When he finished, she decided rather than ruin the mood, she’d let the wife comment slide. “The salmon looks great and the potatoes are golden brown with crispy edges just the way I like them,” she said, buttering a slice of bread and then handing it to Dylan, before buttering one for herself. A flash of lightening lit the room and a clap of thunder quickly followed. Lorraine flinched. “It sure is coming down out there.”
Misty jumped down from the living room chair and hid underneath it with her eyes and nose peeking out. “You’d think she’d be used to storms by now,” Dylan said.
“Why’s that?” Lorraine shook the bottle of dressing and then poured some on her salad.
“I found her outside on a night like this. She was cowering under the house. No one ever came looking for her, so she most likely survived a toss in the creek.”
“What do you mean?”
“Most people who don’t want kittens will take them to the animal shelter in town. Once in awhile you’ll get a few lazy folks who’d rather stuff them into a bag and toss them over the bridge into the creek.”
“Oh, the poor thing! That’s awful! She’s probably traumatized for life.” Lorraine flaked off a piece of salmon and held it low to coax Misty from her hiding spot. “Come on, girl. It’s okay.”
Misty didn’t budge.
“She’s recovered quickly, as you can tell by her little button escapade. Now she’s all over the place.”
“It appears that way.” Lorraine smiled then ate the fish herself. “This is really good, Dylan. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”
“Necessity. Trial and error, mostly error,” he said, taking a bite of potatoes.
Another flash of lightening lit the room and Lorraine braced herself for the clap of thunder that soon followed.
“So how’d you become a nurse?”
“I went to college.”
“I know that. I mean, did you always want to be one?”
“Sort of,” she shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve always liked helping people and thought nursing would be a good way to do it.”
“How about you? Did you always want to be a carpenter?”
He wiped his mouth then paused to swallow. “I’ve always liked putting things together, building things. You know that.”
“I know you used to break things.” As soon as she said it, she wished that she hadn’t, and the conversation had been going so well. There was silence for an awkward moment like an invisible line may have been crossed. She waited for him to respond, but he merely smiled, so she continued, “So, how long have you been doing carpentry?”
“About two months now. I was working at the church doing maintenance, odd jobs, things like that, then Doug hired me.”
“How long were you at the church?”
“For couple of weeks in June. How about you? How long have you been at the hospital?”
“Four months or so. I started right after graduation.” She didn’t elaborate on Randy’s motivational speech that inspired her to go to college, yet something inside of her hoped that he’d volunteer information about his whereabouts since he’d been gone.
Dylan washed down his last mouthful of dinner with his coffee. “Have some more fish,” he nodded toward the platter.
“Thank you, but I can’t eat another bite.” She wiped her mouth and laid her napkin next to her plate. “Everything tasted great. I’m really quite impressed.”
Dylan picked up his cigarettes, shook one out and lighted it. He leaned back in his chair and languidly stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. He blew a chain of smoke rings toward the ceiling, while watching her as though he had nothing better to do than memorize her face.
She didn’t know where to look, as the steady gaze of his green eyes made her want to duck under the table and hide. Hide from the quiver that suddenly claimed her stomach and flee from the unnatural breathing that made her head light.
Then, the washer stopped.
“Oh, excuse me!” She stood and bumped the table, jostling the cups and plates. “Oops! Excuse me, I’m sorry,” came again, as she spun and yanked the robe sash on the way to the laundry room. She was only gone for a moment, after making the transference of clothes from washer to dryer, but in that short amount of time, Dylan had conveniently poured two more cups of coffee.
So there she sat in his bathrobe and socks under his watchful gaze. Unable to leave, unable to stay, while breathing shallow breaths, mesmerized by the rhythmic tumbling of the clothes in the dryer and the unruly tumbling of thoughts in her head.
Dylan broke the silence, and said, “I could look at your face every day of my life and never tire of looking at you.”
Lorraine’s breath caught in her throat and her mouth suddenly felt dry. She didn’t know how to respond to Dylan’s bold admiration, so she folded her hands across her lap and stared down at them, while remembering her self-proclaimed promise to get out of there as soon as her clothes were dry. The rush of adrenaline that shot through her body, while under his scrutinizing gaze made her heart beat like a marching band. She tried to silence the noise and his voice, but more memories came instead, flooding her mind, overpowering her heart and soul. She tried to stop the flow, but her breathing came in shallow spurts as she tried to think of something else. Anything would do. The name of her kindergarten teacher, the long-vowel sounds, the planets in the solar system, anything but how she felt at this precarious moment.
“Lori...?”
Her head snapped up.
“Remember the hike at the gorge?”
Oh, no, not the gorge story. Why’d he have to bring that up? She didn’t want to remember anymore. She wanted to forget that sweltering day and the memories it evoked. But now, because he said it, she couldn’t forget it. It was like telling someone not to think about pink elephants, then after all is said and done, the poor soul can’t help but think about pink pachyderms.
He said it, and she remembered. Remembered how they walked for hours up and down the winding creek and waded near the small falls. And when she couldn’t walk anymore because the heat of the day and the length of the journey, he carried her piggyback, halfway up the forty-five degree incline to the top of the gorge, amid rocks and crevices and tangled places of brush and vines.
But as noble and gallant as the gesture was, it was the bee sting she wanted to forget. It was the remarkable care and tenderness that he displayed when he smoothed the mudpack above her hip and pulled the stinger out. So gentle was he as he stood on the bank and washed the mud from her skin, while the cool water trickled through his fingers and down her tanned leg. It was the memory of him kneeling at her feet on the sandy shore, among the craggy rocks and broken driftwood, while kissing the swollen wound that she wanted to forget. Forget her loyal attendant who knelt at her disposal, waiting to grant her every wish, and then he...he...she...she...she had to change the subject. “I see you’re still smoking,” she rattled out with lightening speed.
“I’m down to four a day,” he said, glancing at the cigarette and then back up at her. “One after each meal and one before bed. Are you all right? You look flushed.”
She sat a bit taller and turned in her chair to hide the insidious hip. “I’m fine,” she said a bit curt. “That’s quite an improvement, cutting down smoking and all. You used to put the neighbor’s chimney to shame.”
She sounded calmer now, more in control.
Dylan laughed, and then coughed. “I pray a lot and keep busy, and plan to cut out one cigarette a week until I quit.”
“Well, I hope you make it. My father still smokes those smelly cigars.”
“How’s he doing?”
“The same. You know him. Opinionated as ever.”
Misty hopped onto Lorraine’s lap. The cat hunkered down on its haunches and extended its front paws toward Lorraine’s knees with her head up to be petted. “Your cat looks like the Sphinx,” she said, rubbing Misty’s neck.
Dylan didn’t seem to notice. He wasn’t loo
king at the cat. There was silence for a long moment, then another. Both of them looking, neither of them speaking until Lorraine cleared her throat. “I saw you feeding Mr. Jenkins.” She looked down at Misty while smoothing the cat’s fur.
Dylan took a sip of coffee then slowly set the cup on the table, without saying a word.
“It was really nice, you feeding him and all.” She met his eyes then glanced away.
“He’s a great guy,” Dylan said, leaving his hand around the cup while still watching her, and calmly leaning back in his chair, like he had all the time in the world to listen to whatever she had to say.
“You’re not the only one who’s changed, you know,” she said, squirming.
“I know. You’re wearing my bathrobe.”
She softly laughed. “Seriously, I was a spoiled brat when we were together.” She rubbed the back of Misty’s neck again. “You knew it before I did, calling me your ‘pampered princess.’”
“So, you were used to nice things. I didn’t have much to offer, including myself.”
She wanted to tell him that up until recently she was still the same way, and that’s what drew her to Randy. Randy had it all, and she wanted it all, but she didn’t tell Dylan that. Something inside of her had shifted, but she wasn’t sure when, or what, or what to do about it. Having nice things wasn’t bringing her happiness, or emotional fulfillment. She felt like something was still missing, but she didn’t know what it was.
Dylan leaned forward and rested his forearms across his straddled knees. He looked down at the floor and then directly up into her face. “You still love me, Lorraine. I know you do.” He paused for a moment with his gaze lingering on her face. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Paralyzed, Lorraine’s hand stopped on Misty’s back and stayed there, afraid of what he’d say next.
Dylan raked his fingers through his hair, took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. “I also know that I hurt you.” He pressed his fingertips together and shook his head once. With his head slightly bowed, he seemed to study the floor for a moment. And when he did look up, only his eyes lifted when he gazed upon her face. “I was a jerk, Lorraine. I really made a mess of things, didn’t I?” He nodded his head yes, as though answering for her.
The apology was the last thing that she’d expected. She could feel her eyes stinging with tears, but she held them in check by looking up and away from him. She didn’t expect this, no, not at all. Dylan wasn’t one to admit wrongdoing, ever. It seemed that every tidy niche of her life was slowly unraveling like a poorly knit sweater. She cautiously studied Dylan’s face for a moment, wondering how to respond when—the dryer buzzed. It startled her so that it made her leap, and the cat jumped from her lap. “Oh! Misty! I’m sorry! I...I have to go change.”
The serious moment suddenly turned comical as the two flew from the chair, and Dylan said, “No need for that. I love you just the way you are.”
Flustered by his lack of inhibition, she nearly sprinted from her seat then stuck her head inside the dryer drum to retrieve her clothes, while mumbling incoherent sounds inside the cylinder. The warm garments felt good in her arms, soothing and relaxing like Turkish towels or a hot sauna after a grueling workout. She slipped into the bathroom to change her clothes and then hung Dylan’s robe on the hook behind the door. As her hand touched the hook, she held onto it for a moment to steady herself, with her mouth pressed tight as though to keep what was inside from spilling to the outside. What was he doing to her?
She checked her face in the mirror and thought that she looked pale. “What’s wrong with you? Have you forgotten that you’re engaged? Pull yourself together now,” she chided her reflection. “You came here on business. Stay focused. You’re marrying Randy next month.” The scolding didn’t seem to steady her emotions, nor bring more color to her face. No makeup, that’s it. She tweaked her cheeks and then gave them two blood-circulating pats for good measure.
Hardly satisfied, but making do she walked into the kitchen, while fastening the last button on her blouse. There, she found Dylan rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. He carried the dishes from table to counter then squeezed some soap into the sink. After swishing his hands under the running water to build a mound of suds, he plunged the dishes into the foam.
Lorraine met him at the counter and reached for the silverware. “Here, let me help with those before I leave.”
“They can soak. I’ll do them later.” He said, drying his hands.
“Are you sure? I really don’t mind, otherwise I have to go now.”
He set the towel down, and said, “They can wait.”
Lorraine spied a bag of candy on the counter and took a piece out. “Umm, dessert.” She smiled and waved the chocolate under Dylan’s nose, and when he opened his mouth for her to feed it to him, she quickly popped it into her own mouth instead. She licked her fingers one-by-one, and then exaggerated her pleasure by groaning a delightful moan. “That's for the hug you stole earlier.”
“Merely an exchange of sweets,” he said, sticking a toothpick into his mouth.
“It’s been a wonderful supper, Dylan. Thank you,” she said, rinsing her hands under the faucet then wiping them on a towel, “but I really have to leave now.”
“Don’t go yet,” he said, wiggling the toothpick between his teeth, while raising his eyebrows up and down.
Her eyes widened in mock shock. “I’ve stayed too long already.” She turned and was halfway to the door before Dylan reached her.
“Wait, I’ll walk you to the car.” He said, as he grabbed a clean plastic bag to hold above their heads. They stood on the porch like two children who had never seen the rain. It was pouring so hard that the rain flowed over the tops of the gutters and spattered to the earth, and sounded like chicken frying in hot oil. Lightening licked the dark horizon like a serpent’s tongue tasting the air. The swollen puddles that formed between the house and Lorraine’s car streamed in rivulets down the dirt road toward the woods, where they eventually make their way to the creek.
And suddenly the years fell away, and Lorraine saw herself a little girl splashing in a plastic pool in an innocent world. A world where simple pleasures like pointy crayons and coloring books changed to longing for a man who watched her from afar. And when she looked up, she was sixteen and Dylan was twenty-one again, and her heart caught in her throat.
“Ready to make a run for it?” Dylan shouted above the roar of storm.
She took a deep breath and swallowed the lump. Oh, so glad that it was raining. “Ready!”
Dylan held the makeshift tarp above their heads, and yelled, “Go!” Lorraine screamed through the downpour as they splashed their way to her car. Dylan yanked the door open and the tarp came down, as he grabbed Lorraine’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. Her head fell back, and as she looked up at him, he leaned down close to her lips, but stopped before touching them, and said, “Leave the doctor and come back to me.” And then he kissed her, and her knee jerked when he released her. His dark eyes impaled hers with the agility of a master swordsman, his lashes wet and spiky. “I love you, Lorraine. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you.”
Rain streamed down her face dissolving all trace of tears.
“And when I take my last breath and my eyes close in death, I will still love you.”
A tide of emotions surged in her soul. She could not speak or find her breath or look at him a moment longer. Her legs felt weak, so she turned away, and slid inside the car to keep herself from falling. She wiped her cheeks and waved the dripping water from her fingertips. She started the engine, shifted into reverse then rested her arm across the back of the seat. Looking out the rear window, she stepped on the accelerator, hurrying to get away, hurrying to breathe, hurrying for one last look at him.
And there Dylan stood in his mud-speckled clothes after a spray of brown muck shot out from under the tires. She immediately let up on the accelerator, lowered the window, gasped and laughed at the same time,
as she said, “I am so sorry!”
It wasn’t that she was happy about his newly bedraggled condition, but she was grateful for the emotional reprieve. Grateful that he didn’t look so handsome, but was dirty and spotty and wet instead. “I think I’m stuck!” She flipped her palms up and shrugged her shoulders.
“Keep it in reverse, take it easy on the gas, and I’ll push.”
Bracing his feet in the quagmire, Dylan spread his hands across the front of the car and said, “Go!”
Dylan pushed, Lorraine gunned the engine, and great globs of mud flew into the air. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” he shouted, holding his hands up in surrender.
“Why haven’t you ever spread stone around here?” Lorraine shouted from the window.
“Never saw the need for it, since I didn’t own a car.
“Didn’t you ever think about visitors?”
“Never had many of those either.”
He patted the hood then made twirling motions with his finger, and said, “Straighten the wheel and try again.”
Bracing his hands, Dylan rocked and strained—and Lorraine hit the gas. The car shot backwards and mud flew forwards, as Dylan fell to one knee in the gooey mess. He pushed himself up, looking like he’d just competed in a mud-wrestling tournament as he slapped gobs of filth from his jeans.
Lorraine jumped out of her car and held her stomach, as she doubled-over laughing. “Are you okay?” She took a step forward, but the muddy mess sucked up her shoe. She balanced on one foot with the other in the air, and then gingerly bent down to retrieve her footwear before she sat back in the car and waved good-bye.
Dylan stood in the downpour with rain dripping from his face. His hand stayed in the air at his side, for a long time then slowly came down as she drove out of sight.
EIGHTEEN
Dylan stepped off the ladder and unbuckled his tool-belt then let it drop to the ground. Sweat beaded across his forehead and trickled down his temples, as he squinted up at the sun in a silent plea to cool down. “Not much of a breeze today,” he said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and mopping it across his face. Tucking it back in place, he kept his hand on his hip while he arched his back and groaned.
The Missing Piece (Inspirational Love Story) Page 15
