Fucking asshole, she thought ungraciously.
What happens now?
***
The plane landed at just past 9:00 in the morning, descending through a thick and cloying bank of gray clouds to the flat, dusty earth of her childhood. Bryce climbed from the plane with gritty teeth and what she swore was a low-grade fever, judging from the way her temples were aching and her forehead was pulsing. She figured that Wilder or Erica or someone had called Michelle, had given her the gory details. Would anyone be waiting at the terminal for her? If not she would call Trish. Even if her best friend weren’t home, Trish’s sister would drive the 60 miles south from Middleton to get her.
She emerged carrying her duffle bag, dressed in her old flip-flops, jean skirt and Erica’s blouse, tattered blue hoodie knotted tightly around her waist, hair hanging over her shoulders in a messy tangle. Her eyes were red-rimmed, with deep plum shadows beneath, and she kept them cast mostly downward as she stumbled along with the crowd, hoping a payphone might materialize before her. She found one minutes later, across from a fast-food counter where the scent of greasy breakfast fare made her stomach seize. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the receiver, her hand hovering for a moment in terrified indecision; should she dial the Sternhagens’ on the chance that Matthew might answer? Her heart spiked with an intense longing at the thought that she might be able to hear his voice right now, no matter what his note had said. She was almost dizzy with it and her fingers shook as she dialed the 218 number she’d memorized.
Over a thousand miles away the phone rang and rang. Bryce pictured the phone in the guest room where she’d slept for the past two weeks, felt as though she might be having a heart attack as she waited, motionless, but after the fifth ring she replaced the phone in its cradle and let out a shuddering breath. Because another person was waiting to use the booth she dialed again quickly, but this time Trish’s sleepy voice came over the line after two rings.
“’Lo?”
And before a word could find its way out the jagged lump shattered apart, and she began to cry.
***
As Bryce’s plane touched down in Oklahoma, Matthew, totally unaware of her sudden depature from Rose Lake, watched the morning sky around him lighten by minute degrees, luminous gray becoming a clear pale peach, which softened into the pink of seashells. Because their private dock faced west, the first rays lit the trees behind him, spearing through the tall limbs and breaking over the flat, silky surface of the lake, tinting its indigo depths with sunny flickers of morning.
Bryce. Oh God, Bryce. Just the thought of her made his arms clench with the fierce need to hold her close, bury his face against the sweetness of her soft dark hair, breathe the scent of her warm skin. He wrapped his arms around his torso, feeling empty and aching, furious at himself for letting her run away after he’d proposed, too stunned to understand what she’d been trying for his own good to do. Yesterday he’d stayed away from the house, from the Pull Inn, anyplace he might run into her; if he did, he would fall apart, be destroyed by his need for her.
Perspective, Sternhagen, he’d told himself yesterday, with great effort. You need to step back for a day. But the thought of not seeing her, the thought that she might indeed be leaving for Oklahoma in the morning, absolutely killed him. It took every bit of strength he had not to find her, and he’d visited his father’s grave instead, in the late morning. He sat where the earth still appeared sharp-edged, the strips of sod so new they didn’t match the paler weedy grass that sighed all around the rest of the cemetery. His mother’s grave, with its pink marble headstone, was more familiar; Daniel did not yet have a marker, and Matthew stayed for a time between his parents, near their heads.
It had been early enough in the day that the cemetery was empty of all but himself and the silent inhabitants beneath him. Matthew sat with his forehead braced against his right hand, his eyes on the ground but seeing again and again the events of the past two weeks that had led him here. It was unimaginable that such a relatively short time had passed since then and now; he was not the same person he’d been the morning of June 17th, driving north on I-35. What crazy fluke had caused the semi to break down right there, outside of the town where his older half-sister and her child made their home? Fate? Destiny? Things he’d never put much store in before the past month.
He remembered a time when he was still in high school, admitting to Erica that he wanted to break up with Angie, his girlfriend of four years, the girl he’d been crazy for in junior high, been so afraid to talk to that his voice broke whenever she came near, the girl he’d lost his virginity to in the 10th grade, on the couch in her parents’ basement, both of them so nervous and clumsy he had only ended up inside of her for maybe a minute and a half. Angie had been mad, expecting more.
“Matty, trust your heart,” Erica told him then, as they worked together at the sink after supper. She’d finally added, “Honey, when you find the right girl, you’ll know. And she’ll make you come alive.”
Matthew knew, had always known, Erica had that with his older brother. He’d witnessed it since he was a boy of 10 and they had all lived together in the big yellow house. Daniel had been so happy for them, had loved Erica and the way that Wilder lit up around her, teased her and kissed her, made her blush 10 shades of red. Matthew had been bathed with a contentment he couldn’t quite understand, being around that kind of love. It wasn’t until he was older that the contentment eased off and something inside himself ached instead. He would have given anything to feel that way; had tried with Angie for a long time before finally conceding defeat for good when a pregnancy scare the summer after high school had brought him to his senses.
Yes, they’d had sex since then. No one believed how lonely he was; he only joked and even Erica thought he was being flippant. Surely someone as beautiful, inside and out, as Matthew could not be truly lonely. Erica tried repeatedly to fix him up, but he’d always walked away feeling half empty; Angie, who had come and gone since the year they graduated, always seemed to show up single, and he’d always give in. She was familiar at least, though he knew she wanted more by then.
But now. Now was so starkly, fiercely different. Now he knew what Erica had meant years ago as they’d washed and dried the supper dishes together on a cold December night. His heart thudded against his chest and he pressed hard with his free hand there, holding back the sobs that wanted so badly to rip from his throat. Bryce, Bryce, Bryce. Please don’t tell me I can’t have you. Not that. I would face anything for you but that.
Again he pictured her as he’d seen her that first day, on the steps, eyes fixed on his, her bare limbs outlined in gold by the afternoon sun, her breasts full and soft beneath a tiny white tank top, expression on her lovely face that went straight into the center of him. He crushed his eyes closed, imagining them once again in room 214 in Middleton and the taste of her skin, her hair in his hands, the way she moved beneath him, holding him so close as though she too could not possibly get enough, giving over to each other with no restraints whatever. How she’d told him she loved him on the end of the dock, terrified too, but unable to stop herself from admitting it, how they’d made love every second they had been able since. He opened his eyes, vision swimming with tears as he wished crazy, desperate things. That he’d somehow gotten her pregnant, that tonight at Erica and Wilder’s party he would make a toast and enlighten the entire town that he was in love and had no business hiding it anymore.
But Erica…and his brother. Bryce was right on that count; they loved him unequivocally, but could they possibly accept such news? If he was honest with himself, he knew it would mean, at the very least, alienation from his family, probably from Rose Lake and even his home state altogether. And he would go, would take Bryce anywhere in the world they could be together…but it would hurt. It would hurt them both, bad. It was so goddamn unfair, reducing all of them, Erica and Wilder and the kids, his friends, to collateral damage. It was of course why Bryce had told him she couldn�
�t marry him, wouldn’t do that to him. But in the end he would leave everyone else behind, because the other alternative was to be without her. And that, Matthew knew in the depths of his sensitive soul, was not an option he could live with.
After a time he’d slept, unexpectedly, curled between the quiet graves of Lydia and Daniel, waking in the early evening with his body cramped but his heart full of purpose. He paused for a moment to touch the earth over both his folks, whispered, “See ya, Dad,” and then rose and loped through the cemetery, headed for home.
Wilder, behind the wheel of his truck, met Matthew in the driveway 10 minutes later, and both brothers leaned toward their open windows. Wilder was dressed in a suit and tie, his fair hair gleaming down his back, the way Erica liked it best.
“Hey, there, little bro,” Wilder greeted, giving him a fond grin, just slightly tinged with confusion. “Where in the heck you been all day?”
Matthew shrugged, said, “Hey, I’ll see you in just a few. You need anything else brought over to the Lodge?”
“Yeah, the champagne I ordered,” Wilder said, and Matthew grimaced.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“No big deal. I’m headed over. You wanna ride along?”
“I’ll be there quick, I promise,” Matthew said, and then, trying in vain for nonchalance, “Is everyone else already there?”
“Yeah, Erica took Bryce and the kids just a few minutes ago.”
Matthew’s shoulders relaxed just slightly.
Wilder continued suddenly, “Matty, I am so happy tonight. Even with Dad gone. I know how much Erica meant to him. I couldn’t love her, or all of you guys, any more than I do.” Wilder shifted, his eyes a little teary while Matthew sat motionless, watching him and feeling kicked in the gut. “I love you, little bro. I really do.”
Matthew could hardly speak past the ice slivers in his throat, but he breathed hard through his nose and replied, “I love you, too, Wi.”
***
Hours passed, the big living room clock ticking the minutes into twilight, then eventual darkness. Matthew sat in silence on the couch, hardly moved a muscle for three hours, staring into the middle distance as he’d been so compelled to do of late, sensing the familiar room around him as it lost texture and was leached of color. He played out every version of what could happen if he made his move tonight, if he broke the news to his brother and Erica, let them know his intentions. He was haunted by the imagined sight of Erica’s pale face, Wilder’s faltering smile, the look of horror on Bryce as she understood what he was doing, how he was casting aside what she’d put them both through out of sheer necessity.Riley, Debbie, the kids. Everyone he cared about.
The moon had arched above the house when he finally made up his mind. “Wilder, Erica, I’m sorry,” he whispered to the empty room, pre-emptively. But he knew they would understand in time.
The road to the Lodge was dark, his the lone vehicle on it. He saw the lights glinting like beacons from a quarter-mile out, the balloons and banner as his truck bounced slowly up the slight hill into the parking lot. It was crammed with cars and trucks, just as he had expected, but also with about three-quarters of the guests, which he had not.
“What the hell?” he muttered, shouldering open the door. He stepped down and a buzz of excited chatter met his ears. Seconds later, above the din, a man yelled out, “Bryce, goddamn it!”
Matthew winced slightly now in the morning light, eyeing the matching casts swathing his hands from the tips of his fingers to three inches above each wrist. Definitely not the first he’d worn, but certainly the most inhibiting. He didn’t regret what he’d done; the image of Bryce being thrown to the pavement by that son of a bitch made his jaw clench tight yet again. He knew he would never get that sight from his mind, the way she’d crumpled to the ground, hunched around herself in pain. He realized his breathing was getting faster so he studied the glimmering lake with determination; fury would not help him. He needed to talk to Randy, see what had to be done to settle things with the Thompson guy. And then he had to see Bryce.
That thought finally gave him the strength to get up from the dock where he had so many memories of her already, to head through the woods to the house where Erica and Wilder waited. He would force himself to go to the police station first, then the hospital, if they’d allow it. Where had Bryce spent the night? The hospital, probably. Not here, he was sure of that. As he cleared the woods and came upon the familiar clearing, climbing the porch steps, his heart was going like a trip hammer.
Inside, the phone was ringing, but he answered just a second too late. Something about the buzzing of the dial tone seemed ominous in his ear and he hung up quickly, biting his lower lip as the movement sang along the nerves in his fractured hands.
Shit, Sternhagen. Level, buddy, level. You’ve got to get a grip here. First things first.
He hit the bathroom he always used – the one off of his lower-level bedroom – and attempted to splash his face but the effort was too painful. The nurse who’d fixed up his hands last night before they’d carted him to the county jail had been sour-faced and told him he couldn’t get his casts wet. He squared his jaw and used a damp towel on his face instead, acknowledging that shaving was out of the question, at least at the moment. He studied himself in the mirror for a second. His jaw was thick with a day’s growth of black whiskers, his eyes hard and dark above the purple smears of a sleepless night on the dock. He looked inappropriate for anything other than maybe a junkyard brawl, but he couldn’t think about that right now.
In his room he gingerly shucked his clothes and carefully dressed in clean jeans and managed a mostly-clean t-shirt. He rounded the corner purposefully and almost smacked directly into his sister-in-law, who looked small and peaked, far from her usual self. Her hair was hanging loose over her shoulders, her own eyes tight and ringed with shadows.
“Wilder closed the Pull Inn for the day,” Erica informed him, her voice hoarse.
Matthew wanted to hug her close, beg her forgiveness for how he’d treated her yesterday, but his arms felt heavy, immobile. He cleared his throat and whispered, “Can I see her?”
Erica’s eyes filled with tears and Matthew was instantaneously flooded with dread. His low voice shook as he demanded, “Erica, tell me what’s wrong.”
She stared up at him and drew a deep breath, pressed her crossed forearms against her chest as she answered, almost as though expecting a blow. “Matty, Bryce is in Oklahoma. Wilder took her to the airport last night and put her on a plane for home—” The expression in his eyes was destroying her. She rushed on, “It’s just for now, Matty—” His chest constricted. “Matty, please understand,” she begged, reaching for him, but he moved fast around her, heading for the front door.
Erica chased him, angry now, too. “Matthew, stop it!” she railed, and sounded more like the half-mother she’d always been to him. “Stop right there! You won’t solve a fucking thing if you go anywhere!” He was out the door now, and she banged out on his heels. She reached him and fisted a handful of his shirt. He froze, his body as tense as though a firing squad was positioned in the woods 20 paces away. Erica was breathing hard and let the fury of what he’d put them all through in the past 12 hours invigorate her. “Damn it, Matthew. You listen to me. You will not solve anything chasing after her. You are out on bail, may I remind you? That means if you so much as leave the county you will be arrested. Do you hear me? I can’t begin to imagine what you believeyou’re feeling, but you will not get carted to jail for this. This is fucking crazy and it’s not worth it!”
She had been delivering her words to his motionless back, and jumped when he spun around and pinned her with his gorgeous dark eyes flashing fire. Erica bit back her next statement as Matthew repeated her words through clenched teeth, “Not worth it?”
Erica would not be intimidated by the man she considered her eldest child for all practical purposes. Neither of them noticed Wilder’s truck coming up the drive. She planted her hands on h
er hips and yelled back, “No, it’s not goddamn worth this, Matthew! You cannot allow yourself to feel things like this for…” and here she gulped slightly at the both the notion and the untamed expression on his face, “For your own niece! Jesus Christ in heaven, Matthew!”
He was gripping her upper arms in the next instant, hard despite his casts and the pain it was causing him, and her heart pounded against her ribs. But someone came striding up the porch steps right then, moving Erica unceremoniously to the side and with a rage that had been slowly coming to a boil all night. Wilder delivered a punch to Matthew’s iron jaw that sent the younger man reeling backward and into a crouch.
He stood above his little brother like Zeus outraged, his blond hair tangled and breath coming short. He said, “If you ever so much as lay a hand on her again, you will not be welcome in this house another second.”
“Wilder,” Erica amended, but Matthew shook hair from his eyes, rose quietly, looked deep into Erica’s eyes.
“I would never hurt you,” he told her, low and intense. “You know that.”
She caved, felt tears fill her eyes for the hundreth time since yesterday, whispered, “Matty, sweetheart, I know.”
He turned to Wilder. “You’re right, of course.”
And then he turned and walked back into the house. They heard his bedroom door close with a quiet, decisive click.
Chapter Nineteen
Middleton, Oklahoma – Saturday, July 1, 1995
“Do you want to come over, honey?” Trish asked again, hoping that the answer would change this time.
Bryce, huddled on the black vinyl passenger seat of the car that had carried her around for years, could hardly even nod. Trish, sick with worry, not understanding any of this—Bryce told her it had to do with a guy, inexplicably, but nothing more—reached and squeezed her best friend’s knee.
Forbidden Page 24
