The Romance Novel Cure

by Ceves, Nina

  We got to his house, and Patrick’s car wasn’t there.

  “Where…?” Scott checked his phone and looked up and down their quiet street anxiously.

  Faintly, in the distance, growing louder by the moment, we heard music. We looked in the direction it was coming from, and saw Patrick’s car slowly driving down the street. The windows were down in the car, the sounds of the song, “Wheels On the Bus” becoming more audible. He pulled into the driveway. “All through the town!”

  We gathered around and stared in silence as Patrick jumped out, beaming, turning to open the back door. Within moments he had a baby girl on his hip and was holding a very little boy by the hand.

  “This is Jaydon,” he said, indicating the boy, “and this is Jasmine.” He went to the other side of the car and opened the back door. “Jylan, are you ready to come out? You can do it by yourself or I can help you. By yourself? Wow!” Another little boy, a bit bigger than Jaydon, hung on to Patrick’s pants as Patrick carefully closed the back door and shuffled to the passenger side door. “And this is Meemaw!”

  Scott hurried over to help and within moments we were staring at Scott, Patrick, the three children, and a very small older woman with short white hair. Patrick reached in the car and held out a cane for her, which she took slowly, her hand trembling. She looked around, blinking. She sighed. “Well now it sure is good to be out of that place. I kindly feel that I can take a breath for the first time in a long time.” She smiled. I could see that her smile was lopsided, and could hear a slight slurring in her speech, and remembered Scott saying the children’s grandmother had had a stroke. At first, I thought she must be the social worker.

  Before we knew it, we were all in the house, Patrick seeming to have cloned himself, he was multitasking so gracefully.

  “The hands in the sink go wash, wash, wash,” he sang, helping each child, then getting them seated and handing around napkins and snacks.

  “Where… where did you get these cups?” These were the first words Scott had managed.

  “They’re sippy cups,” said Patrick breezily, “I got them on the way to pick up the kids and Meemaw.”

  “Mee… Mee…Meemaw?” Scott coughed. The children looked around curiously, crunching graham crackers and eating banana slices, which seemed to have materialized from nowhere. Patrick supported Meemaw as she sat and handed her the same kind of cup and snack as the children had, then sat down with Jasmine on his lap. He pulled out a bag of cheerios from his shirt pocket and put a few on the table. Jasmine reached out her little hand and picked one up.

  “Nom, nom!” said Patrick. “After I picked up the kids, I headed to the nursing home where I found out Meemaw was at.” He nodded, as though to say, of course, like you do. We nodded back. Scott’s mouth was open. “I’m sorry, but that place?” Patrick looked meaningfully at us. “She can get her therapies here, we’ll get her all set up with SSDI. So she can be home. With her family. Sweetheart, can you slice some more banana?”

  “That surely does taste good,” said Meemaw slowly, with effort. “Sure is nice.”

  Laura, Alma, and I looked at one another as Scott automatically sliced some bananas.

  “Then I get so strong!” Jylan suddenly said.

  “Ba!” Jaydon shouted.

  Jasmine was silent, but she smiled so big her eyes crinkled up.

  Scott stopped, holding the banana in his hand, looking at Patrick, who looked back. Then they smiled at one another.

  We left with a long shopping list, and spent the rest of our very long lunch at a store that had things for kids and babies.

  Greta

  I looked around me in dismay, taking photographs with my phone. The beautiful mural that I had gotten Ben to paint at the old preschool where we met was covered in graffiti. I had felt nostalgic, and stopped by to see the mural. I went inside, but the director was new, and only the infant teacher was the same from when I had done my student teaching there.

  “Inside, you see? Still so beautiful.” Maggie pointed to the walls inside the play area. The colors were still vibrant, the images clear. It made me smile, remembering Ben painting, looking up at me, our eyes catching.

  I spoke with the director, Lola, for a while and headed home. Ben arrived at the same time as I did, and he looked exhausted and very happy. There in the parking lot, he told me all about Scott and Patrick’s new family. I couldn’t believe it. I started crying in happiness, hugging Ben.

  “I’m sure they need time to settle in, but I want to get back in the car and go there right now!” I shouted. “So that’s what Patrick started to text me about. He sent me this text that he just abandoned halfway through. Something about big news and then… nothing, all day. Now I know why he didn’t reply. He was too busy becoming an insta-daddy!”

  We started heading to our place, and I showed Ben the photos of the mural. “I spoke with the new director, and we’re going to connect with an at-risk youth group that works with older kids and teens in gangs. Turns out the graffiti is made up of tags from kids in a gang. So, we’re going to see if we can get support to have the mural fixed up. But, it has to come from the inside, or else the kids will just tag over it, you know?”

  “You’re so bad ass,” said Ben, admiringly, but also looking worried.

  “Tikkun Olam!” I grinned. “What do you want for dinner?”

  The rest of the week went by in a blur of work, helping Patrick and Scott with the kids and Meemaw, and being together. The kids were so adorable, and the guys had them call me Auntie Greta. That made me so happy. Each little child had such a strong personality. I was already completely in love with all of them. Jylan was full of energy and spoke in loud bursts. He loved action figures and always wanted me to sit down and play with him. Jaydon was just taking his first steps, wobbling everywhere, wanting to walk all by himself at all times. Jasmine had the sweetest, calmest demeanor. I told the guys to watch out: it was babies like her who became wild two year olds, in my experience. Each child had thick brown hair and big, brown eyes. They almost looked like triplets, despite the size difference. It was amazing how quickly Patrick and Scott’s house had become home filled with family. All of Patrick’s low spirits had disappeared, and he was constantly on the go, with a deep, inner serenity that radiated outward. Scott looked frazzled and overjoyed, like any new father. Meemaw had been losing ground at the nursing home, but was now gaining some weight and strength, though she was still weak. She looked so happy, though, when she sat and followed the children with her eyes, then closed her eyes to rest, a sweet smile on her face.

  Before I knew it, I was rushing to meet Ben at Mac’s. I entered the office and sat down next to Ben and across from Mac.

  “I forgot my vision board, and had to go back to get it,” I said, catching my breath, pushing my hair out of my eyes. “Sorry!”

  Ben kissed me and I felt everything within me settle and soar, simultaneously. I leaned into the kiss. “Hey, baby,” he said, so quietly, smiling.

  After catching up a little, Mac suggested that we show each other what we made, if we felt comfortable doing that.

  “Should I go first?” I asked. “Okay.” I was nervous. I pulled off the loose rubber band from the large poster paper. “Sorry about the glitter!” I held it firmly on my lap. “Okay.” I felt really nervous. “So, that’s a door, and you open it.” Ben pulled the door, which I had cut into the poster, open by its button knob, getting glitter on his hand in the process. “And okay, see, there’s another door. It says: The Future.” Ben pushed open that door, smiling at me as more glitter rained down. I reached onto the back of the poster board, where I had stuck an envelope, and pushed it through the door to Ben. The envelope had a question mark on it. He opened the envelope and took out a sheet of paper. He read the words and looked at me, blinking furiously. I stared back, a huge lump in my throat. Without taking his eyes off me, he handed the note to Mac.

  “Just as long as we’re together,” she read out loud.

  Th
e three of us were quiet for a moment, and then Mac took a tissue and wiped her eyes. “That’s so beautiful,” she whispered.

  Ben nodded, everything he felt right there in his eyes.

  After another moment, Mac asked him if he’d like to share what he had. He reached into his messenger bag and got his sketchbook and flipped to the page he wanted. He turned it so that we could see. My mouth dropped open.

  It looked like a paranormal romance novel cover. Front and center was me, with Ben slightly behind me, his arm around me. Fog and stark branches full of menace were in the background. I looked so tough, staring out as though I could take on anything. My hair was blowing back in the wind, my eyes looked smoky, and I had a little half smile. I was wearing something black and clingy, ripped in some places, my body all strong and curvy. Ben’s arm reached around me protectively and he stared out fiercely. Where the title would be, he had written Greta + Ben in a kind of gothic script. Where the author’s name would be, he had written Greta + Ben again, in a more modern type of font. I reached for it and held it, barely breathing. How he saw me, how he imagined us… I couldn’t even…

  Ben cleared his throat. “You’re my hero, Greta.”

  “We’ve got to frame this,” I finally said. I looked at him, amazed, then back at his drawing. I didn’t want to stop looking at it.

  “I didn’t realize,” Ben said quietly. “I look like my father.”

  My heart hurt, looking from the image of Ben on paper, looking at him right next to me. I wished his father were alive to see my husband come into his own like this, becoming the man he was always meant to be. Somehow, I hoped he could see Ben.

  “There’s another thing, too,” said Ben, sounding uncomfortable. I handed him back the sketch book. He turned a few pages and took a breath, then turned it out so that we could see the page. There was a list, from one to ten.

  “Okay, so here’s the thing,” he said, looking straight ahead. “When I found out Greta was reading romance novels, I thought she was reading the Dark Shifters series. Turns out, she was writing them, but more on that later. I thought I’d take advice from the main guy character, Silas, to try and get Greta back. So, I kept thinking, what would Silas do? And I came up with this list. I tried to be like Silas. I wanted to be the kind of man… the kind of man who would make you happy, Greta.” He handed me the sketchbook and I read the list to myself. I got to number ten: Love Greta. My eyes filled with tears and overflowed. I looked back up at Ben, so moved, I couldn’t speak.

  “The romance novel cure,” I finally said, my voice scratchy.

  “You wrote the novel,” he smiled at me, his eyes so big and dark.

  “You asked me to read it to you,” I smiled shakily, remembering the night he asked me to read to him, how that started.

  He nodded, and I could see he was remembering that too, as well as all the other nights we’d read to each other until we couldn’t keep our hands off one another.

  “Ben, you didn’t have to become more like Silas to fix things between us,” I said, finally, wiping my tears.

  He shrugged, looking at me curiously.

  “I made Silas up… Ben, he is inspired by you. Think about it. His being a fox. He is so loyal and caring and protective. So strong and loving. Even his scar. Ben, you’re the one… you’re the hero in my life. The only guy for me. Always. I love you… so much.”

  For a long moment we just looked at each other, until Mac softly cleared her throat.

  “I have the feeling the two of you would like to end the session early,” she said, smiling gently. We glanced at her, nodding, and gathered our things, said goodbye.

  “Come home with me,” said Ben. “I’ll bring you back to your car tomorrow morning. Just, come here.” He pulled me to him tightly and kissed me. His lips devoured mine. I leaned against him and nodded. I couldn’t wait to get home, to get him alone. We got in the car and he started the engine, then gripped the steering wheel. “If I kiss you one more time, I’m not going to be able to drive home. I’ll need you naked and under me, right here in the car. Then we’d probably get arrested.”

  I started laughing. “Drive!”

  Ben drove.

  “And another thing,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Ben said, darting a hot glance at me.

  “I’m not always going to be under you,” I said.

  “Under, on top, I’ll take you any way I can get you,” he growled. “And you know… you and I? We’ll never be over.”

  * * *

  Silas waited until he heard her breathing slow, until she stopped tossing and turning. Then, he raised himself up on his elbow, looking down at her face. She was curled away from him, her fist under her chin. A faint frown on her brow told him how troubling her dreams were. His jaw clenched and he blinked, shaking his head once.

  “Keeping you safe,” he said in a whisper. “I promised once, I promise it now.”

  * * *

  Greta

  Spring weather in New Mexico can be unpredictable. I looked at the horizon, and saw some clouds hovering. With any luck, they’d stay put, and we’d have clear skies. I looked around at the gathering of people, at the paint and paint brushes, but most of all, I looked at Ben. Wearing his oldest cargo pants and a baggy tee shirt, he was opening cans of paints and handing out brushes. We were at the preschool where we had met, ready to give the old mural a makeover. Teachers and families from the preschool I worked at now, plus families and teachers from this preschool, as well as people from the community, had come today to make a party out of art and supporting the school.

  My smile grew even bigger as I saw Patrick, Scott, Meemaw and the kids arrive. Scott was pushing Meemaw in a wheelchair. I went over to greet them, helped them get set up with art supplies.

  “Well now, isn’t this nice,” sighed Meemaw, lifting her face to the sun.

  I smiled at Patrick.

  “She thinks Scott and I are brothers,” he mouthed. We made horrified, amused faces at one another.

  Someone started playing music, someone started setting out tamales. The sun was high overhead, dappled by the cottonwood trees. I felt such a sense of well-being, such a sense of being right where I needed to be. I turned and there he was: Ben. He had stood up, and was looking at me. He dropped his paint brush and with several quick strides he was in front of me, holding my head, and kissing me. I reached my hands up to stroke his face, hold him close, and kiss him back, lost for this one moment in time, while the day seemed to hold its breath around us.

  Acknowledgements:

  Great big chocolate covered thank you to Nerika Parke for her above and beyond beta reading help!

  If you wondered about what happens to Alma, please turn the page toread on for her story inThe Cure for the Common Crush:

  Cure for the Common Crush

  by Nina Ceves

  Copyright © 2014 Nina Ceves; 2015, edited, revised.

  All rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, organizations, or events is purely coincidental.

  Alma has a problem. She has a crush on someone who is perfect for her in every way except one: he is not available. Struggling with feelings of shame and sorrow, she embarks on a plan to rid herself of the crush once and for all. Cure for the Common Crush. A mission. A blog. A series of steps.

  But could the cure also include the adorable, tattooed, single dad she keeps running into?

  Chapter One

  Alma stepped back and considered the wall in front her, the paintbrush hanging from her hand. It definitely would need another coat. Or three. She wanted the red to be really vivid. She tilted her head, took a step back.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!” Looking down in dismay, she saw her paintbrush colliding

  with a man’s arm. She had painted a streak of red paint on some stranger’s arm.

  “It’s okay.”

&n
bsp; Alma looked up from the man’s arm into blue eyes in a smiling face, framed by the bright blue Albuquerque sky. She looked around for a paper towel, a rag, anything, while apologizing again. Grabbing a bandana, she rubbed at the paint on the stranger’s arm.

  “Making it worse,” she sang out in distress, spreading the red color further on the man’s forearm. At that he burst out laughing, still holding his arm out steadily. Alma noticed that the paint was partially obscuring some color already on the man’s forearm and bicep. She tilted her head, looking curiously at his tattoos, the cloth forgotten in her hand.

  They were at a community gathering, helping to restore a mural at a preschool that had been covered with graffiti. She was there with her co-workers.

  “You’ve already got art on your arms, you don’t need any addition from me,” she laughed in embarrassment. She looked up from his arm into his face again, this time for more than a split second.

  “Hey, I expected to get paint on me today, it’s no problem.” He spoke gently and smiled down at her. Those blue eyes, shiny, light golden brown hair, cleft chin: she ducked her head and his arms came into view. Muscular, covered with tattoos. His short sleeves broke her wandering gaze and she wondered how much more of his shoulders and beyond were inked.

  “Did you design these? How did you choose the images?” She hadn’t intended to ask, the questions just popped out. Anything related to art or design made her instantaneously fascinated.

  “I just got one at a time, yeah, they were my ideas. They just seemed to work together. I didn’t know what I was doing. Started when I was eighteen. Haven’t added any in a long while.” He held out his arms, looking a little bashfully at Alma. His voice was a low rasp, as though he was a friendly lion. She looked at the interlocking images of tree branches, sunrays, and roots with fascination. He turned his arms slightly so that she could see how the lines and shapes connected.