Beautiful Fall

by Jordyn White

  That pie was pretty damned good, too.

  Chapter 34

  Brett

  Two weeks after I checked Jessica into rehab, I take Max to visit her for the first time. The simplest way to explain the situation was to tell him his mom was sick and staying in the hospital for a while so the doctors could help her get better. That left all kinds of details out, of course, but gave him the most important part of the truth.

  We meet her in the facility’s inner courtyard. There’s a concrete slab with plastic tables and chairs, and a grassy area of about the same size. I’m carrying Max’s soccer ball, having promised him that the three of us would be able to kick it around.

  There are only two other patients on the patio, both sharing a table and smoking, but Jessica is at another table on her own, waiting for us. She’s in jeans and a clean t-shirt. Her hair is still pink but it’s well-groomed and she’s pulled it back into a simple ponytail. She still looks a little worn, but is much improved. Her skin has a healthier appearance, and when she sees Max and breaks into a smile, it’s so fresh and genuine, it reminds me of the woman she once was.

  She goes to him, arms open and her eyes not leaving him, like she’s drinking him in and can’t get enough. He runs to her and she goes down on one knee, arms out. “Oh, hi baby,” she says as he throws his arms around her. Still clutching him, she kisses his cheek again and again. “Momma missed you.”

  “Me too. When are you getting out?”

  She and I exchange glances. They were able to get her off the Percocet and manage her symptoms through the withdrawals. Her body is starting to recover from what it’s been through, so she’s hopeful she can get out in another couple of weeks, but it really depends on what the doctors say.

  “I’m not sure, baby,” she says, allowing him to pull back, but keeping him close and looking into his face. “A few more weeks, at least.”

  “Okay.” There’s a hint of disappointment in his voice even though I’ve already told him it will be a while.

  She pinches her eyes shut and brings him in for another hug. “I have to give you extra hugs,” she says, holding onto him, “so you can keep them till you see me again.”

  I look away, swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat. I remember this open, affectionate mother. I remember her.

  “And here are kisses to put in your pocket.”

  Giggling and kissing sounds draw my eyes back to the scene. She’s planting little kisses on his palm in rapid fashion, and he’s squirming, apparently finding it ticklish.

  “Okay put them away quick,” she says, releasing him at last, “before you lose them.” He complies, awkwardly shoving his little hand in his front pocket. “You can pull one out any time you miss me, okay?”

  He nods eagerly. “Can we kick the soccer ball?”

  “Yes! I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

  Her eyes leap to mine again. She stands, giving me a smile that’s almost radiant. “Hello, Brett.”

  “Hi, Jess. You’re feeling up to this?”

  Out of habit, I fear she’ll find a reason to back out, but she doesn’t. “Oh, yes. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Not now, you wouldn’t.

  I keep having thoughts like this. She seems to be turning herself around, and I’m glad. But there are all these old resentments coming to the surface. I’m glad she’s improving, but sometimes I get irritated too. Why couldn’t she have done this before?

  I remind myself that I can’t go back, and try to focus on the now.

  I turn my attention to Max. “Just for a little bit, remember? We don’t want to wear your mom out.”

  “I’m all right.” She tousles his hair, still looking at me.

  That’s a look I recognize too.

  Still a confusing mix of hopefulness and frustration, I ignore it. I walk past them both and drop the ball on the grass. “You start, Max.”

  We stay longer than we maybe should have. I tried to stop it more than once, her growing weariness concerning me, but they both always asked for a few minutes more. And I always gave in. Max hasn’t had a mother in so long. How can I deny him? It’s the thing I’ve wanted most for him. I have to let him have it, even if it’s just for a few moments in the courtyard of a rehab facility.

  Still, eventually I bring it to a stop and we leave so she can rest.

  This time, I distance myself from the goodbye with its accompanying hugs and kisses and everything that stirs up in me.

  Not long after Max met Lizzy, he asked if we could have her and Montana over for a sleepover. Instead, I took him to her place last Saturday afternoon as a trial run. I wasn’t sure which he enjoyed more, playing in the pool or playing with her dog.

  Encouraged by this, I invited both Lizzy and Montana to come over Friday after work. Max is excited to see Montana, and the feeling seems to be mutual. The two are never far apart. Max’s new favorite activity is throwing the rope toy for Montana to fetch, which is what he does while Lizzy and I make lasagna. We use her recipe, and she swears Max won’t even know there’s spinach in it. I’m pleased to discover later that she’s right.

  After dinner, Lizzy teaches Max some of Montana’s tricks. His favorite is lying on the floor next to the dog, covering himself with a blanket, and giggling when Montana starts pawing at the edge of the blanket until Max covers him up too.

  The more we all spend time together, the more amazed I am at how well things are going. Other than some initial missteps over times when Max needed correction or discipline—I’ve since asked her to leave that to me—they’re getting along great. She seems to genuinely enjoy him, which is important to me. I don’t know that she could ever love him as much as his own mother, but it appears she’d be a caring substitute.

  It still kills me that my little boy has to even worry about substitutes, but Lizzy is making that considerably easier.

  As for me, just me. I can’t get enough of her. She’s a salve to all my worries, about Jess or anything else. We’re spending so much time with one another, we’re practically living together. More than once I’ve asked myself what it would be like to have a future with her. A real future. That inevitably leads to a mix of excitement and fear. I was with Jessica almost three years before I married her and that still didn’t work out. So how could I think about anything long term after just six weeks with Lizzy?

  Am I a fool?

  But I can’t deny the way I feel about this woman. Elizabeth Rivers has come into my life like an absolute storm.

  I’m still trying to figure out what it all means. But it’s definitely not nothing.

  Chapter 35

  Lizzy

  I promised Max I’d bring a story for the “sleepover” tonight, so we’re all stretched out on his bed while I read The Pokey Little Puppy for the second time. Max is lying between Brett and me, his head tucked against my shoulder and making my heart melt, and Montana is on the foot of the bed.

  Actually on the bed. My mother never would’ve allowed such a thing, but Brett doesn’t have a problem with it. They had a dog growing up and he has fond memories of it sleeping with him because even though it was technically the family dog, in truth it was his dog.

  Just as the pokey little puppy is going to bed without his strawberry shortcake, Max suddenly scrambles out of bed and goes to the laundry basket in the closet.

  “What are you doing, Max?” I ask.

  “I miss Mommy.” My heart pinches a little. Regardless of my insecurities over Brett and Jessica, that has nothing to do with Max. I can certainly understand him missing his mom.

  He digs into the pocket of a pair of pants, then presses his hand to his lips.

  “His mom gave him kisses to keep in his pocket,” Brett explains in a low voice as Max crawls back onto the bed.

  Ah.

  “My pajamas don’t have pockets,” Max says matter-of-factly as he slips back under the covers.

  I’m still getting to know Max, and I’m not always sure about my place with him
. This has led to more than a few awkward moments, particularly when he was in need of some simple correction. I want to be helpful and ease some of the weight off Brett’s shoulders, since he’s a single dad, but I try to remember when to step back so he can take care of things. It’s a delicate balancing act that I’m not always sure I’m getting right.

  However, I feel less unsure now as I search Max’s little face, looking for signs of distress. The kiss seemed to do its job, so I say, “It’s okay. I miss my mom, too.”

  He looks up at me with those big blue eyes, his mop of hair a halo around him on the pillow. “Is she in the hospital too?”

  “No. She went to heaven.”

  “Why’d she go there?”

  I smile at this innocent question and exchange a glance with Brett, who’s watching me with a gentle expression. “I guess God thought she was too good to stay.”

  “Is she an angel now?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Did she give you kisses, too?”

  I nod. “Sort of. I keep them right here.” I tap my chest lightly with two fingers.

  He snuggles in deeper and turns his attention back to the book, which I’ve closed slightly, my finger marking our spot. “Mommy told me to put mine in my pocket.”

  I chuckle. “Well, that’s a good place for them.”

  He softly pushes the book open, indicating he’s ready to continue. As I read the words, I remember my mother reading them to me when I was little. This book was one of my favorites, so we read it together a lot. It’s a warm memory, but one I don’t share aloud right now. I keep it in my heart, which is a good place for it.

  Before I finish the third reading, which I do in a soft, lulling voice in the hopes of relaxing a very active little boy, Max is sound asleep. Brett gives him a kiss on the forehead, and I sneak one in too before we turn out the lights. Montana’s out as well, but we leave the door open a crack in case he wants out later. The previous owners of this house must’ve had a dog, because the back door has a little doggie door that’s a bit snug for Montana’s comfort, but big enough to make do. I just hope he remembers where it is if he needs to use it in the middle of the night and doesn’t wake Max.

  Most the lights are out, so the living room is softly lit by a single lamp on the end table. Brett sits heavily on the end of the couch, letting out the big sigh of relief I’ve learned means: Dad off duty.

  I sit next to him, sitting sideways with one leg curled up on his lap and the other tucked underneath me. I lean my head on the back of the couch, smiling at him. He’s such a good dad, so loving and diligent. It only makes me love him more. I love being here with him and Max, and being part of their lives. These days when I’m home, if they’re not there, I wish they were.

  In fact, more and more often, I imagine what my home would be like with them in it. I know which room could be for Max. Which room could be a playroom. Where we could put in a big, wooden playset in the backyard. If we ever really do get to that point—and sometimes I can’t believe I’m already thinking along those lines—those are decisions I know Brett and I would need to make together. He might have different ideas. But I can’t stop myself from mentally rearranging my house anyway. I haven’t yet told Brett that the new vision I have for what used to be my parents’ home is getting easier and easier to see all the time. I can imagine years and years ahead with them, and it’s a vision that makes my heart light.

  He looks at me and puts a warm hand on my calf, rubbing softly underneath the lightweight, flowing skirt I’m wearing. “Did that bother you?”

  I assume he means the conversation about kisses and mommies. “Which part?”

  “Any of it.”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m glad he feels comfortable enough with me that we could talk about it like that.”

  “Yeah.” He smiles, rubbing his hand softly up my thigh and back down again. “Me too. Come here.”

  He almost didn’t need to say anything, because the tender expression he’s giving me is so inviting, I probably would’ve crawled right onto his lap anyway. I settle in, my legs folded on either side of him, the soft fabric of my skirt puddled around us. I wrap my arms behind his neck as his hands slide gently up my back. Our eyes go soft as we look at one another. He brings one hand to my face, lightly running his fingers along my jawline, still holding my gaze. My hands slip slowly over his shoulders, down the front of his chest, and to his stomach.

  And still, we are only looking at one another. Not saying a word, and yet saying so much.

  I take in his deep eyes, the angles of his cheekbones and chin, the curve of his hairline. Then back to his eyes. Always back to that, because that is where his love pours into me, and where I send my love back to him.

  His hand plays softly with my hair, then returns to my jaw, caressing me gently. He lightly hooks two fingers under my chin, and brings me in. Our kiss is soft. We’re wrapped in a thick blanket of intimacy and desire that makes the rest of the world vanish. His hands go to my cheeks as we separate briefly, eyes meeting again. His fingers curl as he caresses me faintly. “I love you,” he whispers.

  I bring my arms around his neck again, and his arms circle around me, holding me snugly. Our embrace tightens, but we are still looking at one another, lips barely separated. “I love you, too.”

  I kiss him again. And again, our mouths opening softly to one another, our warm tongues joining in an intimate dance. He’s growing beneath me. My body is heating up too, but this is a wanting that’s infused with tenderness. As we kiss and caress one another, going slow and taking our time, it is like gently stoking glowing embers until a steady fire takes their place. This time the fire’s origin is in my heart, and lends its heat elsewhere, making my physical and emotional wanting of him indistinguishable one from the other.

  His length is hard against me, and his arms are strong around me, keeping me to him. I am a slow-flowing river of molten lava. We break apart briefly, breaths swirling hot together and eyes simmering, as he gently lifts off my top and drops it at his feet.

  I am only vaguely aware that Max could come out and see us, but less worried about it than the first time I was here. I don’t want to move to the bedroom and disrupt the warm blanket of tenderness and yearning that’s binding us so close.

  Brett turns off the lamp on the table next to us and the room falls to near darkness, lit only by the light in the hall. Thus protected by a veil of secrecy, any remaining reservations I had about doing this here vanish.

  The ache between my legs grows hot, and I press against his hardness, holding his face in my hands as we kiss deeply. His hold on me tightens and he keeps me firmly against him as he slowly rearranges us so we’re sinking back onto the couch, him now on top of me. The soft fabric of my skirt falls away, leaving my thighs bare as I curl myself around him.

  I bring up the hem of his shirt, then press my hands wide on his hot skin. He lifts onto his knees so he can remove his shirt. I reach for the front of his jeans, loosening the button and lowering the zipper. He hitches his jeans down his hips, and I scoop the band of his briefs up and over the top of his erection. As he pulls his briefs down to his thighs, I take him into both hands and stroke his warm, firm length.

  He exhales hotly, flexing under my grip, and reaches behind me to loosen my bra. I release him so he can slide the straps down my arms, laying all the way back as he drops my bra to the floor. My hard peaks ache against the open air, longing for his touch. I reach for my panties, lifting my hips slightly and bringing my knees together in front of him so I can take them off. When the silky material gets to my calves, he takes over from there, dropping those to the floor as well.

  His eyes hold mine as he comes down to me. My hardened nipples lightly brush against his firm chest as he reaches between us to line things up. We’re both still watching each other and breathing shallow as he slowly brings his weight on me and pushes inside. I resist the urge to close my eyes in pleasure, instead gently nipping at his chin and looking up at h
im as he fills me.

  My eyes flutter shut as he hits bottom, and his mouth claims mine in a deep kiss. He pulls slowly back, and I feel every inch of his raw cock rubbing against my inner ridges. I whimper slightly in his mouth. He pauses for one heartbeat. Two. Then slowly stretches and fills me again. I whimper again, unable to maintain our kiss, tilting my head back and angling my hips up so he can reach more deeply. This time when he hits bottom, he whispers in my ear, “I love you.”

  I’m overcome with sensation as he pulls back slightly more quickly. I exhale shakily. “I love you too,” I say, just before he thrusts in deep again and my head is thrown back once more. I whimper yet again, dizzy with climbing desire.

  We cling to one another, rocking faster now, breathing hard. My arms are across his bare back, my fingernails scratching lightly, and he’s sucking on my earlobe and neck and shoulder. His hand goes to my breast at last, and I exhale sharply, being so full with him elsewhere that I forgot how much I needed his touch here too.

  Our rhythm increases and he pulls one thigh high up his side, stretching me hard around his cock. My back arches in pleasure. I bite my bottom lip, moaning softly, trying not to cry out like I want to. I curl one hand into his hair, and feel myself getting tighter around him.

  He props himself up on both arms and pins my other knee between his bicep and his body. My head drops back then forward, as I respond to the pleasure he’s so expertly giving me. I look down between us. In the low light from the hall, I can see the thick outline of his cock penetrating me. I feel a surge of wetness and drop my head on the couch cushion to find his dark eyes watching me.

  “You’re amazing,” he whispers, holding my eyes and rocking me hard.

  I whimper, climbing. I grip his forearms, closing my eyes briefly as I feel myself clamping down on him harder. My gaze returns to his, and it’s even more loving and tender than when we started. I’m overcome with him. With him and me.

  My breaths are short and shallow and the waves of pleasure are coming harder and closer together. Or maybe he’s the one taking over. His increased hardness stretches me more, and I continue to build. I see him building too, see the soft ecstasy of it on his face, and I want to watch him. I want him to watch me. I want him to see just how much I’m giving myself to him. I want him to hold nothing back .