The Words We Leave Unspoken

by L. D. Cedergreen

  Grey parks in front of my house and we sit in silence while the engine is still running. I glance at him, his face illuminated by the streetlight in the otherwise dark interior of the car. One glance and all I see are his dark eyes, burning, hungry and, though I know I’m undeserving, I lean in and brush my lips across his. Drawing in a deep breath, he wraps his hand into my hair and pulls me closer. My subtleness turns raw and bold at his hands. And I am lost, nearly begging for escape.

  “Come inside,” I breathe out against his lips.

  Without a word, he kills the engine and removes the key from the ignition. We break apart in the same moment and step out of the car, the slam of the car doors echo through the sleepy street. We walk quietly to my stoop where I unlock the front door, push it open, and step inside. Grey doesn’t waste anytime. He shuts the door behind us and pulls me to him in the dark. He kisses me so deeply; I ache everywhere. He walks me backward toward the bedroom while he slips my jacket off my shoulders and then peels my shirt off over my head. By the time we stumble into the bedroom, we’re both wearing only our pants. But those don’t last long either. Completely naked, we fall back onto the bed, where Grey takes his time with me. And even when I beg him to go faster – harder – he continues to move steady and tender, generating more emotional turmoil rather than driving it away like I need, like I crave. But when my body finally erupts, I am molten, flowing, burning hot as I clutch Grey’s bare skin in my hands, holding on so tight that my fingernails are digging into his flesh. He thrusts his hips achingly deep, drawing out every last ripple of pleasure until I feel him empty into me, his body a burst of shudders and pants, until we are both melting into one another and I continue to hold onto him as if he is my life raft amid a tropical storm. Once our breath slows, I feel him pull out of me and roll to his side where he cradles my back to his chest with one hand and tucks my wild hair behind my ear with the other. Normally, I would feel uncomfortable with this level of intimacy, a combination of the cuddling, Grey’s tenderness, and the heady emotions from the day but I am so utterly exhausted that instead I close my eyes and drift off. But even in my last moments of consciousness, I can’t ignore how good it feels to be in Grey’s arms or how relieved I am to not be alone.

  I open my eyes slowly, feeling disorientated, until I feel my own quilt under my chin. I draw in a deep breath, relieved that I’m in my own bed as I let my head sink back into my pillow. The room is bathed in darkness and I glance over at the clock to see that it is morning, but too early for the light of day. It is then that I remember falling asleep in Grey’s arms and a quick glance around the room confirms that he is no longer here. His clothes are gone. I instantly feel a sense of longing which confuses me more than anything. Sadness lingers on the periphery, but from what? Did I want him here when I woke up? Did he leave because he knew I wanted him to or because he wanted to, needed to? I should feel relieved that he’s gone, that I dodged the awkwardness of waking up next to him and having to make excuses of why he should go. This is the way I like my relationships with men. Easy, uncomplicated, clear. But my feelings for Grey are anything but uncomplicated, anything but clear. It’s as if my head and my heart are conspiring against me, taking advantage of my vulnerabilities, kicking me while I’m down and so focused on Gwen that I can’t see straight.

  Which makes me think of something else that’s bothering me. Visions from my dream last night dance through my mind, a recreation of real life moments that have resurfaced in an unfamiliar setting, the way that dreams sometimes do. I try to make sense of them but all I can see is the back of my father’s truck as he drives away for the last time. I can feel Gwen’s arms around me like I’m there in that moment, my heart breaking into a million pieces.

  Her voice in my ear, muttering, “It’s okay Charley. I’ll never leave you. I’ll never leave you.” I can’t recall if Gwen ever actually said those words to me or if that’s part of the dream, the illusion. I can’t recall how I was so sure that he wasn’t coming back. Bits and pieces of memories have flooded my mind lately, haunting my dreams and filling me with the strangest sense of nostalgia for a time that was so long ago, I’m surprised that I remember anything at all. All I have are these fragmented images and sensations and no matter how hard I try to piece them all together, I’m still left with more questions then answers. But one thing is always constant, a bubbling resentment toward my mother. And that seems to be the one thing that I hold onto, the only thing that makes any sense. For years, Gwen and I never talked about my father, or the past, and I certainly don’t discuss it with my mother, the one person who seems hell-bent on sweeping it all under the rug. But now it’s all coming back, the past crashing head-on into my present like a highway collision. I can’t ignore the feeling of helplessness that weighs on my heart, as if I’m a casualty in an ageless war, reminding me that eventually everyone leaves.

  Chapter 28

  Gwen

  I slowly peel my eyes open and the first thing I see is John’s face. The room is dark with the exception of a small fluorescent light on the wall behind the head of the bed. John’s eyes are open, staring into mine with an unreadable expression. I’ve never had to guess what John’s feeling, as if his eyes were a direct window to his heart; I’ve always known instantly. I know that when he’s sad, his eyes droop slightly and he gets this extra crease underneath. Or that when he’s angry the dark rim surrounding the blue of his eyes morphs into a thick, black line and when he laughs, when he’s happy, the gold flecks stand out more, lighting up his eyes with a kaleidoscope of color.

  But his eyes are silent.

  Seated in a chair, bent forward with his elbows sinking into the side of the bed and his chin resting on the back of his hands where his fingers are interlaced almost in prayer, he says nothing. Just continues to stare directly into my eyes. I reach up and pull the hard, plastic mask from my face and set it aside. The room instantly grows quiet without the noise from the flowing oxygen. I feel my breath grow heavy and I’m not sure if it’s from the loss of the oxygen or from the sudden awareness that John knows. He knows. I can see it in his eyes now. The pity, the sadness, the fear... the anger. It’s all there.

  Tears well in my eyes as I watch him cup his hands over his mouth and take a deep breath. But rather than exhale, he releases a sob as tears spill down his cheeks. He lowers his face to my chest as he reaches over and grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers. His body shakes against mine and I feel all his emotions mixed in with my own feelings of guilt and shame. I reach my other hand up, with difficulty, and rest it on the back of his head, my fingers slipping through his blond hair in comfort. Tears stream down my face quietly, but I hold back my own sobs, giving John this moment. He needs it more then I do.

  When he finally looks up and shifts back in his chair with red-rimmed eyes framed by dark circles, I take a deep breath and whisper through a dry throat, “I’m sorry.” And then, unable to hold it back any longer, I gasp and begin to sob like a child. I cry for all the moments I felt scared and alone, feeling regret for not telling John sooner, overwhelmed by the relief I feel now that he knows. I cry for the reality that I won’t always be here for John and Olivia and Max. The fear gripping my heart so tightly that I can hardly gain a breath. I don’t want to leave them. I don’t want to die. I cry for that as well, the unfairness of it all. The fear of the unknown, the fear of the pain, the end. I let it all out. Everything that has built up inside me for months now, everything that my denial has suppressed.

  John strokes my hair back and holds me until I begin to cough and my breath becomes raspy. He reaches for the oxygen mask and places it back over my nose and mouth. I inhale greedily for a few moments before moving it aside again.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his eyebrows pulled in as he continues to stroke my hair.

  I shake my head and bite down on my lower lip, my eyes still wet with tears. I don’t even know where to start, my guilt stealing my words.

  “Dammit Gwen,” he says, c
hoked with emotion as he sits back in his chair, the muscles in his jaw pulled tight.

  “Why can’t you let me help you? You don’t have to do everything yourself. You don’t always have to be the strong one.” He runs his hand through his hair and leans forward again, closer to my face and whispers, “I love you, Gwen. You should have told me... you should’ve told me.”

  “I was scared,” I mumble through my tears.

  “I’m scared too,” he admits, shaking his head side to side as tears well in his eyes once again. “But, dammit, when are you going to trust that I can handle it. That I’m here for you. That it’s okay for you to need me. Huh, Gwen? When?” He’s getting angry but trying so hard to be in control.

  “I do need you,” I say in a breathy rush. And as the words leave my lips, I realize that I have never told him that before. And I can’t recall ever actually thinking it, but it doesn’t make it any less true in this moment. I do need him. I always have and I need him now more than ever. Another sob bursts out of my chest.

  John sits back again and says angrily, “I’m right here.” He points to himself, slapping his fingers hard against his chest. “I’m right here, Gwen,” he says again louder, nearly shouting, as tears fall down his cheeks. I flinch. “We’re a team. I’ve always been here for you. Why can’t you trust that?” he asks with such hurt in his expression that my heart breaks a little more. He draws in a deep breath, composing himself as he leans over and reaches for my hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing each one of my knuckles.

  “I do. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I whisper in between my choking sobs.

  And all I can think of is why after thirteen blissful years of marriage does it come down to this.

  Chapter 29

  Charley

  I force myself out of the warmth and comfort of my bed where I want to stay and sleep the day away. In need of caffeine, I stumble to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. As I pour myself a steaming mug from the carafe, I spot a note on the counter from Grey.

  I’m picking you up at eight and driving you to the hospital, no arguments.

  He signed it “G” which reminds me of the bartender the night he took me out. Is that what people call him? His close friends, his brothers? I wonder if we have reached that point where we know each other well enough to call each other by a nickname. I have memorized every inch of his body, every cut, every dip, every scar and yet I feel an unfamiliar nudge in my chest from one simple alphabetical letter written in his handwriting.

  After two cups of coffee and a shower, I feel a little more like myself as I sit on the sofa and stare out the window at the dreary morning. I’m anxious to get to the hospital and yet I dread it at the same time. I just want Gwen to be okay. I called my mother earlier this morning to check on Olivia and Max and ask her to bring John a few things when she returns. I think of Olivia and how scared she must be, old enough to be completely aware that something is wrong and smart enough to know she isn’t getting the entire truth about her mother. I vow to be strong for her and for Max. That’s what Gwen would do and what she needs me to be. There is a part of me that still feels like a five-year-old little girl, needing to lean on someone, waiting for someone else to tell me that everything is going to be okay. To take care of me. But another part of me knows that I need to be that someone for Gwen and John and the kids.

  I hear a soft knock on the door, startling me from my thoughts. I hadn’t even noticed anyone walking toward the house but now I can see Grey’s flashy car parked at the curb out front.

  I scramble to the door, pull it open and feel the air get sucked out my lungs at the sight of him. He’s freshly showered in faded jeans and a navy sweater, a white T-shirt hangs over the top of his waistband from underneath, and he’s wearing a pair of Converse tennis shoes. He looks so incredibly young and much less intimidating.

  “Hi,” I say shyly.

  “Hey,” he says and hands me a paper cup from a local coffee vendor. “Tall, skinny latte with one packet of Splenda?”

  I look at him, again shocked that he would know how I take my coffee.

  “I pay attention, remember,” he reminds me as I take the warm cup from his hand.

  “Thanks,” I say and then step back so he can move in from the cold.

  “Let me grab my jacket. I’m anxious to get to the hospital,” I say as I walk back to the bedroom to get my things. My head is a whirl of emotions, like an assortment of objects swirling around in a tornado. I can’t fixate on any one thing and that makes me feel jittery, nervous.

  I find Grey standing in the living room, peering curiously at framed photographs that I have displayed on a sideboard table near the door. Pictures of Gwen and I at her wedding, school pictures of Olivia and Max that Gwen has given to me already adorned in the frames. He looks up when he hears me.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “Yep,” I say as I slip my coat on and sling my handbag over my shoulder. The air feels awkward between us after last night. Grey’s hand is on the doorknob but I feel like I need to say something before we get in the car. The idea of sharing such a small, confined space with him and this tension fills me with unease.

  “Grey,” I say quickly before he opens the door.

  He drops his hand to his side and turns to face me.

  “I... last night...” I am at a loss for words. I stand there, frozen, fumbling for words like a complete idiot.

  He walks toward me, draws me against him as I stare up at his face and places his finger against my lips. “Ssh... focus on Gwen right now. We can figure out the rest later.”

  His hand falls back to his side and he presses his lips gently against my cheek before he releases me and walks out the door. It takes me a moment to collect myself. The tension has lifted but I’m left feeling like I don’t deserve him; I don’t deserve Grey’s kindness. I follow him out to the car, knowing that I’m going to break his heart, but feeling drawn to him like a drug addict looking for a fix. And like an addict, I take what he gives without care of the destruction that I might leave in my wake.

  The hospital is quiet on this Friday morning, much like the car ride with Grey. Grey insisted on waiting in the ICU waiting room, while I go inside to see Gwen and John.

  I find John sprawled out in the chair asleep and Gwen lying in bed awake. Her face lights up when she sees me, but I can’t ignore the pale, waxy look to her skin or the sunken dark circles around her eyes. The large oxygen mask has been replaced by a nasal cannula, delivering oxygen through tiny tubes in her nostrils. She places her finger against her lips and whispers, “I don’t want to wake him.”

  I nod and walk around to the opposite side of her bed and sit on the edge, drawing one leg up underneath me. I swallow the lump in my throat.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “I’ve been better,” she says with a slight smile. I know that she’s trying to spin the situation with humor, putting on her armor of strength, but I can see the pain in her eyes.

  Tears well up and spill down my cheeks without hesitation and I say, “I’m so sorry, Gwen. I didn’t mean...”

  “Neither did I, Charley. We’re good,” she says, as she reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We’re good,” she says again with tears in her eyes.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I ask her hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer. I let my purse slide silently to the floor and peel my jacket off my shoulders.

  “The doctor said that my fluid levels are down and my heart is already getting stronger. The medications are working. He thinks I should be able to go home by the end of the weekend. I’m supposed to have some scans today and Dr. Sheldan is coming by to discuss treatment plans, so we’ll see,” she says with a sigh. “Can you call Mom? I need to see Olivia and Max. I just need to feel them in my arms, ya know?”

  I nod and say around the knot that has formed in my chest, “Yes, I’ll call her.” I lie down on my side and snuggle in beside her without another word and we both lie in silence as
I listen to her wheezy breath draw in and release, while John snores softly on the other side of the room. Gwen whispers, “I’m so glad that you’re here.”

  And I find myself thinking back to my dream and Gwen’s voice as she whispered, “I’ll never leave you.” I whisper those same words to her now, so softly that only I can hear.

  We lay like this for a while until John’s snoring fades and he clears his throat. I sit up slowly and Gwen says, “Honey, you should go to Charley’s and get some real sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

  John stretches his arms overhead and says, “Well, I could use a shower.”

  “I’ll call Mom now and have her bring Olivia and Max and John’s things,” I say as I stand slowly and kiss Gwen on the cheek. I turn to John and add, “And John, my place is yours for whatever you need.”

  “Tell her to pack me a bag too, would ya?” Gwen says. “Something comfy to wear when I spring out of here.” Gwen wears her signature smile but it doesn’t reach her eyes and I have to turn away before she sees the heartache that I am trying so hard to mask.

  “I’ll tell her,” I assure Gwen as I bend down to pick my purse up off the floor. “I’ll be right back,” I say to both John and Gwen as I step out into the hallway and make my way back to the waiting room to call my mother.

  I see Grey first. He’s sitting in one of the chairs in the tiny waiting room, bent forward scrolling through something on his phone. He looks up and sees me, standing abruptly as he tucks his phone in the pocket of his jeans. “How is she?” he asks as I walk toward him.

  I shrug. “She’s awake and seems better than I was expecting, but she looks terrible and it sounds like a truck is idling in her lungs,” I say.