I had taken the photo a month or so after Ian's death. Walking near the lake made me feel closer to him. I was experiencing bouts of insomnia at this point in my grief and long walks with my camera, at all hours, had become normal.
Saturdays at the gallery were usually busy and today was no exception as the tourists were out in droves savoring the last couple weekends of the summer. I enjoyed the times when the crowds would thin a bit and I could watch people stand back and truly enjoy a piece of art. Those moments were important to me as an artist. The look of appreciation, the smiles and ah-ha moments when they really “got” a piece.
I was working with Lynn today which was like getting paid to hang out with your best friend all day. Ever since starting work at the gallery Lynn and I had been instant friends. Over time she had come to hear all of my heartache and she had helped me move on with life day by day.
The little bells hanging from the front door handle jingled as a new customer walked in the door. Dusting a glass shelf in the back of the store, I looked up toward the front of the gallery, but couldn't see anyone because of the display walls. Finishing the shelves I wandered through the store to see if anyone needed help or had any questions.
Reaching the front of the store I noticed a tall, broad shouldered man staring at my paintings. He seemed to be particularly focused on the photo of the lake. The photo that brought me closer to Ian in spirit.
My breath caught in my throat as I took in his sandy blond hair. While darker and shorter than Ian had kept his hair, it still reminded me of him. When the stranger turned to his right, as if sensing my staring, I noticed the deep blue of his eyes. Again, darker than Ians had been, but I felt like there was a pressure on my chest. Like I was being sat on and I had to retreat a few steps and turn toward the window to recover.
After a moment I turned back toward the stranger, noticing he had moved onto another display, but he kept glancing back to the photo of the lake. Upon closer inspection I noticed that he looked nothing like Ian, besides the approximate hair and eye color. His jaw line was strong and covered in a slight stubble, the kind that was trimmed neatly meaning it was intentional, but gave off a rugged sexiness. His mouth was full. He was handsome in every sense of the word. No, handsome wasn't enough. I tried out gorgeous, sexy, hot, and beautiful in my mind. I decided all those words would work. He wore dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt, a lightweight charcoal gray suede jacket and black hiking boots.
I couldn't figure out why I was taking in every detail of him. It had been ages since I had paid any attention to how a man looked. Pausing I realized that Ian was the last man I had ever really noticed. Maybe this was a turning point for me, a step toward moving on with my life.
I heard Lynn talking with someone at the back of the store. Hearing her voice comforted me and reminded me that life had gone on. It was okay for me to have a natural reaction to a good looking guy.
I sighed and stepped toward the customer. I laughed a little inside at my rambling thoughts. If this poor guy only knew everything that was going through my head, just because of his simple presence in the gallery, he would probably take off running.
“What do you think of the paintings?” I asked, keeping my voice soft and neutral as I walked up beside him.
Turning his blue eyes on me I noticed a mix of expressions pass over his face. Surprise, appreciation, sadness. I wasn't sure what I was seeing. I was good at reading people, a characteristic of a good photographer I guess. I was perplexed by the looks on his face though. He stared me in the eyes a full ten seconds before answering.
Clearing his throat and turning back toward the painting, he said, “I really like the use of color. The artist seems to understand how to use the color to convey the emotions of the painting.”
I was surprised by his response. It was thought out and articulate, a true expression of how the painting made him feel. “I agree. The colors really do work well,” I said, looking from him to the painting. I was even more intrigued but wasn't sure how to continue this conversation. “Well let me know if you have any questions, or if anything else catches your eye.” I said, smiling.
“Well, I am really interested in this photo of the lake. It's simply beautiful. I feel like I'm standing on the shore.” He stepped back over to my photo.
“Thank you.” I responded.
Looking over his shoulder he asked, “Is it yours?”
I smiled, flattered by his obvious appreciation of a photo that was very dear to me. “I took the photo a few years ago. I lost someone very important to me beside this lake. I think about all the reasons why he loved this lake, every time I see this photo.”
I hadn't meant to say all that. It just came out. I swear I saw sadness in his eyes after my explanation. “My name is Cyan if you should need anything.”
Turning to face me he extended his hand. Taking my hand in his he smiled a little smile, one dimple showing as he did so. “Nice to meet you Cyan, my name is Ryder. Ryder Marshall.”
Chapter 5 – Ryder
I hadn't expected her to a walk right up to me. Seeing her up close had startled me. She was beautiful, breath taking really. I had never been that close to her before and I had simply stood there taking in all the little details. I had to resist reaching out and touching the faint freckles that dusted her cheeks. She had tiny little laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. Her eyes reminded me of all the greens of spring, dark green, light green, tints of yellow green, all coming alive.
In the depths of those eyes I tried to see the pain she had been through. The pressure of the loss she had to endure crushed me. The guilt was a burden I didn't know how to bear any longer.
It had taken me months of searching to finally find her. It had been an online brochure for a gallery show which included her picture and a short bio that had led me to her location. From there I figured out that she worked at the gallery.
I had arrived in Pacific Grove two days prior to going into the gallery. I had never been to the area before and the beauty and history of the Monterey Bay intrigued me. I could understand why Cyan had retreated here. The sweeping views of the ocean were breathtaking. The soft mist that had rolled in the last two mornings had softened the hard walls around my heart. Something about the ocean breeze seemed to blow right through me, cleansing my soul.
It had taken a full day for me to work up the nerve to go into the gallery. I had driven by it the first day, heading to my hotel. Building up the nerve to seek Cyan out I had instead explored the Monterey area.
I had read John Steinbeck's book, Cannery Row, in a literature class in college. Seeing the places that Steinbeck mentioned in his book, walking the streets he had walked was exhilarating. Thinking about times that had come and gone I took comfort in the fact that life truly does go on. Living it each day to the fullest and contributing to the life of others was how I wanted to be remembered. I wanted my life to matter.
I wasn't sure how long I was staying in Pacific Grove but I knew I had to do this. I had to make my life matter by recognizing how much Ian had mattered, how much Cyan had lost. How I had played a part in all of it.
I had meant to simply watch her from outside, but it made me feel like a total creeper. Standing six-foot-three inches tall it was kind of hard for me to simply blend in. I had taken a deep breath and pushed open the door. The jingling bells made me feel like I was yelling in a library, the jingles were loud in the quiet gallery. Soft music played overhead and I could hear hushed conversations but I was nervous and hyper sensitive.
The photo of Pinecrest Lake had pulled me right in. I saw it as soon as I walked through the door. I pictured myself standing on the shore, swimming out to the buoys and sunbathing on the rocks. I knew the lake by heart and missed happier times there. The early morning photo with it's golden sunrise and still water made me miss home.
I had to force myself to look at a few other artist's work so I didn't look suspect. For how unprepared I was to see Cyan I think I had covered my thudding h
eart pretty well. I slipped out of the gallery after ten minutes or so, waiting until Cyan had gone into the back room.
I was drawn toward the water and headed there from the gallery. Reaching the ocean I turned right walking along the path for a couple hours lost in my thoughts. I was thankful I had worn my jacket as the ocean breeze cooled as the first stars appeared in the deepening blue sky. My black boots felt like concrete blocks were strapped to my feet. My steps were as heavy as my heart.
Having turned back about an hour ago, retracing my steps, I had found a little coffee shop not far from where I had left my car near the gallery. It was quiet in here with just a few people sitting at the tables scattered about. I welcomed the warmth of being inside, the smell of the ground coffee and the light conversations around me. I sat clutching a large mug of hot coffee staring out over the darkening ocean. My hands were warm now, I wished my heart would follow suit.
My business was mobile, I could work from anywhere. My work was mostly done via emails and over the internet. For larger clients with bigger, more involved projects I would meet them at their company. I had been planning this trip so my work load was caught up with no large projects on the horizon.
There was no time line to this quest of mine, just a need to unburden myself. I was torn between a quick apology, making the encounter as brief as possible before I ran, and a proper confession and begging of forgiveness. Either way I felt trapped.
Warring with myself over just leaving the whole situation alone and disappearing, or doing what I came here to do. She had a life here, a job, a new future. I argued with myself that it wasn't fair for me to come into the picture and stir up old memories, tear open closed wounds. But I felt that I owed her an explanation and I needed to return something that wasn't mine to keep. This was going to be harder than I thought.
After a few days of sun the weather had turned gloomy, matching my mood. Despite the rain I needed the run. It had been three days since I had talked to Cyan at the gallery. I had replayed our brief conversation over and over in my head, pacing my hotel room and taking walks along the ocean.
I was avoiding Cyan and the talk we needed to have. I hadn't gone near the gallery again for fear of running into her on accident. I had to get it right in my head so that when I did talk to her it made sense. The brief talk with her had shook me up. Her beauty, her eyes, the fact that she was in her element, away from her home town had all thrown me.
I kept thinking about the photo of the lake too. I could picture myself standing on the shore. I had been there hundreds of times growing up. While we didn't live in Pinecrest, we lived only fifteen minutes down the hill and I had spent a lot of time fishing and camping at that lake. Seeing the lake through her eyes had really hit home everything she had lost and given up after that night.
That night.
Rain dripped from my hair and into my eyes. Pausing to catch my breath I swiped my hand across my face. Looking up I found my self standing across the street from the gallery. I hadn't even realized I had ran this far. So much for trying to avoid it.
I sat on a wooden bench, a small bronze plaque was attached to the back indicating the bench was donated in memory of a lost loved one. It felt appropriate to sit here, drowning in the down pour. I was cold, but I barely noticed the biting chill. I had been cold for a couple years now.
My elbows rested on my knees my hands hanging down as I leaned forward. I felt dejected, alone and exhausted. It seemed that no matter how hard I had tried to succeed in business, in making good decisions, being a good person and a good friend, I just couldn't move on from that night.
The burden I carried had become too great and I felt physically drained. My head fell forward as I lowered my gaze from the tumultuous sea to the muddy sand at my feet.
Chapter 6 – Cyan
He really was quite handsome. Even with his hair plastered to his head and water dripping down his face. I had no idea why he was running in the pouring rain. Seemed a bit crazy to me. Of course running seemed crazy to me period. The only way I would be running, especially in this downpour, is if something big and scary was chasing me. Or spiders, yeah spiders would make me run too.
I had opened the gallery this morning, going through my normal routine, but the place was completely empty as no one was venturing out in this weather. Except Ryder. By simply thinking his name a warm tingle had moved up my neck.
I had thought about him numerous times over the last three days. I knew nothing about him except his name. He didn't seem to be local, but he also didn't strike me as a tourist on vacation.
I didn't think he would be able to see me staring at him if he turned toward the gallery. I stood behind a large sculpture of a dolphin riding a wave. It was carved from slabs of redwood, heavy and large, it had been smoothed and polished and sat upon a large metal pedestal, raising the four foot tall sculpture off the floor another two feet.
I couldn't tear my eyes off of him. I hadn't felt anything toward another man since Ian. The interest I was feeling was completely foreign and made me nervous. I was tempted to call out to him, invite him in out of the weather. I'm sure I could scrounge up a towel or a blanket in the back room. But I hesitated to take that step.
The bench sat a slight angle to the gallery and I was able to see his side profile. His face appeared strained, his lips were pressed together. Staring out at the water he looked completely lost. When he dropped his head down my heart skipped a beat. I yearned to hold him and smooth away the burden he so obviously carried.
I was startled by this thought. Holding another man? Where had that come from? Ian would always have my heart. But did that mean I would be alone forever? This was a new battle that waged inside me. Something I hadn't even considered over the last couple years. It had never been an issue.
The rain had lightened the last ten minutes or so but then the heavens opened up wide and the rain came down in buckets. I couldn't bear to watch him sit there any longer, looking so sad, alone and wet.
“Ryder!” I called from under the front awning. I wasn't sure he would be able to hear me. I started to call out again but he turned toward me. I waved when he caught my eye. It felt a little too personal using his first name since I had only met him once. I wondered if it would cross his mind that I had remembered his name.
My breath caught in my throat as he stood and jogged toward me. He must have been freezing. He wore lightweight dark blue jogging pants and a white t-shirt. The shirt was plastered to his upper body. I could see perfect abs and a built chest. His eyes were hooded, his hair dark from the rain. I exhaled the breath I didn't know I was holding.
“Hey.” He said stopping a few feet away. He ran his hand back through his hair brushing away the water dripping in his eyes.
“What are you doing out in this weather?” I questioned with a smile backing into the doorway and inviting him under the overhang.
“It was barely sprinkling when I started out. After awhile I didn't even really notice the rain. It's getting cold though.” His grin faltered as his teeth began to chatter.
“Get in here. I'll find you a towel.” I invited, smiling up at him. Geez he was tall. And cute. Get a grip I told myself.
“Ah, I don't want to drip all over your floor. You must think I'm a total idiot.” Stepping onto the floor mat inside the door he tried to smile again. I think his lips were a little blue, not that I was staring at his lips or anything.
“No worries. Stay right there and I'll be right back with a towel.” I shot him a quick smile and headed to the back. The minute it took to find a towel in the back storage closet allowed me time to slow my heart rate to a normal pace as I chided myself for acting like a silly school girl.
“Here you go. Hope this takes off some of the chill. I have a portable heater behind the desk. You're welcome to sit by it to warm up until the rain lets up.”
“Thank you. This is a little embarrassing,” He said taking the towel and rubbing it over his head and down his arms. His hair stood
on end and he quickly smoothed it down with the tips of his fingers. I discreetly watched him rub the towel down his neck, trying not to stare at the rippling muscles in his arms. He headed over to the chair I indicated.
I knelt down next to the chair and flipped on the heater. I shouldn't have looked up into those eyes of his but I did. His gaze was captivating. There was so much expression in those blue eyes of his. Sitting this close I realized they were actually hazel as I saw flecks of green and brown. I was swimming in those eyes and I could feel the heat rising on my cheeks as I looked away. He smiled and averted his eyes at the same time. Surprisingly his smile seemed shy too.
Needing to put a little distance between us I excused myself to the back room again. My heart was beating like crazy and I thought I must be having a panic attack. Or a heart attack. That would be just my luck. Meet the guy that could finally heal my heart only to have that same heart stop beating completely.
He was totally drenched and really needed to put something dry on. I couldn't help him out with any pants but I spied a plastic container of hot pink shirts in the cupboard. Grinning I grabbed an X-Large and headed back out front.
Smiling I tossed him the shirt. “I'm sorry for the color but you could really use something dry.” The dimple reappeared as he looked down at the shirt and raised one eyebrow. “It's a leftover shirt from a Breast Cancer Awareness Walk the gallery participated in last year. I know it's pink, but at least it's dry.”
“Dry sounds really good right now so I think pink is my new favorite color.” He grinned. He looked around, frowning slightly.
Realizing that he wasn't sure where to change I felt my cheeks get warm. He must think I'm standing here like a total idiot, staring at him, expecting him to take off his shirt right in front of me.
“There's a rest room in the back if you would like to change and try to dry off a bit more.” I said. Proud that my voice hadn't cracked and I was able to peel my eyes off his chest. Finally.
Letting Go Page 4