Between Now and Forever

by Barbara Freethy

  Travis treated me so much better than anyone I'd ever met, and I loved seeing him with his son. My father bailed on me when I was little, so I was impressed with a man who could be family oriented. When his job ended, he asked me to marry him and move to Angel's Bay, and I said yes." She cleared her throat. "And that's enough about me. Sorry. I didn't mean to go on like that."

  "It's nice to get to know you better," Nicole said.

  "So what do you do, Ryan?" Jessica asked, eager to distract attention from herself.

  "I'm a pilot. I fly commercial jets."

  "How fun!"

  "Best job in the world," he said with a nod. "I started flying when I was in high school. Actually, it was Nicole who pushed me to take my first lesson."

  "Well, you'd been talking about it for weeks," she said, meeting his gaze.

  "I don't know why I was afraid to go for it," he said. "But in the end, I did, and I never looked back. Flying gave me perspective, and I needed that. My world was too small when I was growing up. Up there, in the sky, I could see all the possibilities."

  As Ryan spoke, Nicole realized how small her world had gotten the past few years, and this trip, this frantic search for Brandon, was actually giving her some perspective, too.

  Jessica turned to Sean. "What about you? Nicole said you're a musician. What kind of music do you play?"

  "Alternative rock."

  "I'm not sure I know what that means," Jessica said.

  Sean grinned. "It means I take rock music and give it my own spin."

  "Sean is extremely talented," Nicole told Jessica. "He writes all of his own songs."

  "Amazing. Do you sing, too?"

  "Yeah."

  "When is your tour going to be over?" Nicole asked.

  "Next month. We have three more shows and then we're going to head home and get back into the studio. I like performing, but it's nice to have a break."

  "I couldn't live on the road," Jessica said. "My mother used to tour when I was little. She'd get hired on to some show as a dancer and play a few weeks in a bunch of different cities, and she'd drag me along with her. The only part I liked was playing with all her makeup when she'd go out on stage. I probably still wear way too much, at least that's what my mother-in-law says." Jessica put her hands to her face. "Although, I don't think I have a speck of makeup on right now. I can't imagine what I look like."

  "You look like someone who doesn't need any makeup," Sean said.

  "That's a nice lie to tell a girl," she said with a smile. "I think I saw some cookies on the counter in the kitchen. I'll get them."

  As Jessica left the room, Sean said, "So what can I do to help you? Tell me what you need."

  "I don't really know," Nicole said. "We're waiting for call backs on some leads we've been following, but right now we're on hold."

  "Then I'll wait with you."

  Jessica came back into the room with a plate of cookies. "I have an idea for something we could do while we're waiting," she said, catching the end of their conversation. "Talking about Travis got me to thinking. I know there aren't any adoption records in the house, but I just remembered that after Travis died, his firm sent over a bunch of boxes from his office. I had them put in the garage. I didn't bother to unpack them. It's doubtful there's anything about the adoption in there, but we could take a look."

  "We should definitely take a look," Ryan said with a nod. "And it's better than sitting around and waiting for the phone to ring."

  Nicole couldn't agree more. She grabbed a cookie off the plate and said, "Let's get to work."

  * * *

  Ryan started out optimistic, but three hours and six boxes of paper later, his mood had soured. He'd learned a lot about Travis Schilling's business but absolutely nothing about the adoption or anything else remotely personal. He could see the same frustration on Nicole's face as she shoved the last box aside and gave him a tired look. "Is there more?"

  "I don't think so."

  "We have the last box here," Sean said. He and Jessica were sitting at a card table, with a stack of papers in front of them.

  "And it doesn't look good," Jessica said, an apologetic gleam in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I feel like I've led us on a wild goose chase."

  "It's not your fault," Ryan said. "It gave us something to do, and we now know that Travis didn't keep any paperwork regarding the adoption in his office. It was a long shot, but one we had to take. And honestly I'm not all that surprised. I was thinking about what we were given at the time of the adoption, and aside from our contract with Mr. Reynolds, the only other piece of paper we received was a revised birth certificate that all adoptive parents are given. I was hoping Travis had more, but he probably didn't." He glanced at his watch. "What does surprise me is that we haven't heard back from your friend, Kara." How long could it take to look through some quilting logs? Kara had called once to tell them she and her grandmother were starting the search, but that had been hours ago.

  "It must be taking her longer than she thought," Jessica said. "I know she'll call us as soon as she knows anything."

  Nicole looked up from her own phone. "Emma just texted me the photo of Brandon's quilt. Let's go upstairs and compare our picture with Kyle's quilt."

  "I'm coming," Jessica said, getting to her feet.

  "Me, too," Sean added. "I'd like to see Kyle's room. From what you've told me about him, Jessica, he sounds like an amazing kid."

  "He really is," Jessica said. "I'm sure he's a lot like your nephew."

  At Jessica's casual words, Nicole paled, and Ryan tensed, knowing that they were coming close to a moment of truth.

  They hadn't told Jessica about Brandon's autism. He didn't know exactly why they hadn't told her, but Nicole had seemed reluctant to say much about Brandon, and he'd followed her lead. But now that Sean was in the mix, it was going to come up, and he had a feeling it would be coming up sooner rather than later.

  Chapter Twelve

  When they entered Kyle's room, Nicole immediately went for the quilt, which they'd left on the bed. Ryan walked to her side, eager to compare the two blankets.

  "It's an exact match from what I can see." She held her phone next to the quilt, zooming in on each square. "Wait a second." She pointed to the center square on the blanket and the matching block on the photo. "One bird here, and two birds there." She looked at Ryan. "What does that mean?"

  "Maybe Kyle was born first and Brandon was born second?" he suggested.

  "That could be it. But why would that be important to note?"

  "I have no idea."

  "Do you see any other differences?"

  "No. Although, it's odd that a lot of the squares have matching items, two building blocks, two butterflies, two teddy bears, everything is two, except the square in the center with the birds. The pairs remind me of Brandon."

  She frowned. "But Brandon doesn't like the quilt anymore. Every time I brought it out, he'd kick it under the bed or stuff it in a drawer. Finally, I just put it away."

  "Can I take a look?" Jessica asked.

  "Sure." Nicole handed her the phone and the blanket.

  Jessica studied the photo closely. "They do look exactly the same, except for what you said about the birds. I think the matching items were done because they were twins. That's why there's two of everything."

  "We really need to know who ordered these quilts." Ryan said, acutely aware of every hour that was passing. It would be dark soon. And Brandon would be gone for another night. He hated that thought.

  "So Kyle is a swimmer?" Sean asked, interrupting their conversation as he picked up a trophy on the dresser.

  "Yes," Jessica said, handing Nicole her phone, then moving across the room to Sean's side. "Kyle can stay in the water for hours."

  "Not Brandon," Sean said with a smile. He threw Nicole a pointed look. "I remember when you tried to get Brandon in the water at Aunt Margaret's house. He screamed so loud, we thought someone was attacking him."

  "Your son doesn't like to swi
m?" Jessica asked.

  "No," Nicole said shortly. She looked at Ryan, and he saw the plea in her eyes.

  "Maybe we should go back downstairs," he suggested.

  "One second," Sean said, completely unaware of the tension building inside of his sister. "This is a great picture." He held up a photo of Kyle, who appeared to be dancing with two teddy bears.

  "That was taken at the school play," Jessica said. "I have the actual video on my phone. Do you want to see it? It's really funny. Kyle is such a goofball."

  "That would be great."

  Jessica pulled out her phone and punched up the video while Sean leaned over her shoulder to look at the screen. Ryan wanted to get Nicole out of the room, because he could see the emotions building inside of her. But she wasn't looking at him; she was looking at Jessica and Sean.

  "What a funny kid," Sean said, looking up with a smile. "Great moves. You should see this, Nic. It's hysterical. Wait, is he singing?"

  Jessica nodded, turning up the volume. "Off key but as loud as he can."

  Ryan stiffened as Kyle's voice rang through the room, a voice with all the same tones as the one Brandon had once used to speak to them, to recite nursery rhymes, and to sing silly songs, a voice that had gone quiet almost three years ago.

  A wave of sadness and grief ran through him, and he could see the agony on Nicole's face. She wrapped her arms tightly around her waist as if she was in physical pain, and he thought she probably was.

  "Turn if off," she said abruptly. "Turn it off right now."

  Jessica and Sean stared at her in surprise.

  "Nicole," Ryan said, putting a hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her.

  She immediately stepped away from him.

  "I can't do this," she said, panic in her eyes as she looked back at him. "I can't hear his voice. I can't see him." She started shaking her head as she backed toward the door. "It's too much."

  "Nicole," he said, but she was already gone, flying out of the room and down the hallway.

  He bolted after her, ignoring the stunned looks on Sean and Jessica's faces. He had to get to Nicole. She was heading for a big fall, and he needed to catch her.

  * * *

  Ryan's voice rang out behind her, but Nicole didn't stop running, not even when she reached the sidewalk. She had to get away from the house, from Kyle, Jessica, and Sean. She didn't want to see anyone, and she didn't want anyone to see her. She'd been holding on to her control by a thread, and the thread was breaking. Her emotions were building up inside of her, demanding to be set free, but if she let them out, if she broke down now, she didn't know if she'd be able to pull herself together again.

  So she ran.

  The sun had set, and twilight surrounded her. She liked the darkness. In the shadows she could hide from herself and from reality. In the light, she couldn't pretend that things were better than they were, because everyone could see right through her.

  Ryan called her name again. He was getting closer. He'd always been a faster runner than she was. Damn his long legs.

  "Nicole, stop."

  "Leave me alone," she said, flinging the words over her shoulder. She jumped off the curb to cross the street. A horn blared, and she realized she hadn't seen the car that was fifteen feet away.

  Luckily, she made it through the intersection without getting hit. She had no idea where she was, but houses had given way to small businesses, cafes and restaurants. A few blocks away, she could see sailboats and the harbor. Sailing away seemed like a fine idea about now.

  And then a hard hand came down on her shoulder. She stumbled. Ryan grabbed her arm, bringing her to an abrupt stop.

  "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he demanded. "You ran right in front of a car. Where the hell are you going?"

  "I don't know," she yelled.

  They stared at each other for a long moment, their breath coming fast, emotions charging the air.

  "Then at least let me go with you," he said. "I know why you ran from them, but you don't need to run from me."

  "I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to talk to anyone. Go away."

  "I'm not leaving you. I know how you feel, Nicole."

  "No, you don't."

  "You think I didn't feel pain when I heard Brandon's voice?" he asked, his voice rough and angry.

  "It wasn't Brandon."

  "But it sounded just like him." His gaze bored into hers. "When Kyle laughed, we heard Brandon laugh. And we haven't heard that laugh in three years. We've been praying to hear it again. And tonight we did. But it wasn't Brandon."

  "No, it was Kyle. And it broke my heart." Her voice caught, her eyes blurring with tears. "Kyle is normal. He's what Brandon should be. Why isn't Brandon like his brother? What did we do wrong, Ryan?" She waved her hand in the air. "How did we break our son?"

  "We didn't break him, Nicole."

  "It can't be biology. His twin is fine. It has to be something else, something we did."

  "It's nothing you or I did. And you know that." He paused. "You know that," he repeated. "Brandon's illness isn't about you. It's about him. Something went wrong in his head."

  Her mouth trembled, and she bit down on her bottom lip, fighting for control, but she was losing the battle. "I'm so angry, Ryan. And I'm sad, bone-deep sad. There's a pain and an emptiness in my heart, and it doesn't go away. I'm so tired of feeling that way."

  Compassion filled his eyes. "Nic," he said softly.

  "And I'm tired of fighting for Brandon and fighting for you and losing everyone. All I ever do is lose." Emotions that she'd locked away for three years welled up within her. And then the dam burst. "It's not fair," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why did Brandon have to get this horrible disease? Why couldn't he be normal and happy like Kyle? Why did it have to happen to him? To us?"

  He had no answers, because there weren't any.

  "I feel like I've been climbing this mountain," she continued. "And every time I get close to the summit, another peak appears in front of me. There's no end. There's no moment of victory, no triumph. There are just more mountains to climb. And I can't do it anymore. I'm exhausted. I'm defeated."

  Ryan hauled her into his arms, and she had no strength to resist. In fact, she welcomed his strength. Right now, he was the only reason she was still standing.

  "It's okay, Nicole," Ryan whispered, holding her tight against his chest. He stroked her back with one hand. "You don't have to do anything right now except breathe."

  "Even that seems too much," she said, feeling completely overwhelmed. "I wish you would leave me alone, Ryan."

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm about to lose it."

  "Then lose it. Let it go, Nic. There's no one here but me. No one you have to be strong for; no one you need to impress. It's just me. It's just us."

  His words released a tidal wave of tears that soaked her face and Ryan's shirt. Sobs choked her breath. Waves of pain ran through her, each one worse than the one before. She'd held herself together for three years, and she couldn't do it anymore. She couldn’t not be sorry for herself, so she cried for Brandon and for Ryan and for herself—for the happy, healthy family they should have been, for the life they should have had.

  And all the while Ryan held her, his face buried in her hair, his arms around her like tight bands of steel. He was not going to let her fall. And for the first time in a long time, she felt safe and protected.

  Finally, the tears began to slow and the sobs turned to hiccups. She was a teary mess, but she felt better having released some of the pain that had been turning her inside out.

  When she finally pulled back and lifted her watery gaze to Ryan's, she saw nothing but tenderness in his gaze. No condemnation. No impatience. Just the intimate love she used to see there.

  "Feel better?" he asked.

  "I feel stupid." She looked around, wondering if there had been any other witnesses to her breakdown, but the nearest building was closed and there was no one else on the street. T
hank goodness for that.

  "You always feel stupid after you cry, which is why you never ever cry," he said, a small smile crossing his lips.

  He knew her too well. She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her fingers. "I'm a mess."

  "Yeah," he agreed. "But you've been holding everything in for too long."

  "Definitely longer than the last three days."

  He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "You don't know how many times I've wanted you to let go like that."

  "Why?" she asked, bewildered by his comment.

  "Because I was tired of living with a superhero."

  "I wasn't that," she said defensively.

  "Yes you were. And you were amazing. But the bigger you were, the smaller I seemed to get."

  His words surprised her. "I—I didn't mean to make you feel small."

  "Didn't you? Didn't that make you feel better about yourself?" he challenged.

  It was a harsh criticism. Unfortunately, there was a ring of truth in his statement. Had she tried to make herself feel better by being the one who knew what to do, who could save Brandon when no one else could?

  "Can't we be honest for once, Nicole? Can't we admit that this whole situation sucks big time? Can't we be human and feel unfairness and injustice? Can't we talk frankly about how hard it is to deal with a kid who can't connect, who won't look at us, who seems to feel nothing, no matter how hard we try? Do we have to be perfect every second of every day? Can we stop feeling guilty if we think about ourselves or something else for five damn minutes?"

  She stared back at him, his passionate words resonating with every syllable. "If I did any of those things, what kind of mother would I be?"

  "The same kind of mother you are now, only you'd be admitting that you're not a robot. You're a person who is capable of feeling every emotion, good and bad," he said, waving his hand in the air. "I know you're probably thinking right now that I just want to pull you down to my level so that I can feel better about myself. But that's not true. No matter how low you sink, you'll always be higher than me. So maybe you should stop trying to prove that all the time." He let out a breath and stepped back from her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.