The Light We See

by J. Lynn Bailey

  She has the strength to withstand anything.

  She can feel through it all and come out on the other side even if her heart still aches.

  She is me.

  I begin to cry, leaning over the counter, covering my mouth to hide the sobs. Heartache is the price we pay for love. Real love. The kind of love that’s beautiful and broken and stained with memories that give two things: clarity and grace. Clarity, because it allows me to see things for what they are, even when they’re hard. And grace, falling on the toes of clarity, we’re reminded that we are imperfect and so are others.

  I peek in the other room, and Luke is sleeping.

  I cry quietly, tears spilling uncontrollably from my eyes.

  In this moment, I’m able to forgive myself for not being there with my family that night. Forgive Father, who didn’t deserve grace, but love allows me to give it. People put in our lives for a variety of reasons. I believe I was meant to fall in love with Luke, and it was his journey to leave.

  I cover my mouth tightly, so the sobs don’t escape. I swallow, pushing them into my throat.

  I look back in the mirror to a woman who’s crossed over to a new skin, a new strength, and a renewed sense of self. I know it will take my heart time to heal with past traumas, past hurts, and it might not ever heal completely, but I have faith that I’m right where I’m supposed to be—finally.

  Dabbing my eyes with tissue, I look back at the woman, and in the mirror, I tell her, “We’re going to be okay.”

  I walk back into the room where Luke is sleeping, set down the glass of water by his bedside, kiss his forehead, and walk to the other side of the bed.

  And in my new skin, I crawl in bed next to the man who will always have my heart, no matter how far apart we are.

  The farmhouse sits just off town in Bardstown, Kentucky, and I assume it’s Beth and James on the porch when we drive up. It’s a modest ranch-style home with a wraparound deck and land behind them that you can see for miles.

  Luke parks. “Are you ready to meet my mom and dad?”

  “Been ready.”

  Luke nods, and we both get out of the car.

  He wanted to drive today, felt strong enough. I’ve learned with Luke and his cancer that some days are really good days, and it seems like the cancer is gone. He has energy and seems normal.

  When James and Beth approach, James throws his arms around his son. The son he didn’t create, but the son who chose his dad.

  I see the whites of James’s fingertips as he squeezes Luke.

  “It is so nice to meet you, Catherine,” Beth says as she pulls me in for a hug.

  I’ve decided that Midwesterners are far nicer than Californians.

  She smells like roses, and I’ve decided that’s the smell of heaven.

  “Let’s see that ring,” Beth says and takes my left hand to admire it. Beth examines the ring. “You’ve done well, son.”

  James reaches in to hug me as Beth embraces Luke.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Catherine. We’ve heard a lot about you,” James says.

  When? I think to myself. Between Arizona and New Mexico? Texas?

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, too. I’m glad we could meet.”

  Beth takes Luke’s hand. “Come on; let’s go inside. Supper is on the table.”

  James takes a sip of his lemonade. “Luke tells us you’re an ex-con?” James smiles.

  Beth looks at James.

  James looks at Luke.

  They all burst out laughing.

  I start to laugh.

  James reaches for my hand. “Excuse my sense of humor, Catherine. I think, when we laugh, we begin to heal. Humor is what helped us with Ella, and so I assume everyone needs to laugh.” He gives my hand a squeeze and lets go. “You’re safe here. And we really enjoy your company.”

  “Thank you, James.”

  “Honey, you’re about as perfect as a peach.” Beth winks. “I can tell by the way you carry yourself.”

  Luke takes my hand and kisses the top of it. “She sure is.”

  “Aunt Gene said the visit went really well at their place?” Beth takes a bite of steak, looks at Luke and me.

  “Yeah, helped Uncle Al mend some fence. Moved some cattle. Uncle Al has slowed down quite a bit.”

  “That’s what Gene said. Past six months, he’s been having some back trouble,” James says.

  “They think about selling the place?” Luke looks at his mother.

  Beth shrugs. “I’m not sure. Guess when you’ve done something one way for so long and grown accustomed to it, change isn’t something you’re interested in.”

  “Gene also said you gave her and Uncle Al a lot of money,” Beth says.

  “I did. Hope they’ll sell the damn place and slow down.”

  “You going somewhere or something, son?” James asks and takes a bite of his chicken. Chews. Watches Luke.

  Do they not know he’s sick?

  My hands grow sweaty, and my stomach turns into a fit of knots. They lost Ella, and now, they’re losing Luke. Surely, Luke will tell them?

  Luke pulls out a white envelope from his back pocket. This one though is different. It’s thicker. Much thicker than the others.

  “What’s that?” James asks, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

  Luke takes a small bite of chicken, and I look down at his plate. He’s barely eaten anything.

  “Stuff,” Luke answers.

  James’s eyebrows rise, and I think he knows something is up, but I don’t think he’s prepared for the story.

  I reach under the table and gently place my hand on Luke’s thigh.

  “I made peach cobbler. I’ll go grab it,” Beth says.

  “I’ll help,” I say and stand and follow Beth to the kitchen.

  What I love about Luke’s family, no matter what part of the country you’re in, the dinner table is always set, and we always gather at the table to eat a meal together. There’s always a pitcher of lemonade or iced tea or water. There’s always three to four courses for every meal, and there’s always dessert.

  As Beth grabs the cobbler from the oven, she says, “Honey, will you get the ice cream from the freezer? The vanilla.”

  I open the freezer and find it full of meat and ice cream of four different flavors.

  “James loves his ice cream at night.” She shakes her head and smiles as she gets four bowls and four spoons.

  I set the vanilla ice cream down next to the scoop that’s already on the counter.

  She adds the cobbler, and I add the ice cream.

  I feel as though I’m carrying a secret. A secret that I wish I didn’t know. A secret I wish weren’t true.

  “Since Luke was just a boy, he’s always carried around this sense of needing to take care of others.” Beth smiles. Scoops the cobbler.

  I listen. Sometimes, I feel like I’m in the right place at the right time just to listen. And I’m not sure how this happens, but I always have a sense of knowing when it does happen.

  “He’s always felt like he has a sense of responsibility to others,” Beth sighs. “I’m not sure where he got it from, but it’s magical.”

  “We learn a lot by watching others,” comes out of me, and I surprise myself by my own words.

  Beth thinks on it. Smiles. “I suppose.”

  “And sometimes, they astonish us by what they overcome.”

  This time, Beth looks at me, cocks her head.

  “For the time I’ve known Luke, I know that he has two amazing parents, and he’s extremely proud of both of you. And you both raised an incredible man.”

  “That boy has a heart of gold. And that didn’t come from us. He doesn’t have to tell me that he’s in love with you because it’s quite obvious.” She stops talking for a moment. “Good love is worth the argument; great love is worth fighting for.”

  I scoop the last of the ice cream into the fourth bowl of peach cobbler and stop. Stare back at her.

  Mother fought until she cou
ldn’t fight for love anymore. Until it came time to protect her children. One of which she couldn’t. My childhood and my adult life collide together. My past and my present. What Mother was doing all along. I blink several times, unable to speak.

  “Are you all right, Catherine?” Beth asks, touching my elbow.

  “Y-yeah. Just … your words hit me.”

  I take a minute, and Beth sees this.

  She switches gears. “Have you met Fiona?”

  “Yes. She seems just like her dad.”

  Beth smiles, nods. “She is.” Looks out the kitchen window and then back to me. “I’m not too sure what your prison time was all about, but you don’t seem like a lawbreaker.” Her eyebrows rise as the corners of her mouth turn upward.

  “We learn a lot by watching others,” I say again, not wanting to delve into my past or explain myself, and I don’t think those were two things on Beth’s agenda.

  It’s quiet between the two of us, except for the birds chirping outside the kitchen window.

  She grabs two bowls of cobbler, and I grab two bowls of cobbler. We walk back into the dining room and eat our dessert with the men.

  James Taylor, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, and Eddie Van Halen cover the walls of Luke’s old room along with a Christie Brinkley poster.

  “Not a bad choice.” I walk around the room and stop at the poster of Christie Brinkley.

  Luke throws himself on his old queen-size bed. “To be a seventeen-year-old boy again.”

  I turn to him, cross my arms, smile. “Would you go back to being seventeen if you could?”

  “No. You?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “How about your twenties?” he asks. “Shit. Sorry.”

  I was in prison then, and it’s not something I want to go back to.

  A guitar sits in the corner of his room. An old Zenith television sits against the wall on the dresser. It’s a turn-knob television and no remote in sight and two antennas in the back.

  “This thing still work?” I ask.

  “I think so.” Luke gets up from the bed, walks over across the room, and twists the knob on the front. The television sparks to life. He smiles at me. “That’s the thing about Kentucky; we’re about twenty years behind technology, which could be a blessing and a curse.”

  It’s a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show.

  “It’s been years since I’ve seen this show,” I say and sit down on the bed and face the television.

  Ingrid and I would wake up early before school and watch one and a half episodes before we had to get ready for school.

  Luke walks back across the room to sit next to me on the bed.

  We watch blankly. Allow the world to settle at our feet, pushing reality at bay for as long as we can. The reality, the responsibilities, the decisions.

  “Do your parents know?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s all in the white envelope.”

  “Why can’t you tell them—like, in person? Face-to-face?”

  “I’m afraid to.”

  I think on this. Tuck my hands underneath my thighs. Stare at the television. “Is it as scary as losing your sister?”

  There’s a long, empty silence between us.

  “You’re the one leaving, Luke,” I barely whisper.

  “I guess that’s just it. I know this will break their hearts—and I’m terrified of doing that.”

  “If Fiona had cancer, how would you like the news to be delivered?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “I don’t know what’s worse—losing someone you love quickly or losing someone you love slowly. I guess there’s two sides to every coin.”

  “I had more clarity when Ella died,” he finally says. “When she had the cancer, we talked a lot of about forgiveness and how she felt. How I felt. How Mom and Dad felt, you know?”

  I nod, not because I know, but because I don’t know, so I take in the newfound knowledge.

  “I want to be cremated, just so you know.”

  I watch Andy walk into the police station and make a joke about the doughnuts.

  I wasn’t ready to hear that. I’m not sure why he chose to tell me, but I put my hand in his as a burning sensation starts in my chest. “You should tell them, Luke.”

  Luke looks at me. “I’m not sure I’m ready to bear that cross.”

  “What if they open the envelope?”

  “They won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  Luke smiles, laughs. “I guess I don’t know for sure.”

  “What’s your plan if they open it?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  Fear can be fickle.

  I feel his hand sliding down my belly, and it takes me a moment to get my bearings. I’m on my back, and Luke is facing me, on his side. His hand moves down my thigh, between my legs, and back up to my stomach.

  After our talk, I showered and slipped into a T-shirt and panties.

  I pull my legs apart, and he scoots closer. I see his silhouette. Make out the outline of his hair.

  He puts his lips to mine as his hand makes its way down my stomach once more and dips below my panties. I push my bottom up off the mattress because he feels good. He slides his finger between my folds, and the room grows even darker.

  I feel him harden next to me.

  He applies pressure to my knot and then pushes a finger inside me.

  Quietly, I gasp.

  He adjusts me so that my back is to him, and he puts me in just the right spot, so he can put himself inside me. When he does, we both whimper out of love, out of spite, out of selfishness, and we allow ourselves to get lost in each other.

  He pushes.

  I pull.

  It’s quick.

  We break.

  When we both come, we lie here, entangled in each other until we fall asleep.

  I hear Luke get up. It’s still dark out.

  “Luke”—I turn to him—“where are you going?”

  “Helping Dad outside this morning.” He’s slipping underwear on.

  “But it’s dark out. How will you see anything?”

  “Best time of day to work.”

  He puts on his jeans, watching me. Pulls a T-shirt on over his head, and I can’t help but feel grateful that I’m the only woman who gets to share his body with him. I’m the only woman who gets to touch his abs, his chest, his arms. I’m the only woman who gets his mouth in ways that others dream of. But more importantly, I have his heart.

  “Come here,” I tell him and pat the spot next to me, exposing my breasts only a little.

  Luke notices as he lies down, fully clothed, next to me.

  Aware of what I’m doing and what I’m setting my own body up for, I zip down his zipper to his jeans, and Luke groans quietly.

  “What are you doing to me, Cat?” His head falls softly against the backboard of the bed.

  “Returning the favor.”

  He’s hard almost immediately as I take him in my mouth and slide past the ripples of his sex.

  “Oh, God.” Luke’s hands tighten around me.

  I look up at Luke as my head moves.

  His eyes are closed, and one hand is on my head.

  I tighten my lips around him, and I hear him sigh.

  I go until he’s undone.

  He lies in bed, trying to collect himself as I get out of bed, allowing my breasts to brush across his T-shirt.

  But he catches my hips in his hands right above him and takes my mouth for his own keeping, kissing me hard.

  When I pull away, he says, “These are my lips, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “My hips, my breasts, my everything.”

  I smile and allow my body to linger over his, only for a few seconds before I put my clothes on.

  Luke stands and helps me step into my panties, T-shirt, and jeans.

  “Why are you getting up so early?” he asks.


  I stand and put my hands on my hips. “I thought you said it was the best time of day?”

  “It is.”

  “Okay then, I’m ready to get started.”

  Luke smiles, kisses my forehead, and says, “Okay.”

  Beth, James, Luke, and I are out on the back deck, looking at their land. It’s the afternoon, and we’ve sat down for a break.

  The white envelope, as Luke predicted, still sits on the dining room table, unopened.

  Luke’s eyes look a lot like James’s. The only difference is, James wears glasses. And I can’t help but wonder if Luke would look like James at his age. Even though they’re not related by blood, the resemblance is astounding.

  James and Luke discuss the possible purchase of fifty more head of cattle from the Dentons. Whoever they are.

  “This place never gets old,” Beth says, taking a sip of her freshly poured lemonade.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “What was it like, growing up in Beverly Hills?” she asks.

  I take a sip of my lemonade. Set it down on the wrought iron table. “Like you’re constantly looking for ways to improve. Because you’re never quite up to standards.”

  Beth nods, closes her eyes as she looks up toward the sky. “I see. What was it like in prison?” She still looks up toward the heavens, waiting for my answer.

  “Like a slow drip of water being given to a thirsty man.”

  She listens, and I continue, “Time passes slowly while you’re there, I guess, but when your time is up, you look back and realize how quickly it went.”

  “Did you do it?” And she asks this in the sincerest way.

  I understand why. If my son were engaged to a woman who had been in prison for thirteen years on a murder conviction, I’d have questions, too.

  But I give her the answer I gave Luke. Not the story I told the court or the story I try to tell myself in an effort to rationalize that what I’d needed to do was just fit the mold.

  “No.”

  Beth sits, the same cool, calm face. She’s now looking over their land as the sun slowly makes it descent over the rolling hills of bluegrass.

  “You know what I think?” she asks, looking over at me only momentarily.

  “I don’t.”

  “I think that you made a decision based on love, and that is a selfless decision in my book, Catherine.”