“No. I’m sorry. I worry that you’ll skip a year before going to college to work, that’s all. Once you do that, it’s hard to change courses.”
“I have every intention of going to college. ‘Barney’s’ is not my dream career choice. Don’t worry. I’m keeping all my options open.”
Taylor turned toward us, her brows puckering. “You two talking about me?”
“We’re discussing that sweet little butt crack showing with you sitting that way. Mom’s jealous of your pink thong.” Taylor gasped and slapped her hand to her backside. Everything was covered, but when she joined Mom in a pillow attack against me, her shirt gaped enough to let me know my educated guess was right on. Pink bra meant pink panties, and a familiar longing to touch her again awakened all key body parts. Headache tomorrow for sure. No way could I even think about getting remotely intimate with Taylor right now. The thought that maybe I’d never be brave enough, or that she’d never let me try, scared me. She was right. Things were different.
**
Mom threw a fit when she caught me filling a backpack with a change of clothes.
“You are not spending the night with Taylor young man. It’s inappropriate.”
“Mom, I’m eighteen, you can’t stop me. I’m staying with Taylor tonight so she can face her fears with someone, not alone. I have no intention of taking things beyond ‘appropriate’ so relax.”
Taylor filled the doorway. “You don’t have to, Riley. I think I’ve faced enough ghosts for one day.”
My mother’s face flushed bright red. Served her right. “Sweetheart, I just meant—”
“It’s okay Mrs. Martin. You’re not the first person to worry about my sexual issues.”
My fists rolled tight. “Ugh! Would you two stop already?” I turned to Taylor. “I’m sleeping beside you tonight. Case closed.”
I turned to my mother, nervously fidgeting with her hands. “Stop worrying. I’m not Jax.”
Forty-Two
THE TEST
Taylor
“Breathe, Taylor,” Riley reminded inside the dark shadows.
“I’m trying. Why can’t we leave the light on?”
“Babe, you’ve got to do this the normal way. Lights off and sleep.”
“I’m scared to close my eyes.”
“I know, but I’m right here if you need me, okay?”
“Okay.”
I faced him, the outline of his body barely visible. He lay on his back, his hands folded over his stomach. His legs crossed and his stocking clad feet rubbed against each other. We were fully dressed, except for shoes. I lay beneath layers of bedding while Riley slept on top.
Sometime in the night, Riley got cold and slipped beneath the blankets. Without realizing, I’d wandered next to him, asleep in the crook of his arm. Outside, the wind kicked up and something clanked against the window pane, startling me. I didn’t know where I was for a moment, but I felt a body against mine. When an arm snugged my shoulders and tried to pull me closer, I bolted upright and screamed.
“No! Get away from me! Don’t touch me!”
Arms reached around me and an overwhelming panic took over. I slapped and scratched at the dark shadow grabbing at me.
“Ouch! Shit! Taylor, stop!”
The bedroom door slammed against the wall and the room lit up brilliant white. Bodies raced for the bed, first to end Riley’s life, assuming he’d done the “unthinkable,” then smothered me when they realized we both still wore the clothes we had on at dinner. I’d suffered a flashback.
Riley’s hand bled from my scratches and I pulled it to my mouth, kissing off the blood. His eyes darkened and my breasts tingled, scaring me. I dropped his hand and turned away, facing a real visual nightmare. Apparently, my straight-laced mother wears lacy, sheer nighties to bed. The image would take years to erase, but not as long as the picture of Dr. Shephard in a pair of form-fitting briefs.
The focus switched from me, to Mom and Marshall. Grammy left the room loudly “tsk-tsking” her tongue, and Mom ripped the bedspread off the end of the bed to wrap around her and the man whose face I may never look upon again.
Mom smoothed the hair away from my face. “Just a nightmare, sweetie. That’s all.”
“I think it was more than a nightmare, Grace.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Marshall! Can I be right just this once? What Taylor imagined wasn’t real.”
“I’m right here,” I tried interjecting.
“If it wasn’t real, then it had to be more of a dream...a bad dream,” she continued, ignoring me.
“Grace, when someone has suffered something as traumatic as Taylor has—”
“Guys! Shut up!” I shouted, silencing their argument. “I’m fine, okay? I had a flashback, I know. Marshall told me it could happen, but yeah, they’re kind of like a nightmare, so you’re both right. Now leave.”
“But—”
Riley leaned forward, locking his gaze on my mother. “Leave. Please.” When no one moved, Riley moved to the door, gesturing to the hallway. “Good night. We’ll see you both at breakfast.”
They shuffled together, nearly tripping over each other trying to stay wrapped in the bedspread. Once around the corner, the spread was tossed to a lump in doorway. Riley couldn’t help himself, and blew a cat whistle, resulting in a slammed door at the end of the hall.
“You’re terrible,” I giggled.
“That’s not what I’ve been told,” he teased and I stopped laughing. He sighed heavily. “You want the door left open?”
“No.”
“Locked?” I shook my head frantically. “Unlocked it is.”
Riley gathered the decorative pillows off the floor and lined them down the center of the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Forming a barrier. I need to protection from your lethal fingernails.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know it was you. I thought—”
“Babe, I know. Stop worrying.” He turned on the lamp next to the bed before turning off the overhead light, then settled on the other side of the puffy fabric wall.
“Aren’t you going to turn off the light?” I asked, curious.
“Nope. This way if you attack me, I’ll know you’re doing it on purpose. Now go to sleep. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be awakened early.”
“God, I just hope they’re dressed. Can you believe my mother? And Dr. Shephard?”
Riley kissed his finger and pressed my nose. “Go to sleep.” His eyes closed but a grin pulled one corner of his mouth. “Your mom actually looks pretty good.” His arm went up and blocked my hand. “It’s a compliment, babe. You’re going to age really well.”
**
The next day, Riley worked and I met up with him for garlic burgers and fries at quitting time. We cuddled and kissed, more like old times, with tongues playing hide-and-seek, but Riley’s lips barely grazed my neck and his hands groped my hair, nothing else. Later, when I climbed into bed with him wearing pajamas, he insisted I put my clothes back on. Everything turned sideways.
Tonight would be our last night together before I returned to Boston. Riley’s mom invited me to dinner, a welcome change from the constant counseling session at Grammy’s. After we ate, his dad insisted on helping with the dishes, so I talked Riley into walking down to the pond before the sun disappeared.
A thin layer of ice covered the dark gray water, dusted with ice crystals on the corners constantly shaded. The thicket’s dirt floor had a carpet of fresh snow from this morning’s surprise storm. Riley walked around the far side of the pond, poking the ice with a stick. I rubbed my arms, wishing he’d fold me inside his and warm me.
“Do you want me to make a fire?”
“No, I want you to hold me. Like old times.”
“I hold you,” he retorted, wounded. “You’re the one holding back.”
The truthful words bit as hard as the cold air. “I do not,” I lied in a small voice.
Riley unzipped his parka and wrapped me insi
de. His heart thumped against my cheek and my body ached for him. I desperately wanted to explore his body with my hands, but he stiffened in my arms, when I slid my hands inside his back pockets.
I stepped out of his embrace and removed my coat, then my shirt, standing vulnerable and freezing in the pink and blue striped bra he favored. My nipples pushed hard against the fabric and a bubble rolled down Riley’s throat.
“Touch me,” I demanded.
“What?”
“Put your hands on my boobs.”
“Taylor…”
I reached behind me and undid the clasp, feeling the straps slowly slide down my arms and fall from my fingertips. “Why won’t you touch me?”
“Babe, put your shirt on.”
“Not until you put your hands on my boobs.”
Riley took two steps, whisking my coat off the ground and wrapping it around me. He held it closed in his fists. “Taylor, I want nothing more than to hold my favorite body parts and feel you give Riley Jr. a squeeze, but it’s not happening. You’re not ready.”
“Is there someone else?”
“Shit! No, there’s not another girl! What the hell is going on?”
I shrugged out of his grip and put my coat on, zipping it to my chin and leaving my shirt and bra on the frozen ground. Angry tears burned, but I pushed them down.
“Well, if you don’t want me, no one ever will. It proves my point. I’m damaged.”
“Is that what this is? A fucking test!” he shouted. He fisted his hair and angry puffs formed little clouds around his face.
“Damnit Taylor! Of course I want you. I love you, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be an experiment to measure your broken heart against. If you don’t have any more faith in me than that, then find yourself a Harvard frat boy to test your theories on. Not me.”
He started for the trail, “Grab your clothes and come one. It’s freezing out here. I’ll take you back to Lydia’s.”
“I can get myself back to Grams.” I marched off in the opposite direction, along the creek bank, leaving my embarrassing remnants behind. Riley rushed after me, slipping on the icy rocks. He grabbed my elbow, but I yanked out of his grasp.
“Go to hell, Riley.”
“Taylor, you don’t mean that.”
“You know what, Martin? I’m tired of everyone telling me how I feel. None of you were raped. I was. You’re right. I should throw myself at someone else, because I desperately need to feel something besides, anger and hate. I also deserve to feel something besides protected. I want to be loved…and I want to see that lustful need in a boy’s eyes again. Not disappointment.”
**
After a hot shower, I climbed into bed, naked, wrapped inside a green and purple cocoon. I didn’t call Riley to apologize and he didn’t call me. Tonight, I’d face my nightmares alone. Tomorrow, I’d return to Boston having killed all the demons and any future with Riley.
Forty-Three
MERRY F’N CHRISTMAS
Riley
“Hey, bro, get your lazy ass out of bed. The munchkin’s driving the old man nuts wanting to open presents. Mom says he can’t touch one until we’re all together.”
I refused to open my eyes, let alone acknowledge Jax’s presence. “Start without me.”
“No can do. You’re coming with me. Fuck up Christmas, Riley, and Mom will kill you.”
Jaxson came home on a furlough before he shipped overseas for six months. The roles in our house had changed dramatically. He was now revered the “golden boy,” fussed over and bowed to every time he entered the room. Me? I’d become the “bad seed.”
Since Taylor cut me out of her life on Thanksgiving, I’d taken to staying out all hours of the night, sometimes sneaking in the basement window and pretending to be asleep on the couch with the television going. Luckily, I’d accomplished my goal of completing all my credits to graduate early, so when I didn’t show up to school, no one called Dad.
I dated a minimum of three girls at a time, sometimes on one given night, letting my hands wander at will. However, my pants stayed on and my heart remained caged. Sex, as bad as I wanted it, I realized now, played a huge part in a relationship. I wouldn’t take anyone’s innocence away on a selfish whim. Besides, my bruised heart still belonged to Taylor, even if time passing without hearing from her, fed my jealous fears that someone replaced me. I held onto a glimmer of hope that someday she’d come back and my world would spin right again.
Jax flipped Taylor’s striped bra against my head, the snap sending a burning pain across my forehead. I kept it dangling off the bedpost mostly to freak out Mom. It also served as a constant reminder of how I screwed things up.
She’d begged for my touch…pled for me to want her like before, but I couldn’t. Yeah, Taylor standing there topless made me bat-shit horny in less than two seconds, but I refused to be a band-aid for a wound that hadn’t healed…in either of us.
Taylor’s rape stripped the passion from our relationship, turning us from “girlfriend and boyfriend” to “victim and I-don’t-know-what.” Some days I served as counselor, changing to cheerleader, and without warning, emotional “punching bag.” But not boyfriend, definitely not lover. I didn’t know how “to be” with Taylor. We became afraid instead of in love, neither trusting we wouldn’t hurt the other. Guilt seemed to be the only feeling we shared, but now we suffered that alone. Or at least I did.
**
I stumbled downstairs, holding my hand up to summon silence until I poured myself a cup of coffee. The hot, bitter liquid burned a trail down my dry throat to my empty stomach. Jax was right. I couldn’t screw up Christmas. It wasn’t my family’s fault Taylor and I split. I wasn’t sure exactly who should be blamed. All I knew was I felt miserable and lonely.
The day followed the same schedule pretty much as any other day except for the imitation angel choirs blaring through every speaker in the house, and the scent of wassail and burning cinnamon candles filling the air. Thanks to a constantly full punch bowl of Mom’s homemade eggnog, Dad stayed in a constant state of euphoria. Jax snuck Dirk a taste when “parental supervision” became occupied entertaining the endless flow of visitors who attended our annual Christmas afternoon open house.
After completing my required shower and pulling on one of the three name-brand T-shirts I’d been given by my current “ladies in waiting,” I eased through the bodies filling the entry and kitchen. A bottle of Dad’s private stash of ale hidden the garage and I were going for my daily walk past Lydia Daniels. I knew Taylor was on a Caribbean cruise celebrating her mother’s wedding, but not because she told me. Mrs. Daniels slipped the information to me last night at Christmas Eve services.
Maybe that could be the reason for my lack of holiday spirit. Secretly, my Christmas wish came wrapped in a prayer for a phone call at least…another one of many wishes lately, not coming true.
Thinking I passed outside Mom’s radar detection, I stepped into the laundry room to grab my coat. She caught me before I exited the garage.
“Would you take this pumpkin bread to Lydia for me?” Her brow rose before I could create a lie. “You’ll never fool your mother, mister. And you better sneak a bottle out of the box behind the tool chest. He’s counted your usual stockpile. I’ll replace the bottle when I go to the grocery store this weekend.”
God, I loved my Mom. Of all the melodic voices crooning inside the house, none sounded as angelic as hers or matched her face, flushed from a tad too much rum while making her eggnog. She placed the warm bread in my hands and pulled the collar on my coat around my ears.
“Not that I condone you drinking anything alcoholic at your age, but its Christmas…and my heart aches for yours.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. “Don’t stay away long. Everyone will be gone in a couple of hours and I’d like to snuggle with all my Martin men by the fire to see the day out. Okay?”
“Okay. Love you, Mom.” I kissed her hair, smelling of everything from this morning’s waffles to roaste
d turkey. “Thanks for the new truck tires, by the way.”
“Santa thought they may come in handy…you know, just in case.”
I bounced the bread, feeling tears burn behind my eyes. “You better get inside before you’re missed and I can’t break the law.” We both smiled, eyes shimmering. When the garage door closed, I grabbed my illegal bottle of beer and walked out into the icy air.
When I took the last crusty sounding steps over the rise to Lydia Daniels’s house, my heart pounded with imagined anticipation of finding the Mini parked in the driveway, like it did every day when I passed by. But as I stood at the edge of the snow blanketed lawn watching Mrs. Daniels tiny tree in the living room window blink red and green, overwhelming sadness swamped me. Taylor wouldn’t be back anytime soon, if ever.
Mrs. Daniels waved to me from the window and met me at the door.
“Come in here, quick. It’s freezing out there.” She took the warm bread from my hands and held it to her nose. “Yum. Nothing says “home” like a warm loaf of homemade bread. I’ll get some butter and we can share a piece.”
I agreed to a cup of warmed over coffee and a slice of bread, not wanting to hurry home and pretend at being “merry.” I also sensed Lydia Daniels, like me, felt lonely…abandoned.
After several minutes of small talk, avoiding anything remotely related to Taylor, Lydia offered to return my bed, cementing my fears. I refused. The memory of sleeping next to Taylor, smelling Herbal Essence on her silken strands of hair and the bubble gum scent of her favorite chapstick spread over lips, parted and breathing sleepily, would remain with the bed. My heart couldn’t take the nightly torture.
After swallowing the last of my coffee, I made my way to the door.
“Wait, Riley. I almost forgot.” Mrs. Daniels handed me a small, padded brown envelope, decorated in a ring of postage stamps. “Taylor said if you stopped by, to give this to you. I don’t know what’s inside and she wouldn’t say. In fact, she says very little to me anymore.”
“She at least talks to you. I’ve given up hope.”
She pressed her lilac scented hand to my cheek. “Never give up hope, dear boy. Love is a peculiar thing. Just as you think the ashes have cooled, something sparks and the fire is rekindled. Give it time.”
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