that was easier said than done.
So, while she walked to the park she tried to come up with new and different ideas, but she kept coming back to the same dead end. They would have to move out of the house she'd worked and saved to buy for them, and she would just be out the money she'd invested in it up to this point. Life sucked sometimes, but she knew she'd get through it for Maddie's sake. Her daughter made everything better. She walked until she came to one of the benches in the park and sat down. Looking down at the letter in her hand she sighed and said, “Maybe you're lucky your dead.”
“You think so?” The sound of that voice both startled and thrilled her at the same time. She jumped up off the bench and looked at the man sitting on the end of it. Her heart swelled so large at the sight of him that she could hardly breathe.
“Saint?” she whispered.
“Hi Celia.”
“You...you're...Saint...”
“I'm dead baby, I know. I'm sorry to just pop in on you like this...but, you're right about the letter, it sucks. I should have talked to you about everything in there, and not when I was dying, but a long time ago.”
“How can you be here,” she said, looking around for a camera or recorder or maybe the man that had brought her the letter. Was this some kind of sick joke?
“I'm not really here, darlin',” he said. “I'm in your head, and your heart, I hope.” He patted the bench and said, “Have a seat, please? I'll read the letter to you, that way you get the words from my mouth, okay?”
Celia felt like she was losing her mind, or maybe she was in shock. Saint looked so good. He didn't look sick at all. His skin was healthy and glowing, his hair shiny and his dark eyes filled with merriment and mischief, just like they'd always been. He had on a crisp, white t-shirt and the gold cross he always wore dangled from a chain around his neck. His jeans and tennis shoes looked brand new too. She did realize that the one thing missing...was his kutte. He looked almost naked without it. She wanted to touch him, but she was afraid to. The sight of him though...it was like all the hurt and the years between them fell away. She sat down on the far side of the bench, leaving a foot of room in between them. He held out his hand and grinned at her. It was that very grin she fell in love with. It was the Saint that was good and pure...and not fueled with alcohol.
“I was always fueled by alcohol, darlin',” he said, reading her mind. This was getting creepier by the second. She handed him the letter and looked around again. A man jogged by and smiled at her and before she wondered Saint said, “Yeah, he can't see me.”
“This is too weird,” she said.
“When was I ever anything but,” he told her with a wink. He tore open the envelope and reached inside. He took out a tiny little manila envelope and handed it to her.
“What's this?”
“It's for you...or the girl, if you choose to ever tell her about me.”
“You know...about Maddie?” Saints face was sad suddenly and he said,
“At first I wished I'd known about her when I was alive. I'd like to believe things would have been different. But you and I both know my demons have had control most of my life. It's good that I didn't know. You did the right thing and you've done a great job.”
“Just read the letter. I need to get home to her.” Celia's entire body was shaking almost uncontrollably. Her chest hurt and it was hard to breathe. This was all too much...but at the same time, she had a driving need to hear what was in that letter. Maybe it was
more self-abuse, and maybe this was all proof that she'd lost her mind.
Saint opened the letter and cleared his throat. Do ghosts clear their throats? She still wasn't sure this wasn't a big, terrible joke. But she still couldn't deny, even to herself that she still longed to hear the sound of his voice. As he started reading, she forgot to listen to the words for a few seconds. She loved his voice...she loved him, God, he was going to be the death of her.
My dearest Celia...my dying wish is that I could draw you a picture of my heart. If I could, it would be in the shape of your beautiful lips, it would be the vibrant green color that outlines the deep brown of your eyes, and it would be as brilliant as your smile. That's because the entire space is occupied by you. I never even tried renting out a portion of it, I didn't want anyone to live there but you. From the moment I lay eyes on you, you owned it...you had absolute power over it. Your presence in my heart caused it to overflow into my soul and you took possession of that as well.
I know you're probably reading this and thinking I'm just feeding you a bunch of shit. I left you. I treated you horribly and you probably hate me for that. Selfishly, I hope that you don't, but I wouldn't blame you if you did. But Celia, I'm dying. I've finally killed myself with my poison of choice and as much as I don't want to leave this life, I can only find it bearable if I'm able to express my feelings for you...the feelings that I should have expressed years ago. I should have told you everything and let you decide if sticking with me was worth it or not. Instead, I held it inside of me and let it fester in my heart until I lost track of whether it was a good or bad thing that I felt so much for you. That day I left, I ran into my father...I never told you that. He always had the ability to make me feel like I was that stuff on the bottom of your shoes, a mixture of dog shit and whatever the fuck else you stepped in throughout the day. It had been so long since we were face to face and stupidly that day when I looked into my father's eyes, I still had hope that his opinions of me had changed. He looked at me, Celia and he said, ‘It looks like you amounted to as much as I thought you would.’ That was it, he didn't say another word. He left me once again reeling with self-doubt, and self-loathing. He reduced me once more to that scared, lonely little boy that dwells inside of me. That little boy that needs the alcohol to make life bearable.
