by Zoe York
A legitimate fear, since he hadn’t.
Maybe if things had gone differently…
Unfortunately, wishing wouldn’t make it so.
— —
The support group met in a church basement in Lion’s Head, a ten minute drive across the highway.
He didn’t have any reason not to go, although he tried to find one. He put off asking any of his friends to watch the kids, and Dani finally cornered him at Mac’s on Thursday morning. She drove up in her own car, but she was in her paramedic standard-issued blue pants and shirt. “Didn’t you say that bereaved spouses group was meeting tonight?”
Shit, had he told her that? “Maybe?”
“I’ll take the kids. My place or yours?”
“Aren’t you getting off a night shift?” He looked pointedly at her uniform.
“That’s what naps are for.”
So that’s how he ended up sitting on a folding chair, drinking cheap coffee and listening to people just like him share their painful stories. It was all chest-achingly familiar.
Faith gave him a reassuring smile when it was his turn to introduce himself.
“I’m Ryan. My wife died last fall, unexpectedly…” As he talked, he stared at the linoleum floor. He didn’t want to look up and see recognition on anyone’s face. “I’ve got three kids, and we’re all doing as well as can be expected, I guess. Some days are better than others. And me personally…I have these moments where I feel like I’ve got it together enough to move on, and then it all falls apart.”
As it had with the others around the circle, a warm pause followed his introduction—it seemed like the group policy was to triple check that a speaker was done before carrying forward. Finally Faith cleared her throat. “Thanks, Ryan. As a reminder, everything we talk about in this circle stays in this circle. We mean that in two ways. One, this is confidential group. But secondly, we don’t need to carry each others’ burdens away from here. We’re here to unload in a safe space, leave those thoughts and fears and doubts and worries” —she pointed in the centre of the circle of chairs— “here, and hopefully walk out a bit lighter than when we came in.”
“Before we get started with tonight’s topic,” an older woman said—Emily, according to her name sticker, “I have some general announcements. Next month’s meeting will start a half hour earlier, to accommodate the church choir…”
As she droned on, he carefully looked around the circle. Nobody gawked at him. No excess sympathy. Most people looked similarly numb, in fact. Grief is selfish, Faith had said. Boy, was she right about that.
“Thanks, Emily.” Faith grinned at the group. “Okay, so taking a cue from the changing season outside, I’d like to talk tonight about blooming. Opening up to others, finding another way to have our needs met—those things that our spouse used to do for us. Who do you talk to now when you have a bad day at work? Have you taken another stab at being intimate with someone? Are you relying more on your friends, or finding new people to fill the gap?”
“Nobody,” was the first answer from a man across the way. “I’ve never been a talker. My wife pulled it out of me, even when she was sick. But now…I don’t know. It’s easier not to talk to anyone, I guess. Not that anyone wants to hear my grumpiness.”
Ryan nodded. “I hear you on that. And I’ve got close friends, but…I just can’t.”
“I do most of my talking online,” said Emily. “I was on a crafting forum before my husband was killed, and that’s a huge community. Thousands of people. So that’s where I found people like me, before I knew this group existed. There’s something easier about talking anonymously.”
“Where they can’t see you crying at the other end of the Internet connection,” Faith said softly. “And you can reply on your own terms and own timeline.”
“Exactly.”
“I did the same thing in online writing circles,” Faith added, “but it wasn’t enough. Particularly with my son, I felt like my real self was wasting away, and all my feelings were locked inside that virtual community. That’s a danger for someone like me, who works in words all the time.”
“That’s what my doctor said, that’s why I’m here,” the first man said gruffly. “My blood pressure is too high. He said I need to talk about this stuff or I’ll kill myself, too.”
There was a long pause then, and Ryan wondered if everyone else was having the same thoughts as him—there was a part of him that wanted to die after Lynn was shot. And the guilt for those thoughts still ate him up inside.
“It’s not so bad, living again,” another woman, Jenny, said quietly. “I have a boyfriend. I actually thought about putting that in the announcements, it’s such a big deal.”
“Nothing wrong with not wanting that, either.” Faith said after she finished giggling at the announcements comment. “There are other ways to take care of those needs without dating. But it’s wonderful to celebrate, and hear when other people find that happiness, because there some societal expectations of mourning that are hard to negotiate.
You know in movies, how the dead spouse leaves a note, explaining how they want their partner to keep living and be happy? I didn’t think my husband would want that for me. And that’s held me back for a long time. It’s complicated, figuring out how to move on.”
The conversation continued, but that thought stayed with Ryan for quite a while. He had no idea what Lynn would think of his attraction to Holly. Or how he’d feel if the situation was reversed. They hadn’t been particularly possessive of each other. No jealousy or any reason for it. They’d fought, about drug use and taking out the garbage, some minor parenting disagreements…but never about fidelity.
Which only made him feel guiltier about how easily he’d slid into wanting Holly. Shouldn’t he be more loyal to Lynn? Wouldn’t she want that?
But it hadn’t felt wrong in the moment. It had been too much for him to handle, but not for reasons of guilt. So why did he feel like he should be guilty now? Would that boomerang effect ever stop?
It wasn’t Holly that he felt guilty about. He still felt like he’d failed Lynn, and it had nothing to do with what he was doing in the present, and everything to do with what he hadn’t done in the past.
— —
Holly tossed and turned in her bed for almost an hour before she padded downstairs and made herself another cup of chamomile tea. Back upstairs, she unfolded Ryan’s well-worn apology note.
She already knew what it said, word for word. But she read it again, her eyes devouring the sharp points and harsh swoops of his handwriting.
Reaching for the notepad and pen she always kept beside her bed, she started writing. Dear Ryan….
— —
Ryan had known it was just a matter of time before he ran into her again. She slept five hundred feet away from him and now the entire movie production had been moved into his backyard. But knowing that and experiencing it were two different things.
On Saturday, they were halfway through a road hockey game in the driveway—Jake Foster and Gavin playing the Montreal Canadiens versus the Vancouver Canucks, aka Ryan, Jack and Maya—when Olivia pulled up. Instead of driving through the manned gate, she parked in front of Ryan’s house and got out.
“Hey guys!” she said, far too cheerfully.
Everyone was far too cheerful for Ryan these days.
Maya abandoned the game and sprinted toward her friend. “Livvie! I want to see the movie!”
Ryan clenched his jaw. “Maya Howard, we talked about this.”
Olivia just laughed. “It’s fine…I’m actually waiting here for Dani, she wants to come for a tour, too. We can take Maya with us.”
“Aw, come on! That’s not fair!” Gavin threw down his stick and gloves.
“Hey!” Ryan whirled, pointing at his son. “First of all, I don’t like that word. It’s not fair that some kids don’t have hot dinners and hockey sticks to play with. Go sit on the porch and think about what’s truly fair and not fair in this world. Two
minute time out.” Shaking with unfair resentment, he took a deep breath. “Everyone just hang on a second.”
Beside him, Jake frowned. “Should we go inside?”
Ryan shook his head, expelling that deep breath before taking another. Don’t freak out over a tour. That’s a reasonable request. Get your shit together. “I guess it’s fine. I just…I’d prefer if people remember to ask me first.”
Olivia winced. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He glanced at Jack, who was staring at the ground. “You want to go too, kid?’
Jack made a noncommittal noise.
“Hey, I’m sorry I snapped. I’m going to apologize to Gav, and if you guys want to go, you can.”
Jack picked up his brother’s hockey stick and gloves, and stashed them away with his in the oversized plastic bin they kept next to the porch. Ryan gave his shoulder a squeeze as he made his way over to Gavin, who was blinking back tears on the porch.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you, bud.” Ryan took a seat next to the seven-year-old and bumped his shoulder. “You got anything you want to say to me?”
“I’m sorry I said it wasn’t fair.”
“That’s a big statement, right?”
“Right.”
“You want to go with them?”
“Can I?”
Was he such an ogre that his kids thought he’d hold them back from something like that? “Of course. I just want you to be appreciative, not whiny. That’s all.”
Little arms wrapped tight around Ryan’s waist and he squeezed his son close. “Will you come, too? It’ll be fun.”
“Playing hockey is more my idea of fun, bud.”
“Please?”
And that’s how he ended up awkwardly standing ten feet away from Holly, down by the lake, trying to look anywhere but at her decidedly-not-Holly made-up face. Her hair was shiny smooth and she was wearing makeup, a lot of makeup, although it was all carefully applied to make her look like she wasn’t wearing anything at all.
Movies were weird.
Next to her, a ridiculously good-looking man flashed a pure-white smile, practically blinding the group. “Joshua Pearce, nice to meet you all.”
Olivia’s headset crackled and she leaned in. “Joshua, Hope…twenty minutes left on the lunch break. I have to go down to the dock, excuse me.”
Ryan watched as she scurried away, impressed at how effortlessly his friend blended into such an alien world.
“I thought your name was Holly.” Jack said, and Ryan jerked his attention back to his kids, who were now grilling Holly on her name. He took a step forward, but she shot him a look that said, it’s okay.
“Most people know me as Hope Creswell.” She paused and looked right at Ryan. “That’s not my real name, though. Holly is.”
Jack continued, totally oblivious to the undercurrent of tension zinging between the star and his father. “So you’ve got two names?”
“Yep.” She smiled. “And most people don’t know my real name, so that makes you guys special.”
Gavin had to chip in. “You’re just like Clark Kent and Superman.”
She laughed, and God, had Ryan missed that sound. Which just pissed him off.
“I’m not that cool,” Holly said.
“You can run fast and make movies. You’re cool.” Gavin held out his fist and she tapped her knuckles against his before kneeling to Maya’s level.
“I need to get back to work now, but are you guys hungry? I think there’s tons of food left in the catering tent. Should we go check it out?” She held out her hand and Maya slipped her fingers into Holly’s.
Ryan hung back, watching as his kids happily traipsed along with the movie stars. Of course this made them happy. It was an escape from reality.
And isn’t that exactly what you wanted for yourself?
But the happiness was fleeting, because it wasn’t real. He gritted his teeth and followed, pissed off that for the rest of the day, they’d just talk about how cool this had been and how wonderful Holly was.
Of course, to his kids and the rest of the world, she hadn’t actually done anything that wasn’t wonderful. And even to him…even though she’d kept something big from him, at the same time she’d given him something big, too—friendship on his terms, no questions asked.
That just made him even madder, because while Ryan was starting to get the idea that he’d overreacted, he still felt wronged, too.
He didn’t know what to do about that.
— ELEVEN —
HOLLY closed her eyes, hoping to steal a ten minute power-nap while the hair stylist reset her hair to what it should look like at the beginning of the scene.
The sliding door to the deck opened and closed, and footsteps approached. A voice cleared, and Emmett asked, “Hope, are you hungry?”
She hated how resentment prickled at that very reasonable question. This was this poor guy’s job, to make sure her every need was met, and she’d never been such a bitch before, but the last twenty-four hours she’d been in the worst mood, and had taken it out on him more than once. Swallowing back the snappy response on the tip of her tongue, she nodded as much as the hair stylist would allow. “Sure. Tea and a muffin, please.”
He slipped away again, and she took a deep breath, shoving away the feelings that didn’t belong in her head right now. She wasn’t Holly, or Hope. She was Kathleen, and she’d just seen her nurse out the window. I know why she’s here, and I’m torn between concern and anger. Her lines for the scene ran through her head, and she breathed in and out, urging them into her bloodstream. One more take, and she’d nail it.
After the rockiness of the previous two weeks, she’d slipped into a new headspace. Still mad as hell in her off-hours, but when they called action, she was delivering performances that she knew were the best in her career. Rejection really had made her stronger.
Maybe she should thank Ryan for that. She snorted to herself. Doubtful that he’d care.
It had been so hard to be pleasant and upbeat the day before when he’d all but sneered at her and Joshua after Olivia had introduced them to her friends. Of course, it was awkward to be introduced to a man one had secretly kissed. But she did her best. And once she started talking to the kids, everything else had faded away. She really liked Jack, Gavin, and Maya—talking to them was a genuine pleasure. And as long as she focused on their faces, she’d been able to blur out Ryan’s scowl.
Just like she’d been able to channel everything into Kathleen, blurring out the rest of the world.
But this new focus had come at a price—she wasn’t that pleasant to be around, a state she wasn’t comfortable with. When Emmett returned and slid a teacup onto the table beside her, she held out her hand. He squeezed it after hesitating a beat.
“Don’t quit on me, Em.”
He laughed. “You need to work on your apologies, Hope.”
He wasn’t wrong.
— —
Emmett had passed on the muffin request to someone else, an intern probably, and when she was released by the hair and makeup people, she found a basket overflowing with enough baked goods to feed a small army—most of which she couldn’t eat.
This is a sign, she thought as she looked in the direction of Ryan’s house. When they took an early dinner break, Holly set aside the healthiest muffins that she might eat, rearranged the basket, grabbed her phone, and told Emmett to text her with a five minute warning when they were ready to get back to it.
Her heart in her throat, she tromped up the lane, all the things she might say spinning through her head.
A peace offering. Too weak. I’m sorry. No, not in front of the kids.
When he opened the door, just enough to see what she wanted and definitely not enough to seem welcoming, she just skipped all of the opening options and went straight for word-vomit.
“I asked for muffins at lunchtime and they brought me an entire basket of them. They’ll go stale before I can eat them all, and some of them I won’t eat
at all, so I thought the kids might like them. Here, you can just have them. I have to get back. Don’t read anything into this. I don’t have any expectations. Just blueberry buttermilk muffins. And bran. Warn the kids those aren’t chocolate chips. Nobody likes raisins.”
He stared back at her, his face hard and his eyes dark. Oh God, this was a mistake. She’d had a stupid, impulsive idea, but she was only making things worse. She took a half-step back, quite certain that fleeing would be the best option, but it was too late.
The door swung open the rest of the way and Ryan’s kids piled out the door around him. Gavin’s eyes lit up and he pointed to the basket. “Muffins?”
She winced and shrugged a silent apology.
He waved his hand. “Come on in.”
“I have to get back,” she said quietly as she stepped in. “We’re doing a night shoot tonight, so we’re just on break.”
“Well, thank you for the treats, right guys?” Ryan picked up Maya, who was reaching for the muffins, and Holly slid them onto the kitchen table.
Maya squealed in protest, and shook her head at Ryan when he shushed her. “No, Daddy. Put me down, your prickles are poking my face.”
Jack rolled his eyes at Holly. “They aren't prickles Maya, it's his beard.” He said it to his sister, but he said it for Holly’s benefit. Telling her he wasn’t a baby.
Gavin laughed, a silly giggle. “But that’s a good name for them. Like Daddy's a porcupine.”
From deep in Holly's belly, a laugh started and once it took hold she couldn't stop.
Maya looked at her, eyebrows drawn. "What so funny? You don't like Daddy's prickles either?"
Such an innocent question. She shouldn't have felt a stab of heat, deep inside her core, but there it was. And when she glanced up, her laughter fading from her lips, she saw an echoing fire burning bright in Ryan's eyes.
