A Storied Life

by Leigh Kramer

  “Very true,” he agreed with a wink. “You're lucky to bask in my greatness.”

  “Now don't get ahead of yourself,” I shot back with a laugh. These moments gave me hope, but I still needed to ask. “I don't want to interrupt your story but…” I stumbled for the right words. “Are you still in love with Katie?”

  The words hung between us as my heart thundered. In the silence, I regretted my need to know what, if anything, I meant to him. I shouldn't have asked. I shouldn't have assumed why he wanted me to know any of this.

  Reagan looked down. That brief glance sent my stomach plummeting. I steeled myself for his response.

  “There will always be a part of me that loves Katie,” he said, carefully choosing each word. “But when I look back on the relationship, I see all the ways we got it wrong. My grief over her death was intertwined with sadness over our relationship, the mistakes we'd both made along the way and the loss of a chance to get it right.”

  Reagan let out a sound of frustration, then held me with his gaze. “I'm doing this all wrong.”

  “Doing what wrong?” I asked, mystified.

  “I like you, Olivia. This feels like a lot to dump on someone. I planned on telling you eventually because this is part of who I am. But this is a lot to handle at the beginning of a relationship.”

  My eyebrows raised in question and I bit back the start of a smile. The beginning of a relationship? A pinprick of happiness swelled beneath the surface. Was he saying what I hoped he was saying? I tried not to read into his words, even as I rationalized his choice to share his past with me.

  “Wait. You want us to be in a relationship?” I dared to ask, uncertainty ringing in my voice. “We haven’t even gone on a real date.”

  Our hands reached out across the table and linked of their own accord. Reagan's smile answered my question before he said a word.

  “See, I really am doing this wrong,” he groaned, scrubbing his free hand over his chin. He squeezed the hand he was holding and pierced me with his gaze, his eyes dancing with amusement and vulnerability. “Like I said, Liv, I like you. I want to see where things go with us and I’m pretty sure you do, too.” He smirked. “The trip home distracted me.”

  The trip home, the reason Reagan had asked to talk in the first place. This was where the real story lay.

  “Is that what you were going to tell me next?” I asked, warmed by his admission.

  “Are you going to leave me hanging like that?”

  “What?” Confused, I reviewed the last bit of conversation until I realized I hadn't responded to his sentiment. I blushed. “Yes, Reagan, I like you, too. Now, will you tell me about your trip home?”

  I felt compelled to keep my hope sheltered in the basement. Something tethered him to his hometown beyond his family and Katie had everything to do with it. No matter how he felt about her now.

  “Wait, what did you say?” Reagan smiled broadly, and I feigned misunderstanding about what he wanted to hear.

  “Will you tell me about your trip home?” I emphasized each and every word, trying not to laugh. A glow lit from the inside out as I held Reagan's hand and processed his interest in me. Nothing about this day had turned out the way I had imagined. It had turned into something far better.

  Reagan shook his head no and his eyes crinkled with amusement. “I heard that part. What was it you said just before that?”

  “That I like you too?” The sounds of the diner faded away as we smiled at each other. My body hummed with awareness and I couldn’t quite grasp that Reagan actually liked me. That there was a very real possibility in front of me.

  “Yep, that's it. I like how that sounds.”

  Once appeased, Reagan launched in to the next part of his tale. “All right. So why did I have to go home last weekend? After Katie died, her parents decided to start a foundation in her honor, which would directly benefit at-risk children. The money went to several organizations in Pittsburgh, as well as Boston, including both of Katie's former employers. They asked me to be on the board. For a while, this seemed like a good way for me to remember Katie but once I quit the bank, I had less purpose there. But I still went to meetings and helped with the fundraisers.”

  “It's a great foundation and I think Katie would be amazed by all that's been accomplished in her name. A couple of years ago, I decided to step down from the board and be more of an adviser. Board members need to be more hands on than I could afford to be. The more I did with the board, the more I held on to Katie's memory and I started to realize it wasn't good for me. Someone had to take my place on the board so I nominated my younger brother, Teddy. He's an accountant so I figured he could help with the foundation's books, and he'd loved Katie like a sister. We all thought it would be a good fit. God, I feel like such an idiot now.”

  Reagan raked his fingers through his hair, the curls standing on end, before shaking his head. My stomach dropped. What more could have happened to him?

  “Unfortunately, last weekend Katie's dad called me and said the board had found some irregularities in the accounting. It turns out Teddy stole from the foundation.”

  Holy hell. His brother? My mouth fell open of its own accord.

  “What an asshole,” I said under my breath. Was there no limit to what one person could take? I wanted to hunt Teddy down and teach him a lesson. Or find someone who knew someone who could teach him a lesson.

  “We're still not sure exactly how much or when it started. I had to go home for an emergency board meeting to deal with the whole mess. Teddy was arrested and will face trial.”

  First, to lose your girlfriend at such a young age and now dealing with an asshole brother. I hated Teddy for betraying Reagan this way.

  “Teddy’s out on bond and I tried to see him while I was there. He refuses to talk to anyone. He hasn’t even apologized. It makes me want to wring his neck, but at the same time, he’s my little brother and I want to know what went wrong. We didn't see this coming. We managed to figure out it's related to gambling, but he’s never had a problem with that in the past. He's been going to work, his wife hadn't noticed anything. It's been awful.”

  “I can’t even imagine, Reagan. I'm so sorry.” I didn't know what else to say, an unfortunate theme this morning.

  “Now you know the sort of man you're getting involved with.” Reagan cocked his head, as if this was my cue to take off running.

  “All of that, that's not you, Reagan. Besides, we can't control who we're related to. I'm a prime example of that. I mean, do you have a gambling problem?”

  “No,” he answered. “I know my brother isn't me, but I feel responsible. I’m the one who recommended he join the board in the first place.”

  “You're not responsible for what he did once he joined. That was his choice and it was the board’s choice to accept his nomination. He’s the one who did this,” I insisted. “Will you be flying back home more often now that this is going on?”

  “I don't think so. Since I'm an advisory member, they'll keep me up to date. Because I'm in Chicago now, it doesn't make sense for me to be any more involved. I'm probably not a top candidate either, being related to an embezzler. It's just as well. Pittsburgh represents my past and Chicago represents my future.”

  This sparked something I'd been meaning to ask him. “You never told me why you decided to move to Chicago.”

  “It was time for a change. I made a decent name for myself in Pittsburgh but you don't tend to associate it with art. Ever since I came out to see the Dorian Gray painting at the Art Institute, this city has had a hold on me. That was probably six or seven years ago. I've come back every other year and most visits I'd see Walter.”

  “I didn't realize you and Walter became that close,” I said. There was certainly a method to my mentor's madness. It meant he wanted to cultivate Reagan's career. However, he'd pointed Reagan in my direction instead.

  “He's a good guy. He really sold me on the Chicago art scene. Really, he sold me on everything the city
had to offer. I ran out of arguments. I need a fresh start. I left the bank but I’m still a workaholic at heart and I’m hoping this move will help me develop better habits, like calling when I say I will and not arriving late or canceling plans.” He grimaced. “I’m working on it, at least. After I almost missed calling you the other night, I started setting reminders on my phone for everything before I start painting.” This was good to hear.

  “Anyway, the nice thing about the painter's life is you can work wherever you are. There was a bit of risk in having to reestablish myself but Walter convinced me I had a good chance of working with you.”

  “He did, did he?” I asked with eyes narrowed.

  “He didn't guarantee it. Don't go getting me in trouble,” Reagan joked with his hands up in surrender. I smiled back at him before letting him off the hook.

  “I've already thanked him for sending you my way. Your artwork will be a true asset for the gallery,” I told him.

  “Is that the only reason you thanked him?” His eyes twinkled. He wanted me to say more than I was willing to.

  “That answer depends on whether you thanked him too,” I returned.

  I felt happy sitting in this booth and holding Reagan's hand. He liked me.

  As we left the diner, Reagan pulled me to the side of the building.

  “There’s something I have to do,” he said. He tipped my face up toward his and kissed one corner of my mouth, then the other, before claiming my lips. I leaned into him as an explosion of senses cascaded through me. This was a first kiss to end all first kisses.

  I couldn't say what would happen next. I didn't know whether his commitment issues with Katie would become a problem for us. I certainly couldn't point to a future beyond the next couple of months, but I was willing to see how it played out.

  Maybe Gram would live to see my happy ending after all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Weeks passed and I settled in to a new routine. I moved with the cadence of the gallery, trips to see Gram, and phone calls from the hospice team and family. Some aspects were more pleasurable than others. Per the social worker's suggestion, I'd begun emailing the family weekly updates about any changes or concerns, an easy task given Gram's current stability. This cut down on the constant harping about her every move.

  And then there was Reagan, a bright spot in my life. Hope was such a tangled thing but he made me want more. We hadn’t slept together yet because I wasn’t ready. My body was willing but I also needed to feel safe and secure enough in the relationship before taking things further. I needed to trust he would be there the next morning, that it wouldn’t be a repeat of the past. Seeing him only once or twice a week— all that my hectic schedule allowed—dragged out the process longer than usual. Reagan was patient, as he should be, and we had fun testing the limits of that boundary. Lots of fun. There was no need to rush.

  Kristy and I attended Sox games and as the season progressed, I almost believed life would go on as usual. Chicago bloomed with activity. The summer sun warmed us and luckily did not have us begging for mercy quite yet.

  In this relaxed state, I succumbed to my friends' requests to meet Reagan. My college roommate Zanne had moved in with her boyfriend Patrick, and their housewarming party seemed as good an occasion as any. Before I knew it, we were standing on the front steps of their Wicker Park apartment one breezy night. I'd warned Kristy and Zanne to be on their best behavior, but this did not ease the foreboding feeling that rose the moment Reagan agreed to accompany me.

  I smoothed the skirt of my dress and glanced at Reagan, handsome in a dress shirt and dark jeans, as we waited for the door to open.

  “I apologize in advance for whatever happens tonight,” I told him. I rarely brought boyfriends to gatherings like these. Mostly because the relationships never lasted long enough to warrant a friend inspection. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

  Reagan raised his eyebrows. “That's the sixth time you've said that. At least. Should I be nervous?”

  “No,” I exclaimed. “I mean, not really. They want to meet you.” He looked sidelong at me. “I want them to meet you,” I clarified. “You're going to do great and they're going to love you and I'm going to stop worrying about this right now.”

  I liked Reagan. I did. My friends would like him, too. Surely they would go easy on him. Surely they wouldn’t haul out any of my more blackmail-worthy stories. I started to sweat.

  Zanne yanked the door open with a squeal. Her burgundy halter top jumpsuit set off her golden brown skin and her ebony spiral curl fro bounced as she clapped her hands in delight. “Reagan, we meet at last. Come on in.”

  With that, she grabbed Reagan's arm and began leading him inside. “Make yourself at home, Liv,” she called over her shoulder. “Reagan and I have some catching up to do.”

  I laughed and shook my head at my friend. Only Zanne could get away with this.

  After numerous events over the years, Zanne and I naturally became friends with each other's friends. The apartment was full of people I enjoyed. As well as more people to interrogate Reagan. I tossed my purse in a corner and took a deep breath. Reagan could fend for himself. Tonight, we would have fun.

  I wasn’t alone for long. Patrick led me on a tour of their new place, pointing out architectural details unique to the home that now housed their apartment. His light brown eyes twinkled behind his dark-framed glasses as he talked about their plans for the place. Zanne always said she’d found her black Clark Kent in Patrick and I was thrilled they were taking this next step together.

  Zanne cornered me as soon as we returned to the living room. “I like him,” she confessed with her face screwed up in a comical expression. “I hardly ever like the guys you bring around! This is like some alternate universe. Are you sure he’s real?”

  “Hey, you dated some real winners before you met Patrick!” We both laughed and a smile stretched wide across my face until my cheeks hurt and warmth filled me.

  Zanne’s good opinion meant the world to me. I felt lit from within. My gaze pulled to where Reagan stood talking with my friend Dov and his husband. He immediately looked back at me, noting my dreamy expression and conversation partner. He winked. He knew he was a hit and I couldn’t fault him for it.

  From there, friends swept me up in a whirlwind of conversation. I laughed more than I had in a while, feeling at home in Zanne and Patrick's new place. From time to time, Reagan and I gravitated toward each other, to check in, steal a kiss, before we were pulled in other directions.

  Here I was, spending time with good friends and my boyfriend. The stress of the past month dripped away. I was free to be me again, whoever that was.

  Kristy yelled my name across the room, just as someone turned up the stereo. A pulsing beat filled our ears. I clapped my hands in giddy realization.

  “Living Room Dance Party!” Kristy, Zanne, and I yelled in unison while the rest of the room cheered. No party would be complete without it. The three of us could never quite remember how the tradition started but it involved our college dorm room and some tequila one weekend when Kristy visited. I set my glass down on a windowsill as a few of the guys began to push furniture to the side.

  I interrupted the conversation Reagan was having and grabbed his forearm. “Let's go,” I told him.

  He turned away from the people he’d been talking to but stood firm so I couldn’t move him any farther. “Olivia, I'm not much of a dancer,” he warned.

  “Tonight you are,” I shot back with a smile. I kept tugging him toward the dancing bodies. “It's an age-old tradition, since college. Consider this your initiation.”

  I waggled my eyebrows at him as I shimmied to the music pulsing through the room. His eyes locked onto my body, raking over me with appreciation. My purple fit-and-flare dress fit me to a tee and best of all, I felt confident whenever I wore it. This dress was made for dancing. I silently dared him to take the bait.

  Reagan shrugged and then laughed. I would never tire of his smile
. “I'll dance with you and only you.”

  He took my hand and spun me around, my dress twirling around me. It was enough and it was everything. Reagan passed the test.

  * * *

  I smiled as I looked at Gram's face on the canvas before me. I'd sequestered myself in my office after the gallery closed. I could have had my choice of plans on a Friday night but the oil paints called my name. There had been little time to paint the past few weeks and I could only go so long before the urge to create took over.

  Gram's birthday was a couple of months away. I don't know why I entertained the notion of finishing the painting and giving it to her then. She may have suspected that art remained my passion but I hadn't confessed. I couldn't admit it to myself, not even with a paintbrush in my hand. It was a nice hobby, something I did for myself. A career would not be built upon these notions.

  Gram might appreciate seeing this picture of us come to life. So far, my part of the portrait stayed blurred, a dim outline of myself at that time. Gram's body had more shape, but I'd chosen to focus on her face this evening.

  The familiar lines and wrinkles, the way her mouth curved upward in joy as she laughed. Looking at her in the photograph and remembering that moment made my heart happy. Trying to capture Gram's essence in paint, however, was a different matter.

  Besides daily naps and a steady regimen of pain medication, she was doing much better than anyone had anticipated. When she'd first sprung her diagnosis on us, I thought we'd only have days to weeks left with her. Here we were, almost two months later. Though her table dancing days appeared over, she was as spunky as ever. She'd even returned to her weekly bridge game and other social functions.

  My brother's wedding hovered ever closer. Mom had gone into overdrive with the plans, but Paige didn't seem to mind the interference. Then again, Scott and Paige said they'd do whatever it took in order for Gram to make an appearance. I'm not sure they knew that would lead to a backyard wedding at Gram's house. They'd have a grand reception at the country club in town, though, so they couldn't complain too much.