by Maggi Myers
“Beth,” Ryan’s voice carries a heaviness that has me reaching to touch his cheek. ”My grandfather wanted me to ask if you would do the placement of the pall with me.” My throat seals shut, preventing me from answering; Grandpa Cantwell’s thoughtfulness skewers me. “It’s the white linen cloth that symbolizes baptism...”
“I know what it is,” I cut him off, “I am just...” A sob keeps me from finishing my words.
“I should’ve told you sooner, I just didn’t want you to stress over it,” Ryan sighs, “I’m sorry.”
I nod my head weakly as I wipe my tears. “Of course, I will,” I whisper. Being gifted the honor of a part in Tommy’s mass is humbling and heartbreaking.
The sanctuary is eerily silent, considering the number of people that line the pews. Tommy’s casket sits at the front, and knowing his lifeless body is inside rips a hole open in my soul. My body shakes with a violence that threatens to bring me to my knees but Ryan’s steady hands hold me up until we reach our families. I place my purse on the pew next to my mom and dad. In the pew ahead of us, Aunt Melissa gently caresses the hair at the nape of Uncle Rob’s neck, while he rubs his hands over his face. We walk across the aisle to Tommy’s father, who is flanked by his living children.
“Beth,” he croaks as his gnarled hand takes mine. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, baby girl.” He stands and wraps me in a fierce hug.
“Grandpa Cantwell, I’m so sorry,” I squeak. So sorry that Tommy is gone, so sorry that I never came back, so sorry that I acted so selfishly for so long.
“Oh, darlin’,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry, too. His loss is as much yours as it is mine. You’re a good girl for doing this for our family. Tommy wouldn’t want it any other way.” I look to Ryan who nods and shrugs his shoulders. Banking on me to do the right thing is a risky business and his faith in me incites my shame. The anguish surrounding us is palpable; I close my eyes and pray for it to be over soon. My heart can only shatter so many times before the pieces become nothing more than dust. Ryan takes my hand and leads me to the sacristy where we retrieve the pall.
Father Paul begins mass by blessing the casket with holy water while the cantor’s angelic voice fills the air with Ave Maria. Ryan stands next to me, stoic; the only evidence of his pain is the ferocity in which he grips my hand. The priest gives us the signal to step forward and together we cover the black casket with snowy white linen. My hand shakes as I place it on the cloth where my tears have left wet spots, and I lay a gentle kiss where Tommy lays. I close my eyes and gather every ounce of strength I can muster to prepare myself to walk away, leaving him one last time. When I open my eyes, I don’t see a church full of people watching me with rapt interest, I only see the unshed tears pooling in Ryan’s eyes and the tortured crease in his brow. My feet carry me around the casket to where he stands frozen. Tears spill down his face as he watches me approach but his face stays rigid in its mask of pain. Refusing to leave him in any way, I keep my eyes focused on his when I place his arm around my neck and guide him to our seats. Aunt Melissa turns in the pew in front of us to pass me a tissue. It’s only then that I realize I am weeping. Clutching the tissue, my hand falls limp in my lap until Ryan takes it from me and tenderly blots my face. While Father Paul gives the liturgy, I lean my cheek into Ryan’s chest while he rests his chin on my head. The sounds of the mass continue around me, but my focus stays on the steady beat of Ryan’s heart.
At the graveyard, the ceremony is restricted to only those closest to Tommy when they commit his body to the ground. Father Paul leads us in prayer before explaining the symbolism of tossing dirt into the open grave. One by one, people shovel loose earth across Tommy’s casket, marking a final goodbye. When my turn comes, I kneel and dig my hands into the fresh dirt. My breath hitches deep from my diaphragm as I watch the black soil trickle through my fingers. The pain in my heart is so excruciating, I swear I will die from it. Ryan kneels and wraps his arms around me, I wail when he urges me away. Somewhere, the logical part in me is aware that I am making a fool of myself, but my heart demands the release of this lament. I pull against Ryan, begging him to leave me to mourn.
***
“I don’t want you to go, Tommy.” I cry as I throw my arms around his neck. Time passes so quickly when he visits and it never feels like he is here long enough. Hot tears splash my cheeks and I squeeze Tommy as tight as I can.
“Baby girl, you are breaking my heart,” Tommy’s voice cracks with emotion. “I will see you soon, I promise. There are only a couple of months before you’ll be home.” He kisses the top of my head.
“I’ll miss you so much,” I blubber.
“I know, honey,” he soothes, “There isn’t a day I won’t miss you.”
“Promise?”
“Never a day, baby girl. Not one,” he whispers.
“Me too.”
***
There’s vague comprehension of being lifted from the ground and thrashing against the force carrying me away from Tommy’s grave. The sound of feral keening rumbles from the depths of my soul as I am moved further and further away.
“Tommy.” I shriek. I’m aware of Ryan rocking me in his arms as I scream for Tommy.
Chapter 38
The sound of tires crunching gravel rouses me from a dreamless sleep. My eyes scrape across my eyelids like coarse-grained sandpaper, protesting when I peel them open. I am splayed across the bench seat in Ryan’s truck with my head resting on his thigh.
“Hey,” he whispers, stroking my cheek. I watch him from where I lay as he concentrates on the road ahead of him. He’s absolutely stunning with his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. My heart stutters in confusion as the pain of Tommy’s death takes up space with the yearning I have for Ryan. He throws the gearshift into park and sets his green eyes on mine. “We’re here.”
The lake is spread out before me, exactly as it has always been, perfection in its sameness. My breaths come shallow and short as thousands of memories engulf me at once.
“I can’t.” My voice is thick and husky from the scene at the cemetery. Being here is too much to process after a day like this.
“We need this Beth, you and I both,” he starts, “neither of us needs to be under a microscope right now, and that’s all that’s waiting for us back home.” I open my mouth to protest, but Ryan places his index finger against my lips. “I need you. Stay with me tonight, please,” his eyes lock with mine, pleading. The thought of facing the rest of the family after my meltdown at the cemetery makes my decision easy.
“Okay,” I keep my voice smooth and even in an effort to disguise my sudden nerves. The thought of spending the night being comforted in Ryan’s arms sends electricity down my spine. Pools of green hold me captive with the longing swimming in them.
“I don’t ever want to see you hurt like that again, Beth. You were so lost and in so much pain, it nearly killed me.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’ve never felt that helpless. It was awful.”
“I’m so sorry, Ryan.” I take Ryan’s hand from his face and replace it with my lips. A need to touch him hums along my skin, covering me in goosebumps. For the first time in my life, I want to bare my soul. Ryan deserves the kind of woman who would share everything with him because he’s the kind of man who would carry the burden with her. He is so much like Tommy in that sense. He would walk through fire for me if I let him. The last few days have taught me that time is not a guarantee and right now it would be so nice to pretend to be everything he deserves. “Thank you for taking care of me, that hasn’t happened a lot in my life,” I am careful to tread lightly across my confession. One thing at a time. This day has been heavy enough without adding more weight.
I grab Ryan’s hand and pull him toward the dock to my favorite soul-bearing spot. Sitting as demurely as I can in a dress, I dangle my feet over the end of the dock and dip my toes in the chilly water. Ryan plops down next to me and when his feet hit the water he lets out a yowl.
“Shit, th
at’s cold!” His wide-eyed reaction makes me laugh and relax.
“There’s something I want to tell you, Ryan. I need to. Of course, if you want to listen.” I drop my gaze to my lap, afraid that he will say no. He pulls his feet from the water and scoots his body behind mine, pulling me against his chest.
“There’s nothing you can’t say to me. I’d never judge you,” he whispers against the side of my neck. I lean my head against his chest as my thoughts spin madly. Never is a promise that no one is capable of keeping. Reminding myself that he has no idea what he asking, I start with the easy stuff.
“When my folks moved to Florida, they got tangled up in some pretty crazy shit,” I sigh in frustration. This is supposed to be the simple part, but it’s not, it’s hard.
“How old were you?” he asks.
“Five years old,” I answer. “My dad was a banker and my mom was a marketing executive, so they were fully immersed in the whole ‘yuppie’ scene. It took me awhile to understand what that meant. I didn’t get it at all, until one of the kids in our neighborhood lost his dad to an overdose. That shook everything loose for me. I always knew that my parents used cocaine—I just never knew that it wasn’t normal. We lived in a neighborhood where using drugs was a way of life, so it didn’t seem odd to me, not until Liam’s dad died.”
Ryan’s arms wrap around me, squeezing me in reassurance. “I’m sorry about your friend.” He kisses the back of my head.
“One day Liam was there, and the next he was living with his grandparents. No explanation, just gone. Some of the older kids in the neighborhood were the ones that told me how the paramedics came, but it was too late to save Liam’s dad. That lifted the naiveté lens from my eyes, right away. All of a sudden, my perfectly normal life was flipped on its ass. I lived in constant fear that I would wake up one day and find my parents OD’d in their bed.” The more I share, the easier it becomes to let it out. Ryan lets me go on about my life during those years, how aloof and irritated my parents were when they were using, and how sweet and attentive they were when they were sober. I told him how hard it was to always wonder what version of them I would find, so I learned how to take care of myself. Once I’ve told him everything I can without eluding to Drew, I turn my head and pull his head closer to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for listening. I’m glad I told you.”
“You and I are a lot alike.”
I hold in my breath and wait for him to continue.
“Growing up with a single mom, you learn to take care of yourself quick. My mom was always working. In the beginning, we were in Idaho so I was on my own a lot.”
“How old were you?” I picture Ryan when I first met him—when I was six and he was eight.
“I was four when my dad left,” he murmurs. The image of a little blond headed boy with big green eyes pops into my mind, and the thought of him being on his own makes my chest ache.
“You were eight when you moved back to Des Moines,” I observe, putting the pieces together in my mind.
“Yep, and that is when Tommy became my surrogate dad, so to speak. He was always there for me,” Ryan’s tone is pained with loss. I turn around, straddling Ryan’s lap and cup his face in my hands.
“He loved you, Ry. I hope you know how very much he loved you.” I hold his gaze, searching for his understanding.
“Well, he loved you, too. He would’ve slain dragons for you,” Ryan smooths his hands over my hair. In time, he will know that Tommy did.
We stay tangled together on the dock until the sun starts to set and a chill creeps along the water. When we enter the house, the ghost of Tommy is everywhere. It’s easy to fall into thinking that he’ll come bounding through the door at any moment. Ryan senses my melancholy and gives me a sad smile. I know his thoughts must reflect mine.
We miss Tommy.
Chapter 39
Dinner consists of the only thing left in the pantry from Tommy’s last visit to the lake, a can of chicken noodle soup and stale saltine crackers. We sit at the card table, like we did a hundred times as kids and laugh at our makeshift meal. My mind wanders back to the last time I was here with Ryan, and I can’t control the blush that creeps into my cheeks.
“Hey, Ry?” My tone is matter of fact, but my nerves are anything but.
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever wonder,” I swallow hard, “you know, if I had stayed that summer?” I wonder all the time, I want to say.
“I wonder all the time,” he looks down at his bowl and clears his throat. My head pops up; shocked that he has spoken my exact thought.
“Me too.”
He looks up with his brows arched in surprise. I give him a shy smile and go back to nibbling my ancient saltine. The promise of our confession hangs in the air like an unspoken challenge. I lick the salt from my lips and catch Ryan watching.
I am in so much trouble.
Once we are done and our dinner dishes are put away, nervousness settles in my belly. The silence that fills the house and my proximity to Ryan make me twitch. The emotion of the day has left me drained, and all I can think of is losing myself in Ryan’s arms. My breath catches when I picture curling up in his arms, naked and writhing beneath him.
“I’m going to grab a shower.” I wince, wanting to slap my forehead when I remember that we didn’t bring clothes or towels or anything else we typically pack for the lake. Ryan chuckles at my discomfort and tugs my braid as he walks past me toward the bathroom.
“There’s got to be a stash around here somewhere. Aha!” He calls out from the linen closet. He returns with a lone beach towel and some travel size soaps and shampoos. My heart hammers loudly when I take them from him. The thought of being naked with Ryan close by sets a swarm of butterflies free in my stomach. It doesn’t help that Ryan is looking at me like the thought has occurred to him as well. I force myself to swallow and give him a shy smile as I walk past him to the bathroom. A flustered sigh bursts from my lungs. I need to get into that shower, preferably a cold one, before I embarrass myself and jump him.
Putting my things down, I grip the edge of the sink and try to will my self-control to hold out. My brain ignores the plea and continues the slow torture of flashing vivid images of my hands caressing the hard plains of Ryan’s naked body. I splash cold water on my face and drink in handfuls to quell the dryness taking residence in my throat. When I look up, I see Ryan’s reflection in the mirror. He is standing in the doorway behind me with his hands gripping the top of the doorjamb; his pose accentuates the sinewy lines of his arms and chest. His tie is begging me to grab it and pull him forward.
The desire I’ve been desperate to tamp down is making the bathroom even more cramped than usual. I grip the sink so hard, I am sure the porcelain will crumble like my resolve. Ryan steps forward and takes my braid in his hands, my eyes flutter closed as he pulls free the elastic on the end and slowly unravels the plait in my hair. Strong deft hands reach the base of my neck where he combs through the strands from root to tip, sending tingles along my scalp. My hair spills over my shoulders in waves left from the braid, and the stare that meets mine in the mirror makes me feel incredibly sexy.
“Pretty.” The green in Ryan’s eyes burns with so such intensity, I need to shift my weight and rub my thighs together for relief. He grips me at the waist and pulls me against his hips. I shiver when my back comes into contact with a very hard Ryan. I close my eyes and try not to collapse when his hand slides from my hip to my stomach, leaving a burning trail in its wake. The need to run my hands up his chest and into his hair beckons me to turn around, but Ryan grips my hands and pins them back against the edge of the sink. The motion brings the hard length of him in closer contact with my backside, and I arch my back for more friction. A moan trembles on my lips as he drags his tongue up the side of my neck, stopping to nip at my skin along the way.
With my hands pinned, all I can do is wiggle against him and hope he doesn’t stop touching me. He releases one of his hands to slide up my thigh, sending sparks
of need up my spine. When he reaches the top of my thigh and slips his finger under the seam of my panties, the moan rumbling from his throat has me circling my hips, urging his hand to where I want him to touch me.
“Ryan, please,” I beg shamelessly. Tension coils from deep in my belly, leaving me desperate and panting for release. He turns me to face him and lifts me from my backside and carries me to the bedroom. I wrap my legs around his waist and marvel at his ease in holding me.
Ryan lays me down as gently as he can without letting me go, spreading me out on the bottom bunk. He nestles himself between my thighs, rolling his hips against mine in sensual torture. Frantic, I tug at the tie of my wrap dress, needing his hands on my skin. With the arch of my back, the fabric slides open and I am exposed to his gaze.
“God, Beth. You are so beautiful, it hurts,” he groans. Tugging me upwards long enough to relieve me of my bra, I pull off his tie and fumble with the buttons on his shirt. We fall back against the bed and Ryan reaches over his shoulder and, in one swift move, pulls his shirt over his head. The feel of Ryan’s bare chest against mine is so intimate, so delicious, I moan in ecstasy.
“So good. You feel so good.” I toss my head back as Ryan fills his hands with my breasts; laving openmouthed kisses across each one. I don’t recognize my own body as it builds with insatiable hunger. “Mmm...I’ve dreamt about this for so long.” Ryan’s hands skim my thighs and I lift my hips so he can take my panties with them. My skin is flushed in anticipation as my hands work proficiently to release Ryan from his pants. I am drunk with want. “I’m on the pill,” I can barely breathe, let alone speak, but Ryan’s answering growl assures his understanding. He drags his mouth from my nipple to my mouth, and I feel the head of his swollen erection slide against me.
