"Tucker... what's wrong? Did I do something wrong?" She looked so sad and contrite.
"No. No, honey. Don't think that." I touched her arm. "I..." How to put this into words... "I realized we're leaving in the morning, and we only have a few hours left. I know it will be hard for me to say goodbye tomorrow."
"Oh." She moved her feet in front of her and slumped into the cushions, looking away from me. After a few seconds, she became reanimated. "We'll have to make the best of our time then." She took a cracker with cheese off the board and ate it.
Is this how you deal with loss? You'll have to teach me.
Besides losing my mom a handful of years ago, I'd never had to deal with loss. With Gina, nothing existed to miss after she left me.
We ate our dinner, having gone with grapes instead of apples since the only knife we had was the cheese knife that came with the board. After we finished that, we pushed it aside on the coffee table, and she moved into my arms. We talked about this and that, the conversation inevitably coming around to our kids. Over the next several hours, we switched positions half a dozen times. She put her back against the opposite arm of the couch, and we both stretched our legs out across the cushions, hers inside mine. Or we sat side by side, my arm around her shoulder, feet propped on the coffee table. At some point, she went to her room to switch into pajamas, and I cleaned up what little mess we left from dinner. We had purchased an orange and dark chocolate bar, and we munched on that, my arm stretched along the top of the sofa as I leaned toward her. She faced me, legs crisscrossed. While we watched the movie, night had stolen across the sky and the absolute quiet surrounding us told us we were well into the middle of the night. The lamp illuminated her face as she talked, the blanket scrunched up on her lap. We spoke in hushed tones, long lapses in conversation becoming more frequent, but not uncomfortable. Eventually we both became drowsy and said our goodnights. She kissed me softly and went to her bed.
I sat on the couch a while longer, then rose, switched off the lamp, and stripped my clothes off in the scanty light coming in from outside. I got under my covers but couldn't sleep. I watched the shadows of branches dancing overhead. The wind had grown stronger, a light spring storm brewing.
A board creaked, and I turned my head to catch her creeping toward me in her flannel shorts and tank top. I turned on my side and reached for the lamp, worried something was wrong.
"Don't," she whispered. She came to the side of the bed and awkwardly climbed over me. Sliding beneath the covers she came to me. Her skin was cold, and I drew her close. After a while, I flopped onto my back and laced my hands under my head. Lying on her side, she put her head on my chest along with her top hand, and she drifted off while I returned to my ritual of staring at the shadows.
I turned my head to check the clock. Three-thirty a.m. Either she was awake, or my slight movements woke her, because she lifted her head and searched in the darkness until her hands were on either side of my face. She lowered her lips to mine and kissed me, over and over again. They weren't kisses meant to stir, but how could they help but do that? I brought my hand to skim across her soft cheek and thread in her hair. I kept my grip loose, allowing her to lead wherever this would take us. She would draw apart from me after each kiss, pulling my lips with her. My eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and hers must have too because she peered into my face, scrutinizing it as if to memorize it. I let my hand drift along the length of her body to the small of her back. She passed her palm across my cheek, slid it under my chin to cup it, then brought her fingertips up to touch my lips as she continued to kiss me. I fought the urge to tighten my hold, take the kiss deeper, let my hands wander. I surrendered all control to her and my heart ached.
Her hot mouth traveled to my chest for a moment and she laid her head down. She smoothed a hand over my pecs and trailed it lower, brushing it along the bit of hair on my stomach. Her touch soothed me. We fell asleep, my hand clasping her shoulder as she nestled into my side.
When I woke, we were in the same position. I twisted my head to look about. The morning sun's rays slanted in the window, bathing the wood floor. A bird chirped in the trees and everything was peaceful. I brushed my hand along her shoulder and tried to tip my head to see her face. She was serene.
Enjoy what you have. Don't wish for more, I told myself.
But I either wouldn't, or couldn't, listen.
Chapter 9
Danielle
When I opened my eyes, the sun crept across the floor, almost reaching the nightstand next to the bed. I lifted my head from Tucker's chest. His lips formed an "o" and he took long, slow breaths through his mouth. My lips turned up, and warmth filled my chest and fanned outward like the sun's rays on the oak boards beside us.
However, just as quickly, a weight stole over me. My earlier warmth seeped out, and a numbing cold replaced it as my happiness drained away. I grasped at it frantically, but like a man walking up an icy hill in work shoes, the more I struggled to keep it, the more it slid away.
I inched away from Tucker's side, and he rolled over, but continued to sleep. Grasping the top of the covers in both hands, I lay and stared at the ceiling until tears began to blur my vision. What the hell was I doing? Playing house with this man? Making dinner, watching TV, and even sleeping by his side. What the hell was I doing?
My heart constricted so tightly I couldn't breathe. I scrambled out of the other side of the bed so fast I almost lost my balance. I looked back. Tucker's shoulder still rose and sank rhythmically. The tears came faster, and it took everything within me to keep from running across the floor. I had to get away. Escape the scene of the crime. But what crime? I didn't do anything. My head raced, but one voice broke through the chaos. Move!
I forced one foot in front of the other, keeping my eyes on Tucker the entire way around the bed. Once a few feet beyond it, I sprinted for the bathroom, only a short distance away. I commanded my limbs to slow and not to slam the door when I got inside. I bent and grabbed both sides of the sink. My stomach lurched, but I knew I wouldn't throw up. Slowly I lifted my head to gaze at my reflection. I looked as crazy as I felt. Hair like Medusa's and the wild eyes of an insane asylum escapee.
Am I losing my mind? Is this what it feels like to have a nervous breakdown?
I heard Tucker call my name, so I drowned out his voice by turning the shower on. I couldn't talk to him yet. The water ran in the tub, and I lowered my weight onto the toilet. After a moment, I reached over to place the shower curtain inside the claw-foot tub out of habit. I felt dead. Dead. The word echoed inside my head, and an image struggled to the forefront. Darren. Lying in his casket as I had lain with Tucker. He didn't look right. Didn't look like my Darren. But nobody ever does. Maybe it's because they're already gone.
I broke. There is no other word to describe it. Collapsing over my knees, I bent in two, grabbing my legs.
"Oh, God, Darren. I'm so sorry," I whispered. The sobs refused to be controlled. I prayed the water crashing into the empty tub would drowned them out. Finally, they left me, tired and weak, and with a raging headache. I stood and rummaged through Tucker's shaving kit and found some aspirin. There was no cup, so I bent to drink out of the faucet and wash the pills down.
I can't stay in here forever.
I turned the shower off, splashed water on my face and took a peek in the mirror. I looked like hell. Great. Resigned, I grabbed the door knob but balked. The sobs almost returned, but I coerced my lungs to breathe. In and out. Plastering a phony smile on, I turned the knob.
Tucker was looking the other way, no shirt on, but turned as the door creaked open. He gawked. Did I look that bad?
"I thought you were taking a shower?"
"I was."
He blinked rapidly. "But... your hair...?"
Shit. "I didn't want to mess with it—" True. "—so I, sort of, held it out of the water."
"Oh, okay." Despite everything, his smile still warmed me. He crossed to me and put his arms around me. "Good mor
ning." When he tried to kiss me, I turned my head and coughed, which made the kiss land on my cheek.
"Sorry."
He pulled away and studied me.
"It's freezing out here." I rubbed my arms. "I'm going to get dressed really quick." Without waiting for a response, I tore out of the room.
Somewhere between putting my jeans on and donning my top, my mind returned to me and I was calm. Thank God. I stuffed everything into my bag, gave a half-hearted attempt to make the bed, and took all my belongings out to the main area.
Tucker had his back to me. The bed was made, and he was sliding a navy t-shirt on over a fresh pair of jeans. He smiled when he turned.
I cleared my throat. "No shower?"
He walked over and held my arms, bending a little to look me in the eyes. "Somebody used all the hot water."
Was I in there that long? "Oh, sorry."
"No biggie." His forehead wrinkled. "Are you okay? I thought I heard some weird noises when you were in the bathroom. You didn't get sick, did you?"
I mustered a smile. "No. I'm fine." He glanced at my bag, then at me. "I remembered Tabby has a... swim lesson." The lie didn't come as quickly or smoothly this time, even though I thought of it in my room.
He frowned. "On a Sunday?"
I couldn't look at him. "Yeah. They have weird hours." My hands were shaking so I shoved them in my pockets.
"Well, what time is the lesson? Can we at least have breakfast?"
I wouldn't make it through breakfast. I looked at my phone and did some quick figuring. "It's at noon. If I get on the road now, I'll be on time."
He wasn't ready to give up. "Can't Alexis take her?"
"Uhh... she gets nervous when I'm not there." Could be true. I've never not taken her to swim lessons before. His gaze seemed to look inside me. I was failing his lie detector.
He seemed to fight some internal battle, opening his mouth to speak and closing it again. He jammed his hands in his pockets, unintentionally mimicking me. Finally, he sighed and looked at the floor, his shoulders caving in. "I hoped we'd have more of the morning together."
His disappointment stung. "I'm sorry." My voice almost broke, so I bent to pick up my bag as a distraction. "You don't have to walk me out."
"What? Of course I do. I'll come back and get my stuff after you... leave."
We didn't say much on the way to my car.
"This one's yours? A Mazda?"
"Fiat."
"Hmm... Fiat, huh?" He nodded as if agreeing with my assessment, then glanced around. "Seems like a nice day. For a drive. Or, you know, whatever..."
He was stalling. And now we were here, I didn't want to go either. "Tucker." I sighed. "We'll be together in a few weeks."
He leaned against the car, shuffling his feet in the gravel. "I know." He looked up and smiled at me and took my hand. He didn't pull me in right away, only stood there looking at me. Then he straightened, pushing away from the car, and drew me into his arms.
I melted into the kiss. I couldn't help it. He was a great guy. Perfect. Perfect.
He eased away, his hands moving to my hips. "You'll be careful?"
I nodded, too emotional for words. My headache began to buzz again, right at the temples. He slid his hands around me one last time and tugged me in. My arms were bent, on his chest, between us. I burrowed into him, getting as close as I could. He laid his cheek on my head and held me for several moments.
"Okay." He exhaled and opened the door for me. We'd already stored my bag in the trunk, so nothing was left to do. I slipped between the door and the car, but reached for him again at the last moment. I kissed him one last time, got behind the wheel, and backed out of the driveway. He stood and waved until I was out of sight.
I let out a breath I didn't know I held.
What happened this morning? Why did I react the way I did?
I shook my head, clutching the wheel. I couldn't think about that. I had to concentrate on driving. I turned the music on.
Kyle
It had been three weeks since that banner day in St. Louis when I broke my leg, and, all things considered, it was going very smoothly at Sam's. She was not a smothering caretaker, and so I was not a cranky patient. I spent more time laughing in those weeks than anything else, laughing at her antics, and falling head-over-heels in love with her. We found new and creative ways to make love while having one leg totally immobilized, and, much to my relief, it wasn't harming the recovery process either.
Jake and Elise were my steadfast buds, and would run to me the minute the bus dropped them off. And even Ryan seemed to be loosening up a little.
The only downside was the complete boredom that overtook me during the day when everyone was away. I had, I hate to admit, become secretly interested in the cooking channel. I regularly copied recipes and asked Sam to get the ingredients when she went to the store, so I could cook them all dinner. I never had much opportunity to cook when I was on the road, and I found I enjoyed the complete freedom of altering your own food to suit your taste. And it must have suited everyone else's tastes, too, as they pretty much gobbled down whatever I made. As it turned out, Sam was somewhat culinary-challenged. What she did cook, she did a pretty good job with, but her menu didn't vary much from day-to-day, so the kids jumped at anything new I made.
So that was what I was doing one afternoon when shouting erupted on the front lawn. I stood, leaning on my crutches, having just retrieved a pad of paper and a somewhat dull pencil in order to copy a recipe for Peppercorn Steak with a Brandy Sauce. As they listed instructions, I hurriedly jotted them down, speaking them aloud as I did so. Raised voices caught my attention, and I turned slightly to peek out Sam's big front window. Two kids in black letterman jackets, in a red convertible, were pulled up to the curb out front. They were both the size of a small refrigerator, so I wasn't surprised to see the football symbol on their shoulders.
"You think she's not cheating on you like she cheated on me?" the biggest one, who had climbed to sit on the top of his seat, called out to someone.
I pulled back the curtain and followed his line of sight to observe Ryan getting out of his dad's Saturn, jerking out his heavy backpack and trying to avoid talking to the pair. He closed the car door and climbed the driveway.
The kid who addressed Ryan launched himself out of the vehicle, landing lightly on his feet near the sidewalk. "Hey. I'm talking to you, Neaman. Don't walk away from me."
I could see this was going to be trouble. My gaze returned to the TV. The steak sizzled in the pan and looked mouth-watering good. I made a few more scratchy notations on the pad of paper before throwing another glance over my shoulder. More words were being traded back and forth. The kid was easily twice Ryan's size, bigger, in fact, than me. I eyed the other guy, but he merely leaned against the side of the car, watching with a big smile on his face. Sick bastard. A flash of action made me return my gaze to the first pair, and the guy chewing out Ryan pushed him hard, in the shoulder. Without hesitating, Ryan dropped his backpack and tackled the kid, and they both went down.
"Oh, shit!"
I flung my tablet on the couch and maneuvered my crutches between it and the low coffee table. I glanced outside as I swung myself on my crutches across the room. Ryan was holding his own. I checked out the friend by the car. He didn't look happy about Ryan's small successes. His smile slid off his face like melted ice-cream dripping off a cone, and he straightened. I had no intention of fighting Ryan's fights for him, but I would at least make sure it was fair.
Some might have used the crutches as weapons, but I guess I felt particularly noble because I flung them aside as I hurled myself on the side of beef who had climbed on Ryan's back. We rolled free of the first pair, the kid coming up on top.
"Listen, kid. I don't want to hurt you—"
That was about all I said before my mouth got bloodied and a searing pain lashed at my temple, coupled with a flash of white light in my vision. The acidic, iron taste of blood on my tongue caused
a Pavlovian response. For several minutes the only sounds were fists meeting flesh, grunts of effort, and groans of pain. We didn't muddy the issue with words, just pounded on each other senselessly. Next thing I knew, Sam's beat-up Trailblazer rode over the lawn, its balding tires coming to rest near my skull.
She hopped out of the front and slammed the door, as hot as a firecracker.
"Sam Applegate, what the hell are you doing?" She grabbed the first guy by the ear and pulled him off Ryan.
"Ow! Ow! Ow!" he shouted, ending in a whimper.
"And you, Bill Wheating. You should be ashamed of yourself. Beating on an invalid."
The kid glanced at my cast and shifted his weight off me. "Oh, sorry, dude."
To my embarrassment, he helped me to my feet. "I'm not an invalid," I hissed at Sam, hopping over to grab my crutches off the lawn. I nearly lost my balance and toppled, which would have ruined my exit totally.
"Now, the two of you get out of here before I take you on. And I won't fight fair like these two."
The fire in her eyes backed them down. The one who taunted Ryan held out his hands in front of him as if to ward her off. He smiled at Sam, impressed by her balls, I guess, and enamored of her breasts, I knew, by the way he ogled her. I slid my arm around her and gave him some eyeballs of my own.
"All right, Mrs. Neaman. We're out of here." He gave Ryan one more withering glance and jumped in his car and roared away.
"I guess that was about that tramp, Abby," Sam commented, still pissed, and, I think, a little frightened.
"She isn't a tramp, Mom," Ryan said dejectedly, swiping up his backpack. We all headed into the house as a few neighbors looked our way. "Mom? The car?" I turned my head. The tires wore deep ruts into the lawn and stripped it of grass in those places.
"Just leave it."
Now I had my arms around her, I could feel her trembling. Once inside, she called Ryan over. "Are you okay?" She checked out a cut opened above one of his eyes, her hands tender and concern etched on her face.
"Yes, Mom. I'm fine," he answered, and I could tell by the tone he was comforted by her even though he told her to leave him alone.
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