Summer Ever After

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Summer Ever After Page 22

by M. C. Cerny


  A hand rests on my shoulder gently. “Have faith, my dear. He was the surliest teenager you ever did meet back in the day. He’ll come home once he’s worked things out. He’s just hurting right now.”

  “I know.”

  Maddie clutches my hand, squeezing gently.

  * * * * *

  The day passes with me driving around town. I’m not following Roman, but I’m familiarizing myself with where my mother grew up before meeting my dad. I let the buildings burn images in my mind and wonder what my mother was thinking when she lived here, blessed by the rocky coast where the sunshine kisses sand and water. It’s beautiful place I could see myself raising a family. I know if Roman is not a part of my future, this will be very hard to come back to, this special place suspended in time and memories. I use my phone to snap pics and send them to Leah. We text back and forth, discussing vague things our mother had shared with us as kids. Our relationship is much better, Leah and I. It’s not perfect, but like Maddie told me earlier, life ain’t got time for perfect people.

  Sometime in the middle of the night while I was deeply asleep tucked into the cottage, a watchful visitor stopped by. I know this because when I woke up the next morning, half the turtle pie was missing. Sloppy cuts in the chocolate and caramel littered sugared crumbs on the plate. Fresh coffee is brewed in the coffeemaker and a suspicious key sits alone on the counter with no note. The coffee cup in the sink is still warm when I pick it up and clutch it to my chest.

  I know Roman does all the maintenance for Maddie, so it makes sense it was he who had stopped by, even harboring a secret key to the cottage all this time. Oh, Roman…I wonder what he thought coming over and how long he stayed. I probably just missed him. Checking all the doors and windows, I find everything is secure, not a lock out of place. Since the first time I met this man, he’s kept me safe emotionally and physically. This is nothing more than a rough patch we’ll work through. I wish he’d have stayed and woken me up from my slumber to kiss the wounds of yesterday away. But Maddie is right. I need to let Roman work this out, and chasing him across town might just send him back to Seattle.

  My phone rings, and checking the caller ID, I see it’s my dad. I haven’t spoken to him much, so I answer the call, hoping it’s not anything serious or some case file misplaced. “Hey, Dad. What’s going on?”

  “It’s Leah. She’s taken a turn for the worse. I need you to come home. She’s been asking for you.”

  It would seem so many decisions are already made for me right now. I need to return to LA and take care of my sister. It’s a hard decision, but Roman never said he didn’t want to talk to me, just he needed time, and is the thing I’ll hold out hope for. That Roman and I still have time.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ROMAN

  Leah’s passing occurs on a clear moonless night. The morning sun is bright and promises an unexpected heat to the typically mild California winter. A yin and yang just like the sisters, interconnected and yet so different. Abby stayed with her through the night, holding her hand and telling her stories about them growing up. She had nine days with her since she left Gold Beach the morning I stopped by the cottage to eat her pie and tuck her in, making sure she was safe. I could never stay angry with my girl, but it took me just as long to make peace with her keeping Oscar Campbell from me.

  As expected, Lucas hasn’t shown up at all, after effectively being cut from the family’s inner circle. It was Abby’s mentor, Everest, a man who I suspect has a much closer relationship to Abby than her father does, who called me and asked me to come. He found my number in Abby’s phone while she had been sitting vigil with Leah those last days. I was already in Seattle and was lucky to find a flight right away that has me landing in LA in less than three hours.

  I find Abby, sitting in Leah’s room where I watch her from the doorway, taking in her unyielding strength, like a branch that bends with the winds. Her shoulders are hunched over with sadness, but not futility. Several hours into the night, when her voice has gone hoarse from speaking, Leah slips into sleep, and a shuddering breath later, the monitors beep one final unending note.

  Abby’s wails permeate the halls of the hospice center. A piece of me breaks right with her in her grief. A nurse pulls me aside and asks me to collect her so they can prepare the body, or do whatever it is they do when someone has been released from the pain of this world. It’s one of the few times Abby doesn’t fight me. She simply clings to me like a limp rag doll, her smile and sass subdued. I give her all the strength I can from my arms and heart.

  Tucking her into Vinnie’s car, he drives us to her home. I get her in the shower and dress her before putting her in bed. I’m not with Abby anymore, but when she clings to me from her bed, begging me to stay with her, just to hold her, I can’t pull myself away. We lay reverently in silence until the sun rises in the sky again.

  Hours pass into days, and then the day of the funeral finally arrives. Abby has gone into survival mode. She made phone calls, arranged the service, the flowers, and all of the painful details, all the while both pushing me away and then pulling me close to her at night. We don’t speak; instead, we work in tandem to accomplish the few details Leah left unsettled in her passing. I make sure she eats, put her to bed, and watched her fall into an exhausted pattern of sleeplessness. We have a Grand Canyon’s worth of problems between us, but there is no other place I want to be.

  * * * * *

  The day of Leah’s service is just as temperate and pretty as her passing. I’d like to think if Leah had a say in the weather, she specifically chose it for that day. Abby’s father hired a car and the two of them drive together, leaving me out of the loop. As much as it pains me, I also know I don’t have any right to intrude on the remaining bond between Abby and her cantankerous father, whom I’d only met in passing at the hospice center. I know firsthand the loss of a parent, but I know nothing about the pains of losing a child or a sibling. Death is relative and right now I’m not.

  I picked up Maddie from her charter flight at the airport earlier and we ride in together with Vinnie at the wheel. The service is large and attended by many colleagues and even a handful of obvious clients. Abby and her father sit in the front. She is flanked by her father and Everest, two men who couldn’t be more different, but who are obviously pillars of strength for her. The douche-canoe Lucas sit in the back with some tittering blonde girl hanging onto his arm.

  “Son, why don’t we swap seats?” I look up from my seat to see Everest standing in front of me, blocking my view of Abby. The priest is making his way to the front and I feel Maddie patting my hand to get my attention.

  “Go on, Roman. She needs you.” At their conspiratorial nod, I slip past Everest, who grips my arms in his gentle strength.

  “Leah told me you would come back. That girl was never wrong.” Everest smiles a watery smile and we nod as he pushes me forward. I slide into the seat next to Abby. She doesn’t look at me and I don’t press for her acknowledgement. It’s far from the time and place to hash this out.

  “Welcome.” The priest nods. I’m only half listening to anything he has to say because the sound of my heartbeat is thumping louder than his voice. He pauses and leads a verse from the bible, which I had long forgotten in my heathenism and rebellion from God myself after my own parents’ death, that he regains my full attention.

  “Abigail asked me for this passage specifically as she felt it spoke true to Leah’s strength during this, the darkest of time for the Holliday family to revisit. It is from the Corinthians 4:16-18.” The priest pauses, and to my shock, Abby stands and walks on smooth legs to the podium. Her face is pale, but her gaze is focused on a small book resting on the podium. I thought the priest would read the passage, but it looks like Hollywood is breaking the shackles of silence.

  “Thank you for being here today with us to share in the celebration of my sister’s life, though it was cut short for reasons we cannot grasp, particularly after the loss of our mother. Leah w
as quickly called home to God and I believe her strength was needed there for a higher purpose. As Father Paul said, this passage is from Corinthians.”

  Abby clears her throat delicately and I watch her look up from her notes, scanning the crowd. Her eyes meet mine and she begins. Her eyes never leave mine, and I swear her moving lips don’t match the words coming from her.

  “That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen.”

  Not once did she look down to her notes, not once did her gaze falter or stray. I feel the lump in my throat grow as her voice cracks once on the last line.

  “For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.”

  Abby is talking about our love. Hollywood hasn’t gone anywhere, even when I had to walk away and figure my own shit out. Damn complicated woman. I swallow a dry knot in my throat, nodding to her.

  She finishes her speech and returns to the seat next to me as we listen to Father Paul finish the rest of the eulogy. Before I can utter a single word, her hand grabs mine, squeezing it hard. Yeah. We’re still good, and the weight finally lifts from my chest so I can breathe again.

  ABIGAIL

  The pain of losing my sister seems strangely nothing compared to the loss of Roman. Yes, I loved my sister even as difficult as our relationship had become as teenagers and then as adults. I learned to love her more in our journey to understand each other better during the last few weeks of her life. But Roman is still physically here, and despite the hurt we’ve done to each other and the secret I kept from him, I never loved him less.

  Getting up in front of those attending Leah’s funeral is tough, but feeling the emotional space between Roman and me…well, that has me clinging to the edge. I speak the words that give me closure on Leah’s interrupted life and remind me I’m irresponsibly letting mine pass me by. Leah was good at pointing out my faults in none to many words. I feel her gaze boring into my back from the sky above in the bright sunlight, telling me to get my shit figured out. She definitely has the universe going to bat for me.

  Looking into the crowd, first at my dad, then Everest and Maddie, until my gaze rests solely on Roman—my rock from the first day he came to my door with my luggage in Gold Beach. No matter how much I put this man off, he came back. Our eyes lock and I don’t need to look down at the book to read my selected passage.

  I say my peace and go back to where we are seated. I do the only thing that feels natural and grab Roman’s hand, squeezing it until he squeezes me back. I slowly lean into him and he puts his arm around me, holding me tight. From the shelter of his embrace, I watch my dad rub an aged hand over his face and push back tears. I let my other hand go to him, and while our relationship isn’t solid, we have something, and I’d like to think that’s a start.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  ABIGAIL

  We’ve come back to Gold Beach, Roman and I, to make peace with the last few months and figure out the logistics or where we will settle down. Today, Roman convinced me to get up early and go running with him on the beach. I can’t say I really loved running the way he does but it’s so hard to tell him no when he gets excited like this. Sometimes I swear he’s worse than Bella the dog. Bella runs up and down the beach nipping the salty waves, her tail wagging.

  Our iPod are synced and the music plays Semisonic’s “Closing Time.” Looking over, Roman smiles at me and mouths, “What?” while shrugging his broad shoulders. I’m hungry again after our early breakfast. Roman has been insisting we eat vegan now. I was totally cool with that until I caught him sneaking bites of a skirt steak and shrimp from Bonnie’s café under the deck of his dad’s house…now our house.

  My dad still lives in LA, alone. No matter how much coaxing I tried, he prefers the city and his law firm. Coming to Gold Beach would probably send him over the edge right now. Dad eventually fired Lucas after one to many fuck-ups. When Roman found out Lucas had made a pass for me…well, let’s just say Lucas was sporting a colorful face the next day that no amount of foundation was going to cover up.

  I stayed only long enough to finish my case with Oscar Campbell before giving my resignation. Mr. Campbell was convicted of his DUI in California and lost his license with a hefty fine. Once he made his statement to the District Attorney, he was extradited to Oregon. I recused myself from his case and set him up with a new lawyer familiar with Oregon laws around vehicular manslaughter. He wants to be accountable and clear his conscious. I just want Roman to feel secure I will never lie or keep a secret from him again.

  Through the lawyerly grapevine, we learned Mr. Campbell has agreed to be a spokesperson through the prison, talking to teens about the dangers of alcohol and drug abuse when operating a vehicle. Roman doesn’t say much, but I know he visited Mr. Campbell and made a family impact statement to the Oregon DA, which lessened Mr. Campbell’s sentence.

  Everest, my mentor, has been supportive from the beginning. When I told him I was leaving Dad’s practice and taking some time to figure things out, he told me to go and bore the brunt of telling my dad. Everest has even visited Roman and me several times, spending the weekends in Maddie’s cottage. He says it’s nice and peaceful and the perfect place to catch up on briefs. We’re pretty sure Everest and Maddie are seeing each other, but neither has fessed up yet besides the coy smiles we catch them sneaking at dinners.

  Two weeks earlier, Roman and I decided to throw caution to the wind and get married quietly. We didn’t need anything flashy or big. We had everyone we loved right there with us. I had suggested Vegas, but Roman got his friend to loan us his big yacht again. I didn’t have my mother or my sister there with me, but Roman had sent Maddie to my suite with a necklace made of sea glass and seashells from Gold Beach. It was stunning and everything I could have ever dreamed of.

  After the ceremony, we spread Leah’s ashes over the ocean tearfully. Dad had given me a packet of test results he’d kept from when Leah and I were kids. Some years ago, he spent gobs of money seeing if we had the genetic markers for the breast cancer gene. I didn’t want to know. Roman, of course, wanted me to look. We might have spent an evening wrestling over the packet getting neither of us anywhere. I promised to get checked yearly if Roman would drop the subject. I didn’t want to live my life beholden to papers and tests and results that meant nothing right now.

  We burned those too and sent them overboard.

  Roman hasn’t told me what Leah shared with him that day on the boat, and I don’t ask, but I swear he holds me a little tighter each night when he thinks I’m sleeping.

  “Hollywood, come here!” I run up the dune with Roman, almost monkey crawling up the sand with beach grass snapping and sticking to my legs.

  “What is it, sailor?” I reach the crest of the hill, and there in the grass is a small glass globe. A beautiful blue green color glowing in the early morning dawn. The glass is a mix of spring and winter, warm and cold, life and death, in one perfect circle. The wind whips my short hair like crazy, stinging my eyes, and I wipe the tears.

  “We found one, finally.” I know Roman was disappointed we hadn’t found one of the blown glass beach globes earlier, but this one is extra special to me. Kneeling in the sand, the grit rubbing our knees and filling our sneakers, Roman grabs me for a kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine, loving me wholly and completely.

  * * * * *

  Hebrews 6:19 “Hope anchors the soul.”

  ROMAN’S TURTLE PIE

  Cookie base (crust)

  1 pouch (16.5 oz.) oatmeal cookie mix

  ½ cup butter softened

  1 tablespoon of water

  1 egg

  1cup chopped pecans

  Filling

  40 caramels unwrapped

/>   1/3 cup whipped cream

  ¾ cup chopped pecans

  Topping

  1 bag (12 oz.) milk chocolate chips, basically 2 cups

  1/3 cup whipping cream

  ¼ cup chopped pecans

  Directions

  Heat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. In a large bowl, combine and stir cookie mix, butter, water, and egg until a soft dough forms. Add in and stir 1 cup pecans. Press the dough down into a 9 inch tart pan (a regular pie pan can be used if that’s all you have, but it’s not the same) with a removable bottom.

  Bake about 20 minutes or until light golden brown. Cool 10 minutes.

  While cooling, in a microwavable bowl, place unwrapped caramels, 1/3 cup cream, and microwave on high 2-4 minutes, stirring as needed (Don’t let it explode inside the microwave like I did the first time!) until melted. Stir in ¾ cup pecans. Spread over cooled crust and place in fridge for 15 minutes.

  Use another bowl to microwave the chocolate chips and 1/3 cup cream on high 1-2 minutes, stir often until chocolate mixture is smooth (about every 20-30 seconds). Pour over the caramel filling and sprinkle with ¼ cup pecans. Place in refrigerator for 2 hours until it sets. To serve, let it stand at room temperature for 10 minutes before diving in to eat it. Store in the refrigerator covered.

  About the Author

  M.C. Cerny fell in love with books after experiencing her first real ugly cry reading, Where The Red Fern Grows. Her debut romantic suspense novel, Flashpoint was written in a series of post-it-note ramblings that would likely make her idol Tom Clancy and her mother blush. She is a post graduate of NYU, and calls rural NJ home with her menagerie of human and feline fur-babies. When M.C. is not writing, you’ll find her lurking in Starbucks, running stupid marathons, singing Disney show tunes, and searching out the perfect shade of pink nail polish.

 

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