Rescue Me (Butler Island)

by Nikki Rittenberry

  There was no trace of disgust or contempt. Nor was there any hint of blame etched on her pretty face, which really surprised him. After all, if not for his weak, distracted mind, Jimmy would still be alive. She was offering him an olive branch, and although he didn’t think he deserved it, he was going to latch on with a firm grip. “All right. I’ll stay.”

  The cool November breeze gently swayed the bamboo wind chimes hanging just above her on the back patio as Connor and Randall took turns throwing and catching a neon orange Nerf football. They’d been at it for almost an hour—surprising since the yard was only lit by a meager flood light mounted on the back of the house. In fact, she was amazed the pair could actually see well enough to catch the darn thing. But she was grateful for the distraction it provided her son. Even more grateful that she’d managed to complete the work she’d brought home before Connor’s nine o’clock bedtime.

  Lana saved the document she’d feverishly created to her flash drive and closed her laptop. In the dim light, she could still see the intense concentration on her son’s face. The bamboo wind chimes clanked together with a random, soothing beat, intermixing with the sound of Connor’s laughter.

  And just like that, she was taken back.

  Back to a time when life was easy, good times were plentiful, and troubles were few and far between. Funny how she once thought she had troubles… there was nothing more troubling than losing the one person who knew you best.

  “Mommy, watch this!” Connor shouted as he took off running. He ran in a straight line away from Randall, and just as Randall released the ball, Connor quickly darted to the right, the ball practically falling into his small hands. “Touchdown!” he yelled excitedly. “Did you see that, Mommy?”

  “I saw it! That was amazing!”

  “He’s really good”, Randall commented. “Not only can he catch—he’s got one hell of a spiral, too.”

  “Uh…a spiral?” She asked as she stepped off the back porch.

  “Yeah, you know, the way the ball spins in mid-air. I know grown men that haven’t mastered that skill.”

  Lana rubbed her bare arms with her hands for warmth, coming to a halt in front of Randall. She was way out of her league. She knew nothing about football. Well, that’s not entirely true—she did know the basics. The game was usually played with a brown ball, the quarterback threw the ball, and a receiver caught it.

  And the rest of the men running around on the field?

  Well, she figured they were there for moral support (you know, the occasional chest bump or swift slap on the ass). And to think: she’d thought a spiral was the latest victory dance. Apparently she had a lot to learn.

  “So a spiral is difficult to achieve?” she asked, hoping her question didn’t make her seem as though she’d been living under a rock for the last twenty-seven years. Because truthfully, it’d only been approximately five and a half months.

  “For some, yes, but for others it just comes naturally. And Connor, here, is definitely a natural”, he said as he rubbed the top of Connor’s blond head.

  “Well, he obviously got his athleticism from Jimmy.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short; I’ve seen you dance”, Randall remarked. He couldn’t help but notice the way her cheeks turned a subtle shade of pink. Obviously he’d embarrassed her. Clearing his throat, he smiled, hoping to clarify what he meant. “I mean—you’re plenty coordinated.”

  Lana prayed the darkness camouflaged the warmth that’d settled along her cheeks, because she was clearly blushing.

  Question was: why?

  It was no secret she loved to dance. When Jimmy was alive they’d spend two Saturdays a month at The Saloon: Jimmy would drink and play pool, Lana would dance.

  Her body just naturally moved to music. In fact, Jimmy used to tease her, comparing her compulsion to move to a reflex. As soon as she heard a beat, her hips would sway. But something about the way Randall alluded to her ability was… different.

  It wasn’t a come-on or a seduction attempt. It was more like… appreciation.

  Yeah. Like he recognized her finesse—her ability—as being impulsive. Instinct driven. Natural. And he would know; he was one hell of a dancer himself.

  So if his flattery was nothing more than a genuine compliment, how exactly did she explain her rattled reaction?

  Chapter 5

  “Lana…?”

  Her cheeks were now stained a brilliant red; she could just feel it. What on earth was happening to her?

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you”, he reiterated, sincere, but amused.

  Lana smiled, shaking her head as though doing so would jolt the quandary from escalating. “It’s fine, really… Thank you.”

  “Randall”—Connor interjected excitedly—“I’m open!”

  Across the yard, he waved his little arms in the air, enthusiastic about running another play. The backyard was bathed in subtle dim light and although Connor stood some distance away, she was still able to identify a certain buoyancy about him.

  “One more and then it’s bath time”, she called out. She couldn’t remember the last time her little boy had looked so happy, so carefree. She’d do just about anything to keep that contented expression on his face. Randall had managed to accomplish in two hours what had taken her nearly six months to achieve. And the jury was still out on how successful she’d actually been.

  For the first time in ages, Randall felt like he was actually doing something productive with his free time. And it felt damn good. Connor’s peppy little laugh caused the corners of Randall’s mouth to turn upward. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d smiled. Hadn’t really had a reason to for some time. And even in the dark he noticed the worry fade from Lana’s angelic face…

  He should have never left. He should have been here.

  Maybe if he had, the healing could’ve begun sooner. Make no mistake—their wounds were all still painfully fresh, but there was power in numbers. “Go long!” he shouted to Connor as he pretended to take possession of the ball from the imaginary Center.

  Lana watched as Connor hung on Randall’s every word. His tiny legs took off running toward the fence as Randall reared his arm back and launched the ball (a perfect spiral, of course). Looking over his small shoulders, Connor tracked the neon orange Nerf, and then opened his arms just as the ball dropped from the inky night sky.

  Air whooshed from Lana’s lungs when her little boy finally turned around, the look of admiration clearly visible. He looked to Randall as though he were his idol.

  And that’s when she knew: It was time. Time to apologize for her rude and erratic behavior. Time to ask for a fresh start. She just prayed her plea for forgiveness wasn’t too late.

  “All right, that’s it!”

  “Aww, c’mon, mommy—just a couple more—please? I just got warmed up!”

  She felt terrible breaking up the fun. Ever since Jimmy’s passing, she was the sole disciplinarian—the bad guy. “I know, but you have school tomorrow.”

  “Just a little bit longer?”

  Was she being unreasonable? What was so terrible about a few more throws? “I—”

  “It’s okay, buddy”, Randall chimed in. “We can play again another night this week.”

  “Really?” Connor asked, hope filling his tiny voice.

  “Really.”

  “All right!” he yelled as he hurried past, dashing up the porch steps.

  “Go ahead and get undressed”, Lana called over her shoulder. “I’ll be there in a sec!” Crossing her arms, she turned to face Randall. “Thank you for that. I can’t remember the last time he’s been this excited.”

  Randall shrugged. Playing catch with Connor was a small drop in a large bucket, as far as he was concerned. It didn’t even begin to make up for all the time he’d spent away. But he was here now. And he intended on making up for lost time. “He’s a good kid.”

  Lana nodded. Connor was a good kid. Sometimes she forgot that he was just a child, learning to cope
with life’s unfair realities. And if spending time with Randall rescued him from the throes of grief, who was she to argue?

  A gust of crisp wind sent wisps of long brown hair into her field of vision, forcing her to tuck the silky strands behind her ear. Her focus settled on Randall’s steel-colored eyes, revealing his wounded and broken soul, an utter contradiction to the large, strong man they belonged to. “You mind stickin’ around for a bit longer? I was sort of hoping we could talk.”

  “Um, yeah. Sure.”

  Together they turned toward the house, climbing the porch steps as another strong gust of wind rustled the trees. The breeze carried a hint of winter, causing the hair on the back of Lana’s neck to rise. She convinced herself that the odd tingle had nothing to do with Jimmy’s spirit, and everything to do with the arrival of the first cold front of the season.

  Because she didn’t believe in ghosts. No matter how badly she wanted to.

  Rushing ahead, Randall reached for the screen door and gave it a tug, motioning for Lana to enter ahead of him. He may be dead inside, but he hadn’t forgotten his chivalrous manners. His mother had hammered the importance of gentleman-like behavior into his brain from the time he was Connor’s age. It was like second-nature; he didn’t have to think about it. Which was good. Because the only thing that had been on his mind lately was how he didn’t deserve to be breathing. He didn’t have a death wish, per se; he just no longer cared either way.

  “It’ll only take a few minutes to give Connor his bath and tuck him in… Make yourself at home.”

  In a flash she turned away and headed down the hall, leaving Randall alone with the ticking clock and a room full of memories. He stood motionless for several moments as an eerie sensation washed over him.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  Wiping his palm down his face, he stepped further into the living room, the motion feeling as though he was stepping back in time.

  Slowly he walked the perimeter of the room, his boots clapping against the pine floor in time with the tick-tocking of the clock. Everywhere his gaze landed he was reminded of his late friend: pictures, trophies—even spotted a pair of Jimmy’s flip flops lying on the floor beside his favorite chair. It’d been five and a half months since his passing, and Lana was still unwilling to pack away her husband’s possessions.

  She wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t been selfishly distracted that dreadful day.

  No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts always circled back to that premise.

  He did this. This was his fault.

  Being here wouldn’t change what happened in Tate’s Hell, but maybe it could make a difference in moving forward. After all, it was Jimmy’s dying wish that Randall take care of his family. He hadn’t made good on that promise, but he would. From this day forward, he vowed to spend every day he had left on this earth mending what he took away from Lana and Connor.

  A picture on the wood mantel suddenly caught his attention. Inside the metal frame was a picture he and Jimmy had taken last year at the annual Oyster Festival. He plucked the heavy frame from the mantel, raising it for closer inspection.

  They’d just competed in the oyster shucking contest—both losing miserably to a twelve-year-old little girl named Emmy. She’d cheated… okay, not really. But that was their story and they were stickin’ to it. Her father owned The Saloon on the boardwalk and the girl had undoubtedly been shucking the damn things for at least half of her twelve years.

  “That was a fun day”, Lana commented as she entered the room.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Jimmy’s widow before returning his focus back to the picture. “Yeah…it was.” Carefully, he set the frame back into position.

  “Can I get you anything to drink? Don’t have any beer, but I do have some leftover white zinfandel in the fridge.”

  Turning around, he shoved his hands into his front pockets and smiled. “You never did like beer.”

  “Some things never change, I reckon.”

  “And sometimes, everything changes…”

  Lana got the inkling they were no longer talking about beverages. She glanced down at her hands, picking at her nails. It was a nervous habit, one her burgundy polish would likely not survive. Steeling herself with a deep breath, she set out to make things right. “Listen, Randall… I… Well, I owe you an apology.”

  “An apology?” he questioned incredulously. “For what, exactly?”

  “For the way I acted, for slapping you… for causing you to run off—”

  “My leaving had nothing to do with anything you did, Lana”, he affirmed. “If anything, I owe you one… I should’ve been here, you know?—for Connor… for you.”

  Lana tore her attention away from her pitiful-looking manicure, allowing her eyes to scan the wounded man that stood several paces in front of her. Outwardly he appeared the same, but upon closer inspection she recognized it: on the inside he was broken and hollow, just like her.

  Slowly, she was filling, swelling with purpose. But she knew she’d never return to normal. Never be the person she used to be. Randall was still nearly empty, but tonight while playing with Connor she saw a flicker of life in him. Maybe there was hope for him—for all of them.

  “Connor really missed you, you know. I can’t even begin to describe how excited he was to see your truck parked in the driveway on Halloween. We stopped by, but—”

  “I know”, he confessed softly. He watched confusion settle over Lana’s pretty face, making him feel like a fucking coward for hiding like he had.

  “How?”

  “I saw you.”

  “But, why didn’t you—”

  Randall shrugged. What could he say? He’d acted like a pussy; liquid courage in the form of whiskey hadn’t even given him fortitude. “I needed more time, I guess. Wasn’t quite ready to face you yet.”

  Wrapping her arms around her middle, Lana nodded. “Don’t suppose I gave you any indication I wanted you around the last time we saw each other, huh?”

  Randall rubbed his left cheek with the palm of his hand. “You have one hell of a hard hand”, he teased, hoping to lighten the mood. “Remind me to never make you mad.”

  Embarrassed, Lana covered her face with both hands. “Gosh, I really am sorry about that!”

  “Don’t worry, you were forgiven the moment it happened.”

  She raised her head from her hands. “Really?”

  Randall shrugged, still rubbing his cheek. “Well, maybe not at the exact moment…”

  The edges of his mouth turned up. Was he toying with her?

  Yes, he most certainly was.

  Lana snatched a throw pillow from the couch and tossed it at him (although she was incapable of a perfect spiral). She watched as he threw his hands up, blocking the sage-colored cushion from colliding with his head.

  “All right, all right—I probably deserved that”, he confessed, smiling.

  Randall picked up the pillow and glanced at the woman that’d launched it at him. Her lips quivered for a moment, immediately followed by the sweetest sound he’d ever heard: Lana’s laughter. In that moment, five and a half months of worry and concern faded from her face. He wondered how many times she’d laughed since the accident.

  Probably zero.

  But, damn, it looked good on her. And he’d be lying if he said that putting it there didn’t thaw a small portion of his frozen insides. “It’s good to hear you laugh.”

  Lana’s cackle quieted. “Thanks”, she uttered softly. “I haven’t done that in a while.”

  Tossing the green pillow back on the couch, Randall took a seat, leaning his forearms against his knees. “So, how’ve you been?”

  There was that question again. Funny how such simple words sobered her. “Good”, she managed. And then he did it: he gave her The Look. Kendall often referred to it as a truth serum, because with one look, the truth typically started pouring out of his intended target. And right now, his gray eyes were intensely focused on her.

  “C
’mon, Lana, you don’t have to bullshit me. How’ve you been? Really.”

  Sitting down in the chair across from him, she sighed. “I’m… managing. Barely managing” she emphasized just above a whisper. “It’s a daily struggle, you know? I never realized how hard life actually was for single moms until I become one.”

  Randall nodded. He understood; his father had walked out on his mom when he was nine. He saw firsthand how unglamorous of a job it sometimes was. But of course his circumstances had been different. He hadn’t been sorry to see the son of a bitch leave. Because after he left, the beatings his mother occasionally endured stopped. “And Connor?”

  “He’s had a hard time adjusting. His teacher calls at least once a week demanding I pick up my sick child—only he’s not really sick. He’s craving attention right now and he’s not picky about it being good or bad.”

  Randall nodded again. He’d gone through a similar stage after his father left: acting out in class and talking back had been his M.O. It wasn’t until the owner of the marina, Mr. Morgan, took him under his wing that his behavior improved. “Listen, maybe I can help.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Randall.”

  “I know I don’t, but I want to. Let me take some of the load from your shoulders. Please…”

  Lana stared into Randall’s sincere eyes, amazed to find that his face revealed no hint of pity—and for that, she was grateful. He had no ulterior motives; he simply wanted to be a guiding force in her son’s life and ease the burden she’d inherited after the accident. “Okay. I’d really appreciate that.”

  It wasn’t the first time someone had offered help. But it was the first time she’d accepted it. Randall was practically family.

  And family stuck together.

  For the first time in months, she felt the heavy weight she’d carried since Jimmy’s sudden passing ease a bit.