Bittersweet Melody

by Belinda Boring

  He accepted my comment with a nod. “This is one of my favorites also. There’s something about the look on the Savior’s face, the love the artist captured. I catch myself standing here several times a day.”

  I watched as he spoke, noticing the subtle crack in his voice like the emotion he felt had started to overwhelm him. His fingers moved beside him, like he was trying to keep from reaching up, needing to touch the scene that moved him. I’d first had the thought with Caylee, studying her briefly before affording her some privacy. Now it returned, this time because of the priest before me. Both of them wore their faith on their sleeves for everyone to see. Once again, I wondered what it would be like to believe the same way—to see light in the darkness, hope in the void, to feel compassion when all around you, the world raged and spiraled out of control.

  “Hmmm,” I answered, the only response I could muster. If truth be told, this visit was affecting me more than I’d anticipated.

  “I’d invite you to come see it during the day, but something tells me you’re not one to come to church.” When I gave him a sharp look, his observation startling me with its accuracy, he continued. “I’m not meaning to offend, but I’m usually a good judge of character. You have faith . . . it’s just been tested beyond your limits.”

  I didn’t want to do this—not here, and especially not with God’s apparent mouthpiece. I didn’t want to analyze my lack of faith, and I sure as hell didn’t want this stranger talking to me like I was his lost sheep.

  “I think I’m going to go wait outside, after all.” It was the closest thing I could say and still remain civil. Just this brief conversation had triggered my anger. If I didn’t leave, I’d end up opening my mouth, and who knew what would come out. No doubt something that would mortify both Caylee and my mother.

  “Please, don’t go. I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn. Call it an occupational hazard.” He chuckled, raising his hands in defense. “I can’t help myself, it seems. Please, continue to enjoy the artwork.” He shuffled backward, clearly showing he knew he’d somehow overstepped.

  Like I said, I was an asshole. “No, it’s just . . . ” I let out a huff, my expression pained. I so didn’t want to explain anything.

  “There’s no need to say anything, son.” The way he said it, it was like he already knew. Glancing over at Caylee, knowing she came every week, I wondered whether I’d ever been a topic of discussion. Had she shared things about me? Private things? Was that the reason why the priest watched me with compassion-filled eyes?

  “I’m not your son,” I blurted out, unable to stop myself.

  My angry comment did nothing to diminish his empathy. “I know.”

  “You don’t know me,” I continued, digging myself even deeper. “If you did, you wouldn’t be using such an endearment. I don’t deserve it.”

  Shoot me fucking now.

  “Deserve? You think you don’t deserve kindness?” He sounded surprised, and inwardly, I cringed. I couldn’t be angry that he’d taken the small snippet and turned it back on me. I’d all but handed it to him in my inability to keep my mouth shut.

  “I don’t feel comfortable talking about this. I know Caylee comes here, and I’m assuming she trusts you, but you’re not my preacher. I owe you nothing.” Shoving my hands into my jeans pockets, I looked for the closest exit. The walls were beginning to close in around me, my breath starting that familiar hitch. What I needed now more than anything, even salvation, was air.

  Lots and lots of air.

  “You’re right, Cooper.” His use of my name confirmed he knew exactly who I was. “And I won’t keep you. It’s been wonderful to finally meet the man she speaks so highly of.”

  Damn, I was almost able to leave until he’d said that last part. As much as I hated standing here, I wanted to hear exactly what she’d said about me more. I was such a fucking masochist.

  “She does?” Again with the verbal diarrhea.

  The way his lips curled ever so faintly told me he knew exactly how I’d react to his comment. “Do you know why she comes every week?”

  Shaking my head, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to tell me, either.

  “Maybe you should ask her.” And with that, he clasped his hands in front of him, silently.

  I shrugged again like an idiot. “Maybe.”

  “I think you’ll discover you’re not as unlovable and unworthy as you believe you are. You’re not ready to hear that from me or God, but I think you’re ready to hear it from her.”

  Mumbling something that resembled a good-bye, I didn’t wait around to hear him spout off any other proverb or heavenly inspired piece of trite. His words had hit their mark, anyway. Without sharing anything myself, he’d understood. He’d seen that, despite all my best efforts, there was one person who made a difference—one person who could penetrate my stubbornness and refusal to soften my heart.

  Fuck.

  ****

  “I didn’t know you were Catholic.” Of all the things to say as she exited the church, that wasn’t my first choice. What I wanted to demand was just how much of my life had she divulged to her minister. Did she talk about me in passing, or did she go into greater depth—fully exposing my guilt and shame?

  It wasn’t her story to share, even though it involved her. I wanted to be mad, furious even. But that was getting more and more impossible the longer I knew her. Gone were the days where I could walk away and forget I even knew who she was. She’d integrated herself into my life, and she was here to stay.

  She’d found me sitting on the top step, tapping my toes in a horrible attempt to hide my impatience. It wasn’t enough to get outside and away from the prying eyes of the priest. It didn’t take a rock scientist to see he wanted to talk more, to tap away at my hard exterior until I cracked.

  There’d be no cracking or breaking down my defenses. God had his chance and he blew it. If Father Whatever-His-Name didn’t like it, tough shit. He would have to take it up with his boss, because my days of answering to some absentee higher power were long gone.

  Taking the space beside me, Caylee nudged my shoulder affectionately. “Yeah, born and raised. I don’t go as often as I used to when I lived at home, but I try to come to Mass at least twice a month.” The slight coolness in the air caused her to involuntarily shiver.

  I slipped out of my jacket and handed it to her. “And you come here once a week.” What I really wanted to ask was why. Why did she come? Why did the thought of her missing it upset her so much? Surely God would forgive her. She wasn’t a hard-ass like me.

  She looked at me quizzically. “Did Father Michaels say something?”

  Ah, so that was his name. At least now I could forget the embarrassment of not asking. “No, he mentioned it but said I should probably have you tell me.” When she bit on her bottom lip, I instantly retracted. “Or not. It’s okay. I’m just glad I was able to help.” Standing, I offered my hand, ready to leave.

  Caylee didn’t budge. “Promise not to laugh or get angry?”

  That wasn’t exactly what I’d expected her to say. Thinking back to our first conversation at the diner, I grimaced. “I guess.” It came out more like a question than an agreement. When she didn’t continue, I sat back down and stared out at the road, focusing on the passing cars instead of her. “I promise.”

  “When Owen told me he’d enlisted in the Marines, part of me was excited for him. He’d been planning it for as long as I could remember, always talking about what it would be like to serve in the military. He had such strong love for his country. He seemed perfect for it.”

  I couldn’t help but nod. While I’d known Owen for a fraction of the time she had, I’d seen that same commitment and devotion. Hell, I’d held the same sentiment. It was part of the reason why we became such close friends straight away. We were two peas in camouflage-colored pods.

  “He came home wearing the biggest grin I’d ever seen, and I knew. I knew where he’d been, and for the first time, I felt genuine fear. I wanted to scr
eam for him to go straight back to the recruiting office and rip up his application. I couldn’t explain it. It was simply this overwhelming feeling that something would happen if he followed through. My parents had raised me to be a woman of faith, that if something felt like a burden, to take it to the Lord.”

  I desperately tried not to squirm, instead focusing on the lyrical lilt of her soft accent, the way her breath hitched a little before she spoke. “And?”

  “I must’ve sat in church for hours, going over and over with God all the reasons why Owen needed to stay home. And then I watched a mother and her two children come in. While her young ones waited in the pew just in front of me, this young woman hurried to the place where lighted candles were, immediately lighting a taper before igniting one of the candle’s wicks. It took less than a minute, but when she turned around, it startled me. When she’d arrived, she’d been frazzled, and after—after, she had this look of tranquility and I was jealous. I wanted that peace. I needed it.

  “She must’ve noticed me staring, because she smiled, and I’ve never forgotten her next words.” Caylee’s voice trailed off like she was caught up in the memory.

  “Which were?” I prompted. A chill crept over my skin, but I ignored it.

  “She said plainly, ‘every little bit helps’. And that was my answer. Weekly, from that night on, I lit a candle for my Owen, praying that God would protect him.” Scooting to the side so she could face me, Caylee grabbed my hand, squeezing it between hers. “And when Owen wrote home and talked about meeting someone he felt was like a brother, I began lighting two candles. One for him—”

  “And one for me,” I choked, unable to hide the surge of emotion coursing through me. Me. This ritual of hers was for me as well. “All this time?” I could barely get the words out. I was stunned.

  “All this time,” she replied, holding my hand tightly. “I hope that doesn’t upset you.”

  Each time I tried to respond, I felt the thought stutter in my mouth. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Whatever my relationship with God was, here was a woman who included me in her prayers. Whatever she asked on my behalf, I didn’t want to know. It felt too intimate, too private. But Father Michaels had been right—Caylee Sawyer had felt I deserved a candle, her candle each week.

  “I . . .” Words failed me.

  “I hope it’s okay, because I don’t plan on stopping, either.” And with that statement, she could’ve knocked me over with a feather. I knew I was loved—by family and those friends I hadn’t pushed away. I knew there were people who’d do anything they could to help.

  But they weren’t her. They weren’t the woman I’d stolen something precious from.

  “Why?” I gasped, not understanding. “How could you keep doing it after everything that happened?” I couldn’t bring myself to mention Owen and his death. I pulled on the collar of my shirt, imagining it tightening around my neck like a noose.

  “Why not, Cooper?” She challenged back. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  If she thought I would argue with her about this—about all the reasons why it was my fault Owen had died—she was wrong. I wouldn’t, couldn’t, do it out in the open, away from the safety of my home. I couldn’t guarantee the memories wouldn’t trigger the fuck out of me. They usually did. It was why I’d become a master at avoiding the topic.

  Caught up in amazement, squashing down the guilt, I stood, dragging her to her feet as well. When her mouth opened, I didn’t give her a chance to continue. I couldn’t bare it. I couldn’t walk away. I couldn’t leave without acting on the new information she’d provided.

  She’d lit hundreds of fucking candles.

  For me.

  How could I ever say thank you enough for that? What could possibly convey the depth of amazement now coursing through me?

  The only thing I knew—the one way that made sense.

  Tugging her into my body, I wrapped my arms around her, not giving her a chance to back away. I had her caged in my embrace, our faces unbelievably close.

  “What are you doing, Cooper?” she tentatively asked, peering up at me though her long, dark eyelashes.

  “I don’t know,” I breathed, lying. She knew exactly what was on my mind. “All I know is this could be the biggest mistake we’ve ever made.” I finally admitted.

  There was no fear in her eyes, no uncertainty. “But don’t you want to see what happens?” she whispered, as if speaking louder would break the spell between us.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I can’t, Caylee.” Feeling the moment pass and a reluctant return of my senses, I willed myself to let her go. And again, I couldn’t find the strength to do it.

  She was so close, the subtle breeze dancing her enticing scent around me. She smelled of all things forbidden, and for the craziest moment, I could’ve sworn I caught something else.

  Caylee Sawyer was the epitome of everything I could ever hope and wish for. The light scent of vanilla smelled like home, and it terrified the hell out of me.

  Not moving a muscle, I wanted to kiss her. I needed to. I was tired of fighting against my escalating desire. If I was going to go to Hell, I might as well go happily. I wanted this.

  There was nothing fragile or uncertain in her voice. “Cooper?”

  “Yeah?” My eyes never left hers, the heat from her gaze leaving a trail over my skin as I traced the pad of my thumb lightly over her cheek.

  “Stop thinking and just kiss me.”

  Who was I to argue?

  Tightening my grip around her waist, I felt her melt into me, felt her submit to something that was still in the process of happening. I didn’t want to rush it, even as I fought everything inside me not to capture her mouth, devouring her. She wasn’t like the woman I usually spent time with, trying in vain to lose myself in nothingness, just going through the motions of having sex. It had all been meaningless, a means to an end.

  But not with her. With Caylee, it meant something.

  No matter how hard I denied it, it would always mean everything.

  I leaned in slowly, still cupping her face with my hand, a slight tremble giving away my sudden nervousness. Fuck, if this kept up, I’d let her see that this meant more than I was ready to reveal.

  It was just a kiss, right?

  And still, I continued to lie to myself.

  “Cooper,” she murmured, and that was my undoing. I couldn’t argue with her and myself at the same time. Sometimes you had to throw all the self-inflicted rules out the window and give in.

  I was done fighting it.

  I refused to feel guilty over doing something I’d only dreamed of.

  I kissed her. And in that second, I caught a glimpse of something—surrender.

  As our lips touched, brushing softly over each other’s in anticipation, I lost all patience for slowness. I needed her with a ferocity that surprised even me. Tracing my tongue over her bottom lip, she didn’t resist, instead opening her mouth so I could deepen our kiss.

  Mine.

  And by all that was holy, she groaned into my mouth, mirroring the same sensation flooding my mind. There were no words to describe the perfection of the moment, of just how sweet she tasted. Even my imagination wasn’t that good, and the intensity of her response wiped every other kiss from my memory.

  There was no one other than her. Even my guilt lost its power. Like a spark to a pile of kindling, I knew we would be combustible. I knew that the attraction between us was only the beginning of something even more encompassing—something completely volatile and fiery. I couldn’t be the only one who felt it.

  Standing there on the steps of the church, everything melted away except for us.

  She turned me inside out, stripped me down, and then rebuilt me.

  All from a fucking kiss—a single, solitary kiss that never seemed to end.

  It just kept going as our tongues danced, her hands now fisting the back of my shirt like I was her lifeline keeping her from hurtling over the cliff we’d been standing on for months.r />
  I was free-falling, and fuck if I didn’t love it.

  ****

  “Guess where I was tonight?” Plopping down onto the sofa beside my brother, I handed him a cold beer. The moment I’d gotten home, I’d gone straight to the fridge. Not to wash the taste of Caylee from my mouth, but to dull the anxiety that had taken over when the kiss had finished. It was one thing to get caught up in passion—it was another when I had no clue what it meant and where it would lead us.

  How could we possibly stay friends now?

  “Do I really want to know?” Bryce replied, laughing at something on the television. I’m sure I gave him a lot to chuckle over—his whore of a brother and my wanton ways. He’d definitely freak when I told him.

  “Church. And guess what I did there?”

  That caught his attention, moving him to turn down the volume to the show he’d been watching. “Shit, I really don’t want to know now. Please tell me you didn’t deflower one of your fuck-buddies there.”

  Flipping him off, I decided to go easy on him, because in the past, that wouldn’t have been too far from the truth. “No, ye-of-little-faith. I was with Caylee.” I waited for that to sink in before dropping the bombshell. “I kissed her.”

  That got Bryce’s attention, the TV and his drink forgotten. “What? Tell me you didn’t get married.”

  That was the last thing I expected him to say. “Where the fuck did that come from? What do you take me for?”

  Holding his hands up, palms facing me, Bryce cringed. “Hey, it was an honest question. With how you’ve been lately, I wouldn’t be surprised. I hate to break it to you, but you can be unpredictable. Why else would you kiss someone in a church?”