Chasing Clouds

by Kathryn Andrews

  “Patrick helped me the most.” She frowns. “While others just assumed I was grieving, he knew what I was dealing with was on a whole different level. He took me to the doctor, found me a therapist, joined me at support groups for those who had lost a twin—he was really there for me when I needed someone. But, looking back, as grateful as I am for him, I feel like he was using me as a way to not deal with his own heartache. I gave him a purpose, a distraction.”

  “I get that. It also helps me understand why you were so loyal to him.”

  “He was my friend,” she says sadly. “I thought letting go of him would be like losing her all over again, if that makes sense.”

  “It does.” They were all a package deal, a life together full of memories. Of course I can see how it would feel like losing her all over again. It’s like effectively closing the door on so much of her life.

  “But surprisingly, it didn’t, and yesterday, when I walked away, I was just done. I didn’t feel bad at all. In fact, I felt relief.”

  “I’m not going to lie, I don’t like that he was here.” I tilt my chin a little higher. “I’ll never tell you who you can and cannot be friends with, but I feel very strongly about him not being around you.”

  She gives me an endearing smile and runs her hand from my waist up to the middle of my chest. I’m certain she can feel my heartbeat, and I hope she does. In so many ways, it beats just for her. “He’s not coming back. You don’t have to think about him ever again.”

  “Good.”

  “I meant it when I said I was going to fight for you. I may have had to work myself up to it, but I was almost there, and then yesterday, all the remaining puzzle pieces fell into place. Nothing was going to stop me from going to you.”

  Hearing that she wasn’t giving up on us, on me—it’s a balm that soothes the part of me that’s been empty without her.

  Leaning down, I touch my lips to hers, and from the inside out, my soul weeps in relief. Neither one of us moves, remaining still as the gravity of the moment settles around us, until she exhales. It’s long, slow, and filled with a relief so tangible I reach out and embrace it through her lips, her face, her hands, her body. She slides onto my lap, flattens herself against me, and although I hug her gently due to that damn collarbone, I hug her thoroughly so she knows she’s mine.

  “I’m sorry, Reid, for everything,” she quietly says into the skin of my neck.

  Wrapping my hands around her face, I move us so we’re nose to nose and she’s looking me in the eyes. “Don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry, because I would do it all over again if it meant bringing me here to you.”

  Warm tears slip out of the corners of her eyes and roll across my fingers. I abhor that all of this has moved her to tears, but from now on, if anyone is going to be the one to dry them, it’s me.

  “I’m sorry for how I behaved back in Tampa. I hate how I spoke to you.” I really do. Never again will I be so quick to judge; there’s always more to the story.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about.” She shakes her head lightly and her sweet breath washes over my face.

  Inching forward, she closes the distance between us and kisses me with abandon. There’s a desperation to our movements that’s slow and hard, forgiving and freeing. I can’t get close enough.

  Almost three months ago, she breathed life into a need I didn’t know I had, a simple spark that turned into a flame and spread like a wildfire, burning me up from the inside out. I welcome the heat, never want to temper it, and with her, I’m certain I never will. She’s the catalyst, the oxygen needed, and because of her, I’m transformed.

  Reclining back, I grab the pullover behind my head and yank it off. My T-shirt comes with it and I drop both on the floor next to us. Her warm hands roam over me, drifting lightly over the bump of the break and then up into my hair.

  “Your hair is so long.” She smiles, running her fingers through it, making it stand straight up.

  “I know.” I chuckle. “Whereas yours is just as gorgeous as always.”

  I run my hand over the back of her head, cradling it reverently. Her cheeks flush and she leans forward to place her forehead against mine.

  “I missed you so much,” she whispers, her swollen lips just inches from mine.

  “I missed you more.”

  Starting at the top, I make my way down as I unfasten each button of her shirt. Sliding my hand back up between her breasts, I peel the fabric away, leaving her in beige lace. A pang of longing pulls the breath from me as I admire every inch of her skin—so pale, so smooth, and so perfect.

  Leaning forward, I run my nose across the length of her shoulder, and goose bumps chase behind. Tangling one hand in her hair, I pull her bra strap down with the other and admire how her skin smells like peaches. If I didn’t have these injuries, there’s no doubt I’d tackle her to the floor, but as it is, I end up taking my time.

  Her hands run over my back as mine cup and take in the weight of her breasts and my mouth sucks in her nipple. She gasps and arches underneath me.

  A man could die just from yearning to hear the sounds she makes.

  I want to tell her to sit still, that if she keeps moving this will be over before it begins, but I don’t. I can’t say a word. Instead, I take off every stitch of our clothing and worship her the best way I can.

  The warmth of her skin as it caresses mine makes me feverish. The taste of her lips has me intoxicated, and the feeling of her heart beating with mine leaves me delirious. How one person can cause so many different visceral reactions is beyond me, but I want it. I want it all.

  Us, together, moving, breathing, enraptured as one—there is nothing greater than this expression of love, a love I intend to hold onto for forever.

  Sometime later, we make ourselves some lunch then head upstairs to her bed. Both of us are exhausted and quickly fall asleep. Hours pass as we nap curled around each other, until I’m finally awoken by the twilight sun. Everything is warm—her room, her bed, her—and I feel more content than I have in my entire life. How I went all those weeks without this—hell, all those years—I’ll never know.

  Slipping out of her bed, I’m on my way to the bathroom when I spot the original photo I saw of her and Clare. I bring it with me, crack the door, and turn on the light. Of course, now when I look at it, it’s plain as day that the girl smiling at the person taking the photo is not Camille, and the girl with her head thrown back laughing is—the girl with the pink hair. Yes, they are identical twins, but the differences between them aren’t that subtle. Clare’s face is rounder, her eyes are farther apart, and the energy that’s present in Camille just isn’t there. Clare is beautiful, but she looks colder, stiffer, and from all they’ve said, perfect for Patrick.

  Patrick and I will never be friends, but I do feel sympathetic for his loss. Loving someone for so long and so completely, and then to have her tragically taken away . . . I can’t imagine the pain and hope I’m lucky enough never to experience it firsthand, but then I change my mind. At the end of our life, one of us will have to die first, and it hurts to say this, but I hope it’s her, not me. I don’t want her to go through great loss twice. Once is enough.

  Sliding back in the bed, I pull her up next to me, and her arm drapes across my chest.

  “Where did you go?” she mumbles against my skin.

  “Nowhere,” I tell her, and deep down, I mean it. For weeks, even though we weren’t physically together, I’ve been with her and only her. She consumed all my thoughts and heavily filled my heart.

  My wife.

  Well, technically she’s not, but that’s not from our doing and wasn’t our choice. If I have anything to say about this, the paperwork will be resubmitted and our status will be remedied somewhat quickly.

  “Camille,” I whisper, my lips in her soft hair as my hand runs down the bare length of her spine.

  “Hmm,” she murmurs, half asleep.

  “I love you.”

  Starting at her foot, her skin ripp
les all the way up to her hand on my chest, where her fingers curl into her palm.

  “I do. I love you, and I just thought you should know.”

  “Reid.” She pulls back, looks at my face, and then cups my cheek. Her thumb slides back and forth, making me feel treasured. With a small smile, her eyes are happy as she says, “I know you do.”

  “How do you know?” I question, returning her adorable smile.

  Sitting up, she leans over to her nightstand, opens the drawer, and pulls out three wrinkled pieces of paper. I immediately know they were the airplanes I made. That’s why they weren’t downstairs—she found my notes.

  Laying them on my lap, she crosses her legs as she sits close, and I wait for an uncomfortable shyness to take over, but it never does. I have nothing to hide from her, nor she from me, and for the first time in my life, I want to share every part.

  “It was the ink on the third one—I saw it first, and, well, of course I had to go read your other hidden messages. These mean more than you will ever know, Reid. Tomorrow you have to refold them so I can keep them forever.”

  “Were you surprised?” I ask, a little sheepish but a lot more curious.

  “Surprised isn’t a big enough word. I was many things, but mostly so happy because I love you, too.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, hope healing all the little broken cracks in me.

  “Oh yeah,” she says, grinning from ear to ear. “I love you very much.”

  EIGHT WEEKS HAVE passed since that day Reid showed up on my doorstep.

  Eventually, I told him all my biggest secrets, burdens, and sources of guilt, and being the man he is, he absorbed it all and in return exuded a strength I found complimentary to my own. I don’t need him, can do this life on my own, but with him, I feel like I can take on the world, two being greater than one.

  “So what do you think?” I ask as I join him out on the back veranda of my parents’ plantation home.

  “I think it’s beautiful, and all so incredibly different from how I grew up.”

  “It is pretty, isn’t it?” My eyes trail over the vast landscape in front of us and I smile. Memories, minutes, moments—they never leave us, and as much as we try to shake free, they’re like cobwebs. You can feel them, but you can’t quite find them. They cling, and there’s no escaping, the good or the bad. Today, with the hint of humidity in the air and a sky full of endless clouds, I’m reminded more of the good, and being here, I’m at ease.

  “It’s quiet,” he says.

  “Wait till night time. The cicadas, toads—you name it, they all come out, and it’s so loud. I thought living in the city was quiet.”

  After Grandfather visited Reid, his next stop was at my parents’ home. I’m not sure what all was said—really, I don’t even care—but it was my mother who came begging for forgiveness. Of course, I gave it to her.

  My mother used to be stronger, but once my sister died, the light in her eyes died too. She was vibrant, always the perfect host, dazzling any room she entered. But, after that night, she slipped into the back of the crowd and politely remained just barely seen and not heard at all. I know this happened to me, too, but I’m not that girl anymore, and it seems she doesn’t want to be either.

  I know as well as anyone what life is like under my father’s thumb and how hard it is to go against him. It turns out me taking a stand and Patrick taking a stand by outing my father’s secrets to me then heading back to Boston gave her the strength to finally put her foot down as well. She’d had enough, just like the rest of us, and today we’re here because she invited us to brunch before we head back to Tampa.

  To our home.

  No, we’re not selling my house here, but it’s preseason now and Reid is required to be there. Where he is, that’s where I’ll be, and fortunately for me, Vintage Soul is easily relocated. I’m glad I decided not to rush into opening a storefront, and as it is, I have a waitlist of commissioned pieces from the wives of some of Reid’s friends on the team.

  “Both nights we were here, for the rehearsal dinner and the reception, I didn’t realize the property was this large, or at least that so much of it belonged to your family.”

  Reid is leaning forward with his forearms propped up on the veranda railing. His injuries healed at a rapid pace, and he’s training hard just to prove he can. I’m proud of him.

  He’s wearing a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and he looks mighty good.

  “How would you have known? First off, it was dark, and second, we were preoccupied with other more pertinent things.”

  “True,” he mumbles, nodding in agreement.

  Tearing my eyes off of him, I follow the trail that leads through the dogwoods down to an old bench. When we were little, we would sit out there on late summer nights and watch the fireflies rise up out of the tall grass, but since we lost Clare, my father’s kept the field mowed down and it looks more like a grassy lawn. It’s still beautiful, just different. Then again, I suppose we all are now—different.

  “I can still see Clare and me running through the field. Do you see over there?” I point toward a cluster of trees about a quarter mile away. “Those are peach trees. We spent way too many days and nights lying under the trees and getting sticky while eating peaches, but boy were they delicious.”

  “The trees look small.” He squints a little at the brightness of the midmorning sun.

  “They are.”

  “Take me out there?” He stands up straight and turns to me.

  “Now?”

  I haven’t been back in the field since the night Clare died, and he realizes this as he sees the panic on my face. Pity flashes through his eyes then is replaced with astute understanding.

  “Come on.” He takes my hand and pulls me to the stairs. “It’s July now, so the peaches will be ripe. Show this city boy what it’s like to pick fruit and eat it right off the tree.”

  “You’ve never picked fruit before?”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy and then grins. “Nope, not like this. We need to go out there and make some new memories, if you catch my drift.” He winks at me, his grin stretching into a full-blown smile.

  “I swear, is that all you think about?” I shake my head in exasperation as I follow him.

  “Of course not. I think about food and football, too. Thing is, you’re my wife—I’m allowed to think about it and do it as much as I want.”

  “I’m not your wife yet.” I break free and take off running for the trees.

  Next month, Reid and I are getting remarried.

  I didn’t think it would take him long, but even I was surprised that he asked after only two days. Just like the first morning we were at the beach, I wandered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, and there on the island was a new paper airplane. I was beyond delighted to see it sitting there, and then when I peeled back the folded edges and saw those four words—Will you marry me?—my heart could have burst. With my hands flying to my mouth and tears in my eyes, I spun around, ready to run back upstairs, only to find Reid down on one knee holding the most stunning solitaire diamond ring I’ve ever seen. It was one of the greatest moments of my life, and it couldn’t have been more perfect if he tried.

  We talked about going down to the courthouse and making it quick and painless, but that didn’t seem fair to those who love us and went on this journey too. His mother was beside herself with excitement, and that alone makes waiting a few more weeks worth it. We chose the beach, back on Anna Maria Island, because that’s where we fell in love.

  “Would you hold up? For someone so small, you’re pretty fast,” he calls from behind.

  “Oh, is Mr. Wide Receiver having problems keeping up?”

  “No.” With that he blows by me, laughing the whole time.

  “Show-off,” I call after him, and he slows, turning around, running backward. He’s so handsome with his hair flopping in his face and his eyes gleaming with playfulness, sometimes I feel like I need to pinch myself to prove this is re
al.

  Eventually, we reach the trees and spend the next hour eating peaches, horsing around, and yes, making new memories. We’re both a little dirty, but neither of us cares, and as we lie in the grass and stare up at the clouds, I feel a contentment I haven’t experienced in a long time.

  “Didn’t you once tell me you and your sister used to lie in this field and stare at the clouds as they floated by?” His arm is tossed over his forehead as he blocks the sun and stares up into the sky.

  “We did, but I think every kid does that.” I pick a dandelion that’s between us and lightly run my fingertips over the white fluffy top.

  “We didn’t, Nate and I. There were no fields for us to lie in.”

  I turn and look at him as I think about this, and I guess he’s right. Where would they have done this in the Bronx? “Not even in a city park?”

  “Nope. Never even occurred to me to lie down somewhere and look at them. If we were out, we were too busy playing sports, running around.” His free hand reaches over and snatches the dandelion from me. He brings it up to his face and examines it.

  “Clare and I spent hours outside describing what each one looked like, imagining where they were going, and chasing them as they floated by.”

  “You chased the clouds?” One corner of his mouth quirks up.

  “We did. She always marveled as they passed over, whereas I always pretended they were taking me with them. She loved our life, and I hated it, but you know this.”

  “No offense, princess, but your life was very privileged. You might have hated it, but others would have killed for it—for this.” Using his other hand, he pulls the fuzzy seeds and I watch as they drop and stick all over him. Swearing, he sits up, wiping at them, and I can’t help but giggle.

  “I suppose.” I’m not stubborn enough to disagree with him; there’s no point. I know we were afforded things others weren’t, but as with everything, there was a cost, and I paid the price tenfold.

  “The paper airplanes,” Reid blurts out, dropping back down next to me, turning to look at me.