Color of Forgiveness

by Madeleine Beckett

  Im so sorry –D

  Her breath catches in her throat, those three little words sealing her decision. She has to hear what he has to say. Taking in a deep breath, she quickly dials her voicemail. The older message plays first.

  “Myra, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m really fucking worried about you. Where are you? I know you’re pissed at me and shit but I, well, I thought you were going to let me explain everything. Call me.”

  The hint of annoyance she hears in his message pleases her because he should be annoyed after what he did to her.

  She quickly saves the message and listens to the next one.

  “Myra, I, well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I know that I’ve really fucked things up. I just, I don’t know what to do except to say I’m sorry. I had it in my head that I would somehow… I don’t know. I just thought that I would get to talk to you today and fix everything. I didn’t realize… just please forgive me. Please, I’m really sorry. I can’t believe this shit. Nothing happened with Sabrina. I swear. I know it looked awful and I looked guilty as hell, but please believe me. Please know that I’d never do something like that to you. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about her. I was going to… I was going to tell you everything… I… Where are you?”

  His voice sounds so desperate at the end that it creates a painful lump in her throat.

  Still clutching her phone in her hand, she scoots back down under the covers and plays his message over and over again until exhaustion finally overcomes her and she falls into a deep and thankfully dreamless, sleep.

  * * *

  Dylan parks his truck and sits thinking. It’s been two days since he last saw Myra on his front porch; two miserable, lousy fucking days. He hasn’t heard a single word from her and he’s about to go out of his goddamn mind. He runs a hand through his messy hair, tugging roughly on the ends as he takes in a deep breath and climbs out of his truck.

  Walking across the street, he gets to the door and stares at it for a moment. Rubbing the back of his neck, he paces back and forth on the sidewalk a few times before he takes in another deep breath and somehow manages to suck up enough courage to open the damn thing. He walks up to the desk and an older woman looks up at him over the edge of her black-rimmed glasses. “May I help you?” she asks.

  “Um, yeah, is Porter around?” he asks, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  “And your name is?”

  “Dylan… Dylan Lawson.”

  “Have a seat and I’ll see if he’s available,” she says.

  Dylan nods and walks over to some cheap folding chairs which happens to be the waiting area of the small police station and sits down. A few minutes later, Porter walks out.

  “Dylan. How are you?” Porter asks, smiling brightly as he reaches his hand out to him.

  “Good,” Dylan replies with a nod as he grasps his hand.

  “Come on back to my office.” Porter motions to Dylan as he starts walking down the hallway.

  Dylan follows him to a small office with a large cluttered desk in the center. Two filing cabinets sit in the corner and a couple of chairs are arranged in front of the desk. As Porter makes his way around to his chair, he mutters, “Have a seat,” with a wave of his hand.

  As Dylan sits down, Porter starts talking. “Want some coffee? How about some apple fritters? They’re homemade,” he says, opening a plastic container sitting on the corner of his desk.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  Porter nods and puts the lid back on. “How’s everything been going with you?” he asks. “You got Myra’s house done yet?”

  “Um, no, I still have quite a bit to do on it.”

  “I can imagine. So, what can I do for you today?”

  “Well…” Dylan says, stalling. He clears his throat, trying to search for the right words. “Um, it’s about Myra.”

  “Okay…” Porter says with slightly furrowed brows and a small smile on his lips.

  “Have you talked to her recently? Because we… well, she’s not talking to me right now and she’s not been home for the last couple of days, and I’m really worried about her. Do you know where she is? Did she tell you where she was going?”

  The smile disappears and the wrinkles in Porter’s forehead deepen. “She’s not home? What happened? You two get into a fight or something?”

  “Kind of… I…” Dylan says before running a hand through his hair. “I messed things up. And she won’t answer my calls now. But I really need to talk to her.”

  Porter pulls out his cell phone. “Well, let me give her a call,” he says.

  Dylan leans forward. “Could you maybe see if you could get her to talk to me? She doesn’t have to see me or anything if she doesn’t want to, but I just… it’s really important that I talk to her.”

  With the phone attached to his ear, Porter studies him for a moment. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Dylan’s heart rate picks up when Porter turns his attention to his phone. “Myra? Hey, it’s Porter. I was just calling to check up on you.” Porter stares down at his desk. He smiles, humming a few times before his expression changes. Dylan scoots forward until his ass barely hangs on the edge of his chair, carefully watching Porter’s frowning face. He strains, trying his best to hear Myra’s voice, but his efforts are worthless because he can’t hear a damn thing.

  Porter’s eyes meet Dylan’s for a second before he goes back to staring at his desk again. “Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry about that. Mmhm… okay…” Porter picks up a pen off of his desk and starts chewing on the end of it. He looks up and stares at Dylan. “Well, he just so happens to be sitting here in my office right now...” Dylan’s heart pumps with adrenaline fearful of what Myra could be saying about him. He watches Porter’s face intently for his reaction. “Hmm… I see. Well, he says that he needs to talk to you…” Porter trails off again for a moment. “You’re sure? All right, I’ll tell him...” Dylan’s heart plummets to his feet. “When are you coming back?” Porter nods and hums. “Okay, well, if you need anything, you let me know right away, okay? Keep me updated on everything. Okay… bye.”

  Dylan grasps the edge of Porter’s desk. “Is she all right? Where is she? She doesn’t want to talk to me, does she?”

  Porter chuckles. “Calm down, son,” he says, setting his phone down. “She’s fine. And, no, she doesn’t want to talk to you right now. You want to tell me what happened?”

  Dylan sighs, his mouth twisting up at the corner as he stares at the papers on Porter’s desk. “It’s complicated.” He can’t tell Porter what he did. Especially when the man has a gun strapped to his hip.

  Porter snorts. “All relationships are complicated. Look, I barely know you, Dylan, but I like you. I have good instincts when it comes to people; I have to in my line of work. But I love Myra. I never had any children so she’s like a daughter to me especially after she lost her father. So I’ll always support her and her wishes. She’s been through a lot losing her family the way she did.”

  Dylan scoots back in his seat and nods.

  Porter leans forward and rests his elbows on his desk. “Myra never told me what happened with that boyfriend of hers she had out in Philly, but she didn’t have to. I’m smart enough to figure it out. She got hurt and I know that’s why she moved here.

  “Now listen up. I don’t want Myra getting hurt again, do you get my drift?” Porter asks, raising a bushy gray eyebrow at him.

  Dylan nods, guilt gnawing at his insides over the fact that he’s already done just that.

  “Good to see we understand each other,” Porter says. “Now Myra gave me explicit instructions to not tell you what she’s doing or where she’s at. But because I like you, I’ll tell you what I can without betraying her trust. She’s going to be gone for a while; she’s not sure how long.”

  “Is she in Philly?”

  Porter smirks, shaking his head. “I just told you
I can’t tell you where she’s at.”

  “Can you at least tell me what her friend’s name is that lives there? Sarah? Sharon? God, I can’t remember her name…” Dylan drops his head in his hands and groans in frustration.

  Porter sighs and leans back in his chair, causing it to creak noisily. “I wish I could help you, I really do.”

  “It’s all right,” Dylan says in a dejected voice, staring down at his boots.

  “You care a lot for her, don’t you?” Porter asks in a quiet voice. Dylan looks up at him and nods. “Well, I’ve been married for twenty-eight years so I hope I’ve gained a bit of relationship knowledge along the way.” He smiles and winks at Dylan. “Myra will be back. And if you really care about her like I think you do then you’re going to have to put in some work. I don’t know what you two fought about or whose fault it was, but it doesn’t matter. Accept the blame no matter how innocent you are; that’s the man’s job. And then beg for forgiveness on your hands and knees if you have to. Then go out of your way to try to make it up to her. She’s worth it, you know.”

  “I know,” Dylan agrees quietly as he stands up. “Thanks for checking on her.”

  “Not a problem,” Porter says. He stands and reaches his hand out to shake Dylan’s. “Don’t forget that flowers and gifts never hurt either,” he adds with a chuckle. “I hope you two work things out.”

  “Thanks,” Dylan says with another nod before he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks out of Porter’s office with his shoulders slumped and his head down.

  * * *

  Myra stands in the corner of the packed funeral home making small talk with Susie’s older brother when her eye catches the back of familiar broad shoulders and dark brown hair. She knew there was a good chance he would be here. She was just hoping that a miracle would happen and he wouldn’t show. Never in her life did she think she’d ever have to face Trent again so soon after her last encounter with him in Nyssa. She was truly hoping that she’d never see him again. But who knew Susie would lose her dad so suddenly?

  A wave of nausea hits her when she sees Julia on his arm. Quickly glancing at her watch, she decides to go hide out in the restroom until the service starts because no way can she handle facing either of them right now. She politely excuses herself from Susie’s brother and quietly slips away.

  Standing in the restroom stall, she closes her eyes and takes in some deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves. Even though she has absolutely no feelings for Trent other than disgust and loathing, seeing him with Julia still hurts. It’ll always hurt.

  Pulling out her phone, she checks it as the voices of women coming in and out of the restroom fill the small room. There are two more missed calls from Dylan, but no more messages.

  With five minutes to spare, she decides it’s safe to go back in and find her seat. Opening the stall door, she freezes, a gasp escaping her lips when she sees Julia standing in front of her, leaning up against the sink with her arms crossed over her chest and a nasty smirk on her face.

  “Well, well, well,” Julia says. “I knew I would see you again.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  Julia eyes Myra from head to toe with one of her red-stained lips curled up in disgust. “I just don’t get it. I never could figure out what Trent saw in you; what the appeal was. You’re just so plain and unattractive.”

  Myra’s eyes narrow. Never in her life has she ever wanted to hit someone… until this moment.

  “At first I couldn’t understand why you up and left town the way you did. But then it all started to make sense.” She steps closer to Myra, towering over her. Myra straightens her shoulders and doesn’t flinch a muscle. “You had a plan. You knew Trent liked the chase so that’s exactly what you did. You set it up so he’d have to chase you. I always knew you were a manipulative bitch.”

  “What?” Myra shouts. “You think I moved two thousand miles away to try to get him back? Are you crazy? That doesn’t even make sense! You’re completely and totally delusional!” Myra yells before poking Julia in the chest, causing her to take a step back. “And you know what else? You have a lot of nerve calling me manipulative when you were the one that fed Trent bold-faced lies about me and Craig.”

  With clenched fists and breathing heavily, Myra takes another step towards Julia backing her against the sink. “I think you and Trent are perfect for each other because he’s just as delusional and crazy as you are. I never want to see you or Trent’s face ever again in my lifetime, do you hear me? So stay away from me, you… you crazy person!” Myra points her finger sharply into Julia’s chest one more time for good measure and stomps out of the bathroom. She collapses against the wall for a moment, taking in quick, deep breaths to get her composure. Somehow, she manages to slip into her seat next to Susie just before the service starts.

  “Where were you?” Susie hisses at her.

  “Bathroom.”

  “Took you long enough,” she whispers in a ticked-off voice.

  “Sorry.” Myra gives her an apologetic smile before grabbing Susie’s hand in hers and squeezing it gently.

  As the service begins and the eulogy is read, Myra finds she’s unable to focus because she can’t stop thinking about what just went down in the bathroom. She can’t believe she stood up to Julia like that. But most of all, she can’t believe how good it felt to finally get to tell that tramp off.

  Susie leans over to her. “Dad would have hated this funeral,” she whispers in her ear. “It’s so boring. I can’t believe mom wouldn’t let us add anything funny. Dad would have wanted the funny.”

  “You tried,” Myra whispers back. “He understands.”

  “It still sucks,” Susie whispers angrily before proceeding to blow her nose.

  Myra wraps her arm around Susie’s shoulder and squeezes. She pulls her arm back and moves her eyes to the minister who has just made his way to the slender podium. He’s a portly older man with an enormous belly and completely bald on the top with just a few small tufts of white hair on the sides. Large, thick glasses adorn his round face. When he begins speaking, Myra, unfortunately, has to agree with Susie on the boring part. The poor man has such a monotone voice that it could put a large congregation to sleep. “Let us read from the scriptures. John 14:1-3. “Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare…”

  Myra’s mouth drops open. Gasps and murmurs immediately break out all over the room. But Myra can’t tear her eyes away from the minister whose pants have fallen down around his ankles exposing his white boxers. Myra blinks once before swiveling her head quickly towards Susie. Susie simultaneously turns towards her, mirroring her with a gaped mouth hanging open and eyes big as saucers. Susie’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes crinkling up in laughter, tears still fresh on her cheeks. They both look back at the minister. He fumbles and after several tries, finally gets his pants pulled up. With rosy cheeks, he mumbles into the microphone, “Pardon me. I just got out of the hospital. Guess I lost a little weight while I was in there.”

  The room remains silent until a loud giggle-snort sounds slips from Susie. Immediately, quiet giggles, snorts, and trying-to-hold-it-in-but-not-succeeding laughter erupts around the room. Susie’s older brother, who was obviously one of those trying to hold it in, finally just bursts out laughing. Susie grabs Myra in a hug and whispers in her ear in between giggles, “I have goose bumps because, oh my god, that was my dad, Myra, that was him! He just snuck up there and yanked that boring old fart’s pants down,” she says before giggling crazily.

  Myra nods, hugging her tight and can’t help but giggle right along with her.

  “It’s a sign. He’s okay. Dad’s okay. What an awesome send-off. Only my dad could come up with something as freaking spectacular as that. That’s the funniest freaking thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” Susie whispers before pulling away from Myra. They both giggle uncont
rollably until the tears streaming down Susie’s face turn into happy wet trails.

  * * *

  Dylan leaves the truck running as he sits in Myra’s driveway, staring at her house, debating what to do. The rest of the work Myra hired him to do is all interior work: kitchen remodel, bathroom remodel, repairing the ceiling in the bedroom and so on. The list didn’t include anything on the exterior so he can’t do a damn thing on her house right now.

  He’s had two or three calls for odd jobs in the last couple of days. He went out and did the estimates but found that he couldn’t commit to actually doing the work because all he wants to do is be here at Myra’s house in case she shows up. In some weird kind of way, it makes him feel closer to her somehow… like they are still connected.

  But he can’t just sit around staring at her house all damn day. There has to be something he can do. His eyes scan around her place, taking inventory.

  The house definitely needs a paint job, but it’s still too cold out for that. His eyes land on the railing on her porch. The whole thing needs replacing, but if he did that, he’d have to paint it as well. Glancing at the door, he notes that she needs a new screen door installed, but he’d need a damn key for that. He sighs heavily, irritated that he can’t come up with anything when he notices her sidewalk. Frowning, he sits up straighter. This might be something that he can do. It’s not too cold out either because he can insulate that shit.

  Turning the ignition off, he gets out of the truck to inspect it. It’s a fucking mess; all cracked and crumbling and something she’d have to replace at some point anyway. If nothing else, it’ll at least keep his hands busy and his mind pre-occupied for a little while.

  Pulling his clipboard out of the truck, he takes measurements of the sidewalk and jots it down. After checking the measurements twice, he gets back in his truck and sits for a few minutes, thinking again about Myra and this whole mess he’s gotten himself in. He wishes he had someone to talk to. He needs some help with this shit; like a woman’s perspective. Flipping open his phone, he punches a speed dial number that he’s not dialed in a very long time.