Butterfly Dreams

by A. Meredith Walters

  I knew Corin’s parents were dead but I didn’t know the particulars. It hadn’t come up. She had never volunteered the information.

  But seeing her sitting at my parents’ table, looking sadder than I could ever remember seeing her, I realized how horrible it was for me to not find out something so important.

  And why in the hell wouldn’t she tell me that her doctor cleared her of having a heart condition? That was huge!

  Sitting at the table with my family for the remainder of our meal was beyond difficult. Especially when I wanted to take Corin home, grill her some, and then celebrate her good news.

  Corin’s mood never really recovered after that, no matter how hard she tried. It seemed almost painful for her to laugh and talk to my family.

  I was glad when it was time for us to leave. The entire experience had been exhausting.

  Corin thanked my parents after helping Zoe clear the table.

  “It was wonderful meeting you,” my mom told her, and I could tell she meant it.

  Corin and Zoe exchanged phone numbers and talked about getting together sometime.

  Dad gave Corin another bear hug. “Take care, Corin, and you make sure our son brings you around again soon,” he told her.

  “I’d like that a lot,” she remarked, her face still sad but the smile was more genuine.

  “Can you go start the car? I’m just going to grab the leftovers,” I said to Corin, handing her the car keys.

  “Yeah. That’s fine.” Corin waved to my family and headed out to the car. I followed Mom into the kitchen.

  “Thanks for the invite, Mom. I know Corin was a little shy, but she really did enjoy herself.”

  “She’s lovely, Beckett. I can see why you care about her so much.” I let out a sigh of relief. My mom’s approval meant a lot to me.

  “I’m glad you think that, Mom—”

  “But she seems to have a lot of baggage, Beck. Are you sure you can deal with that?”

  Uh, excuse me?

  “I thought you just said you liked her,” I said sharply, frowning and instantly defensive.

  Mom put her hand on my arm. “I do, sweetheart. I really do. She’s very sweet. But it’s obvious she has experienced a lot of trauma in her life. I’m just not sure she’s the best person to share your life with when you have so much going on yourself.”

  “I have baggage, Mom. A damn truckload,” I protested, annoyed.

  Mom’s eyes clouded with concern. “Not like that, Beck. With her, there’s something more going on.”

  I shook my head, not wanting to admit out loud how right Mom really was. Because I knew there was something more going on with Corin. I just didn’t know what.

  “My heart hurts for her. It really does. To have lost both of the people she loved most in the world. That sort of grief breaks a person.” She handed me a plastic bag filled with Tupperware containers. “But you’re going through your own battles. I just don’t want hers to pull you down when you’re trying so hard to climb back up.”

  I squeezed Mom’s hand, knowing she just meant well.

  I knew going into this thing with Corin that it wouldn’t be easy. She was neurotic. Skittish. Scared and terrified.

  But she was also loving and caring. She listened and she understood how I was feeling without my having to say a word.

  She picked up on my unique frequency.

  “Do I seem happy, Mom?” I asked.

  My mother ran her hand through my hair in a way she had done since I was a little boy. She went up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Yes, honey, you do.”

  I hugged my well-meaning mom tightly. “That’s because of her.”

  Mom pulled back, tears in her eyes. “Then that makes me happy.” And when she smiled, she meant it.

  Chapter 20

  Beckett

  Corin was waiting in the car when I walked out of my parents’ house. I could see her messing with the radio.

  I took a minute to watch her without her realizing it. Mom’s words echoed in my head.

  “That sort of grief breaks a person.”

  Was my mother right? Was Corin broken? There were times I’d agree with Mom. I could see the heartbreak there, just below the surface.

  But there were other times, like when it was just the two of us together, that she seemed happy. Hopeful even. Not broken at all.

  I knew one thing for sure; I needed to find out more about Corin’s past. Whether she wanted to talk about it or not.

  I got in the car and put the bag my mother had given me on the back seat.

  “You okay?” I asked her. Corin continued to fiddle with the radio dials and gave me a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Sure.”

  Sure.

  It was such a weighted word. With Corin it could mean a million different things. It could mean nothing at all.

  “Sure,” I repeated.

  Corin nodded. “Sure.”

  “So you liked the pot roast,” I remarked lamely.

  “It was a good pot roast,” Corin agreed, giving me a strange look.

  “Well, that’s great.”

  Way to dig for information, Beckett, I silently chided myself.

  I drove back to my apartment not really knowing what to say. I had a lot of questions, but I wasn’t sure Corin would answer them. She was so evasive. She avoided certain subjects like the plague.

  I pulled into my normal parking space and turned off the car. “You want to come inside for a bit?” I asked. Corin had driven over after work and I could see her car parked beneath the elm tree.

  “If you want me to,” she answered.

  “Sure,” I said and was finally rewarded with a sincere upward curve of her lips.

  We walked slowly inside my building. We waited for the elevator. We stood side by side. Not speaking.

  Waiting.

  Once inside my apartment, I turned on the lights.

  “I should put this stuff in the fridge. Do you want anything to drink?” I asked, holding up the bag my mom had given me.

  I was feeling suddenly awkward. Antsy. Restless.

  “A cup of tea would be great.”

  “Okay, well, make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a minute.”

  I hurried to make the tea and when I came back out to the living room, I found Corin looking at my framed photographs on the mantelpiece.

  “You look so young in some of these,” she said, pointing to a few of me playing soccer and running track in high school. She took the cup of tea I held out for her.

  “I should. That was over ten years ago.”

  She moved down the row to look at the ones I had taken.

  “I really love this one,” she murmured, indicating the black and white of the Ash Street bridge in the moonlight. “It’s beautiful.”

  I picked up the framed photograph and handed it to her. “Then you should have it.”

  “I can’t take it, Beck, it’s your picture.”

  “And I can take another. But I want you to have it if you like it so much.”

  Corin tucked the framed picture into her chest, hugging it to her. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

  She looked back at the photographs. “Why didn’t you tell me about your doctor’s appointment? About your heart?” I asked.

  “What did it feel like when you had your heart attack?” she asked, not answering me.

  I frowned. “I’m not sure what that has to do with anything—”

  Corin looked up at me and I was surprised to see that her eyes were damp. Tears clung to her eyelashes but wouldn’t fall. Corin rarely cried. I knew it was something she tried not to do. Ever.

  “Can you tell me? Please,” she begged. I knew this was important to her. I just didn’t know why.

  I took her hand and pulled her to the couch. We sat down beside each other but not touching. I wanted to wrap my arms around her. I wanted to hold her and figure out why she was crying. I hated those tears. The pain th
at caused them.

  “I was out jogging one morning. I wasn’t pushing myself particularly hard. I was running the same route I went every single day.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “I was going along the river, listening to my music, not thinking about anything in particular when I felt a sharp pain in my right side. I tried to ignore it at first, thinking it was a stitch or something.”

  I remembered back to that day. How I had tried so hard to disregard the signals my body had been sending. I ignored each and every one. Until it was too late.

  “Then I felt a pressure in my chest. Like a giant boulder sat right here.” I rubbed the middle of my sternum. “I stopped running and bent over, trying to get my breath.”

  I ran my hands through my hair. I hated this memory. More than any other. “I couldn’t breathe. And the pressure was too much. I felt sick. Like I was going to throw up. Then I collapsed.”

  Corin was staring at me with an intense look in her eyes. It unnerved me a bit. “I was told that my heart stopped beating for almost two minutes. That if it weren’t for a pair of women out walking their dogs, I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “You died,” she whispered.

  I nodded. “I died.”

  “Does that scare you?”

  “Dying?” I asked, and she nodded.

  “No, it doesn’t.” And it was the truth. Dying wasn’t what scared me.

  It was not living.

  Corin looked away, her hair falling over her shoulder and I wanted to touch it. I wanted to touch her.

  “Why are you asking me all of this?”

  “Because I am scared of dying.”

  “But you’re fine, Corin. You said your doctor told you that your heart is fine—”

  “If it’s not my heart, then it’s something else. I know it.”

  I didn’t understand what she was saying. How could she know something was wrong when her doctor said she was healthy?

  “I don’t think I get what you’re telling me. Is there something else going on with you? Are you sick?”

  “When I was fourteen years old, my mother was diagnosed with melanoma. She died within the year.” The tears started falling then and I couldn’t stand not holding her any longer.

  I pulled her toward me, pressing her into my side. I burrowed my nose into her hair, breathing in the scent that was entirely Corin.

  “I had no idea. I’m so sorry, Corin.” I couldn’t imagine that kind of pain. What she went through.

  “Then a year later, my dad was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease. He didn’t die right away. He fought for a long time. I was eighteen when he finally passed away. I had been taking care of him for the last year. When he died, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was completely lost.”

  My god, she had lost both of her parents in such a short amount of time. How in the hell had she survived that?

  “Tamsin, my sister, wasn’t around for any of it. Not really. She was off at college and I was home. Watching my parents die one at a time.” She sounded monotone. As though she had switched off the emotion. Or she was bottling it up. I didn’t want her to bottle it up. I wanted her to know she could let it loose with me.

  “Corin, fuck. That’s horrible.” What completely insufficient words.

  “After that I knew that I was going to end up the same way. Dead too early. Wasting away from disease. I just knew that I didn’t have much time left. So I’ve never bothered to do much. I didn’t go to college. I’ve never had a serious relationship. Sure, I have my pottery studio, and that’s something that has brought me some joy. But that’s it.”

  She had to have been so lonely. I felt angry at the thought of her cutting herself off, hiding herself away. From people. From relationships. From the world.

  “But you’re not sick?”

  I was still so confused. Was she sick or wasn’t she?

  “You could die at any time, Beckett. Your heart could just give out. And that will be it. I didn’t want to take a chance on you. Because I couldn’t watch someone else I cared about die. Because I didn’t want to leave someone behind the way my parents left me.”

  Mom was right. Corin had baggage.

  Major baggage.

  “But you’re not going to die, Corin,” I argued, feeling like I was missing something vital. Something important.

  “Of course I am, Beck. I feel it in my bones. I know it’s the truth.”

  “Well, shit, Cor, everyone dies at some point. But that doesn’t mean you have to go around waiting for it to happen.” I was feeling myself get frustrated with her defeatist attitude.

  She was telling me that she was healthy. That she was fine. But that she had convinced herself that she wasn’t.

  That in her head she was dying and there was nothing I, or any doctor, could say to change that.

  “I waited for my dad to die. I watched it happen. Do you understand what that’s like?” she yelled, finally looking at me.

  “No!” I yelled back. “No, I don’t. I can’t imagine how horrible that was for you!”

  Corin started sobbing. Tears fell hard. They fell fast. They coated her skin with a misery she had kept dammed up inside of her for too long.

  “You died, Beckett. Your heart is kept beating by a fucking machine in your chest!” She was getting hysterical.

  I grabbed her hand and placed it over my chest. Right over my thumping, beating heart.

  “Do you feel that, Corin?” I demanded. She tried to look away, but I grabbed her chin and forced her to meet my eyes. “Do you? The steady beat? It’s not stopping. I won’t let it.”

  Corin rolled her red puffy eyes. “You have no control over it, Beck. Don’t you get that? Nothing you do will change what could happen.”

  I pressed her palm flat over my skin. “What could happen. Could. Possible. Maybe. Not definitely.”

  “You are so damn optimistic. It’s irritating,” she muttered, wiping away the tears.

  “And you’re a neurotic mess with a boatload of issues.”

  Corin’s eyes heated and snapped. I was glad to see it. I had missed her fire.

  “Well, tell me how you really feel,” she quipped sarcastically.

  I pulled her onto my lap. I wrapped my arms around her waist and ran my nose along her collarbone, kissing the delicate skin. Loving the feel of her against my lips.

  Loving her.

  “Okay, I will. I love you, Corin Thompson.”

  I was pretty sure she stopped breathing. She went rigid. So unbelievably still.

  The words had tumbled out. I hadn’t meant to say them but the truth wouldn’t be locked away.

  I loved her.

  More than I ever thought it possible to love another human being.

  She made me laugh.

  She made me want to scream.

  She made me so incredibly happy.

  And so damn sad.

  She made me embrace life and live it.

  And I wanted to do the same for her.

  I kissed her neck. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” I murmured against her skin. Corin instantly stiffened.

  “You don’t know anything—”

  “Shh. Stop it,” I urged her, kissing the underside of her jaw. “What I’m saying is that you’ve been through more than most people. Grief like that scars a person. It changes them. It changed you.”

  I twisted her around so that she was straddling me. Her hands were on my chest. Still pressed over my heart.

  My constant, beating heart.

  “I think that you’re so scared of dying that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to live. You won’t let yourself. But, Cor, I won’t let you do that to yourself. Take it from a man who almost lost everything—you can’t focus on the end. You have to concentrate on what’s right in front of you.”

  “I’m not sure that makes any sense,” Corin huffed. I was pushing her. I probably shouldn’t. She was the running sort. There was a chance she’d take off and
I’d never be able to catch her.

  But it broke my heart to see her self-destruct.

  Not when I would do everything in my power to stop her.

  I reached up and gently brought her face down to mine. I kissed her. Deep and true. I kissed her with everything I felt for her. For this sad, lonely, sort-of-crazy woman.

  “Stop thinking about what could happen later and focus on what’s happening here. Now. With me.” I ran my thumbs along the curves of her cheeks.

  “Laugh with me.” I kissed the side of her neck.

  “Dance with me.” I pulled her shirt aside and kissed her shoulder.

  “Smile with me.” I kissed her temple.

  “Love with me.” I ran my hands down her arms and laced my fingers through hers. I leaned in and kissed her mouth. Her lips parted and she let out a little sigh as my tongue found hers. I gripped her hands tightly, holding her. I wanted her to hear me. To listen. And I swallowed her tears. One at a time.

  “Live with me,” I pleaded.

  “Beck.” She said my name on a sob. She was crying in earnest. Completely undone.

  She ran her fingers down the side of my neck, skimming along my collarbone until they found the scar. The slightly raised spot under my skin.

  With tears on her lips, she kissed my incision. She lingered. Not long.

  But enough.

  Making her peace.

  When her mouth found mine again, I knew that she was surrendering that last part of herself over to me.

  And I would take care of Corin Thompson.

  As long as I was able to.

  Without another word, I lifted her up, her legs wrapped around my waist, and I carried her down the hallway and into my bedroom.

  We never stopped kissing as I laid her down on the bed and I slowly peeled off her shirt. Our mouths only disconnected for the length of time it took to get naked.

  Clothes were discarded. Our hearts fell on the floor.

  We were exposed.

  Open.

  For each other.

  “Beck,” she whispered, arching her back as I pressed my fingers between her legs. She gave everything. Absolutely everything. And I took all of it greedily.

  I loved a trail from her mouth down her body. I took my time on the places that needed me the most. The hollow of her throat. Her pounding, thumping heart. The taut skin just below her belly button.