Letting Go

by Charity Jackson

  I started a fire in the fireplace to help warm up the room. By started I mean I flipped the handy little switch on the wall that started the flame. I loved that the owner had modernized the old fireplace in the converted cottage. The overhead lights were low with spot lights shining on the artwork. I had soft music playing as usual and candles that smelled like fresh baked cookies burned on the front counter. Now with a fire burning in the fireplace it felt down right romantic in here.

  Heaven help me I'm losing it. Get a grip Cyan. He's just a man. And a fine looking one at that.

  But he was more than that. He was the first man that I hadn't been able to stop thinking about since Ian. The first man that I had really noticed and that I hoped was feeling the same way.

  No pressure big guy, but hey are you in love me yet? Because in my head you totally are. I almost smacked myself upside the head, literally, but was glad I didn't because Ryder strolled back in. Totally rockin' the pink t-shirt.

  He looked a little embarrassed because seriously the shirt was pink. And snug. And fit him oh so well. Wow. “Lovin' the pink on you. You handle it quite well.” I couldn't help but tease him a little.

  Looking down at himself he returned my grin. “You know I do think I'm going to have to reconsider pink on a man.”

  It was still pouring outside and he had just started to get dry. I motioned toward the chairs positioned near the fireplace and invited him to sit down.

  “It was pretty busy in here the other day but today seems really quiet,” He observed lowering himself into the chair nearest the fire.

  “Well Tuesdays aren't a real busy day. I typically work them alone and usually do paperwork, clean, make phone calls. With this weather I won't have too many people stop by.” I had wandered over to the chairs but hadn't sat down. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “Oh, you've already done a lot. I wouldn't want you to go out of your way.” He protested holding his hand up.

  “Seriously, no problem. I just brewed a new pot in the break room. Cream, sugar, both or neither?” I asked already starting toward the back.

  “Lots of both. Thank you.” He said.

  His eyes were hooded again and I swear the sadness had returned.

  Chapter 7 – Ryder

  You have her bringing you coffee? What an ass. I couldn't help but feel irritated at myself. I was here to apologize to this beautiful woman. Beg her forgiveness. Not have her waiting on me, bringing me coffee. And a towel. And a dry shirt. I really needed to leave but couldn't tear myself away from her.

  I lied to myself. You just need to get to know her a little better. Have her get to know you, realize you're not a bad guy. You're not some kind of heartless monster. That things happen and sometimes you can't change them. Then you'll be able to better break the news to her.

  Shifting in the chair I angled closer to the fireplace and ran my cold hands through my drying hair and down my face, cupping my mouth. I had no idea what I was doing.

  Leaning back, I watched her walk across the open room holding two large coffee mugs. She was wearing black dress pants and a dark red sweater. Her long, brown hair was hanging loose. The green of her eyes looked like shining emeralds in the low light. It was difficult to tear my eyes from her face long enough to take the mug of coffee she held out.

  Besides that first day in the gallery I had only seen her a couple times before. A little more than two years ago and it wasn't under good circumstances. She obviously didn't recognize me. Coming to the Monterey area to find her, I wasn't sure if she would recognize me or not, and I was glad she didn't. I told myself again that I needed to get to know her, to connect with her so that she would hear me out when the timing was right.

  “So Ryder, what brings you to Pacific Grove?” she asked.

  Such a simple question. Such a complicated answer. I went for half-truths. I would confess everything eventually but right now I just needed this. I needed to hear how she's doing, how she has handled the last couple years. I need to know that she's okay and has plans for her future. Dreams and hopes. That's all I want for her.

  I was still unsure how to answer her question so I stalled by taking another sip of my coffee. “I guess I could say that I'm taking the time to face something from my past.” I looked at her briefly before turning my eyes to the fire. Watching the flames flicker around the charred wood. Desperate to change the course of the conversation I asked her the same question. “What brings you to the Monterey area?” I realized after asking that I was implying that she hadn't always lived here, something I shouldn't know, but she didn't seem to notice.

  “Ah, that's a long story.” She said.

  It was just a statement, nothing in her voice conveyed anything. But her eyes said something else. I saw the flicker of pain, the slight pained expression and my heart literally ached. I knew her story. I knew her loss. And I knew where the blame belonged.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I don't know why that fell out of my mouth. Could I really sit and hear what happened in her words? Could I really ask her to tell me, a complete stranger, about the absolute worst time of her life?

  “Maybe sometime. Right now let's just enjoy the coffee, rain and fire.” She smiled, her face brightened and I swear a curtain closed behind her eyes. The story was off limits for now and I was okay with that. I really wasn't ready for this discussion, but I couldn't help but notice that there was a slight promise that there may be another conversation in the future. That meant I would get to see her again. Man, I was getting in too deep already.

  Chapter 8 – Cyan

  “I do believe you're swooning my dear.” Evelyn teased. I know she was delighted. This is the first man I had discussed with her since moving here, besides Ian of course.

  I reached across the counter and swiped the hand towel at the flour dusting the side of her face. “You be quiet flour lady. I'm not swooning, just a bit smitten is all.” I winked at her and she laughed. Her silver hair was piled on her head in a stylish bun. She wore a red apron, covered in flour, over house pants and loose shirt. She was spry and lovely for her age.

  “Well whatever it is, it looks good on you. When do you see your mystery man again?” She asked.

  Ryder and I had sat and talked for more than four hours at the gallery. Our conversation had stayed relatively light. Neither of us delved into any topics that seemed overly deep. I certainly didn't mention Ian. The time wasn't right and it's not like we were dating or anything. This was simply conversation with a complete stranger. I was open to changing that though.

  It was nice to talk to someone my age. Someone who didn't know my past and didn't feel sorry for me. He told me stories about some of his clients and the graphic design business he owned. This gave me a little insight into his understanding of color use and his remarks about the painting the other day. I told him all about Evelyn and how great she is. We talked about my photography and the images I had displayed.

  Ryder seemed gentle and sweet. He was a great listener and funny when he wanted to be. For as handsome as he is I didn't get any indication of arrogance or smugness. The sadness seemed to always be with him though. At times he appeared slightly distracted and when our conversation would lull a bit I watched him as he stared at the flames in the fireplace and he seemed a million miles away. Then he would blink, slowly coming back to the present and I would look away before he caught me staring.

  The rain had poured down nearly the whole time. Finally lifting around two o'clock, Ryder excused himself, apologizing for having kept me from work. As if. Once he left it wasn't like I actually got anything done anyway. I couldn't stop thinking about him. He had left his damp shirt hanging in the bathroom and I found myself lifting it to my nose and breathing him in. Just a little, and I made sure no one saw me. That's not creepy or anything, right? I sighed, I was totally swooning.

  “I'm not sure if I'll see him again.” I said, finally answering Evelyn. “We hadn't discussed it or anything. We just talked for hours and the
n he said he had to go. He seemed to enjoy the time though. I mean he wouldn't have stayed that long if he didn't enjoy being around me, right?” I looked at Evelyn expectantly. Maybe he just stayed that long because of the rain. I hadn't thought about that. My old insecurities started creeping back up. Maybe I had totally over thought the whole situation. For all I knew he had a girlfriend or a wife. Oh geez, I'm a nut job.

  “Stop panicking. I can see it in your eyes.” Evelyn admonished. “Of course he enjoyed talking with you. No man sits anywhere for four hours, talking, unless he enjoys the company. Rain or no rain. He could have always called a cab you know.”

  I grabbed one of the oatmeal raisin cookies resting on the cooling rack and sat back on the bar stool across the counter from where Evelyn was baking. That woman baked more than the local bakery did, I swear. If I didn't pace myself I was going to put on ten pounds just sitting here. She smacked my hand lightly with a spatula but I know she didn't care that I had snagged another cookie.

  I considered what Evelyn said, he could have called a cab. I smiled to myself. I thought about calling my mom and talking with her about Ryder, but it was too early. She had loved Ian dearly and his death had been very painful for my whole family. I wasn't ready to say anything about meeting someone in case nothing came of this.

  If something came of this. I thought that over. There was no doubt that my mom would be happy for me. She knew that I would eventually meet someone that I cared about romantically. That I couldn't be alone forever. We had discussed this in the last few months, briefly, but she had mentioned it. I think she was prepping my heart to let Ian go. I had to allow myself a future. My future with Ian had been ripped from me and I believed that I would be with him again someday, but that wouldn't be for a long time. In the meantime I needed to start living again, embrace the present and look forward to the future. Not forget the past, just not let it suppress my future.

  You hear people say all the time, when a loved one passes away, that they would or wouldn't have wanted something for the people left behind. Now that I was in this situation I understood that statement. It seemed so flippant before, but now, now I could relate. Ian wouldn't have wanted me to stop living when he did. Sometimes it really did feel like I had taken my last real breath when he had.

  But now, meeting Ryder something had awoken in me. We'd only shared some coffee and conversation, but no matter what, it felt like I was coming back to life. I was starting to warm a little. And it felt oh so good.

  Chapter 9 – Ryder

  The spot on the ceiling seemed to be moving. I had been staring at it for a couple hours. The bed was fairly comfortable, my arms crossed behind my head, my ankles crossed. I hadn't moved a muscle in a while and I was starting to feel stiff.

  Stretching I rolled onto my stomach and flopped down like a little kid. I had no idea what I was doing. I tried to come across so collected and in control. Ever since I had stepped foot in this town, since I had met Cyan specifically, I felt completely out of control.

  Talking with her for hours had actually been nice but I had moments of panic. I know she noticed me zone out but she politely kept it to herself.

  Sitting there hearing her voice brought me back to the court room. I had sat in the back row during my brother Bobby's trial. I know I should have sat with my parents, right behind him, to show my support, but the whole trial put me on edge. I felt like I could have a panic attack at any moment and sitting in the back of the courtroom made me feel like I could escape if needed.

  I had moved back to my old hometown for a few months when Bobby was arrested and to be close to my parents during the trial. I had been in business for about three years at this point and I was able to work from anywhere, so I just packed it up and moved back home.

  I had a hard time hearing the details of the night of Ian Brooks' murder. The prosecution, Bobby's confession, the statements by various family members had all been torturous. Hearing Cyan, the beautiful young fiance of the dead man, cry on the stand and recall in painstaking detail what had happened that night had felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest.

  She had taken the stand with her head held high. I could sense the anger rolling off her, but she was controlled. She had tried to catch Bobby's eye the whole time she replayed that night, but Bobby looked down nearly the entire time with his head in his hands. I saw him glance up briefly when Cyan's voice had cracked and tears started streaming down her face.

  I loved my brother, but Bobby had always been a follower, getting mixed up with people he shouldn't have. His crooked grin and double dimples, light hair and bright blue eyes had made him a charmer with the girls early on. It was enough of a distraction that he started letting school slide as we got older, barely graduating high school. College wasn't even on his radar and he started getting mixed up with more and more negative influences as he moved through his twenties. He was two years older than me so I was spared some of the more major issues he had created when I had left home at eighteen.

  It killed me to see him sitting behind the defendant table. He was all alone, even with the public defender sitting beside him who was in way over his head with the skilled prosecuting attorney.

  Bobby was twenty-seven at the time of the trial but he looked like a lost little boy. My parents sat behind him dutifully in the wooden pews. They both aged physically during the brief trial. Bobby's eventual confession and plea deal had wrapped the trial up sooner than we expected.

  The lights in my small hotel room were off, the heavy curtains drawn shut. Slivers of the morning light shown at the edges. I could hear the cleaning crew moving around in the hall outside my room. Doors were opening and closing and the muffled sound of a vacuum cleaner came through the wall. My Do Not Disturb sign had been hanging off the door handle the last couple days. I definitely didn't want to be disturbed.

  My stomach grumbled as I hadn't even gotten out bed yet. I didn't feel like eating though. Coffee sounded good, but moving didn't. Turning back over to continue staring at the ceiling I replayed all that happened. From that fateful night, through the arrest and trial, Bobby's sentencing and my parents withdrawal. So much needed to be said in our family, but no one wanted to go there, so as usual we had all retreated to our corners and the questions never got answers.

  My thoughts drifted further back to our childhood. Bobby and I had been close when we were younger. Before he started getting in trouble. Our older brother Jace was only a couple years older than Bobby, but the four years between him and I might as well have been a hundred. He had little time for his youngest brother and there wasn't too much we seemed to have in common.

  Once when we I was twelve, Bobby fourteen, we had caught a ride to Pinecrest Lake with our mom. She needed to run a few errands and had agreed to drop us off near the lake. I was amazed that she had allowed it. Maybe she felt we were growing up a bit, maybe she just needed a break. Whatever the reason we were ecstatic to have a little freedom.

  It was the middle of summer and the sun was blazing hot. We were so excited to have a day at the beach and had both stripped off our shirts and splashed around in the water in our old cut-off jeans. Most likely hand-me-downs, that once they became too short for me had been re-purposed once again into shorts for us both.

  With my eyes closed I thought back to that day. We had swam out to a cluster of large rocks about fifty feet from shore. The water was cold and felt amazing against the heat of the summer sun. The lake was down a little that summer, exposing more of the rocks, and there was a large flat area on the top of the rocks that we both laid down on to warm up in the beating sun.

  Laying there Bobby had confessed to me that he had kissed Tammy Johnson on the last day of eighth grade. Tammy was a beautiful red headed girl in his class who all the boys had a crush on. He had a self satisfied smirk on his face while I had looked at him in awe. Tammy really was beautiful and even the boys in my class would stare at her when we were out on the playground. Bobby's level of coolness went up a few
notches that day and I idolized him a little more. I felt cool by association.

  That day at the lake, swimming and sunning ourselves, splashing in the water and eating hot dogs and sno-cones had been the highlight of my summer. It was one of the best memories of my childhood.

  Going home that night I remember laying in bed, in the room Bobby and I shared, and Bobby and I had talked about what a blast we had had that day. I remember feeling completely content and we both fell asleep that night with huge smiles on our faces.

  Blinking away the memories I rubbed my hands across my face turning away from the window. After the trial I had moved back to my old routine. There was nothing left for me at home and I was determined to get on with my life. To put that night behind me. To forgive myself for not stepping up and saying anything about what I knew, how I was involved.

  Now here I was two years later, still seeking forgiveness and hoping I would get it from Cyan. Maybe with her forgiveness I could finally forgive myself.

  How could I expect this beautiful, caring woman to forgive me for my roll that night? For the transgressions of my family. This was such an impossible situation. She needed to know the truth, I needed to tell her. Selfishly I needed to unburden myself but at what expense? I couldn't move forward unless I did, but was I going to hurt her in the process? No, not was I going to hurt her, but how bad was I going to hurt her.

  I threw my arm over my face when I felt the tears roll down my cheeks. I didn't make a noise, just allowed the hot tears to flow freely. I hadn't cried since the day Bobby was sentenced. Even then it had been behind tinted windows in my car, parked behind an abandoned building down town. That day I had sobbed, my head bent against the steering wheel, my face hidden behind my crossed arms. I remember I wasn't even sure what I was crying for. It was just everything, it was all so sad. The loss of Bobby's freedom, the loss of Ian Brooks' life, and the loss felt by so many because of a few seconds of stupidity.