“Thanks for lunch.” Maggie took a step closer leaving little space between us.
She was too close and my pulse thundered. She smelled like the chocolate chip cookies we’d baked, and I had to fight back the urge to lean in and inhale.
“Anytime.”
She blushed, but it was short lived.
“Mom, I’m so bored,” Beth whined.
“We better go.” She puffed out a laugh. “Thanks again.”
I nodded, and she grabbed her bag as she took Beth’s hand in hers. Just before she walked out of the diner she turned to say goodbye, giving me a short wave. Beth did the same, but she sang her goodbye instead.
The jukebox was silent, and all I could hear was the ticking of the clock that hung above the soda machine. The emptiness of their absence surrounded me. The dizziness I’d felt earlier returned, and I grabbed the bar in order to steady myself. “Today was a good day,” I whispered in reassurance, staving off the guilt that was starting to twist around my heart. I tried to remember what Maggie had said earlier about the dead and the living. But the rain, it fell heavily onto the roof of the diner, and the sound of it brought me back to that night. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths trying, unsuccessfully, to push back the memory.
The rain soaked through every fiber of my clothing as I kneeled on the ground. My knees aching against the asphalt. The pain was the only thing that made everything real. I could smell her blood; the water hadn’t washed it away.
“Come on, man. You don’t need to see this!” Ganz begged me. His grip tight on my shoulder.
I couldn’t leave her, and I never would.
The warmth of the diner encapsulated me as I opened the door for Beth, and the smell of cinnamon hung thick in the air. The jukebox was on as usual, but today it was playing a slow, sad song. Beth dropped my hand and ran to the open kitchen door. The past two Sundays Ryan had propped it open with a bar stool. It was a small gesture, but I liked the silent invitation. After the third non-date, it sort of became our thing. He stopped formally inviting us, and we just showed up every Sunday. It had been about a month and a half since we started this routine, and I was still no closer to knowing who Ryan Hartford really was.
Each week we’d cook side by side, and each week the space between us became smaller. There were little touches, brushes of elbows, shy smiles, and eyes that devoured me whole even if they only dusted along my features every now and then. I might have a lot to learn about Ryan, but what I’d figured out was that he was very good at avoidance. There was something inside of him that triggered if he let himself get too close. He was that wounded animal pulling on my inner heartstrings. Every time Ryan took a step backward it would reel me in further. The fact that he made my heart race and caused my skin to prickle with anticipation made me want to fight for him that much harder.
I heard Ryan laugh, and the warm tone sent my pulse into overdrive as I moved closer to the sound. I leaned against the frame of the kitchen door and watched as Ryan took Beth’s hand in his and brought her over to her rice bucket. He lifted her at the waist and she squealed. His smile was the fullest I’d seen it. He hadn’t caught me staring yet, and seeing him in this unguarded moment with her, it took my breath away. He was good with her. She beamed as he handed her what looked like a ball of dough and spread out a few utensils for her to use. Beth turned suddenly and hugged him a bit too aggressively. The gesture made his smile expand as he lifted her into an embrace, and the lump in my throat became almost unbearable.
He set her down lightly and turned his head just enough that he finally noticed me in the doorway. His lips now pulled into an easy, quiet smile. “Hey, Maggie.” He nodded his chin at me, and the sound of my name on his lips stirred the butterflies in my stomach.
“Hey.” I pushed off the door jam and moved further into the kitchen.
He stood at his full height, which I’d surmised at this point to be at least six-foot-two. Ryan’s smile hadn’t fallen, and he rubbed his hand on his jaw. I was jealous of his fingers. I wanted to touch the coarse hair of his beard and run my fingers through his thick, dark blond hair. The top two buttons of the flannel he wore were unbuttoned, and as he neared, I could see just a small bit of hair on his chest. His large frame hovered over me, and his lips pulled to the side in a grin as his big hand rested on my shoulder. It was the first time he purposefully touched me, and if I was in an old southern movie I might’ve actually swooned. The clean scent of soap and cotton, it was one hundred percent Ryan, and it surrounded me, making it hard to think.
“Hope it’s okay I got her started on a side project.” He dropped his hand from my shoulder.
I tried not to seem disappointed. “I’m intrigued.”
“I use to make…” He paused and his smile wavered. He swallowed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You all right?”
He shook his head. “Yeah.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “Just a headache. It’ll pass.”
I nodded.
“Mom! This stuff is so cool!” Beth’s high pitched voice probably wasn’t helping Ryan’s pain.
He chuckled. “I made her some salt dough last night. Figured she could play with it, make something out of it.”
I glanced over at Beth and laughed openly at the lopsided sculpture she was working on. “It’s perfect… thank you. It was sweet of you.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and brought his gaze to mine. “I’ve got to make eight dozen cinnamon rolls for Tony’s church. They’re picking them up early in the morning. Guess they’re driving into Seattle. Some sort of homeless breakfast thing they helped sponsor. You ready to work?”
“Eight dozen?” My eyes widened on their own accord. “Um… I—”
“Don’t worry. I already got four dozen done and wrapped up,” he said with a proud smile.
“You’ve been busy.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” His eyes drifted to the ground.
He looked sad again, and I hated it. Without thinking, I bumped him on the side with my hip. “You were that excited to see me?” I laughed and smiled without opening my lips more than just a coy smirk.
He ran his hand through his hair and gave me a small grin. “Maybe.” He observed me with a weary brow and laughed as he shook his head. “Come on, I’ll show you the recipe.”
The music from the jukebox floated in from the front of the diner as we worked. The kitchen had two working surfaces, but Ryan chose to stand next to me. He was so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. I tried not to hope that his close proximity meant something more than just two friends cooking in a kitchen together, but it was in vain. Instead, I decided to ignore how his arm kept touching mine, and how his muscles pulled tight as he kneaded the dough with his hands. I tried to distract myself from the slow burn he was building in my stomach and hummed along to one of my favorite songs as I rolled out what felt like miles and miles of dough. At one point, I actually thought about breaking the freaking rolling pin.
“I don’t know how you did this on your own for so long,” I groaned, as I sprinkled flour onto the wood to prevent the dough from sticking.
“I think Tony’s giving me more work now that he knows you come here on Sundays.”
“You think.” I giggled. “I might need a break. My arms are killing me.”
“I’m dying of starvation,” Beth moaned, and I rolled my eyes.
“I’ll make you something.” Ryan wiped his hands on his apron.
“You really don’t have to. We can—”
“Are we going to do this every Sunday?” he asked and raised his left eyebrow.
“Go wash your hands.” I shoved him playfully on the arm, and we both walked over to the sink.
“I’ve got chicken noodle soup I can heat up, or I can make sandwiches.” He rinsed his hands under the water, and I waited next to him.
“Soup!” Beth jumped down from her bucket and ran over to the sink.
Ryan lifted her and set her on
his raised knee, helping her wash her hands. He was a natural with her, and she ate up all the attention. I worried about Beth and if growing up without a father would have a negative impact. I’d hoped my dad would’ve been around longer to give her a proper male role model, but that wasn’t something I liked to think about too much. I exhaled, and Ryan’s eyes met mine. He gave me a quick smile and placed Beth back on her feet.
“Go pick a song, Honey Bee.” I shook my head as Beth skipped out of the kitchen, and I turned to the sink. Ryan hadn’t shut off the water, and the warmth soothed my tired fingers.
“Thank you for being so sweet to her. She doesn’t get very much male attention.” Ryan handed me a towel to dry my hands. “Her father… I mean Adam… he’s not around. I mean, he’s not involved… he’s an asshole.”
“You know, that’s the first time I’ve heard you really swear.”
“Well, get me talking about Adam and you’ll hear a slew of swear words.” I draped the towel over the sink.
“I’m sorry.” Ryan closed the spaced between us and my heart skipped a beat.
“It’s the hand I was dealt, and we do fine on our own. I’m lucky to have her.” My throat constricted with a sudden wave of emotion. Ryan’s body heat, the feelings he conjured, and the subject of Adam, it was all so overwhelming.
Ryan lifted his hand as if to touch my cheek, but paused, and instead placed his hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good mom.” He squeezed my shoulder gently and then released me from his grip. My pulse rushed as my heartbeat sounded loudly in my chest, and I was grateful he had turned away. I was grateful for the distance he afforded me because I was too close… and I was afraid he’d hear or sense what his touch was doing to me.
“Thank you,” I spoke quietly, the two words were shaky.
He opened the fridge and pulled out a large white plastic container and set it on the counter. “It can’t be easy raising her on your own. This guy, Adam…” His jaw clenched and his brown eyes darkened. “I’d never abandon my daughter.”
It was a declaration, and the intensity of the truth resounded in each syllable with an undercurrent of some unspoken pain. I wanted desperately to know this man. This man who stood before me now with conviction and pride. He swallowed deeply, and the firm line of his broad shoulders fell, his eyes cast down as if the burden of the one statement had been too much.
“Will you let me help you this time?” I took a few steps forward and he raised his head. I’d asked him the question in regards to lunch, but when he finally met my gaze, the pain in his eyes pleaded for me to throw him a lifeline.
He nodded and turned away from me again. We didn’t need to speak as we prepared lunch. It was enough he was actually allowing me to help. After that first Sunday, he never let me make lunch again. I wanted to ask him questions. I wanted to know about his life before he came here, but I knew if I asked, he’d pull away, and I was finally making some headway.
Beth had chosen for us to sit at one of the booths near the window so she could watch the raindrops race along the surface of the glass. I tried to sit as close to the wall as possible, but Ryan’s large form took up a lot of space. He sat comfortably and seemed at ease with his thigh resting against mine. Beth was chattering about boys at school, and how they wouldn’t let her play with them at recess. Ryan offered her some sound, yet shady advice and she giggled. Kicking boys where it hurts wasn’t a practice I preached, but what did I know. I’d joke and he’d laugh. It all felt so familiar, and the perfection of the moment made me wish the invisible boundary line between he and I would burst into tiny fragments.
Beth yawned and leaned her head back onto the green vinyl of the booth. “Are you tired, Little Bee?” I asked, and Beth nodded. Her head rolled forward and then backward dramatically.
“Would you hate me if I left you with the last two dozen?” I scrunched my nose and furrowed my brow.
His chuckle made me grin. “Don’t look so worried. I’ve done this on my own before, once or twice.” He placed his hand just above my knee with a gentle grip and my lips parted with a soundless intake of breath. The heat of his touch saturated my senses, making it impossible to speak. His mouth pulled to the side into that flawless crooked smile of his. “I think I can handle it.”
He removed his hand so he could hold the table as he shifted his body in order to stand. I exhaled a whispered breath and tried to tamp down the question that was niggling its way into my brain. Did he do that on purpose or was he on autopilot?
“When we get home will I have to take a nap?” Beth’s brows narrowed seriously, and I pursed my lips.
“Maybe.”
“Aw, Mom, can we watch a movie? That’s just like resting.”
“I’ll think about it. Get your jacket on while I help Ryan clean.” I stacked the bowls and then picked them up.
“You don’t have to clean up. I got this.” He took the bowls from my hand.
“Are you sure?”
“Just say, thank you, Maggie.” His glare was almost comical.
“Thank you.”
Ryan placed the bowls on the counter as I pushed my arms through my raincoat and then pulled my bag over my shoulder. “One of these days you should come to our place, let me wait on you for once.”
“Maybe.”
I pulled my ponytail tighter and looked up at him from under my lashes. “That’s not a no… I’ll hold you to it,” I said, and he shook his head with a grin. “Let’s go, Honey.”
“See you next Sunday?” Ryan tugged at the collar of Beth’s jacket.
“Will you have more of that dough stuff?” she asked and grabbed my hand.
“Sure.” He gave her a nod before he brought his eyes to mine.
The air between us was heavy with the weight of his gaze. I didn’t want to break it; I wanted him to look at me like this, with need, with something other than the sadness that seemed to reside under the surface all the time. His jaw pulsed, and he lifted his hand taking a loose piece of my hair between his thumb and forefinger. He placed the strand behind my ear, letting his thumb briefly graze the skin on my neck. My eyes closed automatically, and I stood still breathing in his scent.
My eyes reluctantly opened and when I looked into his, I saw the conflict, the panic as it fought against the desire.
He took a step back, and his lips pressed together in a firm line.
“Ryan?”
“I’ll see you next week, Maggie.” He backed up further, and it was then I noticed his hands were balled into fists.
He was closing up. He was shutting down.
He was letting the fear win.
The multi-colored lights reflected off the ceiling creating a warmth in my chest and a pattern of shadows on the wall. The Florida humidity made it too hot to feel like Christmas, but as soon as I walked through my front door, my lips spread into a huge grin. The tree was perfect. The house smelled like apple pie, my favorite, and Birdie was laying under the tree playing with the glass bulb ornaments. Her tiny feet wriggled from underneath the branches, and her light laughter made me chuckle. I snuck closer to her; she should be getting ready for bed, but I was grateful I could say goodnight.
I’d picked up a second job working at the delivery dock of one of the local department stores to earn extra money for the holidays. It was past nine p.m. on Christmas Eve, and I had hoped Sarah kept Belle awake for me. I was pleased she had. I knelt down in my dirty jeans and slowly moved closer to my little girl. I pinched her toe gently, and she squealed.
“Daddy.” She rolled to her side and crawled over to me at record speed. Her small arms wrapped around my neck, and I kissed her on the cheek.
“Hey, Birdie.” I laughed, and she squeezed me tighter.
Sarah came around the corner from the kitchen, her smile small and her hand wringing in a dish towel. “You’re late.” She shook her head and my smile fell. “I made pie for tomorrow, apple.” The right corner of her mouth lifted again as I stood.
Belle sat on my hip
as I leaned in and kissed Sarah. “Thanks, baby.” I brought my forehead to hers. “Merry Christmas.”
The memory hit me as I pulled the apple pies from the oven. Four pies. The smell of sweet spice and baked fruit saturated the kitchen bringing me back in time. The tight grip of pain in my chest almost made me drop the hot metal tray to the ground. I set the pies on the counter and rested my hands on the cool surface of the worktop. My head hung down as I caught my breath. I closed my eyes and tried to think of Maggie. I tried to picture her and how sometimes her top lip would tremble when she looked at me with a bright smile. The thought of her cheeks and how they would turn that perfect shade of pink whenever I allowed the tempting space between us to dwindle; it calmed me. Her face, her laugh… just having her here — it eased the burden, cooled the sting, and stopped the shit storm in my head even if only for a few hours.
The problem was, the more I thought of Maggie, the more all the memories I tried to repress were dredged up. The chasm of space I’d had around me for all these years was getting smaller with every visit. Every time Maggie came to the diner, the lines blurred. And the other day while we sat and ate lunch, my hand rested on her thigh. It felt good, it was real, and I hated that I wanted more of her, more time with Beth. I liked the idea of belonging to someone again, belonging to her — belonging to a family.
I swallowed and opened my eyes; my breath hitched as a sharp twinge in my chest radiated down my arm. I inhaled deeply staving off my panic attack. I couldn’t leave Belle behind like some sad rundown reel of film, as a faint flicker of what I once had. The truth was, my daughter was dead, and I was playing with ghosts. Once Maggie found out I’d attempted to kill a man, once she saw the truth, the violence in my heart — she’d realize what I was. She’d realize I couldn’t give her what she needed, she’d see through the shell, and I didn’t want to witness the fear, witness the disappointment she would inevitably feel.
I shook my head and tried to focus. My headaches had been getting worse, and the Ibuprofen I’d taken earlier hadn’t helped. I moved the pies carefully to a wire rack to cool. The radio started to play a song that Maggie had mentioned was one of her favorites. It had been on one of our Sundays, she’d turned up the volume on the radio and sang along. She didn’t care that her voice was flat, or that Beth had rolled her eyes, or that I was in the room. She took the moment and made it hers. I placed the last pie down and turned the volume up so I could listen to the lyrics this time.
Sacred Hart Page 6
