by M. C. Cerny
“Shhh. It’s going to be all right. I promise. Come on.” Again our roles have flipped and Leah is the big sister taking on all my hurts the way mom would have. She puts her arm around me and guides me into the condo. We shuffle into her bedroom and she pushes me down onto the bed. I should find it weird I’m lying in my sister’s bed, the one she now shares with my ex-boyfriend, but I’m in too much misery to care of the circumstances. It’s just a bed and I’m just too broken inside to care.
“It was awful, Leah. I didn’t tell him that my drunk driver case involved the man who killed his mother in an accident years ago.”
“Abby, you couldn’t have known that. Plus, we’ve got confidentiality ethics as lawyers.”
“I know, but—”
“But nothing. Roman will come around once he realizes this, but until then, I don’t want you to beat yourself up about this. Please.” Leah forces me to lie down and cuddles up next to me. Protectively, my sister leans her arm over my body and pulls me close. Our hearts beat in rhythm, similar thumping rhythms until we both fall dreamlessly asleep.
* * * * *
“Abby, wake up. Come on, let’s go out.” Leah is pulling me awake from the comfort of the bed. I’m exhausted from the emotional ping-pong of Roman coming and going.
“Leah, what? What time is it?” I’m groggy as I push matted curls off my face.
“It’s after five o’clock.”
I look at the digital clock, the clothes I fell asleep in, and my bandaged foot. I slept for several hours and woke up like a freight train hit me hard and Leah the most chipper I’ve seen her in weeks.
My sister seems intent on dragging my sad ass about town. “I need a shower.”
“No time for that. Come on, I know this great little tapas place with the most incredible tequila sunrises.” She’s tugging the sheet from me with her thin arms and I let for fear I might hurt her accidentally.
This whole idea reeks of something uncharacteristic of her. Scratching my head, I ask the most important question. “Sis, can you even drink on chemo?”
She comes back around the bed, giving me a wry look, hands on her hips. “Abigail, live a little.” I suppose there is no time like the present then.
“All right, do we need a driver?” Reaching for my cellphone, which is void of messages from Roman, I remember I have Vinnie’s number and scroll through my contacts. He told me to call him anytime I needed a driver for something. I have no idea what my suddenly fun sister has in mind.
“I’ll make Lucas cart us around.” Shaking her head, she peeks out from the closet. “He loves driving my car.”
“Peachy,” I mumble, but Leah has already disappeared into her walk-in closet, tossing things from it in my direction.
“Here, put this on!” I grab the designer dress as it flies past me, flipping it over for a label.
“Leah, are you shitting me? This is your Herve Leger wrap dress.” I’d always loved this dress, but Leah had bought the plum colored dress to wear to one of dad’s holiday dinners with the intention to spite me. So I returned the one I bought, settling on a pink Christian Dior.
“Come on, you only live once! Get dressed. I have shoes you can wear with your busted foot.” I strip my top and shorts off, tugging the fitted dress over my underwear.
“Tell me again, what’s the plan?” My mind buzzes because usually I’m the irresponsible one making irrational choices, not Leah, but I decide to roll with it for tonight.
“Drinks and Tattoos!” Clucking my lips together, I realize this will be a long night of shenanigans.
“Can we start with dinner, maybe?” Far be it for me to be the voice of reason, but something about cruising LA for a tattoo parlor and alcohol seems like a bad idea. I’m not some old lady here, but given my sister is recovering from a chemotherapy treatment and my heart has been shattered hours earlier, I’m a little worried we might be overdoing things just a bit.
Lucas pulls up to the condo in my sister’s car and we drive off. An expensive dinner in the heart of LA fills our hungry bellies as we order several appetizers to start. Between the three of us, we are laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Leah is sweet and fun. Lucas is not quite the asshole I’ve come to know him to be in the past few weeks and actually seems to dote on my sister. It’s a weird dynamic, but we all seem to roll with it, content to enjoy the present.
“Oh. stop here…this is the place I looked up on the internet.” Leah is tapping Lucas’ arm to pull the car over. I’m sitting in the back, rubbing my throbbing foot, wondering why I didn’t just go to the emergency room for a tetanus shot. I’ll probably need one after the looks of this all-night tattoo parlor. A glowing sign buzzes open and another says Inked Dots—the name of the shop.
“Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” Lucas leans over the center console, adjusting my sister’s scarf. Part of me wants to gag. I mean, we both have intimate knowledge of him and it’s straight up bizarre—no, it’s gross. Let’s leave it gross for me to comprehend.
“Have I ever been wrong before?” Leah croons in the dark of the car. The tequila sunrises course through my veins, leading me toward bad decisions. If I had eaten more I would have gagged right then. “Come on, baby sis.” Leah opens her door and I rush to get out to help her. We walk hand in hand into the shop, which is actually very clean inside.
“What are we doing here, Leah?” Whispering, I ask her as we page through catalogs of the artist named Big Eddie.
“Finally getting that tattoo I always wanted.” Huh, who knew a tattoo was something my straight-laced, overachiever sister had wanted. Big Eddie made us sign all kinds of release forms before sitting us down in his chair one at a time. Leah had convinced me to get one as well and I agreed as long as I got to pick out the design. After some sisterly arguments, she relents and goes along with my idea. I’d just like to point out if you’re not into needles, tattoos freaking hurt.
* * * * *
I wake up in Leah’s bed again. I’m pretty sure there was more alcohol when we returned to her house. Lucas stayed the night as fucked up as that is sneaking into the bedroom with us passed out. Luckily, Leah’s bed is a California king and my sister was in the middle. Sunlight filters through my side of the room and it’s one of the most arresting things, lying in her bed all of us breathing quietly. I rolled over watching my sister sleep, a hand underneath her chin, her scarf no longer covering her head.
Her skin has lost its honey color despite the sunshine. Holding my hand up to hers I see how different we are. Her wrist is slender and the skin is like parchment paper, thin and pale. Both us of were blessed with good genes and on the skinny side, but the bones show in Leah. The cancer obviously taxing her appetite and making her face more sunken in.
Finally it hits me and I realize what Roman was saying as he flung hurtful words in my face yesterday. Leah is gravely ill, and no matter how much I try to push it away, the reality is she has a heck of a fight on her hands. Dad’s anger is more understandable now, but no less hurtful. The answers are left unknown and Leah’s deep breaths continue during my examination of the facts unsaid.
“So, is there anything I can say to make things better, and go back to the way they were?” Lucas whispers over my sister, his arm snaking around her waist as he eyes me up and down. Revulsion chokes the back of my throat.
“You’re disgusting. In my sister’s house and her bed, how could you even go there?” Snarling, I can’t stand the fact he gets a clean bill of health and Leah lays between us, her life hanging in the balance.
“Meet me in the kitchen.” Lucas slides out of the bed, shirtless, his chest perfectly groomed and his muscles just hinted by his leanness.
I follow Lucas into the kitchen where he begins to make coffee I pad quietly so as not to wake Leah up. Before I can respond, he puts his arms around me, letting his hands roam freely until I push back with force. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”
“Oh, come on, Abs. It’s not like we haven’t do
ne this dance before.”
“Yeah, but we’ll never be doing it again. We broke up, remember? And then you poached in my family to keep your job at my dad’s firm because you’re nothing but a god damn, no-talent assclown.” I’m shaking with disgust as he leans in one more time.
“Leah is very sick and I would be happy to console you when the time comes. Remember that.”
“Get out of my sister’s house. Get. The. Fuck. Out.” I grab a spatula from the counter, wishing it was a wicked looking knife, ready to hit him with it. Lucas huffs and grabs his shirt off the chair, throwing it over his head and slipping his shoes on as he grabs the keys to Leah’s car and leaves. Feeling deflated, I slink against the cabinets, sitting on the floor.
“I always knew he was a piece of social-climbing shit.” Looking up, I see Leah weakly stagger into the kitchen without her designer scarf.
“Oh, Leah.” I get up, helping her to a chair.
“No, it’s all right, Abby. I knew when he jumped ship to hop in my bed… sorry.” I cringe and she continues her story. “He was no good for you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Holding my hand, Leah turns them over to look at our new tattoos, pretty little anchors on our wrists with matching pink ribbons of hope. We are sisters in solidarity, despite our past differences and years apart.
“Do you love Roman?” Her question baffles me, considering the last twenty-four hours. “Okay, so you did some stuff and he said some stuff, but at the end of the day, do you still love him?” When Leah breaks it down that simply, I guess it makes sense. We both did stupid things that hurt each other. I could sit here wasting what time I have in this life or I could go chase after my man.
“Yeah, I do. I love my sailor.” Smiling, Leah nods her head, proving she’s much wiser than her years. Maybe cancer does that shit to people, gives them Yoda-like powers, forcing the rest of us to get our priorities straightened out.
“I guess you better get your ass up there then, huh? I want to live long enough for a wedding.” And just like that, my sister sends me on my way back to Gold Beach. Back to Roman Winters and one hell of a fight on my hands.
Chapter Twenty-two
ROMAN
Pulling up to the dock, I jump over the railing to pull the mail boat into her slip and tie her up securely. Bella gives a woof, jumping down behind me, her paws excitedly dancing on the wood. I’m busy taking mail packets from the boat to drop them off at the post office for another batch of mail I’ll bring down the river. Bella keeps barking and the loud sounds grate on my agitated nerves since coming back to Gold Beach. I wanted to find peace coming back here, not find reasons to miss Abby every time I turned around.
Irritated, I try shooing the dog down the dock toward my truck. “Bella, hush. I’m going to drop you off at Maddie’s house for dinner.”
“Hey, do you think I could get ride too?” I stop and turn around, hearing her voice unexpectedly. She looks torn. Her short curls are windblown and a headband holds most of them back. It makes her look about nineteen instead of twenty-seven. My cock does a little jig in my shorts, happy to see her again. There is no use avoiding her. We have done this before and I have no interest in fighting with her.
“Not sure I have room in the truck.” A part of me represses my smile because I’m glad she’s back, even if we can’t make this work.
“Oh, well, I could, uh, sit in the back.”
“Bella sits in the back. I’m just mad at you, Hollywood.” I coil the dock rope in my hands, waiting and hoping for her to spare me and leave.
“I know, and I’m sorry.” I brush past her, our shoulders colliding gently for the briefest contact and her orange vanilla scent has me pausing to catch a whiff of it—light, sweet, and unexpected.
“I gotta get to the post office.” Dragging the empty mail bags, I keep walking past her when she speaks again.
“So, uh, how long are you going to be mad at me?” I stop and she continues. “Is there a time limit?” She follows and grabs my arm, stalling me. It’s either keep walking and push her off the dock or stop, and I’m not the same kind of asshole her ex-boyfriend is. I take her hand to remove it from my arm, but catch a glimpse of something dark on her wrist. “What’s the fuck is this?” I pull her closer to get a better look at it.
“It’s a tattoo.” Dumfounded at the shape, she surprises me again.
“I can see that, but why?” I’m a mix of anger and other feelings, which threaten to take me down a dark hole.
“Leah’s idea, but I got to pick the design.” Shyly, she pulls her arm, but I hold her still, looking at it again. My finger trace the outline as a shudder racks her body.
“An anchor?” I feel incredulous, of all the things she chose to pick, this, my symbol was it?
“Yeah…strength and hope, you know, because those anchor the soul.” She pulls away, cradling the fresh ink against her chest.
“No, Abby, that anchor—” I point to her wrist “—just holds you back in LA.”
“You’re wrong, Roman. It doesn’t anchor me anywhere, but some bonds need to be heavy and deep to be appreciated, just like your love for your parents.”
Gritting my teeth, I refrain from saying the harsh things that come to mind. I don’t want her to speak of them. I want her to leave.
“Go home, Abby. The two of us, we’re too different. You don’t belong here.” I get in the truck, slamming my door shut with a sigh, and watch her stand there looking out over the dock toward the river’s edge, unmoving. I thought I could instantly forgive her, take her back or make her work for it a little bit, but Abby doesn’t belong here and damn if I could make her go.
* * * * *
I get to the house to find Maddie sitting on the porch, hot tea in her hands. “Maddie.” I nod, going next door to my house when I stop and see Abby’s shiny car mocking me in the driveway.
“Roman.” Maddie’s voice brokers no argument as she stands to meet me in the driveway. I hold a hand up, warding her off. A hug from Maddie or any kind gesture is likely to have me falling apart like an angry teenager all over again.
“Please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t meddle this time.” Exhaustion creeps over me and my sly friend shrugs her reply.
“I wouldn’t dream of doing so.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn toward my house, needing to escape.
“Women,” I mumble to myself, remarking how they would likely be the death of me.
“Roman, she came back for you.”
Directing my comment toward Maddie, I punctuate my words. “Sure, that’s what you said the last time.”
Ignoring me, Maddie continues, “Roman Winters, did it ever occur to you that all I want for you is to be happy and settled.”
I point toward the car and the cottage down the path, jabbing my next words in the salty air. “Did it ever occur to you that girl is not the settling, happy type?”
“Suit yourself.”
Fury consumes me as Maddie sits back down on her stoop, a sentinel against the setting sun.
ABIGAIL
Coming back to Gold Beach is like coming home, but I’m so afraid it’s too late for Roman and me to figure this all out. I’ve already lost so many good things in my life, and the one good thing I still have was slowly slipping through my fingers, one heart beat at a time. Knocking at my door the next morning heralds my neighbor Maddie, her arms laden with cooking ingredients. She’s bustling through the doorway, helping herself, and I guess it’s allowed considering she does own the cottage I’m staying in. “Hi, Maddie, what’s the stuff for?”
“Oh, this? I’m just making a pie. Come, my dear, help me.” I have a suspicion Maddie is up to her meddling ways, but I follow her to the kitchen, coffee ready and waiting.
“Um, would that be a turtle pie?” She sorts the ingredients on the counter, and her face lifts, nodding and humming some song appreciatively. “The way to a man’s heart—or in this case, Roman’s—is through his stomach.” She s
miles and busies herself pulling out pots and pans. They clang on the stove and she adjusts dials and spreads her items out on the counter in some haphazard order.
“I’m not so sure about that.” Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over my chest, I fess up to why I’m back in Gold Beach. “I did something pretty horrible and Roman is mad. I mean, he has legitimate reason to be mad, even if it was something I couldn’t tell him because of my job.”
“Oh, honey, the world ain’t got time for perfect people. Now let me show you how to make a decent caramel.”
Maddie takes pity on my poor cooking skills and shows me step by step how to make Roman’s ‘fall to my knees in supplication’ pie, or better known as turtle pie. I think Maddie is a little crazy, trying to convince me this will bring Roman back to me, but I’ll try anything just get him to sit down and listen to what I have to say.
It takes the better part of the morning to complete each ingredient and Maddie shows me how it all comes together, added with love. She helps me stir the pots of thick sugary ingredients and then how to cool them and layer them properly into a diabetic coma.
“Now this is a good pie.” Sampling bites of the pie, our mouths are full when Roman stops by to let Maddie know he’s fixed the fence behind the cottage. I hadn’t even noticed he was outside the window all this time working away. He looks good wearing his staple cargo shorts and a tight-fitting T-shirt, which is a little stained and holey in places from too many washings. I bet it’s softer than silk, but I don’t get the change to touch him and find out for sure.
“Roman, have a bite and tell me if it’s good.” Maddie coaxes him closer, but like a skittish deer, he doesn’t get any closer than the door and avoids looking at me.
“Thanks, but I need to get going. Darrell is expecting me to stop by.” He ignores me just like that and my heart is crushed when he walks away. My eyes follow him back up the path, his tool box swinging in his grasp and his legs muscular and defined. The soles of his flip-flops slap against the sand with each retreating step.
