Travis's Stand

by A. C. Bextor

  “You’re different, though, Travis. You’re Sarah’s.”

  Blinking again, I started to get uncomfortable. “I’ll take care of her.”

  “Travis,” she voiced with seriousness. “I need a favor. Can I ask one of you?”

  “Always,” I assured.

  Bean had my complete devotion.

  “I know I’m running out of time. When you’re my age, you’ll know it, too. It’s not as scary as I thought it’d be. But my body is tired.” She reached her hand out, knowing I wasn’t a person who was comfortable with that kind of intimacy. I took it in mine. She squeezed, looking into my eyes. “I see what you don’t.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I know all my boys, Travis. I know when you’re each lost, hurting, happy, or whatever. I also know what’s happening, most times before any of you do.”

  “I don’t understand,” I admitted.

  “As kids, you were always Sarah’s. The others were so busy trying to avoid her maddening ways, but not you. There were times she upset you, frustrated you, sure. But you tolerated her better than the others. She was drawn to you; your kindness and your heart.”

  “I’m not so sure of—”

  Bean cut me off, and squeezed my hand again. “I always worried who Sarah would choose to love. Until recently, I wasn’t sure what that person looked like.”

  “Bean,” I called out, feeling my heart start to race with denial.

  “Travis,” she returned. “Let me finish.”

  “Okay.”

  “I wasn’t sure what this person looked like, because I didn’t want to imagine anyone else. Sarah is yours,” she repeated her earlier sentiment.

  “Devon,” I reminded her carefully.

  Letting go of my hand, Bean looked to the ceiling as she uttered, “Oh, fuck Devon Wilson.”

  Holy Christ in heaven.

  “Bean,” I said, shaking my head. “Your mouth is trash.”

  She snapped back with sass and reminded me, “I’m old, Travis. Elders have rights and I’m taking mine now.”

  I tried to hide my laugh, but couldn’t. “You really don’t like him.”

  “I’m sure he’s a nice person—for someone else. I just don’t trust him with our Sarah.”

  “I see this,” I answered, sitting back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “I’m giving you my blessing.”

  “Bean,” I said calmly, “there’s no need for your blessing.”

  “Not yet, Travis Kyle Nikels, but there will be. So, when your soft heart catches up to that hard head of yours, just know I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll be there to help you get through to her.”

  “Oh, Bean,” I sighed, running my hands through my hair and down my face, searching for clarity. “You’re something else, you know that?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe, but it doesn’t make me any less right. I know what I’m talking about. Deep down, young man, you know it, too.”

  “I’m gonna text the others.” I pulled out my phone after taking one glance at Bean smiling proudly. She had pulled one over on me. I felt it so I asked, “What’s the look about?”

  “Kids aren’t going to be here ’til four thirty, so they aren’t late.”

  “You told me four,” I returned, realizing she set me up.

  “I told you a lot of things today, most of which I hope you’ve listened to as closely as the time.”

  “Good thing I love you.”

  She smiled, rested her hands in her lap, and said, “And that’s why I know Sarah will be okay when I’m gone.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  January . . .

  Travis

  “YOU LOOK SO handsome, Travis,” Rae said to me as she fixed the collar of the pressed white dress shirt I wore under my black suit jacket. I didn’t want to be wearing it and more specifically not for that occasion. I’d be taking it off since we were home, so it didn’t matter if it was wrinkled or out of place. I knew it was a way for Rae to keep her hands busy. I gave her that and didn’t try to convince her the hardest part was finally over.

  “Thank you,” I said halfheartedly.

  “She would’ve been proud of you for. . . .” Rae couldn’t finish her thought out loud. She was enveloped in the same grief we all were that evening.

  Ace, Hayden, Toby, and I stood in as pallbearers as we placed our beloved Bean into the cold ground that seasonably chilly winter afternoon. As we said goodbye to the maternal love of our lives, we each stood proudly by her side one last time. It went unsaid that we were mentally thanking her for everything she had done for us, separately and together.

  Bean was our unsung hero; her beauty was timeless and her inner strength was infinite.

  “Raegan,” I said, trying to pull her out of her sadness, but knowing I couldn’t.

  No one could.

  We were all lost amidst our own grief from losing Bean the way we did.

  Rae’s eyes focused on mine, but her facial expression was kept at a long, lost distance. I pulled her in to hold her; she resisted, and pushed her palms into my chest.

  “I don’t know what any of us are going to do now,” she whispered, finally looking away and down to the ground.

  Understandably, Rae was as devastated as any of us. The first day she met her, Bean welcomed Rae into our circle of friends without questioning where she’d already been. She loved and accepted every part of Rae, including her sad and tragic past, but most especially her sweet young son, Deck.

  Without giving her a choice, I pulled her to me. Once she stopped resisting, she held on tight. I felt her fingers dig in at my sides. I kissed the top of her head and rested my lips there, closing my eyes to help control my own grief. It had been a long day for everyone; it had been a long year.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed Ace coming into the room with my sister, Lacey, following closely behind him. His eyes were red and swollen, from giving in to his grief on the way home from the funeral. He’d never admit that, but I knew without him having to say it out loud.

  “Do you have Sarah?” he asked, with a broken voice stemming from his broken spirit.

  Ace and Sarah weren’t in a good place; more specifically they weren’t in a good place with each other.

  Ace needed to process their loss, as did she, and they couldn’t do it together. So, for the week of the funeral I insisted Sarah stay with me. I had no one to comfort and didn’t want Ace to inadvertently ignore or upset her as he led her and his family through the loss.

  Ace was suffering in a way the rest of us weren’t. Bean was the only voice of reason in his life. Although he strayed away from the path she’d desperately tried to keep him on, it was ultimately Bean who kept Ace on his steady course. At times, she was hard on him, but only in the emotional sense. She made him see what his life was becoming and did everything in her small power to pull him from the depths of his own self-destruction.

  “I’ve got her, Ace,” I assured him. “Take Raegan, go home, and be with Decklan.”

  He walked to me, so I released Rae. Leaning in, he gave me a solid embrace that I reciprocated. It was an embrace of brotherhood and understanding. Without words we knew what we had to do to help the others process and get through. Then, it was up to us to help them learn how to live without her, the way she’d expect all of us to do eventually.

  “I’ve got her,” I said again, slapping his back once more before releasing him. “I’ll keep her with me this week. Don’t worry about her, Ace. She’ll be okay.”

  “Take care of yourself, too. If you need anything, please let us know,” Rae whispered in my ear as I gave her a final hug goodbye.

  “I will,” I confirmed, and watched her turn around and walk into Ace’s open waiting arms.

  Lacey moved toward me after looking back at Hayden standing near the front door, holding Liv in his arms. “Travis,” she called out. “I’m here if you need to talk.”

  I hugged her, pulled away, and looked down into her sh
ining eyes. Her expression mirrored the others.’ She hadn’t known Bean as long as the rest of us, but she knew how her death was going to affect us all, namely Sarah.

  “Go on and get out of here. I’ll call you later.”

  She nodded, walked to Hayden, and looked back at me standing in my living room alone. Hayden’s eyes looked reflective, thoughtful, but also worried. He nodded once before turning around and walking out with his family.

  Understandably, Sarah hadn’t been the same since Bean died just days before. She’d been distant, quiet, and hadn’t wanted anything to do with any of us. Rae’s son, Decklan, even tried but couldn’t cheer her up.

  After the funeral, while we were accepting sympathy from Bean’s friends, Pastor Sheldon pulled Ace aside and handed him two white envelopes. One was marked for Ace and the other for Sarah. When Sarah saw what Ace was holding, the realization hit again and I held her next to me without saying a word. It was the support she needed at the time to keep herself together.

  It was as though Bean’s letters to each of them were the final pieces to the sad puzzle Sarah was still struggling to put together.

  Bean wasn’t ever going to make her way back.

  When I got the news of Bean’s passing, I dropped the phone and fell to my knees in my own solitary anguish. Luckily, I had been home alone that morning. It was the first time since my father had been killed that I allowed myself to succumb to a sadness I had hoped to never feel again.

  Bean was a mother to me. She was a nurturer by nature, but further, her interfering presence was what had held our group together since we met as kids. She was a strong, all-knowing, ever-present force in our lives and I knew without her guidance and understanding everything was about to change.

  In many ways, it already had.

  On the way home from the church, Sarah had clutched the envelope to her chest and stared blankly out the window to the road ahead. She said nothing as we pulled into my apartment complex; also saying nothing as we made our way inside. She walked into my bedroom, not waiting for the others to get there, and hadn’t been out to say goodbye. Ace and Rae tried to talk to her, but they were quickly dismissed. Sarah’s devastation was evident; she was drowning in a sea of grief that no one could rescue her from.

  The matriarch of our family was gone. Her spirit remained, but none of us could feel its presence yet.

  Locking the front door after the others filed out, I turned back into the apartment and exhaled a sad breath. Our friends all shared their lives with someone and had an anchor to help shoulder their grief; someone they could lean on for support. Sarah and I were lucky to have each other.

  I walked aimlessly through my apartment until I heard Sarah’s heavy sobs coming from my room. After taking a few pulls of a much-needed beer, I removed my tie, carelessly tossing it on the kitchen counter, and made my way to her.

  Once there, I found Sarah sitting on my bed, still clutching Bean’s letter to her chest. From the doorway I could see her face was red and her makeup was smudged. She hadn’t changed out of the black dress she’d worn to the service, but her shoes were lying on the floor next to her.

  “Sarah?” I called her name, hoping she’d respond.

  She didn’t.

  After approaching her, I took a seat on the edge of the bed and draped my arm across her legs, leaning toward her. Her long hair had been taken out of the braid she’d worn it in and it hung over her shoulders. Her legs were crossed and she was staring down at the pillow she had placed on her lap. I pulled it away and her face turned to mine; her cornflower-blue eyes were drowning in sadness.

  “Sarah,” I said her name again and immediately, more tears filled her eyes.

  “I want her back,” she stated robotically, as though asking me to pick Bean up from wherever she was and bring her back to her.

  In that moment, I’d have given my own life to make that happen.

  “I know,” I answered, moving the hair that had fallen into her eyes. She blinked at the contact, but then quickly looked away.

  Never allowing her to hide from me, I used my fingers to force her head up so she’d concentrate on my words. “Tell me how to help you. Tell me what I can do to make this easier.”

  My gesture held no meaning at the time, but it was all I could think to offer.

  “I want her back,” she whispered again and grabbed my wrist, holding so tightly her fingertips turned white. “It’s not fair, Travis!” she sobbed. “She was getting better.”

  She hadn’t been, but I didn’t have the heart to tell Sarah that. I felt my throat start to close and my eyes began to burn. Seeing Sarah in such emotional torment was heartbreaking enough, but knowing I couldn’t take away any of her pain was emotionally devastating.

  I had accepted, during Bean’s illness, the role of helping Sarah through it. Many days were spent holding her as she felt the burden of possibly living a life without her best friend in it. I already knew the devastating loss of a loved one, and I wanted so badly to ease Sarah through the loss of hers.

  When Sarah wasn’t with me, which was rare, I ached to be near her to ensure she was okay. She was only a phone call away, but unless she was in my presence, I felt a mix of anxiety and concern. I wanted to be by her side every waking moment.

  Sarah stared at me, her mouth forming a frown, and grabbed the hand I had let drop from her face. She studied my palm and ran her fingers carefully over the lines there.

  “She loved you,” she told me.

  “I loved her.”

  “She hated that I drove you crazy. She used to tell me that I abused you.”

  “You do,” I answered, then watched hopefully as a spark of life lit up her eyes.

  She smiled without sentiment and focused on my hand, held in both of hers.

  “Are you going to read her letter?” I asked.

  “No.” It was painfully evident her mind was made up.

  I released my hand from hers and grabbed the envelope, placing it on her lap. “Read it, Sarah. She has something to say.” She looked at me hesitantly, so I kept trying to convince her. “It hurts. I get that, but do it for her. You need her now and she’s right here. Let her help the only way she can.”

  Sarah played with the opening at the top of the envelope and her thumb hesitantly inched underneath its corner.

  She stopped, looked up at me with eyes swimming in tears, and released the letter. She grabbed me around the neck and pulled me to her. Her sobs weren’t going to be denied; she couldn’t hold them in any longer.

  “I’ll help you through this. You’ve got to let me do that,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

  What did you say to a person who was so overwhelmed and enveloped in grief? How did you comfort their spirit when yours was broken?

  She sobbed into my neck and held me tighter. “I miss her, Travis.”

  Grabbing her shoulders and pulling her from me, I looked into her eyes, determined not to let sadness reflect in my own.

  She saw through me as she always did. “You miss her too,” she noted.

  “Yes,” I answered, looking down and holding her hand in mine. “I’ll always miss her.” I brought her hand to my lips and kissed her palm gently. “She meant a lot to me. She helped me when I lost my dad, remember? She told me life was movin’ on whether I wanted it to or not, and if I didn’t pay attention I was going to miss too much of it.”

  Giving a small smile, Sarah returned, “God, she would say that.”

  “She was her own person, that’s for sure. You’re a lot like her,” I voiced quietly. “She’d wait for you to read it, Sarah, but don’t make her wait long.”

  After studying me for a few seconds, Sarah grabbed the envelope and opened it. She pulled the paper out and unfolded Bean’s words, meant only for her. Drops of tears hit the note before she began reading the words to me.

  Sarah,

  How do I say goodbye to my best friend?

  Sarah dropped the letter and quickly moved herself into my l
ap, burying her face in my neck. I repositioned us so I was able to bear her weight. I leaned against my headboard and rocked her softly, as I had done countless times in the days before.

  Once her sobs subsided, she sat up in my lap and stared into my eyes. The look she gave me was unrecognizable. I couldn’t place it. I’d known Sarah for so long, but I wasn’t looking into a part of her I’d ever truly seen before.

  The last few years, when I wasn’t looking, and while I was protecting her body and caring for her heart, Sarah had grown into her own beautiful woman.

  The same woman, months before, Bean had given me her blessing to have.

  The Sarah I remembered from her childhood was gone. Her face, although still beautiful, no longer held the same marks of adolescence. Her body, now having curves in places a woman’s body should, had forgotten its once awkward posture. Her hair, although still blonde in color, had darkened with age. Even her voice had changed.

  Sarah was still every bit of who she used to be, but now, to me, she was so much more.

  Leaning in, Sarah kissed my lips gently. I froze in place and felt her hand make its way into my hair; the other moved to my face to hold me still. It was a pointless gesture; I wasn’t moving. She continued softly kissing my lips, moving to my chin, then my neck. I still couldn’t move. The moment was fragile; it was also tense and wary.

  When her face came back to mine, all evidence of her tears and sadness were gone. Her mouth was open slightly as she searched my eyes and licked her lips before leaning into me again. I felt her tongue against my own and before I was able to stop myself, I was holding the back of her head in my hand and kissing her with a desperation I didn’t want to consider.

  This is Sarah.

  She’s always been mine, my heart acknowledged.

  I already loved her. She was familiar to me in a way no other woman was.

  Once the kiss became breathless, Sarah pulled away and looked up at me. Her eyes were shining, but not in sadness. She was contemplating something, calculating odds and carefully deliberating her next move. I’d known her long enough to recognize when she was up to something.