Everlasting Light

by Shey Stahl

  Wrapping her arm around my shoulder, she held me. “I know, Beau. I know.”

  Sitting with Blaine for close to an hour, I went upstairs to check on Bentley. She was on the bed now, curled up with the blankets over her head.

  “Can I get you anything, honey?”

  She wouldn’t answer me or even acknowledge the sound of my voice.

  My mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts I couldn’t decipher in the days following that cold winter day.

  Thousands of wants, nevers, couldn’ts, wouldn’ts…they all swarmed me, swallowing me whole, as if I never had a chance to stay above water to begin with.

  I should have gone to the hospital sooner.

  I should have known something was wrong with her.

  What hurt most was I never got to hear Dixie cry.

  I never saw the color of her eyes.

  She was silent and perfect.

  Beautiful and missed, every minute, every hour, every day.

  The next step was to plan the funeral. Beau called his manager and they agreed to give him some time off, as did my work.

  When we were arranging the funeral, they told us we could choose a burial site, as if we wanted to do that.

  They also said it would be cheaper to bury her under a tree because she wouldn’t disturb the roots, as if having to pay less for the burial site would make us feel better.

  I didn’t want to plan a funeral. I wanted nothing to do with it. Thankfully, Blaine and Gale did that for us.

  I wanted to hold my precious, beautiful, sweet baby girl in my arms as I rocked her in the chair Beau’s granddaddy gave to us, the one Beau was rocked in as a baby.

  I wanted to watch her grow and spit foods like mashed sweet potatoes back in my face or scream because I set her down.

  I wanted to change dirty diapers and run after a toddler as she cackled down the hallways buck naked.

  I wanted to kiss tiny scratches and swipe away tears with my sleeve.

  I wanted to watch her sleep on Beau’s chest and take pictures of them together like the obsessive photographer I would have been.

  I wanted to paint her toes and take her shopping, cry over her first broken heart with her.

  I wanted all of that for me, and I suddenly realized how selfish that sounded, but I didn’t care, because none of that was going to fucking happen.

  I wanted to be selfish, for today at least.

  DIXIE MAE RYLAND was laid to rest inside of a pearl white casket on a cold winter day in late January, one week after she passed away.

  For me, I thought maybe there would have been finality in having the funeral.

  There wasn’t.

  If anything, it hurt more because of that finality. I would never hold her again.

  Inside there, she held my heart inside of hers.

  I cried the entire day, unable to function. I even had to get on medication, just to make it to the funeral. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to curl up in the corner and die.

  We had a small funeral, just close family. I think there was maybe ten people, and I couldn’t have told you who. If it hadn’t been for Beau holding me up, I would have collapsed the moment I saw that casket.

  My life and the world around me literally stood still in that moment as I thought about her. My future, my dreams for her, dissolved into the frozen red clay we were about to lay her in.

  Every day I was pregnant, I had these images of what it would be like having a daughter, pictures I’d created in my head of what our lives would be like. Now I had nothing.

  I felt like nothing.

  I wanted to be nothing.

  Please, just let me die so I don’t have to feel this pain anymore.

  People tell you that becoming a mother is the greatest thing in the world, an experience unlike anything else. The love you feel for that baby couldn’t even begin to be described or even be confined to a word like love.

  It was so much more than that. So much.

  And then that love was ripped away, torn from my chest, pried out of my bloody grasp as I begged on my knees for another chance, one more moment to love.

  To feel.

  To believe it was there in the first place.

  I didn’t get my moment.

  I got a single breath.

  It was a nightmare I was sure would never end, the image I had of her body, cold, helpless, lying in the dirt in a box, as haunting as that seemed.

  Beau had no idea how to deal with me, or what to say to make it better. So he just held me.

  I didn’t know how to make it better.

  What hurt was the ‘would not’ about this. All those wants I had were big fat would nots.

  We wouldn’t be able to hold her when she cried.

  We wouldn’t watch her grow into a child and hold her hand that first day of kindergarten.

  We wouldn’t be able to go to her ballet recitals or teach her to play the guitar.

  We wouldn’t be able to see her go to prom or walk down the aisle.

  Why?

  Why wouldn’t we?

  What I wasn’t prepared for was the could not’s that came after the would nots.

  I couldn’t eat.

  I couldn’t sleep.

  I was afraid I couldn’t love.

  I couldn’t let Beau touch me.

  Every time I looked at him, I saw Dixie with her hand wrapped around his pinky. If I even glanced at Beau, I broke down.

  I couldn’t help that. My world stopped that night. There was a black hole inside me I was afraid would never heal.

  I finally understood my parents’ pain, the pain they told me was unforgettable and unable to explain.

  For so long, I thought ‘You still have me, what about me?’

  I remember being angry with them that they didn’t take that into consideration, just that they were mad they lost Corbin.

  But I never knew the feeling of being a mother, or a father, and having that love ripped from your hands.

  Nothing could ever take that love away.

  IT WAS two months after the funeral and Beau was on his way back to Nashville as he had to be back in the studio. Life, unfortunately, had to continue, despite it stopping for me. He was gone for three days.

  I cried for three days straight in Blaine’s arms.

  I hadn’t gone back to work, and I wasn’t sure I could ever step foot in that hospital again.

  I feared seeing anyone. What would I say to them?

  What would I say when they asked what happened? Or told me they were sorry?

  When he returned on Friday night, I could tell he was drunk and wanted sex, as if that would solve our problems. I knew eventually he would want it, but I couldn’t be close to him like that without breaking down.

  I pushed Beau’s shoulders. “Stop,” I told him. “Your phone’s ringing. You should see what Miles needs.”

  Having no idea if it was really Miles or not, I was still relieved at the interruption.

  I was avoiding being with him in this way, and he knew it.

  It had been almost eight weeks since Dixie passed away and I barely let him touch me since then. Every time he did, I’d cry.

  Despite me pushing back, Beau didn’t stop. He kissed up from my neck, around my jaw again, continuing to ignore the sound of a third call from Miles.

  “Beau, stop,” I said again, stronger this time, squirming under him. “Just answer your phone. What if they need you?”

  Pulling away abruptly, Beau stood beside the bed, reaching for his phone, and when he found it, he practically jerked the battery out and tossed both pieces across the room. “You stop,” he warned, meeting my eyes. He wasn’t angry. He didn’t raise his voice, but he was serious. He grabbed my hips and pulled me closer to the edge of the bed. “None of that shit matters right now. Be with me…here…like you love me. I want you to need me.”

  There was so much to that comment that I felt it in my gut.

  Swallowing, I held onto his hands, feeling him hold onto me.
My thoughts, my feelings, the blue in his eyes, so real and begging, with the gray in the room, everything swirled at his touch.

  “I’m trying.” I nodded.

  He seemed to struggle for words and then looked at me, hurt and confused, his eyes glossy, a gamut of emotions swimming in them. “You still love me, right?”

  “I do.”

  He swallowed too and leaned back down, pressing his lips to mine again. His kisses were heavier this time, his touch on my skin harder. His hands glided down my thighs, gripping and squeezing, alternating between tight and gentle. “I miss you so fucking much.” His words blew over me like a summer breeze, warm, soul-healing and beautiful, just like him. “I just want you to need me.”

  It felt right, it did, but then again it felt wrong.

  I tried not to think, or feel, or do anything but be with Beau the way I wanted because I wanted to be reminded of the magic between us.

  We may not have been having sex, yet, but there was a passion between us, a spark still present that wasn’t going to be put out easily. I knew that. But it was still hard for me. Anytime I looked at him, I remembered Dixie.

  “I’m here,” Beau breathed raggedly against my skin, the smell of liquor prominent. He spoke low and soft, sure words, but he sounded tortured underneath his careful tone. “Be here with me. Please. I need you.”

  “I am here,” I told him, trying to make myself, even as my heart was telling me there was something in his words that I might have been missing. “I’m here,” I said again, trying so hard to believe myself.

  “Then fucking be here,” he quietly scolded, knowing, hushed and threatening as he gripped tighter and pulled me closer

  Beau knew me well enough to know I wasn’t here completely.

  I might never be again.

  Moving down my body, pushing the sheets and his flannel that I was wearing aside to reveal bare skin he hadn’t kissed in so long, he brought my right hip under his lips and closed them over me. I cried out at the roughness of his kiss.

  Groaning, he sucked and bit, digging his teeth in. It was evident by the way my body was responding to his touch, I missed him.

  We missed each other.

  He hummed, groaning and breathing hot over his mark, playing my body as well as he did the crowd at his shows.

  He knew exactly what he was doing and how to make me want more from him.

  Just as quickly as they were hard, his hands and lips softened against me, and I let go of my hesitance and let the adrenaline he lit in my veins run its course.

  Tugging on his shoulders gently, my brain and heart spun into emotions. Hurt and needing him, I surrendered, letting him remove my panties.

  I just wanted him. I wanted to forget my pain somehow.

  “Beau?” I whispered so quietly I barely heard myself. I blinked and my eyelashes felt wet. I didn’t mean to cry.

  I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t. It just…happened.

  “Shhhh, don’t cry.” His voice was strong and soft at the same time. “Don’t cry.” He moved up my stomach, kissing me as he made a slow path. “Please don’t cry. Be here with me.”

  I nodded, holding his eyes with mine as he settled between my legs and covered my body with his, just like I needed and didn’t even know.

  He warmed me.

  He melted me.

  Through icy blue storms he calmed me just by being so near in the eye of our storm.

  “I love you,” he told me, whispering words that felt like raindrops against canvas and a night filled with sparks that rained down on us. “You know that?”

  I nodded. I did know. I also knew he was suffering too and together we felt an emotion no one truly knew the meaning of but us.

  Devastation.

  Two hearts.

  Two souls.

  Suffering the same unimaginable loss.

  “I know,” I promised, holding onto him so tightly as he entered me for the first time since our daughter passed away. “I love you too.”

  We stared at each other in silence for a long minute, lost in a moment neither one of us tried to surface from. We were okay drowning; we were okay lost at sea, as long as we were clinging to one another, right?

  ANOTHER sleepless night for as Beau snored gently beside me. I wished I could sleep like him. Instead I was constantly left staring at the damn wondering how my life got like this.

  Unable to comprehend the moment it went from good and fairytale like to this, sleepless, tears rolling down my cheeks watching a man sleep. The one man who'd give anything to take that pain away.

  I wouldn’t let him though.

  As I watched the slow rhythm of his stomach and chest, I was jealous he’d found the peaceful bliss of sleep.

  All I ever had was nightmares.

  I watched him for hours, knowing exactly why I fell in love with him, and not understanding why it wasn’t enough anymore.

  It should always be enough, right? Love could build a bridge right?

  No, The Judds were liars. It built a bridge all right, one you could hurl yourself from.

  “I HAVE TO go back to LA for a week.” Beau said the next morning. “You can come with me if you want.”

  We should have been healing together; instead, Beau was recording and I was at home.

  Staring at another message from Laney, asking if I was okay, I ignored it. I couldn’t answer her because who really wanted a big fat no every time I talked to them?

  “I don’t want to go,” I told Beau, setting my phone aside.

  I don’t want to live.

  “Did I ... upset you?” His words were so unsure, so hesitant, that I wanted to lie to him.

  I closed my eyes, preparing for the conversation and attempting to redeem myself from the mini nervous breakdown I seemed to be having.

  “No, you didn’t upset me,” I told him as we sat on the edge of the bed. “I just wish you could be here. You’re only here for a day or two, and then you’re gone again.”

  “I wish I could too. You know it’s hard for me, right? I...don’t like being away from you.” His eyes were careful, the way they were when he was hiding something.

  When I didn’t say anything, he continued, his lips pursed as he nodded once and hung his head. “You don’t think it’s hard for me?” he asked shrewdly.

  “I guess I feel like you have this life now—a life that I’m not a part of. You’re healing…and I’m just here, hopeless.”

  I turned my body to face him when he didn’t speak, surprised by the pained expression he wore.

  “You are a part of everything I do. You’re more than just a best friend or a girlfriend to me, Bentley. You’re a part of me, whether you want to be or not. It’s just who I’ve become.”

  I smiled as a tear slid down my check. He always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better, but it didn’t make me feel all that better because it didn’t change the fact that he was never here. I needed more than a friend in him, someone here on occasions and in passing.

  I had Blaine as a friend. I needed my boyfriend.

  The words were there, I wanted to speak them, to tell him how much I loved him...tell him I needed this lifestyle to change, but chariness rooted me. I couldn’t form the words.

  There was a droning silence with Beau’s phone vibrating obsessively before he leaned over and kissed my check.

  “I have to go, honey.” He pulled back, his hand rose to my cheek as his thumb ran over my lower lip. “I’ll be back on Friday night.”

  I nodded, unable to choke out anything else, and he once again opened his mouth as though he was going to speak and then sighed.

  He wanted to say ‘come with me,’ but he knew I wouldn’t.

  I didn’t want to do anything.

  We were healing in different ways, only I wasn’t healing.

  Just so much as going to the grocery store was difficult for me because I’d see diapers and cry.

  Or baby food and want to knock them all off the shelf because I had no
baby to feed.

  Beau took a deep breath and then pulled away completely, standing and reaching for his hat. This time he didn’t look back. He grabbed his bag and left.

  I tried to be normal. I did.

  An hour after Beau left, Blaine came over and sat on the couch. “Why didn’t you go with Beau to LA?”

  “Because I couldn’t.”

  “He wants to help you, Bentley.

  I knew he wanted to help me, but how could he help me when I didn’t even know how to help myself.

  The reasons as to why I didn’t go with him had more to do with me being nervous about what his life was becoming. Concerts, touring, record deals, it just felt like he had this life outside of our bubble and I didn’t know how I fit into it.

  There’s no next time, tomorrow, time out, stop and look around.

  It’s now or never, hold her, love her, give her anything you can to make her see.

  They say tragedy defines a moment in your life when you go one of two ways.

  What if you’re stuck in place?

  What if you’re rooted to the one moment you couldn’t escape?

  Watching Bentley sleep that night, when I arrived home from LA, her hair spilled over the white pillow, lips pushed into a pout, I wanted to press my lips to her thick, dark fluttering lashes that never seemed to dry. I wasn’t sure what the future held for us now, but I wanted to find out, and it was as if she was slipping away from me completely. More than anything, I wanted her to see I could be there, if she’d let me.

  I wanted to take Bentley’s pain away, carry it for her.

  I couldn’t.

  She wouldn’t let me.

  “I’ll take care of you,” I whispered against her forehead as I kissed it tenderly.

  I will love you ‘til the end.