Color of Forgiveness

by Madeleine Beckett

“Yeah, she’s doing okay. After you fell sleep last night, I called Chad and I got to talk to her. The docs got the contractions to stop, but they’re gonna keep her overnight just in case. She might get to go home today.”

  “That’s good to hear. Is everything okay with the baby?”

  “Yeah, she said if she does have the baby now, there’s a good survival rate. The baby would just have to spend a lot of time in the hospital.” Dylan takes in a deep breath, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I was so damn relieved to hear that because I didn’t know… I thought maybe the baby might…” he says before gulping.

  Myra leans towards him and wraps her arms around his neck. “She’s going to be fine,” she whispers. He pulls her closer, burying his face in her hair. He holds her for a long moment then pulls back slightly, staring down into her eyes.

  “That appointment I made with that therapist is today, but I’m canceling it because I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “No,” Myra says, shaking her head. “You have to go.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “Listen to me. I could not believe it when you told me you’d made an appointment because I honestly didn’t think you would. But you did. And I’m so proud of you that you took that step. You need this, Dylan. I know you want to protect me, but you can’t be with me every minute of the day. I have guns that I own and inherited from my dad and Grampie; I have one in my purse right now. You’re going to have to trust me when I say I can take care of myself. I really want you to go to this appointment. You’ll only be gone for a few hours and I promise I’ll sit at home with a gun in my lap until you get back.”

  Dylan frowns. “I don’t know…”

  “Please?”

  He groans. “Fine, but just know that I’m not one bit fucking happy about this.”

  A huge smile spreads across her face. “Thank you,” she says happily as she climbs into his lap and attacks his lips, causing his dick to harden in his jeans.

  * * *

  Dylan hands the receptionist the stack of papers she gave him earlier to fill out. “We’ll call your name shortly,” she tells him with a smile.

  Dylan sits and his leg bounces up and down as he waits. He wishes like hell he could run outside and smoke right now. Wiping the back of his hand over his forehead, he wonders why they have the heat turned up so high. He takes in a couple of heavy breaths and wipes his hands on his jeans. He digs his phone out of his pocket and stares at it. The only reason he’s here is because of Myra. She thinks this therapy shit is going to work but he knows better. Talking about it won’t make it go away.

  He quickly types out a text.

  U ok –D

  A few seconds later a response pops up.

  I’m completely safe and sound. Are you okay? –M

  He wipes his forehead again.

  No –D

  ;) You’re going to be fine, I promise. I miss you –M

  I mis u 2 –D

  A woman calls out his name. He silences his phone and shoves it back into his pocket.

  “Hi. I’m Dr. Mitchum,” she says, holding out her hand.

  Mitchum?

  Dylan frowns and stares down at her hand, his stomach knotting painfully. Swallowing hard, he somehow manages to reach his hand out. She grasps it firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you… May I call you Dylan?”

  He nods.

  “Follow me. I’m all the way at the end of the hallway,” she says, turning and giving him a smile.

  She opens the door to the last office on the right and holds it open for him. “Here we are. Have a seat.” He steps inside and slumps down into a leather chair in front of an oak desk.

  “So, Dylan,” she says as she looks down at the folder in front of her. “I see here that you’ve come for some grief counseling, which happens to be my area of expertise. I’d like to tell you a bit about myself before we get started. I’ve been working as a therapist for the last fifteen years. I chose grief counseling due to my own personal experiences. I lost my parents in a car accident when I was thirteen, and my brother died from an overdose a few years after that. So I’ve been on both sides of the spectrum as far as grief is concerned.”

  She looks down at her desk. “I’ve read over the paperwork that you filled out and I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind, just to get to know you a little better.”

  Dylan bristles.

  “I read that you’ve seen a couple of therapists in Boise in the past. How did that go?”

  “Not good.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “I don’t know. I was kind of forced into it and went with my ex-wife. They just asked me a bunch of damn questions that I didn’t want to answer. So I didn’t,” he says with a shrug.

  “Were the questions painful for you?”

  “Not really. I just felt like it wasn’t any of their damn business.”

  “Were there questions that you did answer?”

  “No. I didn’t want them knowing anything about me.”

  “Would you say you have problems communicating?”

  He barks out a non-humorous laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  She smiles at him. “Good,” she says, nodding. “That’s something we can work on. Why are you here when you know it didn’t work in the past?”

  He looks down at the dirt on his work boot. “I met someone. She told me she talked to a doc after her dad died. I told her I didn’t think it’d work, but that I’d give it another try. I’m here only because of her.”

  “What about for yourself?”

  “I don’t give a shit about myself. I haven’t for a long time.”

  “Since when?”

  He shrugs and doesn’t answer, but he knows exactly when he stopped giving a shit. It was the moment that Mel took his last breath.

  “How long have you been divorced?”

  “A little over a year...”

  “Does my last name bother you since it’s so similar to your son’s?”

  The question stuns Dylan momentarily. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “Yeah… actually it does.”

  She nods. “That’s certainly to be expected. I didn’t realize the similarity until I reviewed your chart right before you came in. If it’s too hard on you, we have three other extremely qualified therapists who would be more than happy to work with you.”

  Dylan nods and takes in a deep breath.

  The rest of the hour goes by quickly and before Dylan knows it he’s standing at the receptionist’s desk and signing his credit card receipt.

  “Dr. Mitchum said she’d like to see you back in a week. Can we go ahead and schedule that?” the receptionist asks, looking up at him.

  Dylan stares at her for a moment before nodding.

  “Okay,” she says with a smile. “Let’s see when she’s available…”

  * * *

  Myra hears the buzzer on her dryer go off. She stands up from the kitchen table and stretches before picking up the gun lying on the table and tucking it into the back of her jeans.

  Dylan dropped her off this morning to pick up her car after she had all four tires replaced. He managed to get her garage cleaned out enough that she was able to park her car in it then he worked on her cabinets up until he had to leave for his therapy appointment. She thinks she was more nervous about the appointment than he was. Her stomach has been queasy all morning over it. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him since he left, and she got even more nervous when she got his text. She just hopes that he gives it a chance this time and won’t close himself off. Maybe he’ll actually open up and talk about what happened to Mel. He’s been so opposed to the idea that she’s prepared for it to not work.

  In the basement, she puts her folded laundry in a basket and carries it up the stairs. She frowns when she hears a knock on the door. Setting the basket on the kitchen table, she glances at the clock over the stove and sees that it’s too early for Dylan to be
back from his appointment yet. He’s been gone two hours and it’s an hour drive to Boise and an hour back, and his appointment was supposed to be an hour long. He didn’t skip out on his appointment, did he? No, she can’t see him doing that. Then who could it be? She walks slowly towards the front door, her right hand behind her back, her fingers resting on the gun, her heart beating faster in her chest.

  The knocking continues. Finally at the door, she swallows hard before slowly peeking out the small window. She gasps, pulling in a startled breath as her eyes land on dark brown hair and crystal blue eyes.

  Sabrina.

  CHAPTER 8

  TANGERINE, UNEXPECTED

  Myra backs away from the door, almost tripping over her feet in the process. Why is Sabrina here? Knocking on her door? Was she the one that slashed her tires? Question after question bombards her mind so quickly that she can barely think straight.

  Sabrina pounds on the door again, startling Myra out of her thoughts.

  “I know you’re in there. I just saw you,” Sabrina shouts. “Can we talk?”

  Myra stares at the door, her chest heaving. Should she answer it? Or wait for Dylan? What could she possibly want to talk to Myra about?

  “Come on, it’s cold out here,” Sabrina yells. “I just want to talk.”

  Pulling the gun out of the back of her jeans, Myra flips off the safety and tucks it into the pocket of her hoodie. Slowly, she undoes the locks on the door and slips her hand into her pocket, placing her finger on the trigger. She takes in a deep breath and opens the door.

  Sabrina eyes Myra from head to toe. “May I come in?” she asks.

  Myra nods and moves to the side.

  Sabrina walks past her, tucking her hands into the pockets of her cream-colored wool coat. She purses her perfect rose-tinted lips as she gazes around Myra’s living room.

  “What do you want?” Myra asks.

  Sabrina avoids the question. “Can we sit?” she asks instead.

  Myra nods. Sabrina’s high-heeled brown leather boots echo loudly across the hardwood floor as she walks to the couch. Dropping her matching bag to the floor, slips off her coat and lays it on the arm of the couch before she sits down. Myra sits on the loveseat, her hands still inside her hoodie and her finger still resting gently on the trigger of her gun.

  “How did you know where I live?” Myra asks.

  Sabrina shrugs nonchalantly. “That was easy enough. I stopped by that small grocery store and struck up a conversation with a cashier. I told her I was an old friend of yours and that I’d lost your address. She offered it up fairly quickly.”

  Lucia…

  “Why did you want my address? What do you want?”

  “Well, I actually came here to see Dylan, but he wasn’t home. I tried calling him, but he didn’t answer. Is he working somewhere today?”

  Myra just continues to stare at her.

  Sabrina sighs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. I wanted to talk to you anyway.” She stands and walks over to the fireplace and stares at each photo on the mantle. As Myra watches her, she still can’t believe how beautiful Sabrina is with her straight dark hair, perfectly tanned skin and light blue eyes. With her boots on, she looks like she might well over six feet tall. Her jeans fit her like a second skin showing off every perfect curve. The sky blue color in her ruffled blouse matches the color of her eyes perfectly.

  Sabrina finally turns around and crosses her arms over her chest. “I came here to ask you one question. Are you fucking my husband?”

  Myra gasps, her hand tightening on the gun. “He’s not your husband… he’s your ex-husband. You two are divorced.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “And I won’t. It’s none of your business.”

  Sabrina’s eyes narrow as she glares at Myra. She slowly shakes her head, her lip curling up. “You don’t have to,” she says. Sabrina continues staring at Myra with a look of hatred on her face. Myra’s eyes never leave her face.

  “Do you know what Dylan told me?” she finally asks.

  Myra shakes her head slightly.

  “He said and I quote, ‘I met someone.’ And that was it. He absolutely refused to tell me a single thing about you so I had no idea how involved you two were. You don’t know how much I was hoping that you two weren’t fucking yet, but when you showed up on his doorstep all teary-eyed, I had a feeling you were. And especially when I saw how upset Dylan was after you left. I can’t remember the last time he acted like that about me. It’s been so long…” She walks back over to the couch and sits, crossing her legs. She stares quietly at the fireplace for a few minutes.

  She takes in a deep breath and looks at Myra. “Did he tell you about Mel?”

  Myra nods.

  Sabrina frowns. “He did? What did he say?”

  “He told me everything.”

  Sabrina throws her head back and laughs. “So Dylan talked to you about Mel – told you everything – yet he couldn’t ever talk to me, his own wife, who was there when it happened? Unbelievable.”

  Myra doesn’t know what to say so she just stays quiet.

  “What did he tell you about me? Since he was so open and talkative with you, I can only imagine what he said. Did he tell you that I was the horrible ex… the one with the drug problem?”

  Myra clears her throat. “He just explained how you had a rough time with everything…”

  “Rough time?” Sabrina echoes with a non-humorous laugh. “Yeah, you could say it was a rough time. Do you have kids?”

  Myra shakes her head.

  “Then you have no idea what I’ve been through. You have no idea what it’s like to give birth to a child, to love a child more than your own life. You can’t even comprehend the pain I’ve experienced. Mel was my whole world. My entire life revolved around him. Mel meant everything to me and Dylan, and when we lost him…” She frowns and stares down at her hands as her bottom lip begins to quiver.

  “I’m so sorry,” Myra says softly.

  Sabrina grabs her bag and pulls out a tissue quickly wiping her eyes. She clears her throat. “So, yeah, I couldn’t deal with what happened and I ended up with a drug problem. But you know what? I kicked my addiction, and I got better. I went to rehab and stuck with it. And do you know what I thought about every single day that I was in there?”

  Myra shakes her head.

  “Dylan. Dylan was my one and only motivation. I knew that my husband was waiting on me. Did he tell you that? That he promised to wait for me? That he’d come back to me when I got sober?”

  Myra nods slightly.

  Sabrina’s eyes narrow. “Of course he told you because obviously he tells you every single thing!” she shouts, causing Myra to flinch slightly.

  Sabrina looks at the fireplace again and takes in some deep breaths. “I have worked my ass off. I made it through rehab, and I didn’t miss a single meeting after I got out. I got a job, got an apartment and finally got my whole life back on track, and I couldn’t wait to surprise Dylan with the good news. So imagine how I felt when I went to tell my husband only to find out that he didn’t wait on me. That he met somebody,” she says, practically snarling the last two words.

  Sabrina stares at Myra with a wild look in her eyes. “I absolutely refuse to accept that. It’s time for me to get my husband back. Dylan is the only man that I have ever loved, and I plan on fighting for him. I know he still loves me because you never get over your first love, and I was his first love. And I’m the only one that truly understands what he’s been through. I’m the only one he can relate to. So be prepared for a fight. I will get my husband back.”

  Myra clears her throat. “I know Dylan cares deeply for you and that he probably shouldn’t have made you that promise, but I think it was because he wanted you to get better more than anything in the world. But I won’t fight you for Dylan. It’s his decision to make; who he wants to be with. I really am sorry for everything that you’ve been through, and I’m sorry that yo
ur marriage ended, but it did end. You two are divorced. I am not the other woman in this situation. Dylan is single, and I have nothing to feel guilty about as far as my relationship with him goes.”

  Sabrina stands, puts her coat on and grabs her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “Well, I just wanted to make my intentions very clear so there would be no misunderstandings. I know what I want, and I’m not afraid to work hard to get it.”

  Myra doesn’t respond and watches as Sabrina walks towards the door. She turns around and looks at Myra one more time with a challenge in her eyes before opening the door and walking out. Myra locks the new deadbolts and slides the chain into place and leans against the door with a heavy sigh.

  * * *

  Dylan pulls up to a stoplight. He grabs his phone to send Myra a text but frowns when he sees a missed call from Sabrina. She must have called while he was at his appointment. He doesn’t know what that’s about, but it doesn’t matter because he won’t be answering any of her calls any time soon. He quickly types Myra a text.

  U stil ok –D

  The light turns green, and his phone buzzes. He quickly glances down at it.

  Yes, I’m okay. Are you okay? –M

  Smiling, he types a response.

  Ys –D

  He frowns when he passes a restaurant that he and Sabrina and Chad and Natalie used to frequent. He wonders how Natalie’s doing; no one has called to give him an update on her. He feels like a shit for being in Boise and not stopping by to see her, but he has to get his ass back to Myra. He can’t leave Myra alone any longer than absolutely necessary with this stalker situation going on. He quickly dials Natalie’s number.

  “Hi,” she answers softly.

  “Hey,” Dylan says. “Are you home from the hospital?”

  “Yeah, but to be honest, I’m really not feeling so good. The contractions have stopped, but I just don’t feel right. I think this little girl is going to be making an appearance sooner rather than later.”

  “But she’ll be okay, right? If she does...?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to try to hang on as long as I can, but I just have this motherly intuition going on telling me that something’s up. When can you come visit me? I want you to bring Myra; I’m dying to meet her. Your mom has talked non-stop about her. She told me about surprising you at the airport,” Natalie says with a laugh. “I heard you weren’t too happy about that.”