Goodbye Uncertainty

by Jacquelyn Ayres

  On the couch, Ray hugs me tightly.

  “I think he may feel the same way about you, dear. Call it a hunch.” She winks at me.

  “You think?” I laugh.

  Barbara is back in the studio. “Yes I do, Becca,” she answers, then looks away from me and begins to narrate. “I can’t begin to tell you what a pleasure it was to interview Becca James McNeil and her lovely family. They are truly an inspiration to us all. We wish them the best and only the happiest of times ahead. If you would like more information about the Back to Basics Foundation, please contact them at the number or email address below. Good night, and thank you for watching. I’m Barbara Walters, and this is 20/20.”

  Ray hits the power button and the screen goes black.

  “I’m proud of the message we sent.” I turn my face to his.

  “I was just thinking the same thing, baby. I’m sure the phones at Back to Basics will be inundated with calls tomorrow.” He kisses my temple.

  “How awesome would that be?” I ask, in awe at the possibility. We sit back, marinating in the idea for two whole minutes before the green dots on the baby monitor all light up frantically, complementing the effects of the sudden screaming wail blaring from it.

  Ray jumps. “What the ...?”

  “Shit, guess that answers my earlier suspicion.” I exhale forcefully and shake my head as I get up.

  “What? Are they getting sick?” Ray stands up with me and turns off the lamp.

  “No. Troy must be getting his two-year molars.” I sigh and head straight out of the family room and up the stairs. Ray follows me as I open the door to the boys’ room. Troy is standing in his crib, a pacifier dangling from his mouth even through his painful cries.

  “Mama!” he sobs, lifting his arms for me with a binky tightly fisted in each hand.

  “Aw, poor baby.” I pout and pick him up to bring him to the changing table.

  “Here, baby,” Ray says softly behind me, placing the infant Motrin on the flat, raised surface to my right.

  “Thanks,” I say as I start working on getting a dose ready.

  “Hey, buddy,” Ray says, caressing Troy’s cheek softly. Troy responds with a whimper. “Shh, shh ... Mama will make it all better, she always does,” he tells him, and then kisses at my neck. Country Sybecca whips her shirt off, deciding spit-up stains and “God knows what else” stains are, in fact, not sexy! Ray nuzzles into my neck, releasing an appreciative sigh. Country Sybecca pulls several Cheerios (now of various flavors) out of her hair. Cautionary Sybecca whips a medicine bottle at Country Sybecca’s head. Her ticker board reads: FOCUS BEFORE YOU OVERDOSE YOUR CHILD!!!

  Shit! I shake my head to refocus and double-check the dosage before I give it to him. He sucks on the syringe and immediately calms down. My son is a genius; he knows yummy, sugary grape-flavored stuff equals pain relief! I wipe his face and change him while Ray checks in on Gracie.

  “This kid can sleep through anything,” Ray says, shaking his head. “Just like his mother,” he adds. I can tell he’s smirking.

  “Well, that’s not entirely true, now is it?” I turn with Troy in my arms and an eyebrow arched. Ray’s boyish grin proudly stakes its claim on his face.

  “No, it isn’t. There are definitely some things you and your salacious appetite wake eagerly for.” Signature wink and air kiss ensue.

  “Pot-kettle, sweetie.” I smile while laying Troy back down and kissing his head. He flips onto his belly and tucks his knees beneath him. His cute little butt sticks up into the air.

  “Comfy, Troy?” Ray asks softly, sweeping the baby’s loose curls away from his eyes. “Yes ... Mommy likes that position, too,” he adds.

  “You are just beyond ridiculous, McNeil!” I gasp, appalled. I slap his chest for good measure.

  “You got some bite to back up that bark, baby?” he asks in that tone that always gets me. His mouth against my ear, he nips playfully at my earlobe for emphasis. My breath hitches before shifting to a more erratic tempo. I gave up the search for willpower a long time ago!

  Ray hooks a couple of fingers in my back pocket as he begins walking backward and tugging me along with him. “Come,” he commands in that tone that makes me need a panty change.

  “Oh, I fully intend to, McNeil.” I hold my smile back and grab his hand, following his lead out of the room.

  “Do you, now?” He smirks and pulls me to him.

  “Mmm-hmm.” I let out a small, nervous giggle. I can’t believe he still affects me like this.

  “Shh.” He places his thumb on my lips as he reaches his other hand past my hip to grab the knob, closing the door to their room. My back is against the door. Ray stares at me intently, stormy ocean to emerald sea. After a beat, his face takes on a more somber look.

  “Ray ... what is it?” I ask as his thumb softly caresses my cheek.

  He places a prolonged kiss on my forehead. “C’mon, baby,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me once more to our room.

  “What, sweetie? What are you thinking?” I press further as we enter our room.

  “Do you have a crop planned for this weekend?” He tugs at the hem of my shirt.

  “No. Why?” I tilt my head sideways, trying to figure him out.

  “I’m clearing my schedule. We’re going away for the weekend—don’t argue!” he states vehemently, pulling my shirt off.

  “Uh ... well,” I start, my finger fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt.

  “Becs, no!” he snaps. “The boys are twenty months old—enough is enough! I need time with my wife!” His hands squeeze my hips emphatically.

  I guess I have been somewhat ridiculous in this department, but it’s not entirely my fault. We’ve been too busy. The both of us!

  “You’re right. This weekend it is.” I nod with a half smile and finally manage to get some buttons undone.

  “No canceling at the last minute, either.” He chucks my chin. Eh, I have done that the last three times he’s tried to take me away.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck.

  “Damn straight! I won’t cave in—so don’t even think about it! No tears. No But, Rays,” he says between kisses.

  “I said I promise.” I give him a playful pout, then widen my eyes. “I know just the place for us to go!” I enthusiastically tap his shoulder.

  “Where?” He humors me, but I see caution in his eyes.

  “It’s a nice bed-and-breakfast not too far from here. Everyone I know raves about it.”

  “Really?” He plays along.

  I smile. “Yes. They’ve recently added on a whole other building that is positively gorgeous! I think it was recently showcased on a 20/20 special.”

  “You don’t say?” He smirks while running his index finger across my skin, just above the waist of my pants. My heart triples its beat, causing quite the ruckus in my eardrums.

  “Yeah ... apparently the owner is quite the woman.”

  “Quite,” he says.

  “Her husband is a very attractive, capable man, whose many talents extend generously to the bedroom.” My eyes scan his face. I run my tongue along my upper lip before biting down on my lower one. He pops the button of my jeans open.

  “I’m sure his generosity is due to the fact that his wife comes so sweetly for him.” My breath hitches at his words. Christ, he is so hot! Country Sybecca is on her back, dry-humping the air and pulling her pigtails whilst coming undone. “Gasping already, babe? I’ve barely touched you.” He touches my face and teases my lips with his, taking forever to let their full weight press down onto mine. As if someone walked into the room and flipped a switch, the small fire we were slowly building becomes an inferno. An involuntary five-day separation is proving to be quite the explosive fuel. Our clothes fly off, hastily landing in random places as my backside greets various places in the room—the dresser, the side of his armoire, and a final thrust into the wall. I rip my mouth away from his in a panic when his arm hits a framed pi
cture on the wall—we both catch it in time. Ray grabs it and tosses it onto the cream plush chair.

  “Baby, enough with the choreography. Put me on the bed,” I manage to say as he bites down my neck.

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  He smiles against my neck and turns with me wrapped around him, bringing us to the bed. We collapse onto it (without an ounce of grace, may I add).

  “Shh, shh ...” Ray’s thumb finds my lips again to stifle my laughter. I stare into his playful, amused eyes and I feel myself fall for him all over again. I may not be “Lucy” anymore, but the essence of her is still very present in my feelings for him. Everything still seems new to me, at least sometimes. Ray softly nudges my nose before his lips fall to mine, collecting them again. “Christ—I’ve missed the hell out of you, baby,” he says, breathing against my lips.

  His mouth travels down my jawline and onto my neck. Our hands meet and our fingers lace. Ray guides our clasped hands up to either side of my head. He puts his full weight on them, forcing them to sink into the mattress as he shifts himself to carefully enter me. My head arches from the fullness. “Oh, Becs ... you feel so good, baby.” He nips at the skin right behind my earlobe. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers. Like magic, I finally exhale. Ray pulls his hips back ever so slowly. I squeeze his hands hard, bracing myself. Before my lungs expand to full capacity, Ray slams into me harshly, knocking the attempt to inhale out of me. My head pops back quickly, giving him access to my neck again. He pulls back only once he’s certain he’s filled me to the max.

  Ray and I have many different ways we make love, depending on our mood. We’ve even dubbed some of them with specific names. This right here is the “Rolling Thunder.” I’m the one who named it that, because it reminds me of my favorite wooden roller coaster at Great Adventure (Six Flags Great Adventure, to anyone born after Generation X). The slow climb, the hitch and bucking of the break, the lingering at the top, the thrilling anticipation throughout. It’s intense and harsh, rattling every bone in your body with a delicious delight that makes you want to stay on forever.

  “Please, baby, please.” I finally beg him. The lingering-at-the-top part is driving me mad.

  “Ready? You want it?” He bites at my earlobe.

  “Mmm-hmm.” I turn my head and attack his lips. His hips roll skillfully into me at a aggressive, relentless pace. “Yes, Ray, yes!” I cry as I quickly rise. The tingling deep inside gets stronger, almost too intense for me to bear.

  “No, baby ... you’re not going anywhere.” Ray pushes down harder on my hands as he slows his pace. Apparently, I was trying to escape the intensity, as usual. He rolls his hips again, and the spark from the friction sets my body ablaze—I’m wild beneath him. Ray’s mouth crashes into mine to quiet my sounds. His hand releases mine to touch my face. I grasp his hair to steady him, my tongue meticulously caressing his. I tighten around him fiercely, causing an increase in my own pleasure as I bring him past the point of no return. Ray pulls his face back, scrunching his nose at the intensity of his orgasm.

  “God, Becs,” he groans.

  The tip of his tongue curls and holds its position over his top teeth.

  “Mmm ... Ray,” I moan lightly as he spills inside me. It always feels so good.

  One last pump and Ray collapses on top of me. Gradually, his breath returns to a normal rate. When he raises his head to look into my eyes, I push his damp hair off his forehead before leaning up for a kiss. He leisurely pulls out, watching me wince—and his usual satisfied smirk graces his face.

  “We’re not staying at the inn,” he says, finally speaking up.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, strumming my index finger up and down over his bottom lip.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  He kisses my finger and rests his head against my chest.

  “Can’t wait.” I try to hide my reservations in leaving the twins for a whole weekend.

  “Ugh ... terrible liar.” He rolls onto his back, pulling me toward him. “But I do appreciate you trying to sound sure about leaving the boys.” He squeezes me.

  I look at him. “How far away will we be?”

  “Nope, not telling you. Now get some sleep, baby. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

  He leans in for a kiss. I lay my head back down, trying to think about where he’ll take me. Probably Maine. Satisfied with my conclusion, I give in to a much-needed deep sleep.

  RAY

  One week later ...

  “Becca ... stop it, baby. They’ll be fine.” I try again. She continues staring out the window, tears streaming down her face. Christ! I wish they would get this plane down the runway already! “Baby, c’mon.” I caress her cheek with the back of my index finger.

  “Ray, please—I’m so mad,” she says, closing her eyes.

  “It’s two nights, Becca! Jesus!” I can’t help but snap at her. She’s completely overreacting!

  “Yes, Ray, two nights, but Tennessee?!” She holds her hands out in disbelief.

  I rest my head back and exhale deeply as our plane finally heads down the runway. I’m just gonna keep my mouth shut and let Tropical Storm Becca blow over. Hopefully her disposition will be better once she see we’re spending the weekend in Gatlinburg. She’s mentioned her interest in going there several times over the years. God, I hope she’s not like this the entire weekend ...

  “Ray ... baby, wake up.” I open my eyes to find hers gazing at me. “We’re about to land.” She leans in and brushes my lips with hers. “I’m sorry,” she adds in a whisper.

  Christ, she’s beautiful. She’s as beautiful as the day I met her, if not more. I caress her cheek with my thumb and she leans into my touch. The way she is looking at me, I can’t help but think of her on our wedding day.

  I remember how my breath hitched at the sight of her when I lifted my eyes as the “Wedding March” began. Her gown was simple, yet so elegant. It was an ivory-colored vintage number, which went perfectly with the theme of our wedding.

  Becca is truly amazing at planning weddings. It was her idea to do a vintage-style wedding, replicating the era of time we know our souls are from. It was so us—Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver. Even if most didn’t know the meaning behind the theme, we did, and it made our wedding that much more special to us. Of course, no one but the people closest to us understood the shoes are optional part. Anyone who caught us at the alter, greeting each other’s bare feet with our own, may have thought we both had foot fetishes. Alas, no one asked. But we felt some things were better left unexplained. It was our secret, private moment, and with almost two hundred people in attendance, we were glad to have it.

  “Ray,” she said, beginning her vows. “You are the beacon of light shining brightly, always guiding me home no matter how lost I am. You’re the warmth that blankets my heart, keeping it on beat, safe, full of life. You’re the guardian of my happiness, encouraging my laughter, making my eyes smile, the reason behind the goofy grin on my face—even when you’re not in front of me. I cherish you. On so many different levels—it’s hard to describe in words.” Her voice trembled, but she pushed through. “I promise to love and cherish you today and for all our tomorrows. I promise to never forget to remember and remember to never forget how we got here and how deeply in love with you I am.” Her tears finally released from the pools in her eyes and slipped slowly down her cheeks. I couldn’t help but release her hands to thumb them away. She closed her eyes, relishing in my touch.

  Reverend Johnson moved her through the regular vows. Then it was my turn, only I was still trying to pull myself together mentally. Her words squeezed around my heart, sending it up to my throat. I don’t know what I was prepared to hear from that lovely mouth of hers, but it certainly wasn’t what she said. Not that Becca ever falls short on saying the sweetest things to me, but to say all of that ... in front of all those people ... with barely a joke in sight to mask her discomfort—that’s what floored me the most!

  I was speechless. Not a good thing when I didn’t bo
ther to write my vows down. I’m never without words and I’ve certainly never had a problem articulating my feelings for Becca, no matter who was around. But there I stood before her, our guests silent as they anticipated my declaration of love, and I felt as if I couldn’t even mutter my name. I looked at Becca with a sense of panic—stage fright, really. Becca hid her smile, shaking her head. Her eyes filled with warmth and humor at my situation. I could practically hear her thoughts, as if she were announcing them through a megaphone: “I told you not to wing it!” I suddenly felt myself relax and a chuckle escaped my mouth. Everyone chuckled with me. I’m not sure whom they were trying to make feel better in light of my awkwardness, themselves or me.

  “Sorry.” I looked out at the crowd. “It’s hard to talk when the love of your life takes your breath away.”

  Becca gasped at my words, and I turned my focus back to her. Her nostrils were flaring to hold back her tears, just like they always do. I gave her my “sit and spin” look in the most loving fashion I could muster. Becca giggled and pushed at my hands as she squeezed them. Suddenly, my words—my feelings—came out of me like a freight train.

  “It’s always amazed me, your ability to do that. To take my breath away at the drop of a dime. I realized a long time ago—it’s because you are the air that I breathe. Of course you have the ability—the power—to take it away. Since the first day I met you, you’ve filled me to capacity—my heart, my mind, my soul. You are my calm waters in the storm of life. You are my right when all things are going wrong. You are the reason behind the man I am today, and the man I will be tomorrow. Last but not least, you are the ‘Lucy’ to my Charlie Brown, the ‘Lucy’ to my Henry Roth, and the ‘Lucy’ to my Ricky Ricardo. In saying that, I promise to always come to you for advice, knowing it’s worth more than the nickel you charge. I promise to always trust you blindly and try not to imagine you ever pulling the football away.” I paused to let our guests finish their slight laughter. “I promise to remind you every day that you love me by doing something to make you fall for me even more. Lastly, I promise to accept, if not encourage, your impulsive behavior, which sometimes gets you into precarious situations you weren’t planning on. I promise to try to keep my irascibility at bay—knowing it’ll all end up being some sort of silly misunderstanding in the end.”