The Final Piece

by Maggi Myers

  “Uh-huh,” Ryan mutters. “Well, since you didn’t say anything, I won’t thank you.”

  He goes back to winding the towrope, shaking his head at me. Even though he has turned his gaze back to his task, I can see the upturn of his lips and know that he is pleased. I smile, knowing how good it feels to hear those words from someone you respect and admire. I felt the same rush of pride when Tommy said them to me.

  Pops and Uncle Rob take off with their fishing rods in the bass boat, determined to bring back a cooler full of Muskie and Catfish. They assure me that they will forfeit my traditional beer brat birthday dinner by opting for a Fourth of July fish fry. We wish them luck as we pull away from them and head toward the center of the lake.

  “You think they’ll catch anything?” I gesture in the direction of the bass boat. I am lounging on the bench seat with Aunt Melissa while Tommy and Ryan ride up front.

  “God, I hope not,” Aunt Melissa cringes, “I hate fish.”

  I snicker and nod my head in agreement.

  Good, I’m not the only one.

  I pull my Walkman out from beneath the seat and settle in for the ride. Strains of classic rock flow through my headphones as the boat picks up speed and we are flying.

  I stare at the back of Tommy’s head, thinking about all of the things he knows about me, now. I’m not sorry I told him everything. It feels good to know someone else knows my secret. Still, I worry that it’s irrevocably changed the way he sees me. I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the sky, as the warmth of the sun chases the sudden chill away. The Stones are crooning on about wild horses when someone nudges my knee. I lift one eyelid, expecting to find Aunt Melissa, instead I find a grinning Ryan. Aunt Melissa looks over her shoulder from her new place in the front seat and winks. That minx, she is a shameless matchmaker. I love it.

  “What’s up, Ry?” I pull my headphones down around my neck, hoping I sound calmer than I am.

  “You were sending me smoke signals up there,” he gestures toward the front seat. I crinkle my brow in confusion so he continues, “The smoke coming off your head from thinking too hard. It spoke to me, ‘Ryan come save me from myself before I think myself into a coma.’” I laugh at his observation and just like that, I’m relaxed again. We fall into easy conversation about life, music and talking Tommy into shaving his mustache.

  “Tom Selleck called, he wants his ‘stache back,” Ryan chuckles.

  “It is very Magnum P.I., circa 1981,” I giggle.

  The rest of the day, between our turns in the water, we whisper the names of famous mustaches.

  “Groucho Marx,” Ryan challenges.

  “Charlie Chaplin,” I shoot back.

  “Burt Reynolds,” he banters.

  “Freddy Mercury.” I smile—not only is Freddy’s ‘stache iconic, he’s a musical genius.

  “Ooo, that’s a good one,” Ryan cheers. I watch as his face lights up, “Geraldo Rivera!” he shouts.

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” Tommy asks while we tie down the ski tube for the ride back.

  Ryan and I shoot each other panicked looks and speak at the same time,

  “Nothing.”

  I laugh so hard I have tears streaming down my face. Ryan is holding his stomach, trying to breathe between his guffaws. Tommy is looking at us like we are a couple of loons. He furrows his brow, shakes his head and goes back to securing our gear.

  Chapter 18

  That evening, we gather around the card table where Gran has lit up her famous chocolate cake with fifteen candles that flicker like sparklers. My family belts out “Birthday” by The Beatles and chants for me to blow out the candles. Surrounded by the people I love most in the world, I have never been happier. Already having my wish in mind, I pull in a deep breath and blow.

  “That was quick, did you make a wish?” Gran asks.

  “I already knew what I was wishing for.” I smirk but she doesn’t see it, her attention is focused on serving us. She passes me a plate and kisses my forehead before going back to tending to the cake. I bite, savoring the rich chocolate while I try to think up a subtle way to get Ryan alone. Nerves start to kick around my self-doubt and when I am about to give into it, Ryan interrupts.

  “Are you done with that?” he points to my plate.

  “Yeah, I’m done,” I sigh at the double meaning of my statement and push my plate toward him. “Have at it, it’s all yours.”

  “No,” Ryan chuckles, “I don’t want your cake. I thought if you were done, you might want to go for a walk?”

  Oh. My. God.

  “Sure.” I am certain I’m blushing head to toe but I am so excited, I don’t care. I leap to my feet with too much enthusiasm, making Ryan laugh. As we slip out the front door, I don’t look over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching us, but I’m pretty sure that Aunt Melissa has a big smile on her face.

  We walk along the shoreline in silence awhile, until Ryan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rumpled envelope.

  “I got you something for your birthday, I just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everybody.” He holds it out for me to take. “Sorry, it got a little beat up in my pocket.” He smiles shyly. I nibble at my bottom lip as I tear at the paper, inside are two tickets to see Brutal Strength at The Iowa State Fair. My eyes shoot from the tickets to Ryan’s face.

  “They are my favorite!” I gush, “Thank you, Ryan.” I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze. He chuckles at my reaction and wraps his arms around my waist.

  “You’re welcome, Beth.” His words dance across my ear, giving me goosebumps. He smells like something familiar and spicy, like the dock baking under the July sun.

  Cedar, he smells like cedar.

  I turn my head and my nose brushes against Ryan’s cheek a moment before my lips. I let them linger against the warmth of his skin for a moment before leaning back but Ryan only tightens his arm around me, bringing us nose to nose. He cups my face with his hand and I am transfixed by the wonder in his expression, giddy that I put it there. He rubs his thumb across my cheek, releasing a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I take in a shaky breath and close my eyes when he leans forward. I feel his warm breath and the promise of his mouth against mine but he hesitates. I open my eyes and when they meet Ryan’s, he kisses me. There is nothing remotely familiar about this kiss. I can’t believe I was ever worried about Drew spoiling this moment. He is a million miles away as Ryan’s lips touch mine in a gentle caress, sending chills down my spine. My hands find their way into Ryan’s hair and I lean into his chest, needing to be closer. Ryan pulls his mouth from mine, and he looks at me with a delicious mix of affection and want. No, there is nothing familiar about this at all—I don’t want it to ever end.

  When his lips meet mine again, they’re more determined. His tongue sweeps the seam of my lips, luring me further into his spell. My lips part and a soft murmur escapes when Ryan’s tongue brushes against mine. I am lost to the sensations that pulse through the places we touch. My skin hums where his hand touches my back, his fingers trail sparks against my cheek and his lips brand me.

  “Wow,” Ryan breathes as he breaks our kiss.

  “Why did you stop?” I whisper as I press my lips to his neck. Being kissed senseless has made me rather daring.

  “Hmm?” he mumbles as he trails kisses from my collarbone to my chin. My knees buckle, and Ryan grips me around the waist. God, everywhere he touches sends me falling further. He kisses the tip of my nose and makes sure I’m steady before he takes a step back. His hand laces with mine as he gestures for us to keep walking. I follow him blindly. I’d follow him anywhere.

  “I don’t want to screw things up with you, Beth,” Ryan confesses. “You intimidate the hell out of me.” I stare at him stunned for a moment before I start laughing.

  “What? Why on earth would I intimidate you?” It sounds so absurd to me. I am the one who is out of her league—Ryan definitely has the upper hand.

  “Don’t laugh!” Ryan
blushes. “You don’t see it and that only makes it harder to resist. You’re the coolest girl I know, you’re so easy to hang with and you’re so pretty.” I smile at my favorite word. “You’re strong, you’re funny,” he pauses, “you’re everything.”

  “Oh.” That’s the only response I have. How lame. Ryan chuckles at my eloquence, and I can’t help myself from joining him. I don’t know what to say, so I let him steer the conversation wherever he wants.

  “So, I was thinking for the concert that we could just make a day of it?” His suggestion ends on a question. My heart bounces in my chest at his uncertainty. Like I would ever pass up a chance to spend the day with him.

  “It’s a date.” I try to sound casual, but the smile spreading across my face gives away my excitement. A first kiss and plans for a first date. I can’t stop smiling.

  Best. Birthday. Ever.

  Chapter 19

  BETH

  Life is full of lessons we either learn from or get bitter over. Currently, I’m a Bitter Bob. Life sucks. Hard. I don’t care how melodramatic that sounds, it’s the truth and I’m living it. Of all the things I allowed myself to believe in, happily ever whatever is the biggest farce of them all. I was stupid to think that I was destined to spend my summer with Ryan. Nothing good lasts. I should know that by now. Tears pool behind my eyes, and I fight not to cry as I watch our plane pull away from the gate. My mom’s hand covers mine in a gesture meant to comfort, but I yank it away. I hate her.

  “Beth, you’re going to have to talk to us at some point,” she pleads, “I know you don’t understand right now, but this is for the best.”

  I turn from the window to give her the full brunt of my hatred. “When have you ever known what is best?” I spit out. ”When did you ever do what was best? You know nothing about what is best for me. You only care about what is best for you.” The tears I’ve been fighting spill angrily. I’m not in the mood to get into this with her again.

  She hasn’t listened once since she and my dad blew into town three days ago, and I don’t expect she will start listening now. I turn back to the window, letting the ache in my chest bloom with hopelessness as we barrel down the runway for takeoff. As the plane’s wheels leave the ground, my shoulders slump in final defeat. I’m going home.

  Ryan and I are over before we even had a chance to begin. The roar of the jet engine drowns out my pitiful whimpering and any attempt my mom has for pleading her case. I pull one of Tommy’s hankies from my pocket and blot my face. The scent of leather and cinnamon only makes me cry harder.

  Once we are at cruising altitude, my mom turns in her seat to address me, “I’m sorry you feel that way, honey. We only have a handful of weeks before school starts to work on our family. We need this time for therapy. We need this, Beth. Not just your dad and I, all three of us need this. Your dad and I have been through so much...” Mom hesitates. She searches my face for understanding while she wipes a tear from my cheek, causing me to flinch.

  “God, I was so stupid to think that I was getting anywhere with you,” I scoff. “You’ll never change. You’ll always find a way to spin the story in your favor. You’re not a victim; I am.” My breath hiccups as I strain to keep composure. “I didn’t have a hand in any of the decisions you made. Those were all yours, Mom, so don’t tell me how much you and dad have been through. I’ve been trying to just survive my life for the last eight years while you’ve made one shitty decision after another.”

  I turn to the window where we’re floating high above clouds that remind me of tufts of snow. The scene looks like a shot of heaven. What a crock. The reality is, out there it’s freezing cold and the air is so thin you can’t breathe. Sounds a lot like my life.

  “I had something really good there. I had family who put me first, a therapist who really got me and I had Ryan. That might seem silly to you, Mom, but he’s the only thing that ever made me forget what it felt like to forget. Good luck trying to convince me leaving that behind to join you and dad for part two of your rehab stint is in my best interest.”

  “You’ll still get to talk to a therapist, Beth, and it’s not like you will never see your family again.” She leans in to make sure I can hear her clearly, “Let me get a couple of things straight with you, young lady, I may have made some terrible decisions, but I’m still your mother. I’m the only one you’ve got, so I suggest you find a way to show me a little respect. Another thing, you’re 4 days past your fifteenth birthday, and if you’re that hung up on a boy then it is a good thing we are leaving because it’s not right, Beth. You’re too young to be that emotionally attached to Ryan.”

  “Seeing your drug counselor will hardly replace my visits with Dr. Warren. I’m not an addict, Mother. I’m a survivor of sexual abuse. How do expect your counselor to help me?” I sneer.

  How soon she forgets that I’m not one of her rehab buddies or counselors who hang on her every word, fawning over everything she says. I know the drill, I know how she operates and I’ve been conned one to many times to buy into anything she’s trying to sell.

  “Dave is a family therapist, Beth,” she flips her hair over her shoulder and turns her gaze to my father across the aisle. “You can argue all you want, but it’s done. You can make the best of it or you can make yourself miserable. You want to preach to me about choices, well, this one is all yours.”

  My family life has been one lesson in adapting after another—you either move or get run over. I watch with detached interest as my mom and dad lean across the aisle to whisper to one another. They pause to look my way and then continue their conversation, no doubt about how difficult I’m being. Tucking the pieces of my heart carefully back into its compartment, I think about Aunt Melissa and how hard she worked to get me to come out of my shell. The only piece I leave out is Ryan. I don’t think the whole of my feelings for him will ever fit in that box. Still, there is no room for openness where I’m headed, so I do the only thing I know how to, survive. Rule number one in adapting—control the situation at hand before it has a chance to control you.

  ***

  “Don’t forget me,” I whisper in Ryan’s ear. He squeezes my hand in his and smiles his lopsided grin. He’s trying so hard but his smile doesn’t reach his gaze. It hurts my heart to see sadness in his beautiful green eyes, so I close my own and lay my head on his shoulder.

  “Like I could ever forget you.” The pad of Ryan’s thumb brushes my cheek. His words should fill me with warmth, but they break my heart for the chance we’ll never get. “Don’t cry, Beth. You’re killing me,” he pleads, running his hands through my hair.

  I look up at his profile and memorize my favorite parts of his handsome face—the slope of his nose, the way his mouth always tips to the left when he smiles, the thick blond eyelashes that frame his gorgeous green eyes. Every moment left is precious and I don’t want to waste a single one.

  “Come with me,” I grab Ryan’s hand and pull him toward the front steps. His brow crinkles as he tries to figure out my angle. “Come on.” I give him a watery smile and my heart pounds when he lets me tug him along. I scamper down the front steps, dragging a laughing Ryan behind as I round the corner of the house. When we reach the backyard, I turn and face him. Still holding onto his hand, I step backward and give him a shy smile.

  Once we are under the cherry tree, I wrap my arms around his neck and gently kiss his upturned lips. He hooks his thumbs in the belt loops of my cutoffs and pulls me closer, brushing my nose against his. The sweetness of his breath against my face sends chills along my arms and I bite my lip in anticipation. Ryan brings his thumb to my mouth and tugs, setting my lip free just before kissing it. He looks at me from half- closed eyes and says the word that I will never hear again without wishing for him.

  “Pretty.”

  Chapter 20

  RYAN

  Beth’s got that look in her eye, the one that sends my heart into my stomach every time. She’s got no clue the effect she has on me, which only makes her charm tha
t much more lethal. Her big brown eyes are sparkling with mischief and that impish grin of hers turns my mouth dry. I let her drag me around to the back of the house, to the cherry tree. I know that’s where she’s headed, but I pretend to be clueless. It’s far more fun to watch her scheming to get me alone. Like I need to be talked into that.

  The only thing I need any help with is keeping my thoughts PG when I’m near her. Beth is trouble with a capital “T.” She’s gorgeous and has no idea. Most of the beautiful girls at my school walk around like the world owes them a great big favor for gracing us with their presence. Stuck up, snobby, high maintenance girls who look down at everyone else with their high and mighty attitudes. Not Beth. First of all, she puts every single one of those girls to shame.

  Her beauty is something else—she has these warm brown eyes that can strip me bare with one look. She’s beautiful anyway but when that girl smiles, it steals the air straight out of my lungs. As if I wasn’t already crazy about her, she’s the coolest girl I’ve ever met. She’s so easy to hang out with and she even loves to go out on the lake to ski and tube. Most of the girls I’ve known would rather sunbathe on the dock than play in the water. Being around her is effortless—she’s beautiful, she’s perfect. She’s also going back to Miami. It’s so damn unfair. The thought makes me want to punch something.

  Beth turns to face me and the look on her face nearly brings me to my knees. Her cheeks are almost as red as the cherries in the tree, and she’s smiling shyly as she backs under the cherry tree, towing me along with her. I can’t help the smile tugging on my lips; she’s so damn cute. When she reaches up to wrap her arms around my neck and presses her full lips against mine, I want to pinch myself. To stay as gentlemanly as possible, I hook my thumbs in her belt loops, keeping my itchy hands from roaming. What I really want to do is run my hand along the smooth skin of her stomach, peeking out from the bottom of her t-shirt. When she starts tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth, all gentlemanly thoughts hit the road. It takes every effort not to pin her against the tree and run my hands all over her sweet curves. Pervert. She’s only fifteen—that’s what I keep reminding myself. While I am only two years older than her, sometimes I feel like a dirty old man wanting all of her sweetness for myself.