by R. K. Ryals
Each time we made love was different. Like kissing, the sex got better. It was more intimate and less embarrassing. We could talk about things that would have horrified me before. We discussed what we didn’t like and what we did, what places on our bodies felt better than others. Whispered words often mingled with gasps, occasional laughter and clumsiness mingling with pleasure.
That afternoon, I turned in his embrace, my lips crashing with his, passion turning something gentle into something heated and desperate. It was as if our bodies knew we were running out of time, our clothes gone as quickly as we could shed them, the protection pulled out and slid on, his body joining with mine.
“Look at me, Clare,” he demanded.
My gaze locked with his, his body thrusting into mine, sensation building between us. When we were together, we weren’t Hawthorne and Heathcliff, we were Max and Clare, everything stripped away except the vulnerability in our eyes, the things we’d never be able to say written in our gazes. In many ways, we let our bodies speak rather than our mouths.
His fingers fell between us, working their magic, his gaze never leaving mine. “You first,” he said.
I writhed, my breath coming in pants, my cheeks flushing. My eyes started to close, and he touched my face.
“Don’t you dare,” he breathed. “Look at me.”
My eyes met his, my brows furrowing as the sensations grew, my body coming apart. His orgasm followed mine, his lips parting on a groan.
“You’re so beautiful, Clare,” he murmured afterward. “Especially when you’re falling apart.”
“You, too,” I replied, the words embarrassing but right. “I see you, Max.”
His embrace was a safety net, full of things I’d never thought I’d experience, emotions and feelings and sensations that tore me apart and put me back together again.
“Eight weeks until prom,” he mumbled against my ear, his lips continuing to drive me wild despite our exhaustion.
“I know,” I answered.
Prom was good-bye. My birthday came first.
Two weeks after the night in the woods, I turned eighteen. It was a Saturday. By then, Uncle Gregor was unable to move around without help. Nurses came in to assist him, helping him into a wheelchair in the mornings, his wasted body still smiling.
I cried. A lot. My heart was a shredded mess, my time with Heathcliff and Rebecca my only ties to the living world beyond the threat of death.
The day of my birthday, Uncle Gregor’s wheelchair met me at the table. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, his eyes bright. “I’ve given it a lot of thought actually.”
A door at the back of the house opened, a winded breath calling out, “Am I too late?”
Heathcliff’s face materialized around the corner, a smile plastered on his face.
“Wait for me!” Rebecca’s voice joined his. She skidded into the hall, her grin as big as Heathcliff’s.
From my place at the table, I stared, my gaze flicking from face to face. “What is this?”
My uncle glanced at Heathcliff. “Max, bring it in.”
Heathcliff disappeared, returning a few minutes later with his back to me, something long and heavy dragging behind him. Rebecca turned, her back united with his, their stances a joined effort.
“Uncle Gregor—” I began.
“I think this plantation needs a name,” he interjected. “I don’t know if I’d call it official, but we do have a marker now.”
Heathcliff and Rebecca turned, a wooden sign dragged before them. Designs were carved into the surface. Birds flew across the top, storms clouds on one side being chased away by the sun, a line of crepe myrtle trees hanging over the words, For My Sake Plantation.
My eyes burned.
“What do you think?” Uncle Gregor asked. “The Vincents worked on it for me. They’ll be here later.”
“We’re having a party,” Rebecca exclaimed, her eyes finding my face, her gaze sobering instantly when she noticed my expression. “Oh, but just a small one. Max’s family mostly.”
My eyes were frozen on the sign. For My Sake.
A single tear escaped, the lone explorer forging a trail for the ones that would follow.
My gaze swung to Gregor’s. “I love it.”
For the first time since he’d been diagnosed, a tear rolled down my uncle’s face. “It seemed right.”
Standing, I brushed a kiss across his cheek, my arms wrapping around his frail neck. “For my sake, Uncle,” I whispered.
Behind us, Heathcliff and Rebecca snuck away, Rebecca’s murmured, “I’ll just go get the cake,” a distant echo in the hallway.
I barely heard her. There was only Uncle Gregor’s hard breathing, and his dear, beautiful face. His strong, enduring face.
My heart hurt. It hurt so bad, I could barely breathe. I didn’t know where to put the emotions, where to place all of the grief so that it didn’t feel like it was crushing me.
“For my sake,” my uncle whispered. “You can do this, Hawthorne. For my sake.”
The tears burst forth, and they never stopped coming. They followed me throughout the day, a constant threat despite the laughter Heathcliff’s family brought when they joined us, their cars crunching up the gravel drive. His family had become a regular in my life. I think they saw me as their lifeline, as a way to keep Heathcliff from leaving town after graduation. I didn’t want to disappoint them, but I knew I would. Because holding Heathcliff back was the same thing as losing him.
Mams was the only one who understood.
She cornered me in the yard, her wise eyes on the festivities. “Happy birthday, girl!” she cackled.
She was faring better than my uncle, her days numbered, but longer than most. A new no salt diet, dialysis, and occasional surgeries to relieve the pressure in her abdomen kept her on her feet and moving. Oh, it was obvious she was hurting. There were times when the fluid in her body built up enough she even lost her wits, but she was surviving.
“You should be laughing,” she scolded me.
I glanced at her. “I’m scared to do anything,” I admitted. “I’m scared I’ll cry instead.
“Pish posh!” Mams admonished. Startled, I stared at her, and she grinned. “I’m not goin’ to tell you to be strong today. That’s a little much to ask, but I am goin’ to tell you to be resilient. You’re a good girl, Hawthorne. You’ve got good blood in your veins, and a right head on your shoulders. You ain’t gotta have everythin’ figured out. That comes later, but your heart is going to take you in the right direction.” Her gaze flew across the yard to Heathcliff. “Otherwise, my grandson wouldn’t have seen something in you to save.”
My gaze followed hers, my brows furrowing. “Save?”
Mams laughed. “Oh, you young ones really like to hide your heads in the sand.” She shook her head. “I know you’ve heard the story about my dog, Rat. That boy just seems to know when to pull something out of the gutter. He knows how to fix things, he does. I’ve got faith in him. Just remember something for me, would you, girl?” Her gaze returned to my face, and I saw the ferocity there. “That boy spends so much time saving everyone else that he doesn’t even realize he needs it, too. When I’m gone, save him for me, Hawthorne.”
Shocked, I whispered, “He’s leaving.”
She snorted. “Oh, I know. He needs to, but the world is a crazy place. It jades a person, and when he comes back, he’s going to need to remember the boy he was to make him the man he needs to be.” Her gaze fell to my feet. “He’s got a way of tellin’ a story, you know. Told me all about you and your shoes.” She chuckled. “Funny way to meet if you ask me, and yet …” She searched my gaze, her eyes digging into my soul. “Shoes can tell a lot about a person. The journey they take you on can tell a lot about how they’ll hold up.”
With that, she walked away, supported by a cane. Her words didn’t leave with her. They echoed, joining the myriad of thoughts and emotions swirling around in my head.
That night, when everyone
had left and the house was quiet, I climbed into bed with my Uncle Gregor. It wasn’t his regular bed. That had been replaced by a hospital version, an IV stand next to it. I didn’t know enough about medicine to know what the nurses came to do to him, but they helped, and for that I was grateful.
Squeezing in next to my uncle, I listened to his breathing. It was harsher than it used to be, but it was there.
“The sign looked good hanging up, didn’t it?” Uncle Gregor asked suddenly.
His voice startled me, and I glanced up at his face. His eyes were closed, his lips curled in a weary smile.
“It did,” I answered.
The Vincent men had helped place the sign at the end of the lane, marking the For My Sake Plantation, the sporadic work Max had continued to do on the property turning our home into something glorious rather than miserable. We’d used a Polaroid camera to snap a picture of the sign and the house before taking it to Gregor.
“I’m so proud of you, Hawthorne,” my uncle murmured. “So very proud.”
The tears I’d been holding back all day flooded down my face. “You did it, Uncle Gregor. Everything I am is because of you.”
“No,” Gregor rasped. “No, it’s because of you. People can guide you, but they can’t make you into the person they want you to be. You took your own paths, and I’m proud.”
There were no more words, only the sound of his breathing as it deepened in sleep. I remained with him, my head next to his. He was dying. His time was coming, and I was afraid to leave.
“For my sake,” I whispered as I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 16
School became my nightmare, every second I had to be away from home full of fear. I was so afraid that I’d miss my chance to say good-bye to Uncle Gregor that the fear ate at me, making me anxious. The hospice nurse promised she’d call me if there were any changes, but there was always the fear that I wouldn’t make it in time.
My nights with Heathcliff grew fewer and further between. He came to the plantation after work, staying with me for a few hours before going home. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with him, I just wanted to be near Gregor, listening to his breathing, saying things I should have said over the years. It’s hard trying to fit a lifetime of sentiment into a few weeks.
Rebecca continued to drive me home after school, coming in to sit with me despite the sadness. She brought laughter into the room, using the visits to munch away on any snack she could get her hands on.
The Vincents came, too, each of them leaving with kind words and warm hugs. Mams visited more than any of them, her hand clutching Gregor’s, her old eyes full of memories. She never spoke much, just sat there, as if she knew words didn’t mean as much as touch.
Heathcliff always followed, his strong arms embracing me, keeping my heart anchored until he had to leave. Every night after he was gone, after Uncle Gregor fell asleep, I cried. I cried, until one day, the tears just wouldn’t come anymore, as if my body had been wrung dry.
Time passed, March dissolving into April. Trees and flowers bloomed, carpenter bees buzzed, the smell of honeysuckle wafted on the breeze, and yellow pollen dusted everything.
At school, everyone was preparing for prom and graduation, Mrs. Callahan’s mirror project a looming deadline. I was apart from it all, spending time between the classroom and the plantation.
When I wasn’t with Gregor, I cooked. A lot.
I’d just begun preparing a pecan pie when Heathcliff found me one afternoon, his large frame leaning against the open kitchen door.
“You’re stressed,” he said.
I glanced up at him. “What?”
He smiled, the gesture soft. “That’s the fourth pecan pie in two days. Either there’s a bake sale I’m not aware of, or you’re worried.”
My hands paused, the knife I was using to chop pecans growing still. “It is a lot of pies, isn’t it?”
He entered the kitchen, moving so that he was standing behind me, his hands falling on mine. “Finish. I can take the extras home. Mom can use them in the café.”
His hands fell away, and I started chopping the pecans again. “It’s just that cooking takes my mind off of things, you know.”
He remained behind me, his gaze on the bar. “I still want you to go to the prom with me, Hawthorne,” he said suddenly.
I froze, the knife falling to the counter. “I can’t—”
“Just wait,” he said. “You’ll see.” Turning, I stared up at him, and he leaned forward. “Trust me.”
“I do,” I whispered.
The words brought a smile to his lips, a whispered promise to return, and a quick exit, leaving me to finish my fourth pecan pie in two days.
It’s funny, really. Food is often linked with memory. For example, the smell of chicory would always remind me of Uncle Gregor and our kitchen table. Cookies and pralines would always remind me of marker-covered tennis shoes and a mirror assignment. Cherry pie would, ironically, always remind me of the first time I ever made love. All good memories, all beautiful moments.
Pecan pie, however, would always remind me of good-byes.
Chapter 17
The day of prom, I stayed home from school and sat with Gregor, a book open in front of me. I’d taken to reading to him, and he often nodded in approval, his gaunt face turned toward my voice.
A knock on the door interrupted a chapter of Crime and Punishment, and I set the book aside, my gaze swinging to the nurse in the room beyond.
“It’s for you,” she called.
“Go,” my uncle rasped.
In the foyer, Rebecca waited, a garment bag hanging over her shoulder, her gaze searching the room before finding my surprised face as I entered.
A grin lit up her features. “Okay, so I’m not staying or anything. I’m just dropping this off.” She lowered the black bag, and I stared at the plastic uneasily. Rebecca chuckled. “It’s not going to bite. Here.” She handed it to me.
It was lighter than I expected. Lifting it, I threw her a look. “What is it?”
“You’ll have to wait until I leave before you find out. That way you can’t take it back.” Rebecca winked, watching me a moment, her gaze searching mine, before turning back the way she’d come. She left, no more words passing between us.
She’d barely closed the door when I laid the garment bag on the floor and unzipped it. Inside laid a simple, strapless gray dress. It wasn’t poofy or long, probably knee-length at most, the skirt subtly tiered. The only embellishment was a thin black, satin bow at the waist that tied on the side. A note was pinned to the top, Heathcliff’s handwriting etched across the paper.
Put it on and wait for me. The dress will bring out your eyes.
Standing, I lifted the gown, my gaze going over my shoulder to the nurse waiting just beyond the room. She turned when she saw me looking, her auburn bun facing me, the grin I’d caught on her face dissolving.
Even though she gave me her back, she cleared her throat, and said, “It’s very pretty.”
The nurse’s name was Susie. She’d been with us for weeks now and was a sweet, middle-aged woman who always smelled like eucalyptus.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I said.
Susie turned to face me again. “Never hurts to put it on.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I took the dress and climbed the stairs to my room, discarding the clothes I had on to step into the gown. It hadn’t look like much in the bag, but when I turned toward the gold mirror on my dresser, I gasped. The dress was so simple, it was spectacular, hugging my frame and highlighting things I never would have noticed about myself before. Especially my hair. The strawberry-blonde mess always confounded me, reminding me of a dandelion right before someone blew it to make a wish. The dress made my hair look different, like a red-gold halo right before the sun sets. Also, Heathcliff was right about the eyes. My gaze was suddenly filled with stormy clouds, emotions swirling.
Downstairs, a knock sounded on the door, and I jum
ped, rushing to run my fingers through my hair before heading to the stairs.
Voices met me.
“She’s getting ready,” Susie said.
Heathcliff’s laugh met her words. “And here I thought I’d have to force her into the dress.”
There’d been no shoes in the garment bag, and so I didn’t wear any, my bare feet quiet on the stairs as I descended. Heathcliff stood at the bottom with Susie, his broad frame enfolded in black dress pants and a suit jacket over a white dress shirt. There was no tie, and the top two buttons on the white shirt were left undone.
“You know I can’t leave,” I said, my voice breaking through their discussion.
Susie glanced up at me, her eyes widening before she backed into the house, leaving us alone.
Heathcliff’s head lifted, his lips parting as his gaze met mine, his eyes roaming my hair before dragging down the dress to my feet.
“That,” he said, gesturing at my frame, “looks so much better than I imagined.”
He stared, and I glanced down at myself. Silently, I wondered if he’d picked out the dress, but I didn’t ask it aloud. That didn’t matter. Him being here mattered.
A lump formed in my throat. “I can’t leave,” I repeated.
Heathcliff smiled, leaning over to remove his shoes—his sneakers of all things—leaving only a pair of dress socks. “I wasn’t really planning to go anywhere.”
My feet paused on the bottom step. “You want to stay here?”
Straightening, he glanced at me. “It’s better than the prom, really. I’d rather be all dressed up here with the family we love than in a room full of people sweating because of the completely inadequate air conditioner in the school gym.”
My heart swelled, my breath catching. “Heathcliff—”
He didn’t let me finish, his inscrutable gaze catching mine. “Take my hand, Hawthorne.” He offered me his palm, and I stepped toward him, my fingers curling around his. “Let’s go show your uncle what that dress does for his niece.”