Marshall was wearing a gray t-shirt again, maybe the same one from yesterday, and surely the same jeans; there was the telltale narrow rip in the denim straight across his left knee. He was unshaven to a degree that within a day or so he would have an actual beard, not just scruff. I inadvertently knew from Tish that he usually spent every moment he could outside, and the deep tan of his skin created that much more of a contrast with his gray eyes. His hair was a brown so dark it was nearly black, the color of the antique walnut bed in which I slept back home, and needed a scissors and comb applied to it; though, I reminded myself, he seemed nearly as worried about Case as my sister. I knew that Case was like a brother to the Rawley family.
Marshall put his hands on Case’s leg and patted him a couple of times, before resting his forearms again on the edge of the bed railing. He had very wiry, strong-looking forearms, covered in dark hair, and wrists with knobby bones on the outside edges. I blinked a couple of times, wondering at myself; the way I was so intently studying him reminded me of the pictures in my nieces’ and nephews’ coloring books – the ones where you had to find the differences between two images. I blew out a breath and made myself focus on Tish, who was sitting with her forehead resting on the edge of the mattress beside Case, holding fast to his hand with both of hers. I reached and rubbed her back, which she acknowledged with a soft little sound.
“Well, Case is actually named after his great-grandfather, Charles Dalton,” Marshall began, his eyes shifting upwards as he related the story. I noticed this from the corner of my eye, not because I looked over at him. He went on, “Case’s great-grandfather Charles was a preacher. Old Charles’s son Edwin, also a preacher, was Melinda’s father, and Melinda, as you know, was Case’s mother. So anyway, Case’s dad, Owen, and Melinda were over in Billings that December day when Case was born. They had settled on his name ahead of time, but when Owen held his son for the first time, he made some joke that the boy was too tiny, that he’d expected him to weigh at least as much as a case of beer. And that’s what he called his boy from that moment forth. My mom, who told us that story, said that Melinda wasn’t happy about the nickname at first, but that it eventually grew on her.”
Tish tilted her head to look over at Marshall, and then she laughed a little, a small huff of air that was nowhere near her usual good humor. She said, “Owen sounds like he was a piece of work. What an asshole, to say such a thing about his newborn baby.”
“Oh, he could be as mean as a wolverine,” Marshall agreed. “My mom hated him, I know, even if she didn’t actually come out and ever say it. But I could tell. She worried so much about Melinda.”
“No wonder he’s been reluctant to tell me that story,” Tish murmured, stroking Case’s hair again. To him, she said, “I love you so much, baby. Do you hear me?”
“He hears you,” Marshall told her, patting my sister’s back, so calm and reassuring, and there I was staring at him again. He added, “Don’t you worry. He knows.”
Tish nodded, resting her forehead on her bent arms once more.
“You need to sleep,” Marshall told her decisively, leaning past her to click out the bedside lamp. “Do you hear me?”
“I do,” Tish mumbled. The room was plunged into semi-darkness; meager light still trickled in from the hall through the partially-open door.
“Would you like to take a walk?” Marshall asked then, startling me; I had been planning to stay beside my sister.
“Sure,” I heard myself say, and then next thing I knew he and I were in the hallway together.
“Let’s go outside,” Marshall said. He nodded in the direction of the desk, where the nurse who had told us to quiet down was eyeballing us with her lips pursed up in annoyance.
“Good idea,” I agreed.
We were silent in the elevator, riding down two floors to the front entrance, although I was oddly aware of Marshall as he stood beside me in the small space; I seemed unusually conscious of my own breathing, and of his, and fidgeted a little. He held out his hand, politely, when the doors opened, allowing me to lead the way. We walked across the small lobby and then into the night.
“I wish she’d sleep more,” Marshall said, indicating with a tilt of his head a small bench beneath a group of trees, to the left of the hospital entrance. It must have been cloudy, as not a star was in sight, and the air felt heavy, the same way it did back home before a storm broke over the lake. A breeze lifted strands of hair from my braid and blew them across my face.
“You can’t make Tish do anything,” I said in response, sitting on the bench first, again feeling a strange rush of nerves as Marshall sat beside me, though he left a good eighteen inches of space between our hips. He immediately leaned forward, forearms to thighs, while I hunched my shoulders a little; it was chilly in the breezy night air. The hospital seemed calm and quiet under the starless, flat-black sky in the middle of the night.
“That’s the truth,” Marshall said, and I realized he meant it was true that you couldn’t make Tish do anything. I was having trouble concentrating, and my gaze kept sneaking back to him, as he sat on my left. He rubbed his eyes and then tipped his head forward, rolling it side to side as though his neck ached a little. Before I thought, I actually reached to put my hand there, onto his neck, but I snatched it instantly back, as though from a flame. Thankfully he didn’t notice this, and I immediately laced my fingers together on my lap.
“I miss her so much,” I said into the silence surrounding us. “I know it’s been a long time since she moved out of Landon, but still.”
“I’d miss any of my brothers if they moved that far away,” he said, still sitting forward, looking into the distance. “So I know just what you mean.”
“I’m so glad she’s happy here,” I said, and then shivered violently, a chill darting directly up my spine.
Marshall looked over his right shoulder to study me. He observed, “You’re cold. We can go back inside. I just wanted Tish to have a second to fall asleep.” His gaze upon me was unwavering, his expression so serious. My heart responded to this by accelerating, even more so when he shifted and added, “Here, I’ll grab you my sweatshirt from the truck.”
“You know what, I should probably get back before Mom wakes up and worries,” I said in a rush, standing abruptly. In response, Marshall sat up straight, clearly somewhat surprised at my sudden decision to leave. The lights from the hospital sign bathed his face in blue-white light, leaving mine in shadow. I studied him with my pulse clicking along, as though I had just sprinted around the parking lot.
“Will you tell Tish I’ll see her in the morning?” I asked, the first to break our gazes, fishing Mom’s car keys from my pocket.
“Of course,” Marshall responded, and his tone conveyed what sounded like mild confusion as he continued to study my face. He added as a farewell, “Until tomorrow, then.”
“See you,” I said carelessly, and then hurried across the parking lot.
I drove over what had become familiar streets in the past few days, back to Harry and Meg Carter’s house, where my family was all still asleep, thank heavens. I crept inside and to the stupid little loveseat couch in the living room, beside which my overnight bag was propped. Because it was dark and no one was about, I slipped out of my shorts and into my pajama pants, then curled up on my side. My phone was tucked into my bag and I fished it out, only to see three more missed calls from Liam.
I supposed I better send a text, as I knew he was worried, and I hadn’t been the best about responding this week, too emotionally drained. I tapped my phone and wrote, Hey there. I sat with Tish today. I’m glad to be here to help her. How’s everything back home?
A few minutes later, Liam wrote back, Good here. Miss u.
He was a man of few words, which I knew. I imagined him sitting on his bed in his and Clint’s little apartment in Landon, where they had lived for the last two years. Though I had been there countless times, I didn’t ever spend the night; maybe if Liam had his own place, but it
was a little too awkward with my cousin also always there. I mean, we were all adults, and Liam and I had been having sex since the first month we’d begun dating and I’d gotten on the pill, but still.
I’ll let you know how things are going tomorrow, I wrote back.
Sounds good, sweet pea, Liam responded, using his favorite endearment for me, and then I set my phone aside and curled up, closing my eyes.
Clint had asked us just two weeks ago when he would get the news that he was going to be the best man in our wedding. He’d joked that he needed to know the exact day so he could pin down a girl to bring along as his date (as though Clint would ever have any trouble finding a girl to go anywhere with him, as he was good-looking as could be; his problem was that he was also incredibly shy).
Liam, who had been lounging in a lawn chair with me when Clint asked this question, the three of us hanging out near the lake on a lazy Sunday, had responded by asking me, “What do you think, Ruthie?”
And I was still attempting to determine just what I did think about that; I had teasingly told Liam that he better not consider that an actual proposal.
Liam and I had been dating since I was eighteen and he was twenty-one. I had known him since Mom, Camille, Tish and I had moved to Landon permanently in 2003, as he was Clint’s best friend and had always been around the café, especially in the summer. In those early days I hadn’t paid much attention to him, mostly because I figured there was no way he could be interested in me. I’d had numerous crushes on plenty of other guys in high school, though I hadn’t dated anyone seriously. It was actually at my high school graduation party, held at Shore Leave on a sublime June evening, that Liam first asked me on a date.
I remembered that evening distinctly; I had been wearing a new sundress, a soft pale-green one with a pretty deep (for me, anyway) v-neck and had borrowed a pair of Camille’s high-heeled sandals, which put my eyes almost level with Liam’s. He had been wearing khaki shorts and a white t-shirt, and he’d looked adorable in the sunset glow. He’d reached and gently rubbed his palm against my upper arm as he’d told me I looked so pretty and would I ever want to maybe have dinner with him?
Surprised, more than anything, that’s what I’d been. I studied this friend of my cousin’s, who had been around Shore Leave since I was twelve years old, who was certainly good-looking and who, far more importantly, was also a really nice, decent guy, I knew. I had just never realized he’d noticed me before. I’d said I would love to have dinner, and then talked about it half the night with Mom and Aunt Jilly, who’d sat up with me after all the guests left my graduation party, the both of them sneaking cigarettes. I was the only one of the womenfolk who had never taken up the habit, and I scolded them, but Mom assured me that this counted as their one smoke for the summer.
“Possibly our second,” Aunt Jilly said, blowing smoke from both nostrils and winking at me, and I’d giggled.
“I think you should go out with Liam Gallagher, little one,” Mom had said that night. My mom had the dearest, most beautiful face I’d ever seen. I knew if I told her that, she’d just make an excuse, say that I was being too nice like usual, but she really did. Her long golden hair was always so soft over her shoulders and I thought of the way my stepdad Blythe looked at her, with such absolute love. Somewhere in my deepest soul, I longed for a man to look at me that way. It was the way Uncle Justin looked at Aunt Jilly, how Mathias looked at Camille, and though I was happy for them, I wanted the same thing for me; maybe it was purely selfish.
That night I thought, Maybe Liam will look at me that way.
And so we’d begun dating. The truth was, to this day I adored Liam. I cared deeply for him, and he treated me better than I could ever have imagined. He was adoring and complimentary, he knew all the places I liked to eat and exactly what I ordered, just as I knew of him, he realized that I loved snuggling just as much as I liked having sex, and behaved accordingly. Who could ask for more from her boyfriend?
Liam never got upset, never raised his voice unless he was joking about something (usually with Clint), was attentive to my every need. He treated me with absolute tenderness at all times, no exceptions. Aunt Jilly joked that if there was a trophy for being nice enough to occasionally induce vomiting, she didn’t know if Liam or I would take first place; she also joked that surely our first child would be a little demon-baby, just because. But I knew my family truly loved him and assumed that our eventual marriage was a foregone conclusion.
I knew this.
I also knew that I should be anticipating becoming Mrs. Liam Gallagher with thrilling happiness and breathless wonder.
But somehow, I wasn’t.
Maybe after he asks you, then it will feel that way. Maybe once he gives you a ring and it seems more real.
But what if it doesn’t…
What then…
This icky, nauseous set of thoughts had been plaguing me for a long time now. But because I couldn’t find an answer to satisfy myself, I avoided them as best I could. So I did the same thing now, wrapping the afghan from the back of the loveseat around myself, here in this dark, quiet living room in Montana. I closed my eyes and dozed lightly for a time, my mind tired enough to conjure up a dream. In it, I understood only that I had to hurry towards the amber-tinted light of a rapidly-sinking sun. I was in an unfamiliar, though lovely, place – a path strewn with twigs, and loose piles of dead leaves that crunched beneath my bare feet. A woman’s voice whispered to me, urgently. Somehow, I knew her. And I knew that I must listen, and heed.
Faster.
You have to get there before…
Before…
There’s no time…
Hurry, Ruthann, it’s nearly too late…
I came awake with enough of a start to tumble from the loveseat, my heart beating sharply and insistently. A distinct sense of unease had claimed my heart and I felt the essence of the dream trying to cling to a handhold in my mind – but as I rolled to my knees, my head swam and it was gone. I gave up and lay flat on the carpet instead, squeezing my eyes shut, my heart still riled up, pretending that I had not just pictured a pair of gray eyes that looked like a thunderstorm, poised to wreak havoc over the surface of a lake.
Chapter Three
Marsh came back to Case’s room at some point, but I had managed to doze for a few hours, and it was edging on seven in the morning when the nurse who was now on duty for the day shift came to introduce herself. I sat and stretched, running my fingers through my short hair, my eyes immediately sweeping over Case from head to toe, to make sure that nothing had changed while I slept, for either better or worse.
“Good morning,” I whispered to Case, bending to kiss his face, smoothing his hair.
I saw that Marsh had drifted to sleep, his head lolling against the back of one chair while his feet were propped in another. Ruthie must have headed back to the Carters’ house; I had no memory of her leaving and I hoped that Marsh had been polite on their walk. Ruthie was not equipped to deal with attitude, had never been. I’d patiently tried, numerous times, to explain to her that it was completely acceptable if she didn’t like someone, that if she dared to speak sharply to another person, the world would indeed keep turning.
Marshall’s eyes fluttered open, then immediately closed again, and he grunted a little, turning to his side and asking in the grouchiest possible voice, “Did you sleep?”
“Maybe you should go smoke another pack of cigarettes,” I said to him, just as grouchy. He opened one eye to question what the hell I meant, and so I clarified, “That’s how your voice sounds right now.”
“Oh,” he replied, unconcerned, shutting his eye. He mumbled, “I talked to Dad. He’s bringing Wy this morning. Garth and Sean and Quinn are working out at your place again. I should get my ass out there, I suppose.”
Tears swarmed into my eyes as I said, “That’s so amazing, what you guys are doing. Al told me all about it. And I’m glad you’ve been here, Marsh, truly. You’ve kept me sane, for real.”
>
“We love you and we love Case,” he said, referring to the entire Rawley clan, and my heart was warmed for the countless time, so grateful that Clark Rawley had been allowed a hand in raising Case, that Case had been adopted by such a loving family. Marshall shifted into a more comfortable position, though no position was really particularly comfortable on those vinyl chairs. I knew, firsthand. He added, “I was going to drive home later today to change clothes and shower. I thought, maybe, that Ruthann might want to ride along and meet the horses.”
“You weren’t being a jerk to her last night were you?” I pestered him.
Marshall opened both eyes, regarding me with legitimate surprise. He said, “Of course not.”
“Well, you were when she first got here. What do you care that she still has the same boyfriend, anyway?” I knew, or at least thought I knew, but I wanted him to admit it.
He plunged both hands through his dark hair and looked momentarily agonized.
“No reason,” he said, clearly lying, but I let that go.
Instead I said truthfully, “She’d probably love to meet your horses.” With a certain degree of happiness, I added, “She can meet Cider and Buck that way too. As long as you’re nice to her.”
“Jesus Christ, Tish,” he nearly growled. “Of course I’ll be nice to her. Thanks a lot.”
I smiled a little at his words, before turning back to Case and kissing his face. I told him softly, “I think our Marshall has a little crush on someone.”
“You don’t know the half,” Marshall said acidly.
***
A few hours later, Clark and Wy had arrived from Jalesville, and Ruthie, Clint and Camille from across town. Mom and Aunt Jilly were still at the house, and would be over later. Marsh had disappeared, probably to sleep somewhere for a few more hours before heading home. I mentioned, craftily, to my little sister that Marshall thought she might like to ride over to their ranch in Jalesville, to meet the horses.
Until Tomorrow Page 4