“Good idea.” Kaylee let him lead her down the hallway where Bastian pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and folded it into a makeshift blindfold.
“What are you doing?”
He kissed her nose. “Keeping you surprised.” He then tied the blindfold over her eyes. “Can you see?”
“Gee, there is a dark cloth over my eyes. What do you think?” Kaylee folded her arms across her chest.
“Good. Now I can have my way with you,” Bastian replied as he opened the door and led her into the studio. He flipped on the light switch.
“You’ve had your way with me numerous times and didn’t need a blindfold before.” Kaylee clutched his hand, keeping him close.
“Guys look for opportunities. Didn’t you know that?” He wrapped his arm around her, leading her into the room toward his desk where a huge painting of the two of them hung on the wall, a matching photo was tucked into one corner of its frame. It was the only picture he had of the two of them together. On a shelf next to the portrait stood the vase Bastian had mended long ago.
“Close your eyes.” Bastian removed the blindfold, and he watched her face. “Okay, you can open them now.”
Her eyelids fluttered, and she stared at the painting. “Oh my God,” she whispered, as her hand came to her mouth and touched her lips. Her eyes glistened.
Bastian smiled and pointed to the painting. “No, that’s not a portrait of God. He looks way better than I do.”
“You did this?” Kaylee stepped toward the painting, moving slowly, as though sleepwalking. She pulled out the picture.
He stepped behind her. “For you. Merry Christmas, Love.”
Kaylee wrapped her arms around him. “God, I love you.”
“There’s something else I want to show you—something I fixed.” He gently released her and went to the shelf where the vase waited. As he took it in his hand and walked toward her.
“What is it?” she asked weakly as he put it in her hand and curled her fingers around it.
“All fixed.” His hand lingered there and when she looked up at him he wished once again, his love had the power to fix her.
* * *
It was after midnight when Kaylee woke from a restless slumber, more exhausted than ever from dancing with all her demons. Tonight, one of them was winning, no matter how she looked at it.
Slowly, Kaylee sat up and peered at Bastian, who slept without stirring, his chest rising and falling with the ebb and flow of tranquility. A swatch of moonlight spilled across his face, highlighting his skin. His lips parted slightly as though he were conversing with his dreams, and Kaylee smiled, wondering if she were in them.
As Bastian slept, he appeared younger, as though time had not leaned so heavily on him. The usual tell-tale crow’s feet that appeared when he laughed or frowned had disappeared amid smoother skin, and the cold Celtic cross adorning his chest shimmered in the light, lending a warmth to his skin. His arm still lay beside her, and she remembered holding his hand just before she’d drifted to sleep.
That same swatch of moonlight shone on his long, graceful fingers. Curious, Kaylee turned his palm so she could see his lifeline, and the path her finger traced in the groove of his palm was severed not once but twice, matching the life that Bastian had led up until this point.
He had loved his mother and lost her. Now, Kaylee had come into his life only to die, once again reminding him that the spirit of love was eternal. Physical love was not. As Kaylee thought about her own mortality, a new, darker fear suddenly consumed her. Bastian had been broken by love once–his mother’s death had almost killed him. He’d been willing to throw it all away, to fire a bullet into his brain if it meant silencing the ache. Would he be strong enough when she died?
In careful silence, she slipped off the bed and over to the dresser, her fingers latching onto the top drawer handle and pulling the handle out before she'd thought about it, knowing what she would find buried under the boxer shorts and socks–Bastian’s gun. She gently pushed and prodded until her fingers touched the unforgiving steel. Despite the way she tried to tell herself it was just a gun, the way she tried to make herself believe it couldn’t hurt him unless he chose as much, she couldn’t stop shaking. God help her, that was what she feared most. Would he choose that after she died?
Trying to still her trembling fingers, she slowly lifted the gun from his drawer, mesmerized by the way the metal flashed in the moonlight as she held the gun by the butt with two fingers. Holding this gun, knowing what it meant to Bastian and what he’d often planned to use it for, made it that much harder not to slip to the window and throw it outside. Still, she knew that if he truly wished to destroy himself, he didn’t need a gun. He could pick a different method. Either way, what difference would it make in the end?
Kaylee brought the gun over into the moonlight and touched the barrel, its steel warmer than she would have thought, as though it possessed a head and a life of its own. She felt her breath catch in her throat. With her other hand, she covered her mouth, stifling the rising horror she felt. As she weighed the gun in her palm, it shifted and tumbled from her grip to the floor.
Bastian abruptly sat up. “Kaylee? What’s going on?”
Kaylee scrambled to the floor and lightly patted the carpet, searching for the gun, but the darkness hid it.
“Kaylee? Where are you?” Bastian asked, dangling his legs over the side of the bed as he brushed his fingers through his hair and blinked.
“Down here,” she finally said. “I dropped my earring.” She reached under the bed and frantically tried to find the gun, but her hand found only the push carpet.
“Why are you worried about your earring now? Why don’t you come back to bed?” He stepped to her, knelt, and stroked her back.
With one last sweep under the bed, Kaylee’s fingers brushed the barrel. She latched onto it, dragging it back to her. As her fingers closed around the handle, Bastian reached for her hand and stumbled across the truth of her search.
“What the hell?” With both hands, he pried the .38 from her grip, strode to the dresser, and buried the gun under his clothes before slamming the drawer closed so hard the mirror attached to the dresser shuddered. Clenching his teeth, he focused on the frantic pounding of his heart and how each breath seemed to come faster, as though he’d run a race. He peered at his own haunted wavering expression over the dresser top, he could still see the teenager his father had said would never make it. Closing his eyes, he whirled.
“Why did you have the gun out?” His voice, barely above a whisper, sounded thick with fatigue and emotion.
“I…I don’t know.” Kaylee hurried back to the bed, buried herself in the covers, and wished she could go back to sleep.
“Right. You’ve got your life mapped out, Kaylee. Don’t tell me why you went looking for my gun has just slipped your mind—and don’t pretend you’re asleep. I know better. Answer me.” Bastian folded his arms across his chest. He waited for her to answer, the silence goading him enough to force him to the bed, where he pulled the covers from atop Kaylee. He sat on the edge of the bed next to her, staring her expectantly, his dark eyes hard with anger.
“I was going to hide it.” She closed her eyes, not wanting to see what her reflection might look like in Bastian’s eyes.
“Damn, I thought it was hidden. You never said it bothered you to have a gun in the house.” Clenching his jaw, Bastian saw the night air had frosted the window.
“It’s not having a gun that bothers me—and it wasn’t hidden from you. You know where to find it and how to use it.” She took a deep breath.
“It’s my gun, Kaylee. Of course I know where it is. Why does that bother you?” The hard line of his shoulders gave as he slumped and lay on the bed next to her, their faces even on the pillows, but Kaylee’s eyes were closed, and she had lowered her chin.
“I don’t understand. Just look at me and talk.”
“I wanted to hide it so you wouldn’t use it.” Her eyelashes
fluttered open, and her blue eyes glimmered with tears.
He stroked her cheek. “What is going on inside that pretty head of yours?” he muttered, brushing his fingertip across her face.
“I’m scared.”
“Come here.” Without thinking, Bastian drew her into his arms and cradled her head against his chest.
“It’s not me I fear for, but you. Do you love me?” she asked softly, wrapping her arms around him and closing her eyes.
“Of course, but what--”
“We both know how this is going to turn out,” she interrupted, clinging to him even as he tried to pull away. “There’s no mystery about what is eventually going to happen, and I don’t believe in divine intervention, at least not that kind.”
“Let’s not go there,” he said.
“We have to. Bastian, my body is at war with life, and it’s not going to win. You’ve been down a similar road before…with your mother. I know what it did to you.”
“Kaylee,” Bastian tried to put his finger over her mouth, but she intercepted his hand.
“I want to believe that besides this pain that I’m going to leave you with, I’ve also given you something stronger, something that will make you keep going no matter what. You’re the only person who has ever loved me, Bastian. If you kill yourself, you don’t just destroy you, you erase what’s left of me.”
“I don’t want to talk about this. You’re alive, Kaylee. Maybe someday you won’t be, but I’m not going to think about it. I can’t.” Bastian walked to a window too frosted to see outside. Nonetheless, moonlight dappled his naked body. Leaning against the sill, cold air chilled his chest, but he kept thinking about the way winter felt, hoping like hell it would distract him as it had always done.
“When do you want to talk about it? When I can’t speak anymore? You’re worried about all the things I might not tell my mother before it’s too late. What about the things I need to tell you? Don’t those count?” She stood up and grabbed her robe from the back of the chair beside the bed. She stared at his back, waiting for him to turn, but he didn’t.
“Don’t do this, Kaylee?” He raked his fingers through his hair.
“I love you, Bastian. God, how I love you—and I wish I could live forever and love you just as long, but I can’t. One of us has to die soon—me. But that doesn’t mean you have to.”
“Shut up, Kaylee. Just shut up.” His fingers curled into fists and he pounded them on the sill. He reached for his pants and tugged them to his waist, then he grabbed his shirt.
“Bastian?”
“I’m going to get some air.” He shoved his arms into the sleeves and buttoned his shirt.
“You can run all you like, Bastian.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “But if you love me, you will choose to live because I never got that choice. I don’t care if you do it for yourself or if you do it for me, just so long as you do it. I don’t care what you have to do to make it—even if it means leaving now.”
Bastian didn’t answer as he strode out the door and slammed it behind him, and Kaylee surrendered to a silence deeper than the one filling her heart. Even with her robe on, she couldn’t break the winter spell claiming her body and soul. For a moment, she wondered if he would leave. Maybe he would go first because, judging by the way the color had drained from his cheeks when he'd flown out like a demon had been chasing him, she wondered if he would be strong enough to watch her go when it came time. God only knew how she would manage when the time came to go to where she knew he wouldn’t be.
As the sobs tore through her, she thought perhaps that might be the best thing—give him distance to heal himself of what loving her had done so that maybe he could go on. Without her. She sank to her knees and let the tears take her to the place she knew she was headed—heartbreak. She looked over at the vase that Bastian had fixed and grabbed it. For a moment she held it in her hand and then she threw it as hard as she could at the mirror, shattering both.
* * *
For the last hour, Bastian had been sitting in his truck, trying to muster the strength to leave or go inside to face Kaylee. He’d started and killed the engine more than once, but to this point had never switched out of park. Kaylee had been right when she'd said he could run. But she’d been wrong—dead wrong—about his options of leaving. He couldn’t. She would have to do it, and it would have to be a place he couldn’t follow.
He toyed with the keys in his hand and stared out at a cloudy sky sans starlight. Perhaps it might snow again. The air was more than cold enough for it to stick. He felt the cold seeping into the truck's cab, chilling him despite the thick coat he wore.
“Hell,” he whispered, remembering Kaylee’s hand holding the gun. He’d never forget that—it was like two incongruous things had bumped into each other—Kaylee and the .38.
He raked his fingers through his hair as tears stung his eyes, burning in his throat. They both knew the future, but neither of them could change the fact that they’d fallen in love. Maybe it had never been in the cards for him to live with her, but God, now that he had tasted her sweetness, how could he go on without her? And that was what Kaylee wanted.
He savagely drew his hand across his face and tried to go numb inside, just as he’d done for so many years, but the tears came faster than ever, soaking his cheeks with emotions he couldn’t deny. In frustrated pain, he leaned over and smacked his forehead against the wheel repeatedly, waiting for the all-consuming ache carving out his insides to pass, but he knew, despite not wanting to, that not all pain could pass.
Dawn shimmered into the sky, bathing the clouds in serene shades of pink and blue promise, and as Bastian watched the world slip from beneath night’s spell, he knew he could never leave. God, he loved her. He wiped the rest of the moisture from his face with the back of his hand. There was no point in running. Wherever he went, she would be there. It didn’t matter if her body stayed behind. Her soul would follow, ever haunting him.
Opening the truck door, he stepped back out into the harsh winter wind and drew his coat tighter around him as he made his way back to the front door. Stillness stood sentry as he stepped into the foyer. Thinking she might've gone to fix breakfast, he strode through the living room into the kitchen.
“Kaylee?”
Silence.
Bastian headed back to the landing and took the steps two at a time, disliking the silence more and more. He reached Kaylee’s room and took a deep breath before slowly opening the door, unsure what he was going to say or how he would say it. The soft glow of dawn’s arrival shimmered through the window, highlighting the spot where Kaylee still sat. Rays of light sparkled through the long dark silk of her hair, burnishing the deep brown to a lighter auburn. Although she must have heard the door open, she simply propped her chin upon the knees, drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs, her fingers laced together.
“Kaylee, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take things out on you. It’s just that when you start talking about…the future… I go crazy.” He walked to where she sat and sank to the floor. Once behind her, he molded his chest to her back so their bodies, separated only by clothes, joined seamlessly. He waited for her to turn her head and try looking at him, but her gaze remained focused on the floor, far beyond Bastian’s reach.
“Kaylee, talk to me. This silence isn’t doing either of us any good. I’ve had about all I could stand of it.” He squeezed her softly in his embrace. “I know what you’re afraid of, and it won’t happen. No matter what, I won’t give up.” He turned her to face him.
She blinked two or three times, a wheezy sound that left him cold. That’s when he saw her disorientation.
“Are you an angel?” she mouthed, touching his face, her fingertips seeking out his tears.
She doesn’t know me, he thought. God, she doesn’t know me. He licked his lips and tried to keep his voice even. “God would know better than to make an angel out of me.”
Her eyelids fluttered once. Then he could no l
onger feel her breath; her whole body had gone silent and still. He tilted her chin and placed his lips to hers as he began CPR.
Chapter Twenty-One
Blinding snow fell outside the tarp under which Bastian sat next to a hole in the earth. He should have cared that the ground could stain the grey suit he wore, the same suit Kaylee had bought him and left in the closet with a note, revealing its purpose. She’d thought of all the details—all except the coldness that even a winter spell like this couldn’t best.
Sensing he wasn’t alone any longer, Bastian turned to find Rosie beside him. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes, and she laid her hand on his shoulder.
“How you holding up?”
“I’m here,” he said simply, trying not to look at the grave, knowing that if the tears started, he'd never get them to stop.
“She’d be glad of that.” She loved you. From the moment she first saw you, she loved you.” Rosie’s fingers squeezed his shoulder gently. Somewhere in the distance, Bastian heard cars driving past.
“Then I was the lucky one, wasn’t I?” A cold northern breeze ruffled his hair, and, chilled, Bastian leaned closer to the grave.
“I kept expecting her to come out from behind the church, laughing at our expense. I kept seeing the little girl who’d grown into a woman, and it didn’t seem right to bury her.” Although Rosie tried to hide her pain, Bastian could feel the sobs she wanted to muffle and drew her close, clenching his eyes shut as he tried not to think.
Bastian could barely speak. “I know. I miss her. God, I miss her.”
“We spent hours shopping for that suit you’re wearing. She said it had to be perfect.”
“Why? What difference does it make? It couldn’t stop me from losing her, so why did it matter?” His voice was raw, and pulling away, he glanced down at the grey fabric draping his body.
Rosie toyed with the keys in her hand and stared directly at Bastian. “She said it had to be worthy of being worn by the best man she’d ever known, the man who was going to do all the things she never could and someday, after his 90th birthday, surrounded by a wife, five kids, and who knows how many grandkids, he would find her and tell her about all the things she’d missed. Through his eyes, she would see each memory unfolding. She’d know what it was like to love a child as her own. She wanted this suit to be as amazing as you are, Bastian. But I don’t think that’s possible.”
When Angels Cry Page 21