by Grea Warner
“But—"
“Let him. Let him, Bethany. Know he is looking out for you, and he feels some guilt. Those are two good qualities.”
I got my friend’s point. And I appreciated it. Besides, it wasn’t like Ryan hadn’t paid when we did things together before. But that was just what I feared ... Were we together?
***
Since I went to breakfast later than usual and just before it closed, I had my toast and tea in solitude that next morning, which was probably for the best. I didn’t need any more noise or questions from women in the apartment who may have connected me to the photo. Although, thankfully, there was nothing new online.
Just as I pressed the elevator button to go back to my room and finish packing, Ziva—a.k.a. Ratched—called out my name. “Miss Opala.” Her full hips shook in her mop of a dress and she semi-huffed, as if whatever she had to say was a huge inconvenience. “A package just arrived for you.”
I looked at the smaller than paper-sized bubble envelope she was holding. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”
“You did stop your mail for the week, didn’t you?” She practically hissed while handing over the package.
While her unnaturally black hair and excessive amount of foundation, red lipstick, and eyeshadow attempted to disguise her age, her wrinkled hands with dark spots were a giveaway. I didn’t know her backstory, but I figured it had to be sad for her to be so miserable. Was she someone who had come to the city seeking fame and fortune and never found it? And this is where her life had led her?
“Because we can’t keep shoving gossip magazines in your box every day. They won’t fit for a whole week.”
“I don’t—” I started to deny that I received such materials—which I did not—when I got a better look at the envelope.
There was no return address—just the messenger service. But I recognized the handwriting. I knew Ryan’s Gs always had an extra swirl, and he put a slash through his zeros and Zs. Gosh, what did he send me?
Ziva broke into my internal guessing game. “And you know you are responsible for rent this week, too. We don’t give free passes for traveling or illness.” Her dark eyes pierced.
“Yes, ma’am.” I inhaled in through my nose and exhaled through my mouth, determined to remain courteous as I had been taught. “Thank you for all you do.”
Not knowing how to take it, she mumbled an “mmmm-hmmm,” and I stepped onto the elevator.
I didn’t open the package until I was securely back in the solitary setting of my room. The more I thought of it, the more I decided it wasn’t going to be anything business-related. It was going to be something personal ... especially with the non-return address. And it lightened and scared me at the same time.
I tugged at the sealed flap and, once open, shook the contents out of the package. A miniature white envelope attached to a small, gold foil, square box fell onto my bedspread. I sat beside it and opened the card first. My mother had always taught us that it was proper etiquette to do so. And even though I wasn’t in front of the giver or any guests, I abided by those rules.
Once again in Ryan’s handwriting, but without a signature, the card read, I hope Willow gave you the message. Please let me tell you in person.
I closed my eyes and did a cleansing breath. He didn’t have to write a lot to get his message through. And it only made me more curious as to what the contents of the flat box would bring.
I peeled the two pieces of transparent tape from the sides and lifted the top off. Cushioned in a bed of cotton was a silver charm. It was shaped like a wine bottle with the word “Napa” inscribed on it. I knew exactly where he had gotten it. I had been admiring the charms at the same store he had bought his T-shirt. I had no idea he had even known I was looking at them, but, obviously, he had. It was becoming ever so apparent that we were connected in so many ways. Except ... for the one string that had become severely frayed and in risk of tearing us completely apart.
Nevertheless, I reached out to him. I texted my thoughts ... however brief. Beautiful charm from a beautiful place. Thank you. & also for the message.
His reply back was so immediate, I wondered if I had even sent mine first. In person Lenay.
I’m finishing packing and need to leave soon, I texted the excuse. It was extremely legit, but I also knew my heart was scared to hear his voice or see him in person and hear those words. I wasn’t ready. I knew it was good that I had taken a stand with him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t confuse and hurt me that much more. Slept in later than I planned, I added before sending the text.
His text back wasn’t quite as fast, but it was caring Ryan to a T. How R U feeling?
Dull pain, I admitted.
Take good old-fashioned aspirin.
That will help the head.
For as business-oriented as he was, Ryan was also a creative soul. So, he understood word choice, and he completely understood me. I didn’t need to add a broken heart emoji to paint the picture.
When he didn’t reply, I sent a follow-up text—one I probably should have sent the night before. Thank you for picking up the tab. You really didn’t need to.
He ignored my thanks and continued with his own agenda. Don’t want U to go w/us like this.
It’s for the best. Time to think. I did legitimately believe that.
Don’t OVERthink, was his reply, followed quickly by, U already R. Delete “Landslide” from your playlist.
My face mimicked the teary-eyed emoji I did send that time. “Landslide” had been drumming through my head since first waking up. I was afraid it was the only song on my playlist.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It took me a while to get to sleep that night—between the excitement of seeing my family whom I hadn’t seen since Christmas, the time change, and getting reacquainted with sharing a room with Ella and her constant sleep mumblings. Plus, of course, I was thinking of Ryan, who seemed so desperately far away. I had arrived in Carolina as the show was airing, but the evening had brought a bustle of family activity. So, while I didn’t watch it, I had pretty much imagined where Ryan was and what he was doing the entire time.
When I had finally drifted off to slumberland in my childhood bedroom, I guess it had been both soundly and deeply. Because, when I woke, it was to a sisterless room and midmorning sunlight streaming through the window. I suppose my body needed that recharging meltdown.
After brushing my teeth and changing into comfy clothes, I grabbed my phone and started down the creaky original wooden stairs of our red brick home, which was over one hundred years old. Boasting pure Southern charm, it had housed every pastor’s family of my dad’s church since it was first built. I loved the large rooms, multiple fireplaces, original ornate wood fixtures, dormers, and the fact that there were three stories—although, the third floor was a small guest room for any waywards who needed my father’s help.
I had just started down the main floor’s hall when I saw the text on my phone. It had been sent the night before, obviously after I had managed to go to sleep. The message, from Ryan, stopped me in my tracks.
Hope U got in OK. The resort news has already been leaked. Ignoring everything.
Shoot! That didn’t take long. I took refuge in my father’s home office, not yet wanting to continue to the kitchen and family room areas where I could hear the voices of my sister and mother. I needed to further investigate Ryan’s message. I needed to search online to see what exactly was out there. I was curious for sure and felt bad that Ryan was having to deal with one more thing. But I was also fearful that there was a connection to me—us—because of it.
Most of what I found was speculation. It was reported that Kari was exhausted, and/or had a mental breakdown, and/or was abusing drugs or alcohol. Her manager put out a generic statement, saying she was taking some time off and would come back stronger than ever. And as Ryan had suggested in his text, the press said Mr. Thompson had no comment.
But the photo of Ryan and me did reemerge in connection with some
of the articles. Comments like, Is this the reason for Kari Thompson’s downfall? and Ryan Thompson days before his wife’s break and Who is she? surfaced on the less reputable but, nonetheless, well-read sites. And while it made me ill in my stomach, I at least rejoiced that my name was still a mystery to the public.
I hadn’t been able to sit in my father’s tall leather chair. I was a bit too worked up. So, instead, I was leaning against the filing cabinet when I called Ryan. The irony that he didn’t pick up—when talking with me was what he wanted all along—made an airy grunt escape my mouth. But his non-answer was probably for the best. I had not given myself a chance to stop and take it all in yet. And I needed to do that. I hung up and decided to text instead.
It wasn’t much, but it said all I needed it to. Saw it. What about the kids?
Sallie and Joel were not mentioned in the articles, which I found extremely courteous of the press, especially when they knew they could get emotions rolling with the mention of the Thompson offspring. Perhaps they didn’t want to risk a lawsuit, because I know Ryan would have gone loco on anyone who harmed his children. Then again, citing two little kids wasn’t necessary when gossipville already had a superstar in rehab and a possible fling on the side.
While my father did church things and Garrett was at school, my mom, Ella, and I went shopping and ate lunch at one of my favorite local Carolina eateries. Seeing my mother anxiously watch me as I chose menu items and stopping herself from completely asking the waitress about allergens was like stepping back in time. I felt sorry she put so much stress on herself when I was completely competent with making the decisions. And if something happened, it could be handled. Just being around her drew the stress into me. And that was something I really didn’t need, especially with the added pressure of waiting for something else in the press to drop ... and the fact that Ryan had yet to text me back. I tried to remember he was being bombarded with so much. But it hurt that I wasn’t more on top of his priority list. Then again, I guess I hadn’t given him much reason to think he was on mine, either.
So, when his text did come through, I felt a little relieved just to hear from him. Kids don’t know a thing. Glad. Thx for asking.
Of course, I replied right away, grateful his text arrived just after we finished dinner so I could slip into the hall while my parents cleared the dishes.
U R safe, too. Nothing about who U R. The fact that he was thinking of me and that he responded immediately reassured me.
I know.
I also realized from reading the articles, how insanely protective Kari’s fanbase was. They were one hundred percent on Kari’s side, with posts for her to feel better soon ... take her time to be healthy ... remain the beautiful soul she is ... be strong ... fight. It didn’t matter that if she was in a place like she was, it was most likely for a nasty addiction. She was a heroine in the public eye. Because of their loyalty, Kari would always be the embattled one. Understanding Kari and her insecurities a little better, I did believe that what Ryan said was true. Her recovery would take a hit if everyone knew of her failed marriage. She needed to feel successful. She needed to be liked. And in order for her to get well, she needed that more than ever. Ryan was in a no-win situation, and so was I.
Have you talked with Kari? I asked but wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.
No, he answered immediately. She is supposed to have a few noncommunication days. But I don’t plan to ... not my place. Her team will do what they need to. When I didn’t reply, he asked a question of his own. Anything about your brother?
I looked across the room to Garrett, dark-haired just like the rest of us. He was bringing desserts into the family room and fighting with Ella because he had just given the last crumb of something to the dog and not her. Sixteen and twenty-two years old. Siblings never change.
I decided to bring some levity to our texting since, besides the fact that his foot swelling was dissipating, there wasn’t any news about my brother’s health, and both Ryan and I needed a break from the heaviness. Well, he somehow managed to get three railroads already and is taking most of my money. I mentioned the game my family was mere minutes from resuming. I tacked on #MonopolyIsNotMyGame at the end just for fun.
Ryan took an extra moment and then hit me with two texts in a row—both of them tugging strongly on my tattered heartstrings. The first was, #TwisterIs followed by, God I miss U.
My heart skipped. I missed him, too. How did everything go so wrong ... so fast?
To make things worse, I didn’t answer him. I stared at my phone so long it resorted back to the dark screen. The action made me regain my thoughts and try to think of what to type as a reply. I knew I needed to—whether it was witty, emotional, or just a conclusion. While I pondered the options, the Opala clan started calling out for me to join them in the family room.
In the time it took for me to make a decision, Ryan sent another message, reaffirming what he said and giving me an out. I do. But kind of glad U R away from all of it right now. Got a lot going on. Talk tomorrow?
I didn’t hesitate that time. Yeah.
I wasn’t sure if I would be any more prepared to talk with him that next day, though. Because, the truth was ... it didn’t matter how much he missed me or we missed one another. Nothing had changed, except for the fact that it might be even worse with the “breaking Kari news.”
“Yes! Ha! Ha!” Garrett called out.
“Bethany, he just took the Pennsylvania railroad, too!” my sister whined. “We’re screwed!”
“Ella Opala!” That was my father’s voice.
I closed my eyes. It felt as if all the trains at all the railroads were barreling through my brain. They were painfully loud and picking up speed. I didn’t know how to stop the inevitable crash.
***
Lunch out with friends the next day was, thankfully, refreshing and relaxing. While we talked briefly about my fifteen—more like less than five—minutes of fame on Singer Spotlight, that was it. They didn’t seem to know about any winery photos or, consequently, my current connection to a certain tall, handsome man. Thank goodness everyone’s lives didn’t revolve around every bit of gossip and entertainment. Far from Tinseltown, they were instead occupied with new jobs, engagements, and even a pregnancy, and I was more than happy to talk about them.
I had just gotten back to my parents’ home when a video came into my phone from Ryan. I sat on the front stoop and pressed play, not having any idea what to expect. But when I did, I legitimately laughed out loud.
First on the screen was Joel ... and a bunch of piglets. “Grammy, Pappy, they like me!” he squealed, standing in the midst of a ring full of the pink mammals.
Since he was the obvious videographer, I could hear Ryan but not see him. “That’s because they think you are one of them.”
“It tried to kiss me!” Both Joel’s exaggerated high voice and the way he was squirming around even more than usual caused a wide smile to erupt on my face.
I was trying to figure out where they were when Sallie’s voice came next. “Daddy, look!”
Ryan’s camera phone swiveled, and then I saw an image of Sallie sitting on a white horse. A slightly plump, tall man with white hair and similarly-hued beard stood next to her. Sallie wiggled a cardboard cone shape on top of the horse’s head.
I heard Ryan’s laughter right before Sallie called out, “Maybe Bethany can write a song about Unicorn’s farm adventure.”
“That would be nice, Tink.”
The video ended. I took a moment to close my eyes, breathe in, and think of the silliness of Joel and the thoughtfulness of sweet Sallie. Then I read the text from Ryan that followed the video.
I’m not the only one thinking of U.
An immediate warmth spread through my body, and I texted him my reply. Where are you?
Got last min flights yesterday. Iowa. Needed balance.
He was home. He went to his roots ... like me. And although I had not seen his face on the video, I could tell it
was already the right choice for him, just by the lightness in his voice when he spoke with the kids.
I was also putting together the timeline. On top of the media circus, he had been making travel arrangements, packing, and flying the day before. He had written the plural version of flights, too. The reason he hadn’t contacted me right away was starting to make more sense.
The phone ringing in my hand startled me. My eyes shut again, immediately recognizing the caller. He was right there ... one button-push and we would be connected voice to voice. And while it seemed like the most natural thing to do, I liked how things were in that moment. Answering, I feared, would bring the heaviness back.
I waited for the ringing to stop and then for the alert to tell me I had a new voice mail message. The laughter of seeing Joel and Sallie was gone, and the warmness of knowing Ryan had found a safe home base had faded. Sadness, nerves, or a combination instead took their place. I already knew Ryan’s message wouldn’t be full of pure enthusiasm, simply because I hadn’t answered. And he obviously knew I was next to my phone. I imagined his reaction being similar to the one when I wouldn’t answer him at the bar that night before I left. There was only one way to find out for sure, though.
“I want to hear your voice, Bethany. Even more so, I want you to hear mine ... my words.” He sounded as I had expected ... disappointed but confident.
I knew the words—those three precious little ones—he was referring to, and, if I was honest, that was what stopped me from picking up the most. I didn’t want to hear them. My heart couldn’t handle confirming we both felt the same way and, yet, couldn’t live those words openly. And even though I was trying to understand, it still wasn’t fair and I couldn’t risk being hurt even more.
Enjoy this time with your family. Tell the kids I said Hi, I texted.
The hesitation in his text back was surely the length of his sigh. I will & I’ll call again.
I put my phone down, wiped at the tears I had allowed to run down my face, and looked up to see my mother in the open doorway. I knew her well enough to know she had been keeping an eye out for my return from lunch. It wasn’t just my allergens that caused her anxiety. It was being a mom—wanting everyone to be safe and happy ... and knowing there was no way to guarantee such a feat.
