Watching the Sky Cry

by J. B. Hartnett

  “He’s been gone,” he stated and moved closer to me.

  I shook my head and kept my eyes to the floor as I whispered. “Gone.”

  He broke the distance between us and put his hand out to take mine. “I know about your husband, Rylie. What I want to know is, why you called me?”

  I lifted my eyes and stared at his beautiful brown ones. Nothing like Nick. Thick brows around concerned, creased eyes. Broad shoulders and not too tall. Without heels, we were shoulder to shoulder.

  And he smelled good.

  My entire body and voice shook. “I called you…because…I want…”

  He leaned in and kissed me. His thumbs held my jaw while he slowly touched his lips to my own. My skin tingled over every inch of my body, reminding me I was alive and could feel something other than sorrow.

  “Not here,” I whispered. “Not in this house.”

  “Come on.” He leaned back with an empathetic smile, but didn’t release my hand. “I know a great place.”

  ****

  He took me to a new Mexican place on the edge of the city. One of those areas of San Clemente they were starting to develop and grow. Within ten minutes of being in his company, my concerns regarding John the Cop…well, I couldn’t find a single one. He was almost forty and a year ahead of my brother in high school, so he remembered Billy, but missed me by a year. He’d previously been engaged, but she called it off.

  And he was great, hands down, exactly the kind of distraction I needed.

  “I Googled you,” he admitted. “That’s how I knew about your husband.”

  At first, I laughed, out of awkwardness, I suppose. But in an instant, I saw the all-too-familiar look of pity on his face, something I’d grown to detest, and one of the reasons I’d become a hermit the last two years.

  “Do you believe in God?” he asked.

  I gave him a small, polite smile. “Pretty intense for first date conversation, don’t you think?”

  “So, this is a date.” He smiled. “Do you believe?” he asked again.

  I stared at the sea of other humans in the restaurant, everyone chatting or not chatting, probably about their day, those mundane things everyone takes for granted until their partner, friend, lover, is gone.

  “Not really,” I replied. “You?”

  “I was raised Catholic. I have doubts, like everyone else, I suppose. But, honestly, it makes my job a whole lot easier. If justice isn’t served here, it’ll be doled out eventually.” He looked around just as I had before. “I thought, if you had that belief, it might have brought you some comfort.”

  You would think that, but I hoped he took my lack of response as a resounding no on the comfort-front.

  Then I asked my own question. “Why did your fiancée call it off?”

  He grinned and took a sip of his beer before he answered. “She had a career, wanted to see how far she could take it. In the beginning, she wanted me, a family, and then she changed her mind. It wasn’t right. Even if I did love her, one of us was always gonna resent the other. And she wasn’t Catholic. Probably the reason my mother didn’t approve. But hey, if you convert to Catholicism, I’d be happy to marry you.” His shoulders moved with silent laughter.

  “You barely know me,” I said, batting my lashes.

  “I know I like the way your lips feel. I know, if I feed you something besides cereal, you’d be perfect.” The jeans I was wearing told me I needed to start eating more. A year ago, they’d been my skinny jeans, almost too tight to pull over my hips.

  I took another sip of my drink. “What else qualifies me for marriage?”

  He looked first at the lamp that hung low above our table then straight into my eyes. “My mother said I should find the opposite. Shy, brunette, with hazel eyes, full, pink lips, and,” his eyes went to my chest, “curves. Let’s just say, it’s about as opposite as you can get.”

  That’s when I felt like my chest had hollowed out. “I’m not shy,” I informed him. “And, to be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever marry again.”

  “So, marriage is off the table. What else is there, Rylie?” He reached for my hand, stroking the curve between my thumb and finger.

  “We could…” I swallowed, “we could just…be lovers,” I brazenly suggested.

  I kept my eyes down, because, well, for one, I wasn’t really sure that was what I wanted. And also, if he was going to reject that idea, I didn’t really want to see his face when he did.

  “You called me. I have no expectations of you, Rylie. I just like to know what I’m getting into.”

  “I miss it,” I whispered.

  “Miss what?”

  “Being held…cherished…connected.” I looked out to our fellow diners then back to him. “The little things are huge when they’re gone.”

  “Listen, I think you’re a beautiful woman. I wouldn’t have given you my card if I didn’t hope you’d use it. But there’s no rush. We take this slow. I get to know you. You get to know me. I know, for you, this has gotta be hard, and—”

  “Please,” I whispered. “Please let me pretend for one night I’m not all alone in the world anymore.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Are you sure?”

  I kept my eyes down, but answered, with my own squeeze, “Yeah.”

  ****

  A few hours later, it was over.

  And it was wonderful.

  He’d been so tender with me, gentle caresses and kisses, I hadn’t cried or felt regret. I was right there in the moment in the arms of this man. I could see a woman’s touch had been in his house. And when his lips brushed across the back of my shoulder, I turned in his arms to kiss him.

  “I don’t have to work tomorrow,” he informed me.

  “You’re not kicking me out?” I asked with a suggestive smile.

  “Could cuff you to the bed. Might be interesting.”

  “I’d stay willingly.” I let my fingers glide across his cheek, down his neck, and into the hair on his chest. “I like this.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I could get used to it,” I admitted.

  “Me, too.”

  “Thank you,” I said quietly, hoping he understood, because I knew the reality. I knew, eventually, I’d leave this bed and this room, and the illusion of everything being all right with the world would be over.

  I couldn’t do this.

  We would not be lovers.

  And he watched me come to this conclusion.

  He kissed me on the top of my cheek, just below my eye. “I wish you could stay, Rylie.”

  He understood me better than I expected. I’d forced myself to do this, to compartmentalize those confused emotions trying to invade this physical experience. Part of me just wanted to get on with it, get it over with. Then there was the other part. The one that longed to have one more night in the arms of my husband.

  “Ghosts,” I told him. “I’ve spent the last two years trying to cull any reminders. I got rid of so much, packed away those things I knew I’d regret tossing. But it’s like I’m waiting…”

  His fingers brushed my hair away from my face and forehead. “For what?”

  And that’s when the regret started to chew away at the corners of my heart, making me sick and anxious.

  “I’m waiting for it to be a nightmare. To wake up to the sound of keys jingling in the front door and tossed into the bowl in the kitchen. Those little things. And another city, somewhere close…I’d still be waiting, I think. I need to move away to move on.”

  “Where will you go?”

  Where would I go? I pulled my hand from his chest and touched the top of my ear. “See this?”

  He nodded.

  “The first boy I ever loved gave it to me. We were in this huge field when we both pierced each other’s ears. It was our spot, to run, to watch the stars, the clouds. My aunt and uncle run a cottage resort along the Russian River. Have you ever been there?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “It’s so pretty. Wine
country. They have a farmhouse there, about half a mile from the river.” I smiled like I did every time I spoke of the place. “My brother and I were born there. You drive past their house down a long, tree-lined road, and, at the end, you reach the cottages, then the river. But on the other side of that long road is nothing but a huge field and redwoods.”

  “That’s where you’ll go?”

  I turned my head to the side. “I haven’t asked, but maybe they’ll let me work for them. At least until I figure out what to do next.”

  I actually hadn’t thought of any of this until that very moment. The idea came in tandem with the words. But I doubted Aunt Ardie and Uncle Lee would have a problem with it. In fact, they’d probably insist.

  John touched the earring, turning it just like I had. “What happened to this guy?”

  “My first crush…he crushed me.” I laughed, then I turned serious, because, it was pretty much right then, I’d made up my mind. “John—”

  “Shh,” he said and kissed my lips. “We have tonight, Rylie.”

  FOUR

  The following morning, I walked home along El Camino Real, after I lied and told John I’d called a taxi. He tried to come with me. I’m sure, being a cop, he couldn’t keep his protectiveness at bay. But I was able to convince him I needed to do this on my own. The look on his face told me he knew he’d never hear from or see me again. And his parting words to me were, “Don’t give up on your heart, Rylie.”

  By the time I got home, I took in the sight of my yard and burst into tears. My anger had taken on the form of destruction. An essential stage in the grieving process had been well and truly realized. I walked inside, closed the door, and slid to the floor in great, body-wracking sobs.

  I crawled through the house on my hands and knees, pulling and scratching at each wall we’d painted, each curtain and picture we’d hung, each piece of furniture we’d picked out together. Every single emotion I’d avoided for two solid years found an escape. And all I could do was cry, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Because once I’d left the tender embrace and warm bed of another man, his scent on my skin was a foul betrayal to the memories in our home.

  I reached a shaking hand into my purse.

  Then I hit the number.

  “Yeah,” his groggy voice answered.

  “Billy….” I wept into the phone.

  “Ry…” There was pain in his voice, but he said no more. He let me cry like he was right there, sitting next to me. My big brother, so far away, but I knew in one phone call, even saying nothing at all, he was there.

  Finally, I asked, “Is your friend Chris still in real estate?”

  “Uh…yes?”

  I looked around the living room. Dull, morning light tried to break through the windows into the tomb of our home. I used to love this house and everything inside it. So many “things” I’d bought from work with my discount. I’d officially quit my job six months ago when I began to wake from denial. They’d been holding my position, waiting for me to come back, which was more than generous. But I knew there was someone out there desperate for work, desperate for the kind of opportunity and future the company could offer, and it wasn’t fair for me to keep them hanging like that.

  “I’ve already packed away everything that means something. I don’t care what happens to the rest. I’ll give it to charity. Less hassle.”

  Papers rustled in the background. “I’m calling Mom.”

  “Billy—”

  “Rylie,” he said, “it’s time you took the hands offering to help you get back up.”

  “I’ve been okay though, really. I think I just need…I just…”

  He knew I was lying to him, and myself, and let out a sound very similar to choking.

  “That’s bullshit. You know it. I know it. You’ve had time, and you’re not okay.”

  I hesitated, because, once I admitted it, once I said the word…confirmed or denied what I now was, it had substance. It had influence. It was real. My therapist said it would be helpful to say the word out loud, just for my own benefit, as a step toward healing. I’d said it to her, but no one else. Not even in my head. And now, it was time to admit defeat.

  “You’re right,” I sobbed. “I’ve taken all I can. I can’t be here anymore.” I took a breath and looked around. “I’m drowning.”

  “We can find you somewhere else. You’ll get good money for the house, Rylie.”

  “No,” I said. “I mean, yes about the house. But here. Here. I want to go home,” I whispered. I reached up to twist the earring at the top of my ear. I didn’t have to spell it out for Billy. At some point, we’d all spoken about going back up north. It was still California, but it might as well have been another country it was so different.

  “Are you sure that’s the place for you, Rylie? You know, considering…”

  “Yes,” I said without hesitation.

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “Something special about that place, isn’t there?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  “I’ve had a job offer in Portland. It’s not Guerneville, but it’s closer than Seattle.”

  My dad and Uncle Lee were born in the farmhouse my aunt and uncle now lived in. It belonged to their parents and grandparents before. When Mom didn’t make it to the hospital when Billy was born, they joked he was carrying on the Truscott tradition. Three years later, I followed. No matter what circumstances took us away from that farmhouse, we all planned to find our way back there.

  After we lost the baby, Aunt Ardie used to call me every couple of months. I always wondered why they’d never had kids, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you just asked. Finally, my aunt told me she’d suffered several miscarriages and, eventually, they gave up trying. She said the heartache became unbearable, but they looked forward to the day when Billy and I brought our kids up there. They wanted the family together again. But Nick wouldn’t leave his dad’s business, and my parents weren’t about to go anywhere either. Not when they thought a grandchild would be in their future.

  But now…

  “Can’t believe this is happening to me, Billy.”

  And that’s when the tears came again.

  “Riley,” he said, trying to grab my attention. After a few minutes, he broke through and finally said, “It’s not happening; it happened. Time to start thinking like that if you’re gonna move on.”

  It wasn’t like I didn’t talk to someone. I had. I’d talked until I was out of things to talk about. And I wasn’t indifferent to my feelings. It was just…when I spoke about…everything…I kept a distance from the events of my life, as if I was telling a story about someone else, someone who wasn’t me. And I felt terrible for that woman and what she’d been through.

  “It’s as if I’m feeling it for the first time.” Every time I tried something new, something like making love, connecting to another human being…a man…I was destined to go through this torture. Again and again and again.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “It fucking hurts,” I cried.

  “Knew it would.” And the solemn way he said it sounded as if he was in just as much pain as I was. “Okay, this is what I want you to do. Stay right where you are. I’m gonna call Mom. If you want something to do while you wait, pack up a bag with whatever you think you’re gonna need for a few weeks.”

  “A few weeks?”

  I’d put my parents off for months now. When they did come by, I’d put on a show, trying very hard to convince them I was okay. But it had to have been at least two months now; I’d made every excuse possible to avoid them. In hindsight, I think I was building up to this little breakdown and didn’t want them to see it.

  “Make sure you have the things you want. Have a look around. Put photos, any sentimental stuff into a box. We’ll take care of everything else.”

  I let my eyes wander around the room, then got up and began to walk down the hall, into the kitchen, and past the yellow room that remained untouched. But I’d already packed away the photo
s and memories of us. I learned pretty quickly that sentimental landmarks were emotional land mines.

  “It’s already done.”

  “I’m calling Mom.” Then he took a breath and said, “You have a lot of people who love you, Ry,” and hung up.

  Twenty minutes later, my mom flew through my front door with Dad hot on her heels. Mom came right to me and knelt down, taking my face in her visibly-shaking hands. “Gonna be okay, baby.”

  Dad looked out the front door. “What happened to the yard?”

  “I had to kill the plumeria.”

  He once again surveyed the carnage then looked back to me, dumbfounded. “Why?”

  “Because…it was too beautiful to live, Dad,” I cried.

  Mom held my face, as I told her through my sobs, “He’s gone.”

  “Yeah, baby.” She nodded. “He’s gone.”

  “He’s never coming back.”

  Mom held me and looked over at Dad. I hated to see the panicked worry on her face, but I hated the look of fear on his even more. He took his phone out of his pocket and went out the front door so he could have privacy for the call.

  “The house…Robert and Lydia,” I began. My in-laws and I had barely spoken. It was done and there was really nothing more we could say that hadn’t already been said.

  “The house is yours, honey. For whatever comes next for you. They love you. But they’re…”

  She didn’t have to say it. “I know.”

  “I’m gonna pack a few things for you.” She stood up and looked around. “Where is everything?”

  “There are three boxes in the hall closet I’ll probably never open again, but I figured I’d regret it if I got rid of the stuff inside.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Mom.” I wanted to stop her before she went into our bedroom. “My clothes aren’t in there. I’ve been sleeping on the couch since…”

  “I’ll work it out.” She turned so I wouldn’t see her cry, but I heard her trying to hide it with a muffled, “I’ll take care of it.”

  Just then, Dad came back in and put his hand out to me. “You’ll stay with us until Billy gets here and takes you to Ardie and Lee’s.” Mom quickly snapped her head to him in surprise. “You know it’s the best place for her, Lily.” I think Mom wanted me with them, but Dad seemed to understand; I needed distance to heal. And though I was a grown woman of thirty-four, Dad probably wouldn’t leave me in the care of anyone else.