I came with a violent shudder all around him.
He became still, relishing the feel of me tightening and pulsing against him, complete and utter awe
in his eyes.
“Oh God, Avery.” He thrust himself back inside, the tempo controlled and deliberate. “You . . . I . . .
Jesus, this is unbelievable.”
Watching him get his release was a thing of pure beauty. His lips open, his eyes unfocused, his chest shuddering from pleasure.
He collapsed on top of me, raining warm kisses on my lips, my jaw, and my neck.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispered against my ear.
I tightened my grasp around his neck.
“Don’t move. Not yet,” I mumbled. “I want to feel you just like this.”
We laid that way until our breaths slowed and our limbs were less fluid.
Before he fell asleep that night, Bennett mumbled my name over and over. I felt my heart unfurling, smoothing out, blossoming—into an unblemished kind of love.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I woke in Bennett’s arms the next morning, and it just felt right. Making love to him had been sensual,
emotional, and incredible.
When my alarm blared, we immediately jumped into hurry mode. We each had an early class and
work. Then Bennett had a night out with his coworkers.
He flew out the door with a kiss and the promise of texting me later. I thought of nothing else all
day long. Just the feel of his skin against mine, and how different my orgasm had felt than it had those
other times.
I wanted to ask him how his first time had been, but I didn’t want to embarrass him or make him
feel juvenile. All I could go on was the way his eyes had searched mine and the noises that had tumbled
out of his beautiful mouth.
Though I was certain how I felt about Bennett, I hadn’t said it that night.
And neither had he. But maybe I’d be brave enough to say it sometime soon.
Mrs. Jackson noticed the change in me right away, and I blushed the entire time she asked about
Bennett. “You be sure to cherish that boy, you hear me?”
Her vitals were erratic that day, and even as I encouraged her to eat more from her tray than just the
chicken broth, I squashed down the feeling that another stroke was imminent.
I was exhausted by bedtime and fell straight into my sheets. Just as I was drifting off, I received a
text from Bennett. I knew he was at a local bar with his coworkers, and my heart leapt at seeing his
message flash across the screen.
Bennett: How was the rest of your day?
Me: Exhausting. Already in bed.
Bennett: Mmm . . . sleep sounds good. Our night is just getting
started.
Me: You can text on your way home if you want. Have fun with your
friends.
Bennett: I’ll let you sleep and bother you tomorrow instead. Good
night, baby.
I stared at the screen and tried to read between the lines. All day long, I had gotten the distinct
impression that Bennett was holding himself back. All of his texts had fallen just short of mushy.
Like he didn’t want me to feel smothered just because he had given himself to me.
Like he didn’t want me to run away.
Little did he know, I wasn’t about to go anywhere.
And I planned on showing him that—tomorrow.
***
The following day at work, I stood at the nurses’ station, finishing my note on Mrs. Jackson—about how
she was flushed and restless all day; even her husband had commented on it just ten minutes ago—when
security buzzed me from the lobby.
“Ms. Michaels, there’s a package here for you,” Robert said. “It’s signed for and sitting on the
counter. Come down when you’re free.”
A package? Usually packages for the unit came filled with medical equipment, but this one
sounded personal. I headed down, curiosity getting the best of me. When I rounded the corner I saw it,
along with Robert’s giant grin. It was a large bouquet of flowers.
Robert handed them to me. “Someone must be smitten with you, Ms. Michaels.” My cheeks burned as I walked my package to a nearby table in the visitors’ section, unable to wait
any longer. The bouquet was a mixture of red, orange, and pink Gerbera daisies. The colors were
striking and lush, and they were easily one of my favorite flowers.
Right away I noticed that one of the flowers had lost nearly all of its petals—only one clung on for
dear life. There was a note attached to the stem.
I removed the note and carefully unfolded it, noticing Bennett’s initial at the bottom before
scanning back up to read it.
A.
Yes, I do. No question about it.
A smile burst from my lips. I knew without question that Bennett was referring to the ‘Forget Me
Not’ poem that I’d recited to him before he gave me my tattoo. “I have not yet ascertained whether
you.love me or not.”
He was telling me in his own way that he loved me. My heart leapt straight out of my chest,
performed a classic dive-bomb, and ran the half mile back home to find him.
Below his admission of love, he had written more.
I hope you feel the same.
He wanted to know if I loved him, too. And I did. Oh, I did.
Can I see you tonight?
B.
P.S. And as for the other night . . . there are no words, Avery. No words.
I couldn’t contain my grin.
When I realized I was still in the nearly empty lobby, I headed back to my unit to pack up, give my
report, and head home.
But before I did, I was going to march straight into Mrs. Jackson’s room to show her that I finally
got my flowers, and then tease her about showing up Mr. Jackson’s bouquet today. As soon as I stepped through the automatic double doors, I noticed that the front desk was empty.
And then I heard the low hum. The one that signified a code blue in the unit. It meant the code blue team
was gathered in the room of the resident who was experiencing distress.
I’d been through my share of code blues, but this time felt different. I couldn’t get my feet unstuck
from the floor. I gripped the flower vase so it wouldn’t slip through my fingers and crash into a million
little shards.
Like my heart was doing right now.
I knew with every fiber of my being who the resident having trouble was. And damn it, she’d
waited until I was out of the unit to leave without saying good-bye.
That thought alone drove me to action. No way was she going to die while I was off duty. I hastily
placed the flowers on the desk and headed toward her room. My footsteps were hollow and tinny against
the cold linoleum floor, echoing the beats of my plunging heart.
But as I neared her door, the code blue team of nurses and doctors were already headed out, heads
hanging low.
And I knew she was already gone.
My fingers splayed against the wall as I tried to keep all the pieces of myself together. I had never
cried for a resident before, outside of my first month, when I was new and green.
But this was no ordinary resident. She meant something more to me. Much more.
My feet were like lead as Lillian rounded the corner from Mrs. Jackson’s room. “I think this was
the big one. Took her immediately. They called time of death already.”
I shut my eyes against her words and then felt her cold fingers on my arm. “I’m sorry.”
I waited until the space
had cleared before I gathered enough courage to step inside. There were
certain procedures that needed to be followed after a death, and a nurse was left in the room to carry
them out.
When I rounded the white curtain to her bed, it felt surreal to see her so lifeless. So spiritless. So still.
Her eyes were closed, her arms tucked beneath the sheets, already in prep mode. Her face was free
of worry and pain. Almost peaceful. Almost.
I noticed a person slumped in a chair, clutching a bouquet of tulips. Mr. Jackson. I’d forgotten he
was still here. He must have alerted them to the emergency.
I sat down beside him in the cream plastic chair, and he took a deep shuddering breath.
At first I didn’t know what to say to him. What could I possibly articulate when the woman he had
spent his life with was lying dead before him?
“She loved you fiercely, you know.” My voice sounded vacant and small. “She . . . she was the best
kind of person. I’m grateful to have known her.”
A sob escaped his lips, and it reverberated in my chest, creating a gaping hole.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”
The air whooshed right out of me.
Was this the flip side to love?
You created a life with someone—shared your whole heart, your whole soul—and then one day,
they left you. It was a harsh and brutal kind of reality.
And I wasn’t convinced it was worth it.
To open yourself up to someone, only to be left with a cavernous wound.
Mr. Jackson cleared his throat and looked at his wife. His eyes were red, his brown skin splotchy,
but his voice was strong. “But I wouldn’t take back one day of our forty years together. Not one damn
day. Do you hear me, Louise?”
He was no longer talking to me, and I was glued to my seat, entranced by his words. “You made
my life worth living. You made it matter. You made it infinitely better.” His voice cracked on those last
words, and he tucked his head into his hand.
I waited next to him as he sobbed into his fingers and then wiped his cheeks with a Kleenex. The nurse cleared the room, allowing for privacy. She patted my shoulder on her way out.
Mr. Jackson stood up and inched toward his wife. Placing the tulips on the pillow above her, he
kissed her forehead. “I know I’ll see you again. I have to believe that. God wouldn’t be that cruel, to
take you from me without the hope of our reunion.”
I pinched my eyes closed as a tear escaped.
I already knew what it felt like to be without Bennett. But that paled in comparison to what Mr.
Jackson was going through. And now I’d be without Mrs. Jackson, too. Coming to work would be
difficult for a long damn time, like having a cloud hovering over my head, raining sadness over me.
But I could hear her voice in my head, urging me to move on, to live my life, to stop being so damn
sad.
Just then Mr. and Mrs. Jackson’s children burst into the room and gathered around their father.
Tears and hugs, grief and love. All combined in a circle of limbs and heads and hearts.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Backing out of Mrs. Jackson’s room, I recited my own silent and painful good-bye.
I gathered my flowers and coat and walked home in a numb fog.
I considered Mr. Jackson’s words. Making a life with someone was all-encompassing.
You either took a chance or put up road blocks.
Whichever way, you were taking a risk, gambling with fate.
Toying with your own happiness.
My phone buzzed with a text. Ella: What’s new?
Me: Mrs. Jackson died today. I can’t believe she’s gone. On my way
home now.
Ella: I’m so sorry. I’ll meet you at your place.
Ella came bearing Chinese food. She let me cry on her shoulder over a bottle of wine. She knew
how fond I’d grown of Mrs. Jackson and how the lady had slowly infiltrated my life. Mrs. Jackson made
me question my ideals, as if she were a reflection of the person I hoped to become, despite my
upbringing, my hardened heart, and my meaningless flings.
We ate ice cream and watched bad TV, and I told her everything.
About my tattoo, making up with Bennett, making love, feeling love.
And it felt good. To let someone in.
“For whatever it’s worth, I’m proud of you, bitch,” Ella said, throwing away our empty food
containers. “For what?” I asked before taking the final sip from my wineglass.
“I’ve known you a long-ass time,” she said, topping off our glasses and then sitting back down.
“Your life can be divided into a before and after period.”
I kept my mouth shut, reflecting on her words.
“The Avery before Tim was fun, optimistic even, despite your mother not really acting like much of
a parent most of the time. Even after your grandma died, you still seemed to have hope about the
future.”
I did. I missed my grandma desperately, but she made me want something better for myself.
“The Avery after Tim was hardened, broken, and closed off. And I got it. God, I so got it.” She
adjusted herself on the couch in order to face me better. “Despite all of that, you still tried to have some
fun. It’s just . . . the fun was different.”
“Different how?”
“Like you were just filling a need, taking care of business.”
I nodded because she was right. So right. About all of it. I had just been going through the motions,
except when it came to school, my job, and Adam.
“First,” I said, “I hate that you just marked my life with that bastard’s name.”
“Why not say his name out loud?” she asked. “You want him to remain anonymous? Let’s out that
asshole! Tim! Tim! Tim! The fucking bastard!”
I laughed while taking another sip and almost choked on my wine.
“Second,” I said, after clearing my throat several times, “your life could be marked by a before and
after, too, my dear bitch-ass friend.”
Ella’s eyes darkened at the reminder of her brother’s death, and I grabbed for her hand.
“But shit, I admire how you handled it, Ella. I wish I’d been more like you. You got help and never
changed who you were,” I said. “I mean, I saw how you were different, because I’ve known you for so
long, but you didn’t let it . . . take you down.” “I love you, asshead.” Ella grabbed me for a tight hug. “Thank you for finally letting me in.
Promise you won’t shut me out again. Or Bennett. Or anybody.”
She was right. I had closed myself off in ways even I hadn’t realized.
“Promise,” I said, but still I hoped I could hold up my end of the bargain.
Besides, if I hadn’t promised Mrs. Jackson might’ve kicked my ass the next time she got ahold of
me.
When I next looked at the time it was already nine o’clock. I realized Bennett would’ve been home
for a couple of hours by now.
And I had never called him.
I never responded to his flowers and note.
I never invited him over.
Looked like I fucked up again.
I put my head in my hands, my brain abuzz with worry.
All at once there was knock on my door. My stomach bunched into a hard ball. I was afraid it was
Bennett coming over to give me a piece of his mind.
To tell me I’d hurt him again.
Ella answered the door and let him inside. My heart strained against my rib cage. I wanted to race
>
into his arms and push him away at the same time. My emotions were all over the map.
I wanted him so badly that it terrified the hell out of me.
“Hey.” He stood in front of me, and my fingers tangled in the afghan draped across my legs. I
couldn’t look at him. If I saw his eyes I’d find hurt, pain, anger.
But if I looked deeply enough, I’d also find love. The flip side of fear, Mrs. Jackson had said.
Bennett knelt down and lifted my chin with his thumb.
My gaze slid up to meet his. His eyes were soft and concerned, not angry.
“Bennett, I’m sorry, I . . .” “I’m here to relieve Ella,” he said. “She called and told me what happened. We agreed to do a shift
change at nine o’clock.”
I stared at Ella, confusion in my eyes.
“That’s right, dill weed,” Ella said, her voice smug. “Now make room for him and let him feed you
some more ice cream.”
I looked between Bennett and Ella, my heart swelling tenfold.
She grabbed her coat, kissed my cheek, and headed for the door. “You’re in good hands now.” And
then she was gone.
Bennett immediately wrapped me up in a hug. “I’m so sorry you lost your friend. I want to be here
for you tonight.”
I was so relieved that he wasn’t mad or hurt.
He wasn’t pushing me to think or talk about anything that happened today or yesterday.
He understood that I was grieving and left it at that.
“Bennett, I wanted to call you, tell you those flowers were amazing, and invite you over.”
“Shhhh . . .” he said, wrapping us in the blanket. “We have plenty of time to talk about all of that.
For now, let’s just be together.”
We lay on the couch, staring into each other’s eyes, saying nothing and everything all at once.
I told him stories about Mrs. Jackson, and how she was a pain in the ass, but also pushed me to be a
better person. Kind of like Bennett had been doing. Without him even realizing it. He was just being
him. Loving me purely. Easily. Incredibly.
Later, we retreated to my bedroom to watch bad reality TV, and he held me all night.
Before we drifted off to sleep, he whispered in my ear, “Avery, I want us to work through the sad
and hard parts together. To always find our way back to each other.”
*** The next morning I woke with the initial shock and sting of losing someone.
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