Dry as Rain

by Gina Holmes

  “Look at the detail,” she whispered.

  “They all look miserable,” I said, referring to the disciples gathered in front of the long table.

  “Wouldn’t you be, if Jesus just told you that one of you was about to betray Him?”

  I stared ahead at the painting, considering what I would have thought if I’d been warned by God Himself that I would cheat on Kyra someday. I wouldn’t have believed it. “Which one’s Judas?”

  She pointed to the man who was reaching for the same piece of bread as the One he would betray. “Isn’t it poignant the way they’re both reaching for the same thing?”

  As I studied the onetime apostle, thoughts of what he’d done spun in my head. I tried to make sense of what might have caused such a blatant betrayal—greed, pride, insecurity? Nothing more than every man wrestled with at one time or another in his life. “Do you think maybe Judas got a bad rap?”

  She turned to me, looking surprised. “How’s that?”

  “He messed up, but it’s not like he’s the only one. Thomas doubted Jesus when He’d come back from the dead, and what about Peter denying Him three times? How horrible was that? So how come Judas is synonymous with betrayal and not Peter?”

  She gave me an incredulous look. “This from the same man who blames Adam for the fall of all humanity?”

  “Yeah, well. I’ve been rethinking . . .”

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to finish the thought because the guide told us our time was up.

  I followed Kyra out of the room. “That wasn’t very long.”

  She ran her fingers through her ponytail. “They’re supposed to give you fifteen minutes, but it sure didn’t seem like it, did it? You got to see it though. That’s the important thing.”

  “No,” I said, pulling her toward me, “getting to see you is the important thing.”

  She blushed. “We’re in a church, Eric.”

  “What could be holier than love?”

  She laughed. “Who are you?”

  “The man who adores you.”

  Pulling away from me, she lifted a camera out of her purse and held it in front of us.

  “Smile,” she said.

  Right before the camera flashed, I kissed her cheek. She turned the camera around, looked at the small digital screen, and grinned at me. “We’re adorable.”

  I took it from her and looked for myself. We really did look good together. “Not adorable—sexy.”

  “Well, we better take our sexy selves over to the duomo before it gets too late.”

  The Milan cathedral, aka the duomo, was everything Kyra had said it was. It looked like an enormous, gothic castle with its elaborate points aimed at heaven, carved in the likeness of saints, angels, and crosses. The inside was an elegant mass of marble, ordained with painted tiles, hand-carved statues, and intricate stained glass windows.

  As I looked around, I felt as though I was committing a sin just by being in there. Despite its beauty, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  “So, what’d you think?” Kyra asked, as she intertwined her arm into mine and led me onto the street and back into daylight.

  A tall stick of a woman knocked into me as she strutted by. She threw a look back at me as if I’d been the one to run into her. No excuse me, scusi, or anything. She looked more Swedish than Italian, and I guessed she probably was one of the many models employed by the fashion capital of the world.

  “It’s certainly amazing but I felt so small in there. So insignificant. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I think so.” She leaned into me. “That’s how I feel when I’m looking up at the stars at night. Sometimes it scares me to think of just how small I am compared to God.” She pointed to a row of shops down the street. “There’s the place Marnie and I ate when we came here. You up for real Italian pizza?”

  “You sure you don’t want something a little more fancy?” I said, still thinking about the cathedral.

  “We’re doing fancy tonight. Besides, you can’t come to Italy and not have pizza.”

  “I can eat pizza at home.”

  “Not like this,” she said.

  On a brick sidewalk, we sat under an umbrella as tourists and locals alike filed by. Sipping bottled water, we waited for our meal to be delivered and people-watched. Two shops down, a palm reader sat outside at a small, cloth-covered table. Even from a distance, it was obvious she was toothless. She wore a hideous purple-sequined top and rimmed hat. With her long, gnarled fingers, she petted the surface of what I guess was supposed to be a crystal ball. It looked more like a bowling ball to me. Whatever she said to the young woman in her chair made the girl grin and fork over a handful of euros.

  Smells of garlic and basil wafted past me, and I looked over to see a waiter carrying a plate of half a dozen or so different foods, from potatoes to chunks of meat all covered in some kind of red sauce. My stomach grumbled right as our own waiter set down a round metal tray with a pizza in the center of it. It looked enough like a regular pizza except that the cheese was melted in chunks rather than spread evenly over the pie, and whole basil leaves garnished the top. Kyra pulled a slice from it and laid it on my plate, then took one for herself. “Taste,” she said with obvious anticipation.

  Slowly, I took a bite. The crust was thinner and crunchier than I was used to, but the sauce was superb, especially mixed with the basil. I smiled and nodded at her.

  “Isn’t it amazing?” she asked.

  “Amazing,” I agreed, gazing into my wife’s eyes on a sidewalk in Milan.

  Twenty-Five

  After an hour of the girls primping and another two-hour drive, I found myself on the deck of a yacht. I’d never been on one before, but I suspected this was a high-end model.

  We stood on the upper deck, letting warm night air comb through our hair and across our faces. It smelled of a pleasant blend of expensive perfume, saltwater, and roasted peppers. Evening painted the sky the same shade of inky blue as the ocean, making the perfect backdrop for the stream of white lights lining just about everything from the gleaming wood deck under our feet to the metal railings outlining the perimeter of the ship. Even the sky sparkled. As I glanced up at the stars twinkling happily above us, I prayed for the first time in a long time.

  I know I don’t deserve to be here with Kyra. I probably didn’t deserve her even before I did what I did, but, God, if You’ll let me off the hook just this one time, I promise . . .

  What could I promise that God needed? Nothing, of course. I was the only one who needed something and that something was grace.

  Although we were surrounded by beautiful people wearing beautiful things, none of them could compare to Kyra. Her hair fell in ringlets over her creamy white shoulders. She wore an emerald dress that Marnie had designed specifically for this party. It hugged her in all the right places and cinched at the waist in a string of multicolored jewels that looked as real as the diamonds around her neck.

  As I studied her freckles, the upturned corner of her heart-shaped lips, and her silhouette, I was struck for the hundredth time just how far above myself I had married. I’d give anything if I could just deserve her again.

  Soft light fell across her lightly made-up face and hit her eyes just right, making them sparkle. She’d never looked more beautiful. All around us laughter rang out, champagne and wineglasses clanked together, and live jazz rose up from the lower deck.

  Couples danced wherever they pleased, while others simply ate from tiny plates or people-watched.

  “Are you cold?” I asked my wife, just to have something to say.

  She shook her head. “It’s warmer tonight than it has been.”

  “I could get your shawl if you need it.” I hadn’t been this nervous the night I’d proposed.

  “No, really, I’m fine.”

  “I thought Cello would be here,” Marnie said from behind us.

  It startled me to hear her voice. I’d been so wrapped up in the moment, I’d forgotten she was even there.<
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  Kyra mumbled something in reply but her eyes never left mine. “You look so handsome in that tuxedo.”

  I looked down at the penguin suit. The concierge had done well. It was a perfect fit and finer than anything I’d ever worn before. “Thanks; you look pretty amazing yourself.”

  She bit her bottom lip, managing to look both girlish and all woman at the same time. I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in to kiss her.

  Marnie grabbed my wrist. “Eric, may I speak with you a moment alone?”

  Kyra’s eyebrows dipped, and her gaze passed between us in question before she excused herself to find the bathroom.

  While we waited for her to get out of listening range, Marnie wiggled her fingers over my shoulder at someone.

  “Ciao, bella!” A man called to her. I didn’t care enough to turn to see who.

  She pressed her fingertips to her lips and flung him a kiss before turning her attention back to me and lowering her voice. “Flying in for the day just to see the sights with your wife. What have you done with the real Eric?” Her eyes roved around the crowd, whether looking for bigwigs to impress or doing one of her OCD compulsions, I wasn’t sure.

  I sipped from my champagne glass, wishing I had a Coke instead. Sickeningly sweet bubbles filled my mouth and made my nose itch. I rubbed at it discreetly. “I should at least get credit for trying.”

  A server passed by, dressed an awful lot like me. He held a platter of stuffed mushrooms and paused to offer us one. They smelled wonderful, like olive oil and fried onions, but before I could grab one, Marnie shooed him along. “This is the sort of thing you should have done years ago. Not now.”

  “Sometimes it takes losing something before you appreciate what you had. And I do.”

  A woman with short dark hair laughed so hard she stumbled backward, bumping into Marnie. Champagne trickled over the side of her glass and onto the wood floor. “Scusi,” she said, still laughing in her friends’ direction.

  Marnie dismissed the incident with a wave of hand, and the woman was absorbed back into her group.

  “That dress is beautiful,” I said, hoping to butter my sister-in-law up, but it was true. Her blue, one-shouldered getup made her look the epitome of high fashion.

  She touched her gown. “Audrey Hepburn inspired this one.”

  I raised my eyebrows, trying to appear interested.

  Her expression darkened as she opened her small, sequined purse. “She’s going to remember.” She stared into the bag and then snapped it shut again, looking reassured by whatever she’d seen in there.

  “People make mistakes,” I said. “I made a mistake.”

  She sniffed. “I know that you love her. If you didn’t, I’d have paid for her divorce lawyer myself. But love or no love, she deserves to know the truth.”

  “She deserves to be happy, too,” I said. “Can we just be happy until she remembers?”

  Something like sympathy shone in her eyes. “You know, when you two first started dating, I thought it wouldn’t last a week. She’s too good for you, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “But you’re the only man she’s ever loved. Why couldn’t you have been the one guy most women swear doesn’t exist. Is it really that hard to be faithful to a gorgeous woman you’re in love with?”

  “There’s more to it than you know.” Shame filled me when I realized that once again I was trying to blame Kyra for what I had done. “If I could take it back, believe me, I would.”

  She gulped down the rest of her champagne like a shot of tequila. “It’s going to take a lot more than a trip to Italy and an apology to make up for what you did.”

  “I know,” I said miserably.

  “You know what?” Kyra asked.

  I jerked around.

  Men all over the boat had their hungry eyes glued to her. I felt jealous and proud at the same time. I suspected even with the diamond ring and matching wedding band perched on her left hand, if I hadn’t been there, she’d have been converged upon faster than a rabbit in a foxhole.

  Marnie threw me a glance. “He knows if he doesn’t ask you to dance soon, he’s going to be waiting in line.”

  “Eric doesn’t dance.” The look on Kyra’s face was unmistakable disappointment. She was right; I didn’t dance, but not because I didn’t enjoy doing it. I just didn’t enjoy feeling like I might be making a fool of us. But other than Marnie, I didn’t know these people. What did I care what they thought? “I do tonight.” I took her hand and brought it to my lips.

  I don’t know how many times I stepped on her toes, but if her feet were sore, her smile hid it well. After what seemed like minutes, but must have been hours, the wind began to blow harder and the temperature dropped. Marnie had excused herself long ago into the company of her earlier admirer, and guests disappeared in droves into the warmth of the lower deck. Before long, we found ourselves nearly alone.

  “I’ve embarrassed you enough,” I said, taking her hand and leading her to the railing overlooking the water. Finally, I felt like her knight in shining armor instead of the court jester.

  She adjusted the straps of her dress. “Are you kidding? Fred Astaire couldn’t have done better.”

  I laughed. “You’re crazy.”

  “Crazy for you.”

  I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, feeling the gooseflesh which had risen across her skin with the latest gale. “You’re freezing.” I tried to rub her arms smooth.

  She snuggled into me. “I didn’t feel how cold it had gotten until we stopped moving. Ready to go below?”

  “In a minute.” My heart pounded as I realized the rareness of this moment, knowing we might not ever get another one like it. “Kyra, do you love me?”

  She put a hand on each of my cheeks. They felt like ice, but melted me just the same. “More than my own life.”

  I couldn’t have been more vulnerable. “Promise you’ll never stop loving me.”

  She gave me a curious look as a smile glinted in her eyes. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

  “And that you’ll never leave me no matter what.”

  “Baby, are you okay?”

  “Promise,” I said, more sternly this time. Like Jacob tricking his brother out of his father’s blessing, I knew I wasn’t playing fair. It had worked for him though, and maybe it would work for me, too. I was willing to try anything. I couldn’t lose her.

  “You hold my heart, Samurai. Where else could I go?”

  I took her hand in mine, and together we looked out over the ocean and the small waves of foam the ship carved through the water, shimmering in the moonlight.

  “When I get lumpy and wrinkly will you still love me?” she asked without looking at me.

  “Of course,” I said.

  She turned to face me. “What if I get really fat, then lose a bunch of weight and my skin sags all over me like a pendulum. Would you still love me then?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Will you love me if I get man-boobs and nose hair?”

  Her laughter rang out more beautiful than any music we’d heard that night. “I’d loan you my bra and buy a tiny Weedwacker. Will you love me if all the hair on my head falls out and grows back on my chin?”

  “I’ll love you all the more,” I said. I turned and looked her square in the eye. “I’ll love you no matter what, Kyra. The way you look has nothing to do with that.”

  She let out a deep breath as if exhaling all the fears I felt. “Will you love me if—?”

  “I will love you when you’re old,” I said. “I will love you if you’re cold. I will love you if you’re fat. I will love you and all of that. I will love you in a car. I will love you on a star. I will love you, chili pepper, even if you become a leper. I will love you, wife of mine. I will love you for all time.”

  Her ear-to-ear grin told me I’d done something right for a change. She hugged our clenched hands to her chest. “I don’t want this moment to end.”

  “But it will around the bend.”
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  She looked up at me with wide eyes. “Eric?”

  “Yes, my love?”

  “Stop rhyming.”

  “Sorry.” I pulled her tight against me and inhaled her smell, wondering if this would be the last time I’d ever get to do that. She tilted her head up, inviting me to kiss her, which I gladly did.

  “Fireworks,” she said.

  “Always.” I leaned in to kiss her again.

  “No—” she pointed up at the sky—“really; fireworks.”

  I turned to find the sky exploding with a shower of color and a series of gunshot-like pops. The deck filled with people once again and just like that, our moment was over.

  Twenty-Six

  The flight from Milan to Virginia seemed twice as long as the way there, but the trip had been more of a success than I’d dared to dream, and knowing Kyra would be home soon at least gave me something to think about between in-flight movies. Even so, the last thing I wanted the day after returning was another trip to the airport.

  I set the alarm for nine o’clock so I could be there a half hour before Benji’s flight was scheduled to arrive. As I wiped shaving gel and bits of beard from the bathroom sink, a memory came to mind that I hadn’t thought of in years.

  It was a Sunday afternoon, and Kyra, Benji, and I had just finished church and then lunch at Sonny’s by the Sea.

  We stopped home to change into jeans and were walking along the beach, letting cool, foamy waves rush over our feet. Kyra slipped her fingers into mine and leaned her shoulder against me. “What are you thinking?”

  “Just that I’m happy,” I said.

  I couldn’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses she wore, but the upturn of her pretty little mouth told me that she was too.

  She dropped my hand and jerked around. “Where’s Benji?”

  I whipped my head in the direction I’d last seen him. Fear filled me, until I saw him near the sand dunes, digging for something.

  “Benjamin, you’re not allowed to be on there,” Kyra called.

  “I found a crab!” he yelled.

  She started toward him and I followed. “Benjamin Andrew, I’m not going to tell you again. Get off there now.”