The Lives Between Us

by Theresa Rizzo

  Peter bent his head and peered into her eyes as if reading the truth in her soul. “Skylar, you’re a strong, smart woman. You know better than to look to others to make you happy. It has to come from within.” He pointed an index finger at her chest. “Only you can make you happy, Squirt.

  “If you think Mark is basically a good human being, then put yourself out of your misery and forgive the guy. I’m not perfect. You’re not perfect. Why should you expect him to be?”

  Skye shrugged again. Words raced around her head, yet she couldn’t seem to articulate a defense. Lord, she hated it when Peter was logical. And right.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “He can hurt me again,” she mumbled, feeling silly and childish.

  “He probably will.” Peter nodded. “Just as you’ll probably hurt him one day too. That’s part of relationships. That’s part of life.”

  “I’m afraid, okay?” Skye lifted her defiant gaze to glare at Peter. “I admit it. I don’t want to get hurt.”

  “Well who does? Nobody enters any relationship hoping to be hurt.” Peter stared off, his expression becoming blank, lost in the ghosts of the graveyard. “Loving someone’s risky, yet at the same time there are enormous rewards in it. You just have to believe that the good far outweighs the bad.”

  With his wife almost dying twice, and losing his daughter, Peter was an expert at risking his heart. Now he had to face that risk all over again in loving his new little twins. If Peter could be brave enough to face that, she should be able to forgive Mark.

  Peter sighed and plucked the fading grass at his feet. “Life without feeling is not worth living. Unfortunately, ya gotta take the good with the bad, Squirt. That’s just how it goes.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in thought. Skye got up and squeezed his shoulders. “Thanks.”

  Peter stared straight ahead, yet his hand caressed the base of his daughter’s headstone, and he blinked back tears. He nodded.

  “Gonna be okay?”

  Peter swallowed hard and pinched the bridge of his nose before slowly nodding. “Ya gotta take the good with the bad.” Tears leaked out of the corners of Peter’s eyes and tracked down his cheeks.

  Skye pressed the bear into his arms and kissed the top of his head, whispering, “Love you. Give him to Nik when you’re through.”

  * * *

  Skye hopped in the car and drove to the hospital to visit Faith, wondering what it was about holidays that made people so sentimental. She strolled through the empty lobby, past the reception desk decorated with colorful gourds and a horn of plenty at one end, and a darling trio of twig turkeys at the opposite side. Skye entered the elevator and pressed the third floor button.

  As the doors whispered open, Skye hesitated, then allowed the doors to glide shut. She pressed number four.

  Getting off the elevator on the fourth floor, Skye followed the signs around two corners to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. She passed a door with a sign identifying it as the NICU with visiting hours posted on a plastic plaque beneath it.

  To the left, a large bulletin board boasted photos of children of all ages and sizes. Skye stared, fascinated by the scrawny babies the size of their dad’s hand. Then there were photos of toddlers and older children. These must be the survivors. Proof that they grew up just fine. This was their board of hope.

  Skye continued walking, looking for a large window through which she could see the babies, like in the other nursery. When Skye circled around to the elevators without finding the windows, she backtracked to the NICU sign and hours. Beneath it was a doorbell.

  Hmm. Skye peered through the glass and saw people in blue scrubs with stethoscopes looped around their necks moving around, but no signs of babies. She reached out and tried to turn the doorknob, but it wouldn’t open. Skye’s eyebrows shot up. What? The preemies were in a lock-down facility. Prison for being born too early?

  Skye pressed her face closer to the glass. She just wanted a peek at the babies.

  A wall of blue suddenly appeared right in front of Skye, and a nurse pushed the door open. “Can I help you?”

  Skye stepped back and smiled. “Uh. I just hoped to drop in and sneak a quick look at my new niece and nephew—the Lynch twins.”

  Her gaze settled on large metal scrub basins behind the nurse to the left. Skye’s smile faltered. It looked so cold and sterile. And official. Beyond the hall to the right, another nurse rushed into a darkened room where alarms shrieked and things beeped. A woman wrapped in a yellow gown left the room. Her eyes were glassy and red as if she’d been crying.

  “And you are?”

  Skye blinked at the nurse. I am what?

  “Your name?”

  “Skylar Kendall. My sister, Faith, is the mother.”

  “Wait here while I verify you’re on the visitation list, and then we’ll get you signed in.”

  “I doubt I’m on a list. I just wanted to take a quick peek at them.”

  “I can’t let you in if you’re not on the list. It’ll just take me a minute to check.”

  Skye shifted and hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. “That’s okay. I know you’re busy, I’ll come back later.”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Skye backed down the hall, shaking her head. “I don’t really have time to visit now. I... Have an appointment. Thank you.” Skye spun around and hurried to the elevator. Forget the elevator, she darted into the stairwell before the nurse could say anymore. Skye pressed her back against the cool wall and closed her eyes.

  An appointment? On Thanksgiving Day? Great excuse, Skylar.

  * * *

  Over the next several days, Skye gave Peter’s advice about forgiving Mark a lot of thought. In all honesty, she had to acknowledge that part of her anger was directed at herself. Her reaction had made matters worse. The running. The near-hysterical sobbing. Her total lack of control was embarrassing.

  Skye wished that she’d had the courage and class to mask her hurt that night. If she’d just pulled Mark aside and privately had it out with him, maybe things would have turned out differently. But she hadn’t, and Peter was right. Mark was a good guy. He made a mistake and was honestly sorry for the pain and embarrassment he’d cause her. Skye needed to forgive him and move on with her life, but the logistics stumped her.

  Should she call him up and say, “I forgive you? Now let’s go out to dinner?” That seemed awkward. She could text him. Lame. Maybe she’d wait for him to apologize again and then accept? What if he didn’t apologize again? What if he gave up on her? Should she apologize for running away and for letting her emotions get the best of her? Kind of an “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me” thing?

  This must be how Mark felt once he realized he should have told her that he and Edward were friends. As time went on and he found out about Niki, Skye could see how it got increasingly impossible. How could she tell Mark she forgave him?

  * * *

  “I’m sorry, Miss, but the senator’s booked until the beginning of March.”

  “That’s ridiculous. It’s only the middle of December.” Skye stood behind the bar with her back to the dining room. Nobody’s booked up more than two months in advance—except maybe her gynecologist. “But he’s a senator. Isn’t he supposed to be a servant of the people?”

  “He’s a servant to a lot of people, ma’am,” the senator’s admin said dryly. “I could give you that March seventh appointment at nine a.m. and then notify you if he has a cancellation.”

  “Fine. I’ll take it. Thank you,” she added grudgingly. Skye tucked the cell in her back pocket.

  She left the bar to swipe a worn wooden table with her wet cloth, then laid down four sets of silverware, tightly wrapped in the hunter green cloth napkins. Skye hummed quietly to the soft Irish ballads as she prepared for the early evening dinners.

  Routine mindless activity helped pass the time and made Skye feel productive. She enjoyed working Saturday after
noons after the lunch rush, when the bar quieted as if taking a nap before the hectic evening crowd.

  Checking on her only customers, Skye made a quick trip into the kitchen and then returned with the Kelly’s drinks.

  “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Kelly. How’re you today?” Skye set a plate with a carafe of hot water two lemons, and a chamomile tea bag in front of Mrs. Kelly and cleared their luncheon plates.

  The Kellys were a charming elderly couple who came in most Saturdays and sometimes for the live Irish band Friday nights too. Not having grown up with any grandparents, these sweet people were what Skye would have wished for.

  “Well, hello there, Ms. Skylar Kendall.” Mr. Kelly’s smile lifted his wrinkles and lit his rheumy blue eyes. “And how have you been?”

  Mrs. Kelly frowned at her watch and tapped it with a boney index finger. “Old thing doesn’t work, Jimmy. I need a new watch. One with a big face so I can read it. Eyes not what they used to be, you know.” Mrs. Kelly tapped Skye’s hand as she eased out of the booth, whispering, “I’m going to just let you two chat while I visit the toilet.”

  Skye nodded and turned back to Mr. Kelly. “Okay, and you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” He leaned sideways out of the booth and peered at his wife’s receding figure. Lowering his voice, he confided, “I worry about the missus some—I don’t mind tellin’ you.”

  Skye moved closer and lowered her voice. “Why? Are her eyes that bad?”

  He winced and slowly shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with her eyes, and that watch works just fine—I got it new for her at Christmas last. She just...at times, she has trouble reading it—almost as if she forgot how.” His normally twinkling eyes clouded with worry. “She’s just a little off, ya know? The forgettin’ thing is just a part of getting older, but it’s the other that worries me. And then sometimes I can’t tell if it’s just me getting old, or her.”

  “You? You’ll never be old, Mr. Kelly.”

  “Aww, go on with you.” He swiped a creased hand through the air. “We all get old, pet. But it sure ain’t easy. I’m apt to leave the kettle on til it runs dry, but my Maureen.” He shook his head sadly. “She’s after making me feed the dog every night.” He looked up at Skye out of the corner of his eye. “Bran’s been dead goin’ on two years now. But still I gotta put the food out—she won’t have it any other way.”

  “That’s a little eccentric,” Skye allowed.

  “And when our Tommy was visitin’ and went to pick up the mail at the end of the lane, she must of asked me five times in as many minutes where he’d got to. It’s worrisome I tell you.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe you should talk to her doctor.” Skye looked toward the restrooms in time to see Mrs. Kelly leave the ladies room. She paused, looked right at Skye, then behind her, before pushing into the men’s restroom.

  “Be right back.” Skye hurried into the men’s room, relieved to see it was empty but for Mrs. Kelly, who stood in front of the urinals, frowning at the unfamiliar setting.

  “There you are.” Skye darted forward, wrapped an arm around her slight shoulders, and guided her out of the men’s room into the narrow hallway. “We need to light the hall better back here.”

  Mrs. Kelly looked up at Skye. “Did you remodel, dear? I don’t remember it being so confusing.”

  Not in the five years Skye had been coming here. “We did. I’m sorry. I’ll get a brighter bulb tomorrow.” Skye returned her to her husband. “Here we are. Now Molly’s a little busy in the back right now, but is there anything I can get you? Some dessert maybe?”

  “No dessert, dear, but I would appreciate some nice hot tea,” Mrs. Kelly said as she smoothed the emerald cloth napkin on her lap.

  “It’s right there in front of you, Maureen, along with your extra lemons.” Mr. Kelly pointed to the little silver carafe in front of his wife.

  “Oh, so it is. You’re a dote to order it for me.” She beamed at her husband. “He’s always thinkin’ of me.”

  “That he is,” Skye agreed as she moved back to the bar. It saddened her to watch this sweet old couple. Mr. Kelly’s heart was breaking right in front of her. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “We will, dear,” Mrs. Kelly said.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Kelly said. “Don’t ever get old, young lady.”

  She grinned. “I’m not so sure I like the alternative.”

  Skye was relieved when Mr. Kelly smiled back, humor replacing the deep sadness in his eyes. “Too true. Too true.”

  Rounding the polished wood bar, Skye grabbed a wine glass sank it in warm soapy water and with efficient twists, cleaned it before taking it out and running it under the steaming hot tap water. As she turned the water off and set the glass in the draining rack to air dry, between the stacked bottles of liquor, she glimpsed a familiar figure in the wall mirror.

  Chapter 13

  Skye’s heart jumped in her chest, and she did a double take. Mark had just walked in. Back still to the door, she averted her eyes from the mirror with the childish thought that if she couldn’t see Mark, then he couldn’t see her. What was he doing here?

  Skye scanned the back sink area for glasses to wash—an excuse to keep her hidden behind the bar while she sorted out her feelings. The sudden, compelling need to not face Mark surprised Skye; she wasn’t shy. She didn’t have a shy cell in her body, yet she couldn’t deny her strong desire to slide down the drain with the dirty soap water rather than turn around and speak to him.

  She peeked in the mirror at the now empty doorway. Mark probably didn’t come in to see her. After all, this was a great little bar with tasty food. Perhaps he was meeting someone. Another woman? Skye hoped not. She didn’t have the right to be jealous. They’d never agreed to be exclusive.

  After spending another three minutes restocking the gin, vodka, and wine, she took a deep breath and slowly turned around, fully prepared to paste a bright, welcoming smile on her face should Mark be sitting directly behind her. The bar was empty.

  She looked at the vacant door, then scanned the sparsely occupied room. The intimate booths were the favored seats and filled first, but she only saw the Kellys finishing up their drinks. A family with a teenager occupied another booth. Had Mark left? Had he even been there or had her guilty subconscious conjured him in her mirror like the evil queen in the Snow White fairy tale?

  Shoulders drooping, Skye grabbed the checkered dishtowel and began scrubbing the spotless counter in front of her. After all the ignored calls, she was silly to think Mark would come to her.

  “Skye?”

  She turned toward Molly, the pub owner, who inclined her curly gray head to the right. At the end of the long mahogany bar, tucked around the rounded corner, sat Mark. With hands clasped together resting atop the counter, his steady, hungry gaze encircled Skye in a way that should have made her uncomfortable with its intensity, but strangely she felt only relief and happiness. A nervous smile trembled on her lips.

  “Got it,” Skye said. Her stomach jumped with nerves. Without breaking Mark’s gaze, she made her way to the end of the bar. The slight beard shadowing his face should have made him seem menacing or scruffy; instead he looked sexy as hell. As she slowly neared, a crooked smile lifted his lips, jump-starting her heart. She’d missed him.

  Tossing the damp cloth on a stack of Heineken bottles, Skye bit her lip and smiled. “Hi.”

  Now with only three feet between them, the warm welcome in his eyes allowed her nervousness to slip away. “Skylar. You’re looking well.”

  “You, too.” She blinked at him. Skylar? He’d never called her by her full name before. “What’re you doing here?”

  Mark glanced down at the napkin he was toying with. After a few seconds he pursed his lips. “I wanted to see you. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I’m sorry, too. After I had time to think, I can see how it all could have snowballed.”

  Mark watched her, wary, as if waiting for the catch. “So you forgive me?”<
br />
  “Sure.” Skye shrugged, suddenly needing to downplay how much he’d hurt her. “It’s not as if we were that close.”

  Mark stopped spinning the cardboard coaster in front of him. “What do you mean? We were close.”

  Skye felt heat climb her neck and blossom in her cheeks. She ignored his reference to their having slept together. “It’s not like we’d been dating long. We don’t really know that much about each other.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  Mark dropped the coaster he’d been fiddling with. “I know you.” He placed his forearms on the bar and leaned over them. “You love to drench your popcorn in butter—the real stuff, not margarine. You had an appendectomy when you were eight. Braces at fourteen. Tulips are your favorite flower. You twist your hair around your index finger when you’re thinking.

  “Heath Candy Crunch is your favorite ice cream. You’ll do bodily harm to anybody who tries to take a bite of steak off your plate, but you’ll happily share your dessert. You have a secret passion for country music—though why it’s something to be ashamed of I don’t know.”

  Her mouth popped open with an instant denial, but she couldn’t. His observations had been spot on. “Well, I guess it’s me who doesn’t know you.”

  “You know me.”

  Skye shook her head. “Not really.”

  “Sure you do.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “If I did, I would’ve known that Edward Hastings is like a brother to you.”

  Mark eased back onto his stool. “Touché.” They were silent for a few seconds. “My favorite color’s blue, I love to read, ski, play soccer, hockey, tennis, and golf. Favorite ice cream is Cookies and Cream—Dreyers. Love sushi, hate Mexican food—I know, it’s weird. Everybody likes Mexican. I’d become a vegetarian if I didn’t love chicken and beef so much. Oh, and I’m good with animals and kids.” He paused. “What else do you want to know?”

  Skye leaned her hip against the counter. “Something nobody else knows. Something not even your best friend knows.”