Just One More Kiss: Based on the Motion Picture

by Faleena Hopkins

  He reached for it.

  Only now he says, “I wasn't always that bad.”

  Abby tells him the truth, “No, at first you were fun. Later, not so much.” She plants his cup with a thump onto the table’s pale wood, as Lorna rubs Barry’s arm, her face deceptively soft, eyes encouraging him to stick with it.

  My smart friend isn’t so sure.

  Or as brazen.

  He walks out of the kitchen, passes right where I’m standing by the door that leads down to our basement-storage room. He’s gnawing his cheek, wishing for inspiration on how to get through to my widow.

  Lorna turns to fill a glass with water for him, since he can’t drink the wine — though I know he’d like to right about now — and Abby takes a sip of that damn cup.

  Wine ain’t gonna cut it.

  Talking to me will.

  As she follows Barry to see what he’s up to, we come face to face, her eyes carefully averted.

  “Baby, why won't you look at me? I'm really here. You're hurting me.”

  Abby stares ahead. At him.

  Barry has found a photograph of his mom the one time she came to visit the cabin. He was ignored as a child, parents fighting so often they couldn’t stand still long enough to be the solid foundation he needed.

  But that one summer, Mrs. Dasson accepted the invite to join, saying she needed a break. Barry was so happy because she was like a real mom for the trip. Mine took that photo and I printed it to surprise him next time he came over.

  Surprise.

  He’s looking dizzy from the impact of all the memories this place must give him, concentrated into one simple photograph that brings it home.

  Family.

  He was mine.

  Love can be as strong as blood.

  Looking dizzy, Barry says, “I never print out photographs anymore. I didn't know he printed this one.” He slowly returns it to the bookshelf as Lorna rushes to him before he crumbles. “I’m so sorry Abby!” Barry croaks, tears clogging his eyes. “Every day I wish I could go back and take a fucking taxi, put the drinks down, anything! It should have been me. I know you think that, too, and I need you to know you're right.” He cries out, “It should have been me!”

  Hard shell evaporated by sincerity, Abs has tears in her eyes.

  “He just had to go and cry,” I mutter, “didn't he?” irritated and not moved in the slightest.

  Lorna embraces Barry, consoling him, but he doesn’t feel he deserves it, and breaks free, moving to the far side of our leather couch where he wipes his nose, slouched with shame.

  There’s forgiveness in Abby’s voice as she tells him, “It wasn't your fault. It was the driver's fault who hit him.”

  I go to stand by our glass door, staring out at the forest, our beautiful property, the flowers I can no longer smell, wondering if I can forgive him. And how to get my wife back.

  She’s right.

  I chose to walk him home.

  He fought the idea.

  Barry didn’t shove me in front of a moving vehicle. I was the one looking at my phone, and so was the driver. We’re both to blame for not paying attention.

  Lorna takes a deep breath, glancing between Barry and her sister like a referee unsure the heavyweights will stay in their corners.

  I eyeball her as she walks near me, turns the chair I’m standing by, to face our couch, and pats it for Abs to take a seat, and join them. I look further over my shoulder, suspecting my wife still won’t acknowledge I’m here.

  She’ll forgive him.

  But ignore me?

  “Abby, how have you been spending your time up here?” Lorna walks around the trunk-coffee-table and sits next to Barry, lowering herself as if the volcano might burst to life at any moment. Wouldn’t want Abby’s vino all over her face. “It's pretty lonely. You make any new friends?”

  Abby sets her wine down, and sits back, looking confused, voice devoid of strength or clarity, “I’ve been fine.”

  “That didn't answer my question.”

  Suddenly it dawns on me, and I spin around. “I have an idea.”

  Abby’s eyelashes flicker in my direction but she focuses on her sister as Lorna asks, “What have you been doing up here?”

  “Healing.”

  We have been healing.

  Both of us!

  “Yeah, except for the rage, bottle throwing, and talking to yourself, you look better.”

  I’m done with this.

  “Abby, ask Barry about our fishing trip. Tell him he let the big one go because he felt sorry for it.”

  Her eyelashes flicker again.

  I know she heard me!

  Barry and Lorna stare at my wife, noticing something is wrong with her.

  “Abby?” Lorna slowly begins, “How have you been spending your time?”

  “Do it.” I implore her, “Ask him. I can prove I'm real!”

  Barry mistakes the struggle on Abby’s face as, “Lorna stop pressuring her, okay?”

  “I’m sorry, I was just asking!”

  Abby whispers to her sister, “It’s not that,” tortured by the question of my existence.

  A feeling I know all too well. “Tell them!”

  She hisses to me, “I can’t!”

  Barry is staring.

  Lorna’s eye is twitching, so freaked out. “Can't what?”

  “Why not? Just ask him about the fucking fish, Abigail! Let me prove I'm real to you! Goddammit!” I squat to her eye-level, plead with her, “I can't stand you not looking at me! Don't make me go through that again.”

  The agony of those months apart makes Abby look right at me. “And what if you're not! They're going to think I'm nuts and who will have to deal with that? Me! Not you, because you're not really here!”

  “That burger's already burnt, babe.”

  She turns her head to discover they’re staring at her, jaws dropped, positive she's lost her nut, as she said.

  “Shit,” Abby whispers, hopeful they’ll believe her, “I’ve been talking to Max. He's here. I think! I know you won't believe me, but he's standing right there.”

  Barry’s mouth is wide open.

  Lorna treads very carefully as she asks...

  Chapter 25

  Abby

  “He's here? Do you think Max is here, honey?”

  My fear jumps to anger. “Don't talk to me like I'm five years old.”

  “Honey, I'm just—”

  “And what’s with all the ‘honeys,’ Lorna?!”

  “Ask Barry about the fish!”

  No choice now.

  It’s either looney bin or bust.

  I decide to go for it.

  “Barry, when you went fishing that day, did you throw the big fish back because you felt sorry for it?”

  He is slow to answer, “Yeah?”

  Knowing how this sounds, I struggle to explain that, “Max just told me that.”

  My kid sister who does not believe in anything other than democracy, art, and never showing weakness, rolls her eyes and looks at her unlikely road trip partner.

  “But Max could have told you that years ago. I'm not saying you're nuts! I'm just…”

  Is it possible I’ve made up Max’s ghost rather than say goodbye forever? “No, you're right...he could have.”

  “Tell him to ask you something only I would know!”

  I look at my sister, the years I’ve watched over her have truly come to an end. “Oh God, what if I am crazy?”

  Max shouts, “Tell him!” ignored.

  Lorna can’t hear him, no matter how loud he is to me. She scoots to the edge of our couch, “Abby, it’s okay,” tears rushing to her eyes, “we'll get someone to see you!”

  That’s not an option I want.

  Max is kneeling by my chair, big blue eyes imploring me to never let him go. My voice cracks as I beg him to understand, “I’m scared I'll find out you're not real. Please don't take this from me!”

  “Baby, you've gotta trust me on this. Tell him to ask
me something only I would know. Please.” He holds my stare and says the word he knows I’ll bet my freedom on. “I promise you I'm real.”

  A sad smile tugs at my lips as my shoulders relax, and I turn to tell his best friend, “He wants you to ask me something only he would know.”

  Barry blinks twice — this idea could work. “Uh, okay.” They’ve shared secrets. There’s got to be something he never shared with me. “Let me think.”

  “Come on you bastard.” Max rises up. “Make it fucking good.”

  Barry leans forward, eyes darting through his past to search for what we all need.

  Lorna is worried the secret’s answer will boomerang me into the looney bin. “Have you got one?!”

  “No. Give me a second. Let me think!”

  The clocks ticks.

  We wait.

  His eyes light up, “I got it,” and he turns to Lorna, holding his hand between them to ask an impossible request. “But close your ears.”

  “No way!”

  “You know I wasn't always a good guy.” He turns to me, face sober. “Ask him which married woman I had sex with…on the bathroom sink in my office.”

  Max doesn’t hesitate. In fact he cuts Barry off, “Helen and Jennifer.”

  I react as it sinks in he’s talking about my friend here. The married one. “Helen and Jennifer?!”

  Barry jumps on the couch, “Holy shit!”

  Lorna's eyes widen. “That's two women.”

  Distracted by the possibility of Max in the room with us, Barry waves her statement away, “It was a trick question.”

  “I don't know who Helen is, but Jennifer? Jennifer of Tom and Jennifer?”

  “They were going through a rough patch,” Barry dismissively says, and focuses back on me. “Wait, Abby, he could have told you that when he was still alive!”

  “I guarantee you he did not tell me that!”

  To remove any doubt from his proof Max hurries to add, “Tell him he said that Jennifer tasted like strawberries.”

  “He said Jennifer tasted like strawberries?”

  “And not just strawberries. I think he actually said 'organic strawberries lit by an afternoon sun.’”

  I pause because, wow.

  Never wanted to know that.

  Yet it’s my salvation.

  I repeat to Barry, saying slowly to make sure we’re all clear on one thing — I never knew he said my best friend tasted like, “Organic strawberries lit by an afternoon sun?”

  Lorna's face goes grim, the opposite of Barry who explodes, “Holy shit! He would never fucking tell you that! Because you girls would never keep that shit to yourselves!”

  “Organic strawberries.”

  Recognizing Lorna’s old voice, Barry turns on the couch. “It didn't mean anything! That was before us! And I was in love with you!”

  I am laughing with relief while they start to fight, because my husband is dancing around, happy he got through to me, and bowing deeply like ta-da!

  “Well, if she was so damned delicious, why'd you give it up?

  “Because I was in love with you.”

  “Watch it.”

  “Baby. It was way before us. And I was in love with you.”

  Max kneels to smile at me, happy love shining from his ghostly blue eyes. He blows me a kiss like we used to do. I catch it and press it to my lips, saved.

  With a child’s curiosity, Lorna asks, “What do I taste like?”

  I whisper, “You're real.”

  Their argument halts.

  Barry stands up, tears springing to his eyes. He searches our living room for his old friend, backing against the A-frame window, sunshine behind him. “Max!!”

  Since nobody but me can see my husband, I must play the role of medium. “He's looking at you, Barry.”

  Barry flicks scared eyes my way. “Where is he?”

  “He's standing right here.” I motion, but stay quiet as Max purposefully abandons that space, walking to look out the glass door, his best friend looking at empty air instead.

  “Max! God, buddy! I’m so fucking sorry.” Barry crumbles, just a mess. “Please, please forgive me.”

  I look to my husband.

  His life stolen.

  His decision now.

  He swallows his anger and says, “I forgive you, Barry.”

  I relay the message, my voice hoarse, “He says he forgives you.”

  Gravity gets the best of Bear, dragging his heartbreak to the couch where my sister wraps him in her arms as he sobs.

  She’s kissing his hair, his neck.

  I’ve never seen her like this.

  Max pulls my focus as I hear him stammer, “I’ve…I’ve gotta go.”

  I look behind me, don’t want to lose him. “No!”

  We lock eyes, his clogged with emotion, not all of them good. “I’ll be back. I just need a moment.”

  I nod, and turn to Barry’s almost shouted question, “What'd he say?!”

  “He's gone.”

  Lorna whispers, “You okay?”

  He wipes his nose, barely able to think. “I…uh…I gotta go for a walk!”

  She tenderly asks, “You want me to come?”

  “No. I gotta go alone.”

  “Okay.”

  My sister who used to believe love was dumb, watches him stumble out of our front door.

  “He's real!”

  Lorna blinks at me, just lost, unable to object, call me crazy, deny that the impossible is possible. Relinquishing disbelief she simply asks, “How long have you seen him?”

  Honestly, I haven’t counted the days, nor care to. “I was a mess. I might have starved to death if he hadn't shown up.”

  “But for how long, Abby? Can you spend the rest of your life with the ghost of your husband?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you need someone to touch. You're a human being. You need that! Believe me, I went without it for a fuck of a long time. It's not healthy.”

  “No offense,” I begin, hoping she’ll drop it and let me have this moment, “but you don't know what I need.”

  “I just want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy! Stop talking.” Grabbing the wooden arms of my chair I rise up, disappointed in her. “I’m going to make us some dinner. We need more to eat than wine and cynicism.”

  I leave my sister staring after me.

  I will never let her diminish my happiness again.

  Life is too fucking short.

  Chapter 26

  Max

  I’m here with Abby —though she doesn’t know it — as she’s making coffee when Barry comes downstairs in his pajamas.

  He looks around the room for me. I don’t want to talk to him anymore. Yesterday was more than enough.

  She pours almond milk into his cup, aware of how he likes his coffee from their years of friendship.

  Barry is watching her, wondering how to speak to my wife when he’s the reason she’s not making coffee the way I like it.

  “I’m sorry you had to sleep on the couch,” he offers. “I forgot the sofa bed broke.”

  She shrugs, “It's fine. The couch itself isn't broken,” meaning sure you can’t pull it out anymore, but it’s still a couch.

  Handing him his caffeine, she hops up on the counter, sunlight streaming from the window onto her black NYC T-shirt, and the I Love NY mug in her hands. I’d bet money she’s not aware of the loyalty she’s displaying. That’s my wife.

  Barry looks around again and can’t help but ask, “Is he here?”

  “No,” she smiles, “I woke up and found him watching me sleep,” reluctant to admit, “So I guess I'm glad you came. At least now I know I'm not bonkers.”

  Barry takes a sip, muttering, “Glad I'm good for something.”

  Fishing for her forgiveness. I know him, that’s what he’s doing. I almost show myself to her, tell her his ploy, but her face is so soft, so relieved I’m real.

  Can’t make her angry again.

&nb
sp; Making her happy is the reason I’m here.

  But why do I know that?

  Abby gently says, “Barry,” turning his head by her tone, “You have to forgive yourself now.”

  “Can you?”

  “Yes.”

  Barry blinks away from her, uncomfortable. “What have you guys been up to?”

  God, look at her. “We went to a bookstore.” So happy to have someone she can tell, “I read a book to him — Little Women.”

  Again I almost become visible, so I can join in on this and tell him she made me. But he couldn’t hear me, and I don’t wanna answer a bunch of questions. I’m still mad, if I’m honest. And there’s nothing to be but honest anymore.

  Barry stares at her. “Shut up.”

  “The whole thing!”

  He shakes his head, “No no no no no!” unable, unwilling, to picture it. Neither of us were book readers, especially ones from Louisa May Alcott, a woman who wrote about her family way back in the mid-1800’s. When they wore petticoats. I mean, come on!

  Abby laughs, “Truth! Other than that we've just been spending time together.” Her smile becomes thoughtful. “He's here, you know?”

  “Wild. But…”

  Abby cuts him off, “Don’t!” pointing at him, smile gone. “I already heard it from my sister.”

  “No doubt,” chuckles Barry. “She's a ball buster.”

  “Apparently you don't want your balls.”

  “Oh I do. She loves them.”

  Abs shudders, jumps off the counter, “I'm sorry I went there!”

  And behind me I hear Lorna yawning extra-loudly to alert them she’s downstairs. Probably been hiding from sight listening to how they were doing.

  I never visited him after that night, like I did Abs and my folks. Couldn’t see his face, and I could not tolerate watching him drink away what he’d done.

  Never knew he’d gotten sober.

  I can’t help but wish he’d chosen that path before it was too late for me. Sure, this wasn’t his fault. I chose to walk him home. But I wouldn’t have had to if he weren’t a drunk asshole that night and so many before it, and it was my caring about him that had my feet walking away from our anniversary party to ensure his stayed out of bars.

  By the look on Lorna’s face, she was definitely eavesdropping. “Hey. Morning. Woo! It's freezing in here!”