Color of Forgiveness

by Madeleine Beckett

  “Yeah, but I tore out a bathroom today. And that damn airplane just about killed me.”

  “I can only imagine. I would say don’t tear out any more bathrooms, but considering your profession, I don’t think that would be such wise advice. Were you at least able to get up and move around the cabin during your flight?”

  Dylan snorts. “No. There’s not much room to move around on those damn things.”

  “True. But next time try to get up and stretch your back out as often as you can even if all you do is walk to the back of the airplane. Any movement will help.

  “Your back is definitely a mess. I’ll get you re-aligned, and then we’ll do the heat and ice treatment at the end,” she says as she presses her elbow into his back.

  Dylan groans, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

  “So where did you go on your trip?” she asks.

  “Philadelphia.”

  “For business…?”

  “I went there to see a… friend.”

  “Oh. Did you have a good time?”

  “Yeah...”

  “That’s nice. Was it a lady friend?”

  “Uh, yeah...”

  “That’s even better,” Elaina says.

  The conversation goes quiet, and Dylan begins to think about his ‘lady friend’. He starts to panic when he realizes he still hasn’t come up with anything to do for their date tomorrow night. He has to come up with something. Maybe Elaina would know. She is a woman after all.

  He clears his throat. “I have this friend who’s gonna take this woman out, on a date. But there’s nothing to do here in Nyssa. What do you think he should do?”

  “A date…? Oh, mi querido, a date only needs to come from the heart. A man doesn’t have to spend lots of money on a woman or take her somewhere fancy. My Luis…? God rest his soul. Our first date was a picnic in a park under a sprawling oak tree. I fell in love with my Luis that day. Tell your friend that all he needs to do is follow his heart and make his lady friend feel special, and he’ll do just fine.”

  Dylan’s brows furrow as he thinks about her words. He has some work to do.

  * * *

  After stopping by some old guy’s house to give him an estimate to add a deck onto his house, Dylan drops by Marshall’s to pick up a few things for his date. He hopes like hell he runs into that asshole. He was incredibly disappointed when he took Myra earlier in the day and he wasn’t there.

  Standing in the frozen food section of the store, he groans. Since there isn’t anywhere decent to take Myra in Nyssa and he doesn’t want to drive all the way to Boise, he’s just decided to have her over to his house for dinner. But he can’t cook so he’ll have to find some kind of pre-made meal that he can throw in the oven. Nothing looks even remotely good. But then his eyes land on a box of frozen lasagna. Surely he can’t fuck that up. He grabs one along with a loaf of frozen garlic bread to go with it.

  After loading his cart with the remainder of the items he needs for his date, he heads for the checkout. He’s been on the constant look-out for Marshall, but so far, he hasn’t seen the fucker. When he gets to the cash register, he cringes.

  “Hi, Dylan,” Lucia says in a nasally voice. She bats her thickly mascaraed eyelashes at him, trying to look seductive. He ignores her.

  “Where’s Marshall?” he asks gruffly.

  “He’s not here. He told me what happened, about how Myra came onto him and that you showed up and got all jealous and hit him. Derek and I have an open relationship, but I don’t want Myra anywhere near my husband. You tell her to stay away from him and that I have my eye on her.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Have you been following her?”

  “Following her? Of course not, I’m just saying that she needs to watch herself.”

  Dylan’s eyes narrow as he leans closer to her. “Don’t you dare threaten her,” he says in a low and menacing voice. “That fucker you have for a husband put his hands on Myra. Against. Her. Will. You tell him that if he ever gets near her again, he’ll be spending a month in the hospital after I’m done with him. And you stay the hell away from her as well.”

  “Whatever…” Lucia mumbles, rolling her eyes.

  Dylan’s blood boils as he puts his groceries in his truck. Maybe Marshall isn’t the one he should be focusing. Maybe it’s his wife. But no matter what, he still needs to have a little talk with Marshall… and soon.

  * * *

  Myra checks her reflection one last time in the mirror surprised at how anxious she feels about this date. Tonight feels significant somehow, like it’s a fresh start for the both of them. She frowns as she stares at her outfit. Dylan told her to dress casually so she chose a pair of jeans and a brown cashmere sweater. She hopes he likes it. She also put on a little makeup and even curled her hair. Her stomach does an excited little flip when she hears a knock on the door.

  With a smile on her face, she flings open the door, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of him. She doesn’t understand how he can make something so casual – a white V-neck T, jeans and a brown leather jacket – look so unbelievably sexy. His attractiveness leaves her a little staggered.

  “You look…” he says, a half-grin on his lips as his eyes slowly trail up and down her body, “… so fucking beautiful.”

  She smiles shyly at him. “Thank you… so do you,” she says before shaking her head. “I mean, not beautiful. Handsome.”

  He grins. “You ready?”

  “Yeah, let me grab my bag and coat.” She can’t stop smiling when he helps her put her coat on.

  His hand stays on the small of her back as he walks her out to his truck. He opens the door and helps her up into it.

  “Thanks,” she says softly.

  He grins at her before closing the door. Quickly walking around the truck, he climbs in. He starts it then clears his throat and looks at her. “I thought we’d just go to my house to eat. Is that okay?” he asks, looking nervous.

  “That sounds perfect.”

  Other than the radio playing softly in the background, the short ride to his house is quiet as Myra fidgets with her hands in her lap. When he pulls into the driveway, he mutters, “Don’t move. I’ll get your door,” before hopping out of the truck.

  She smiles as she watches him rush around the truck and open the door for her, taking her hand to help her out. He entwines his fingers with hers and grins at her as they walk towards his front door.

  “Well, this is where I live,” he says as he helps her off with her coat and lays it with his on the couch.

  “It’s really nice,” she says as she looks around his living room. The walls are white with nothing on them other than a flat screen TV. The furniture consists of an overstuffed beige couch and matching loveseat along with a well-worn black leather chair in the corner.

  “Come on, I’ll show you around. There’s a bathroom there,” he says, motioning his hand towards a door, “and here’s the kitchen.”

  Myra follows him into the kitchen and her mouth drops open. The kitchen table has two place settings on it, and in the center sits two candles and a vase with a single red rose in it.

  “It’s beautiful,” she says.

  He grins from ear to ear before motioning with his hand. “Here’s my room…” he says as he opens a door. A king sized bed sits in the center of the room with black sheets and a matching comforter on it. A dresser sits in the corner and once again the walls are white with nothing on them.

  “There are two other bedrooms full of junk, and I have a basement but you don’t get to see it,” he says with a chuckle. “I had to do a lot of cleaning before I could have you over. My house was fucking disgusting so I threw the majority of the shit downstairs.”

  Myra laughs lightly.

  He grins back at her. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I’m starving. It smells wonderful in here. What are you cooking?”

  “Lasagna,” he announces proudly. But then his expression dr
ops. “You do like lasagna right?”

  “I love lasagna.”

  A lop-sided grin shows up on his face. “Good. I just need to put the garlic bread in the oven.” She follows him back into the kitchen and watches as he walks over to the freezer and pulls out a loaf.

  “Do you need any help?” she asks.

  “Nah, I got it.” Yanking a pocket knife from his jeans, he pops it open with one hand and slices the plastic wrapper from top to bottom in one fell swoop. He tucks the knife back into his pocket and picks up the bread still in the wrapper. As he walks towards the stove, the bread slips out of the wrapper and lands on the floor with a thud.

  “Goddamn it,” Dylan yells. “How the fuck did I do that? That’s a bunch of fucking bullshit.”

  Myra tries so hard not to laugh at him, but he just looks so comical that she can’t hold it back any longer and a giggle pops out of her.

  He immediately looks up at her, his expression softening. “Are you laughing at me?”

  Myra shakes her head and covers her mouth with both hands as she continues to giggle.

  “You are,” he says, stomping towards her. “You’re laughing at me.”

  “No,” she argues while continuing to giggle and backing up. He grabs her, tickling her sides and causing her to shriek. “I can’t believe you were fucking laughing at me.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” she says, still laughing.

  “Sure you didn’t,” Dylan says, grinning, as he bends her backwards and leans down and kisses her neck. He makes a growling sound against her skin. “Jesus, you smell good.”

  He kisses her neck one more time before he stands her up. Myra quickly wipes her eyes. “I really didn’t mean to laugh at you, but you just looked so funny standing there cussing at the bread like that.”

  “You wounded me, woman,” Dylan says before leaning down and kissing her lips softly. “But seriously, I ruined our dinner because lasagna just isn’t any good without garlic bread. Should I go to the store?”

  Myra shakes her head. “Do you have any other bread? I could easily make us some with just a little butter and garlic powder.”

  “No, of course I don’t have any,” he mumbles as he walks over and picks up the loaf and chucks it into the trash.

  “Well, we don’t need any. It’ll be great without it.”

  Dylan opens the fridge. “Well, at least I bought salad,” he says with a grin as he holds up a Caesar salad kit.

  Myra smiles back at him. “Do you want me to get it ready?”

  “No way, I’ve got this shit. You just sit down and relax. And don’t you dare laugh at me if I fuck something else up,” he says, cocking an eyebrow at her.

  “Okay,” Myra says with a laugh as she sits down. He chuckles and shakes his head. She can’t stop smiling.

  “I’ve got wine. Or there’s beer. And I bought some tea since I know you like to drink tea…”

  “Wine sounds great.”

  Dylan pours each of them a glass of wine. She takes a sip and watches as he opens the salad bag and clumsily dumps a pile of lettuce on each of their plates. He tears the tops off of the cheese and crouton packets, holding them up with a question in his eyes. She smiles and nods and watches as he sprinkles some cheese on hers and then some croutons. He repeats the process on his pile of lettuce. He tears off the top of the packet of dressing and hands it to her. She smiles and pours some on her salad and hands it back to him. He drizzles some on his salad and then leans the packet up against the wine bottle.

  The buzzer on the stove goes off. “Dinner is served,” he announces, grinning proudly.

  “I can’t wait,” Myra says, smiling back at him.

  He looks around the kitchen, a crease forming in his brows. “Shit. I’ll be right back,” he says before darting out of the room.

  Within moments, he returns carrying a flannel shirt. He yanks open the stove and uses the flannel shirt as a potholder. Myra giggles as he carries the lasagna to the table.

  “You laughed,” he says, cocking an eyebrow at her.

  “Sorry,” she says, still giggling.

  “No towels,” he says with a shrug before chuckling with her. He cuts her a piece and puts it on her plate.

  “This smells delicious,” she tells him.

  “I still think it’d be better if I didn’t fuck up the bread.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. This is perfect. Who needs all those carbs anyway?”

  Dylan chuckles and shakes his head. They both begin quietly eating.

  “Fuck,” he shouts, scaring the living daylights out of Myra.

  “What?” she asks, her eyes wide and her heart pounding.

  “I forgot to light the candles,” he says as he stands and pulls his lighter out of his pocket and begins to light them. “I wanted this to be all romantic for you, but I guess I just don’t have much romance in me.” He frowns as he slumps back into his chair.

  “Dylan?” she says and he looks up at her.

  “Tonight is perfect. You cleaned your house, you cooked, you set this wonderful table with these beautiful candles, and lovely rose. And you made me laugh. You don’t even know how special this is for me. It’s very romantic.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really… I mean it, Dylan. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world tonight other than right here with you.”

  He gives her a crooked grin and nods, seeming to be happy with her answer. They eat and make small talk about the rest of the work that needs to be done on Myra’s house, and he asks about her writing. Once they finish eating, Myra insists on cleaning up the dishes for him; he complains but finally relents. After Myra puts away the last dish, Dylan grabs her hand. “Come on. I have something I want to show you.”

  He takes her into the living room and sits down on the couch, pulling her down beside him. His brows pull together and he takes in a deep breath. “When I was cleaning up my bedroom, I came across something. It’s been a long time since I’ve even touched this thing let alone looked at it but… I think I want to now. But only with you.” He reaches over to the coffee table and picks up a leather-bound photo album.

  Myra’s heart begins to race. He stares down at it, rubbing his hand over the top of it. “My mom made this for me right after I told her that I was getting a divorce. She knew I’d leave all of the pictures with Sabrina, which is exactly what I did.”

  He takes in a deep breath. “I opened it once, right after she gave it to me. I haven’t opened it since. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see pictures of Mel; it’s just that I found it didn’t hurt as much, if I didn’t see them. I know that probably makes me sound like an asshole, but…”

  “No, Dylan, it doesn’t. I totally understand how that could be really painful for you.”

  He swallows hard. She can see the hesitation in his eyes.

  She reaches over and squeezes his hand. “We don’t have to. If you’re uncomfortable…”

  He clears his throat. “No, I want to. I’ll admit I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t here but… I’m ready. I want to do this… with you.”

  “Okay,” Myra says with a nod.

  He leans back against the couch and wraps an arm around her, pulling her close to him and sets the album between them. He looks at her one more time before he opens it.

  Myra studies the first set of pictures. They are of Sabrina crying as she looks at a tiny, naked screaming baby boy that a doctor is holding up for her to see.

  Dylan taps a finger on one of the pictures. “She had a C-section. That’s right when he was born.”

  He flips the page. Myra bends her head closer and to look at the man standing next to Sabrina and can’t believe she’s looking at Dylan. She doesn’t even recognize him with his short hair and completely clean shaven face. But what is so shockingly different is his expression. He looks so happy that he’s practically glowing. His eyes literally shine, and he looks like he could be ten years younger. There’s not one trace of the anger or sadness on hi
s face that she has become so accustomed to. He looks like a completely different person. Her stomach tightens as she realizes that no matter what she does, she can never make Dylan this happy. Too much has happened to him. The Dylan she sees in these pictures no longer exists.

  “He’s beautiful,” she says, “and so tiny.”

  “Yeah, he was a little guy.”

  Dylan turns the page. There are several pictures of Dylan holding Mel, but one in particular causes Myra’s heart to stop. Dylan has his eyes closed and he’s holding Mel up to his face and kissing his cheek. Dylan takes in a quick breath. She looks up at his pale face. “You okay?” she asks.

  Frowning, he swallows hard and nods. “Yeah, it’s just hard.”

  Myra reaches her hand up and touches his cheek softly. She can’t even imagine how difficult this must be for him because she’s having a hard time herself keeping it together.

  Dylan turns the page and Myra’s eyes are drawn to one picture. It’s of Dylan lying in the hospital bed next to Sabrina who’s holding Mel. And he’s kissing Sabrina… on the mouth. Myra knows he’s kissed Sabrina probably a billion times and had sex with her in every position imaginable, but seeing it right in front of her is hard to stomach. A wave of nausea hits her and her chest tightens.

  “Jesus. Sorry,” Dylan mumbles as he quickly turns the page. “My mom took those. I forgot that was in there.”

  Keeping her eyes on the album, she nods and tries to swallow down the nauseous feeling.

  Myra recognizes Natalie in the next set of pictures. Dylan points out his brother, Chad, and his other brother, Nick. The album continues with various pictures of Mel as he grows older. Dylan stops on one. Myra guesses Mel to be about two years old, and he’s standing with a little boy who looks like his twin.

  “That’s my nephew, Joseph.”

  “I can’t believe how much they look alike.”

  “Yeah, it was crazy. Mel looked more like Joseph’s brother than his actual brothers did.”

  Dylan turns to the last page and clears his throat. “That… that was the last picture that was taken of him… before he...” Frowning, he clears his throat again. Myra leans closer to look at the picture. It’s of Dylan lying on his back on the floor in what looks like their living room with Mel sitting on his chest. Mel’s giggling and holding up Buzz Lightyear in one hand. Dylan has his head thrown back laughing and looks so happy. Myra’s eyes flood with tears. She blinks hard, trying to keep them back.