Color of Forgiveness

by Madeleine Beckett

  “Go into the house,” he says in a low voice to Myra through clenched teeth.

  Reaching up on her tiptoes, she kisses Dylan softly on the lips before walking towards the house. “Hi, Ray,” she says quietly with a nod.

  Dylan turns around to face Ray with a smug smile on his face.

  “Well, damn,” Ray says, shaking his head. “You are one lucky son of a bitch, you know that?”

  “Damn right I am.”

  Ray looks down at the garage door opener in his hand. “So what’s going on?”

  “Her garage door won’t open,” Dylan says as turns and walks to the side of her garage. It doesn’t take them long to determine that the spring on the garage door has broken. They manually lift it, move Myra’s car and unload the trucks.

  “So what was wrong with the disposal at that old woman’s house?” Dylan asks as he pulls out his checkbook to write Ray a check.

  “The old hag blew it up with all the shit she put down it. I think she was just missing you and wanted to answer the door in her Victoria’s Secret thong this time around instead of her towel,” Ray says before busting out laughing.

  “You’re an asshole,” Dylan mumbles as he shoves a check at him.

  “Damn right I am,” Ray says with a grin as he holds up the check and stares at it proudly.

  * * *

  “Are you ready to take a break for lunch?” Dylan hears Myra ask as he lies inside a cabinet on his stomach, attaching the cabinet to the wall with a drill.

  “What time is it?” he grunts.

  “It’s almost one.”

  “Yeah… let me finish this,” he mumbles.

  “Okay. I’ll start the sandwiches.”

  After finishing bolting the cabinet to the wall, he scoots himself out of it and stands. He stifles a groan as a sharp pain shoots through his lower back. “Do I have time for a smoke?”

  “Sure,” Myra says with a nod.

  As he walks towards his truck, he lights up a cigarette. Dropping the tailgate, a grimace crosses his face when he sits down. He pulls out his phone and stares at it for a long time while he smokes.

  After studying his phone for a few more minutes, he sighs loudly and runs his hand through his hair. He does an internet search for therapists in Boise and grabs his clipboard off of the passenger seat and jots down a phone number. Then he dials it.

  “Boise Behavioral Health Associates… This is Darcy. How may I help you?”

  “Uh…” he mumbles before clearing his throat. “I want to make an appointment.”

  “I can certainly help you with that. Are you re-scheduling? Or is this a first-time appointment?”

  “First time…”

  “Okay. Great. Is this appointment for yourself or…?”

  “Yeah, myself...”

  She then proceeds to ask for his name and personal information.

  “We have four psychologists on staff here. Did you have a preference for anyone in particular?”

  “No.”

  “What did you need to be seen for? That way I can pair you up with the right doctor. Anxiety? Depression? Grief?”

  “Grief.”

  “Okay. Let me look at the schedule… we did have a cancellation so we have an opening on Wednesday at 1:00 o’clock. Would that work for you?”

  He takes in a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Great. We’ll see you on Wednesday at one.”

  Dylan finishes his cigarette, wishing like hell that he’d called somewhere with a six-month waiting list. He heads back into the house and sits down at the table. Myra sets a plate in front of him. “Is tea okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah... I wanted to tell you that I… well, I made an appointment, to talk to someone.”

  She turns towards him, her mouth dropping open slightly. “You did?”

  “Yeah, on Wednesday… someone cancelled. It’s in Boise.”

  “That’s wonderful, Dylan,” she says as a beautiful smile spreads across her face. She walks back over to him and hugs him, and it makes him feel good, like he did something right for a change.

  * * *

  “Myra, I cannot wait to tell you what I did today,” Susie says before squealing giddily.

  “You didn’t get fired, did you?”

  “No. Today, I am no longer Susan. I am She-ra,” she says in a Conan-the-Barbarian-type voice. “I toppled Trent. I toasted Trent’s testicles. Me gots my revenge,” she says with a maniacal laugh. “Oh my god, I have so much to tell you that I don’t even know where to start. I taped the whole thing so I’ll send you a copy of it later. You know how Trent always walks into his office and takes off his shoes by the door like a little pussy?”

  “Yeah, I hated that he did that.”

  “Well, I flipped over his chair mat so that the pointy side was up. Have you ever felt the underside of one of those things?”

  “No.”

  “It’s like a bed of razor sharp nails. So he took off his shoes and stomped on that mat and screamed like a little sissy girl.” Susie laughs so hard she starts wheezing. Myra doesn’t want to laugh, but can’t help it and joins her. “Oh, god,” Susie moans, still laughing like a hyena. “I’m killing myself. And then he jumped about a foot in the air. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Wait till you see the video. So he turned the mat over and sat down. But I had put a thick layer of Vaseline all over the arms of his chair so he put both arms right smack dab in it. Oh my god, it was priceless. And you know how anal he is about having everything in his desk drawers being perfect?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Well, Lori loaned me the master key so I could open his desk. I took everything out and put it in different drawers and mixed everything up so he wouldn’t be able to find anything. Then for the finale… you know that stupidass tray of sand he keeps on his desk with that little rake?”

  Myra hums in acknowledgement.

  “I buried two of Goony’s turds in it,” Susie says before busting out laughing hysterically.

  “That’s awful. You could get fired for that.”

  “Oh no, Lori’s got my back. It was so freaking awesome. I actually feel vindicated. I’ll send you the video later. You should’ve seen the list of evil I had to begin with. Lori made me majorly tone it down. So how was your day? Did your romantic tool man get started on your cabinets?”

  “Yeah, but the spring on my garage door broke so now he’s going to have to fix that too. I can’t believe how much is going wrong with this house. It’s so frustrating. He did get a couple of the cabinets put in today. He said it would take him a couple more days to get all of them done.”

  “Does he have someone helping him?”

  “No.”

  “Well, how in the world is he doing that, especially the top cabinets? How can he hold it and drill it at the same time? And yes, my mind went straight to the gutter when I said that,” Susie says with a snort.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. He said he could use 2 x 4’s to brace them and install them that way.”

  “Ah, so he’s hunky and has a brain as well. I like that. Well, Jeff’s home so I have to go break out the Chef Boyardee dude that’s hiding inside me and scrounge some supper together. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And I’ll send you the video so you can laugh your ass off. I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Myra smiles and shakes her head as she hangs up the phone.

  * * *

  Fuck, Dylan mouths when Elaina hits a particularly sore area on his back.

  “Sorry,” she murmurs. “You’re back is not good, mi querido. What have you been doing?”

  Dylan grimaces and takes in a deep breath. “I loaded and unloaded a bunch of kitchen cabinets today then started installing them. It was a lot of lifting.”

  Elaina makes a clucking sound. “That’s only going to aggravate your condition. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you should try to stay away from lifting as much as you poss
ibly can.”

  Dylan just grunts and ignores her. This’s just part of his job; he’ll have to deal with the pain.

  “So how did your friend’s date go?” Elaina asks.

  “Good.”

  “What did he end up doing?”

  “Well, he’s kind of a slob so he cleaned up his house, and he tried cooking for her even though he can’t. It didn’t go so well, but she didn’t seem to care. And they talked. He shared some shit with her that was hard for him to talk about.”

  “Sounds like he did a lot of work for their date; I’m sure she found his gestures to be quite lovely.”

  “Well, my friend… he said that when he talked to this girl that night, he found out they don’t want the same things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They talked about marriage and kids. My friend, well, he doesn’t want any of that because he had some bad shit happen to him before… but this girl, she wants that and deserves it.”

  “Well, that certainly is a dilemma. Maybe your friend just doesn’t know that he wants those things yet—”

  Dylan interrupts her. “No. He knows he doesn’t want those things,” he says before letting out a long sigh. “He had them once… and lost them.”

  Elaina’s hands freeze. The room is quiet for a moment before she clears her throat.

  “I’m so sorry that your friend had to go through something as terrible as that. I lost my precious Luis so I understand more than most. But I think your friend is forgetting something very important. Just because he lost something precious doesn’t mean that he can’t ever have that again. What if the second time around is better than the first? What if it’s more than he could have ever expected?”

  Dylan doesn’t respond, but he knows Elaina doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. He could never be happier than he was when Mel was alive. Nothing could ever compare to experiencing his first child being born, his son. Nothing could ever compete with that moment; the moment he became a father for the first time. Nothing.

  * * *

  “I’ve got you down for six o’clock on Wednesday,” Elaina says as she jots down the appointment in her calendar. “Make sure to alternate between ice and heat tonight and get some rest, okay… doc’s orders.”

  Dylan grumbles under his breath as he leaves her house. Just as he climbs into his truck, his phone rings. He groans and rolls his eyes when he sees the caller ID.

  “Yeah?” he answers gruffly.

  “Dylan, how are you?” his mom asks happily.

  “I’m still mad at you.”

  She snickers. “Well, you can pout all you want, son, but I did what I thought was right.”

  “How could you show up like that? You could’ve scared Myra off for good.”

  “Did it scare her off?”

  “It could have.”

  Sherri laughs lightly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t consult with you before I showed up, but we both know you would’ve said no and thrown a hissy fit if I had. Dylan, Myra seems like such a sweet, wonderful girl. She’s absolutely lovely. I can’t wait to get to know her better. When you said she didn’t have any family, I just knew that I needed to come meet her. It breaks my heart to think of someone not having any family especially since my family is so special and important to me. I have such a great feeling about her. She’s going to be so good for you. You need this. You need her.”

  “Yeah. Whatever…”

  “I can’t wait until Easter; I’ve already started planning the menu.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “Just so you know I’m going to redo the spare bedroom. I’m going to repaint it, get new bedding, the whole works that way you two can stay in there because I’m assuming you wouldn’t want to stay in your old room since you and Sabrina…”

  “I think we should just stay in a hotel.”

  “Nonsense... you’re staying with us. I insist and I’m not budging on this one.”

  He sighs heavily. “Fine…”

  “Good. I’m glad we got that settled. Is everything else going okay?”

  “Yeah...”

  “Great. Things are only going to get better for you, sweetheart. Myra’s going to help you with that, I just know it. Well, I’ll let you go. I love you.”

  “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “I love you too.”

  After hanging up, he tucks his phone back in his pocket. He starts his truck and heads home with a lot of things on his mind.

  * * *

  Myra pulls the covers up over her legs and sets her laptop in her lap. It seems like forever since she did any writing. Quickly re-reading the last few pages of what she last wrote, she stares off to the side as she tries to gather her thoughts. After a few minutes, she begins typing.

  Her phone rings. She picks it up and smiles when she sees the number.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey. You weren’t asleep were you?” Dylan asks.

  “Nope… just doing some writing.”

  “More cowboys?” Dylan asks with a chuckle. “I still can’t get over you writing a story about cowboys. What’re they doing now? Ropin’ some cattle?”

  “No… actually, my lead character just killed someone.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously...”

  “That’s some crazy shit.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re just so… nice and quiet and I don’t know, you just don’t seem like you’d write about a cowboy murdering somebody.”

  “Well, you just have a stereotypical view of things.”

  “Read some of it to me.”

  “No.”

  “Come on. Please?”

  “No…”

  “Don’t make me beg.”

  Myra makes a huffing sound. “Okay… but you have to promise not to laugh.”

  “I promise.”

  She takes in a deep breath and begins reading.

  “Colton’s body dropped to the dust, his hand still tightly grasped around the gun that he had aimed at the murderous outlaw before him. A bright red color began to seep from the hole that Colton just put in the center of the bastard’s chest. This is the piece of filth that stole everything from him; murdered his family in cold blood. His chest clenches as a hot wave of intense pain burns harshly through him when he sees the pale, lifeless faces of his beautiful wife and two innocent daughters flash before his eyes.

  “Colton is pulled away from his painful thoughts when the murderer falls to his knees and gasps for his last breath as a dribble of blood begins to ooze from the corner of his mouth. The bastard’s cold brown eyes stay on Colton’s until he drops face first into the dust, death consuming him... wrenching his wretched soul to the pits of hell where he belongs.

  “But Colton’s vengeance wasn’t over. There was one more left. One more that needed to rot in hell. And Colton was going to be the one to send him there.”

  “That’s all I’ve written so far,” she says nervously. “I just started on it a little while ago. It needs a lot of editing, obviously.”

  Myra frowns when Dylan doesn’t answer. “Are you there?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I’m here. You really wrote that?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Damn, Myra, that’s really good. You kind of shocked the hell out of me.”

  “Why? Did you think I’d suck?” she asks with a laugh.

  “No, not at all… I just didn’t know how good you were. You’re really good at that shit.”

  “Thanks.”

  Myra can hear Dylan take in a deep breath. “I miss you,” he says.

  “I miss you too. Do you want to come over? You could stay the night if you wanted.”

  “You don’t know how much I want to, but I’m supposed to rest my back tonight. And if I come over, there won’t be any resting.”

  Myra grins. “We can just sleep.”

  “I won’t want to sleep. I’ll want to do other things…”

  “What things?”r />
  “Dirty, filthy things that involve you being naked…”

  Myra moans a little.

  “Fuck, don’t do that shit to me,” Dylan says in a low voice.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Dylan clears his throat and takes in a deep breath. “Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to your writing. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

  “Pancakes?”

  She smiles. “Pancakes it is. Good night, Dylan.”

  “Good night. Sweet dreams. I plan on dreaming about you tonight, Myra.”

  Myra closes her phone and holds it to her heart with both hands as she leans her head back against the headboard. She closes her eyes, a happy grin on her face and in her heart.

  * * *

  Dylan groans when he hears his alarm go off. Every muscle in his body protests when he reaches over to turn the damn thing off. He’s most definitely feeling the effects of those damn cabinets. It takes him awhile to get up, but he finally makes it to the bathroom and takes a quick shower. He actually picks up his clothes off the floor and puts his towel in the hamper. Ever since he went to all that work cleaning his house, he’s been making a concerted effort to clean up after himself. He plans on having Myra back over to spend the night with him – hopefully very soon – so he’s determined to not going to let his house turn into a shithole again before that happens.

  He pulls on his jeans and throws on a T and a flannel shirt. After downing a quick cup of coffee, he lights a smoke before he gets into his truck.

  Pulling into Myra’s driveway, his mouth drops open and his cigarette perches precariously on his lips at the sight before him. Slowly, he turns off his truck and just sits there, a sick feeling building in the pit of his stomach. He finally gets out of his truck and slowly makes his way to her door. She opens it with a smile on her face. “Good morning,” she says before her smile fades and a worried expression replaces it. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “Call Porter,” he says as he steps inside her house and locks the door.

  “Why?”

  “Somebody slashed all of your tires.”

  * * *

  “Can you think of anyone who might be responsible for this… anyone other than Derek?” Porter asks. “He’s a given since you two have already had a run-in with him. But is there anyone else you can think of?”