The Light We See

by J. Lynn Bailey

  Friend.

  He didn’t say girlfriend. We haven’t confirmed anything else, so why use a word other than friend? I’m not sure why this bothers me, but it does.

  Walker pulls me in for a huge hug, too.

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. … I didn’t get your last name.”

  “Walker is my last name.” The rasp in his tone makes him sound cool, experienced, a pack-of-cigarettes-a-day smoker at one point in his life. It’s inviting and intimidating at the same time. The words roll off his tongue so casually and so rhythmically, like written song lyrics that have existed for years.

  “Luke still calls me Walker. You can call me whatever you want, but the name is Sam Walker, and that out there, that’s my wife, Gail Walker. And our two grandsons, Steven and Sam Jr. Twins. Who knew?”

  Luke eyes the boys. “Are they Tammy’s boys or Rick’s boys?”

  “Rick’s. He’s on a getaway with Letty.”

  The boys look to be about six or seven. Towheads.

  “It’s been a while, Luke, and it’s sure good to see you. In fact, when Gail sees you, you’d better plan to stay awhile. Of all the clients I represented in Hollywood, you’re the only one she loved like a son, and you’re the only one she still asks about.”

  “Well, we’re passing through on our way to New York, and I wanted to give you this.” Luke hands Walker a white envelope from his back pocket.

  Walker’s big grin appears again and quickly fades. He stares at the envelope, takes it, and looks back at Luke. “What’s this?”

  Luke shrugs. “What I owe you.”

  Walker’s shoulders drop. “You don’t owe me a dime, Luke.”

  Walker looks at me with questioning eyes as if I had something to do with this.

  “I’m just an innocent bystander,” I say.

  He tosses the white envelope onto the counter where we’re standing, clasps Luke’s shoulders in his big hands, and says, “Missed you, kid.”

  We’re at the dinner table, and it’s the four of us. The twin boys are off playing a video game they were promised if they behaved at the dinner table.

  I feel like an intruder. Walker, Gail, and Luke have lived a life together that I wasn’t a part of and I’m looking through a window, listening, watching.

  Out of the blue, Luke begins to cough, and I know what to do. I grab a napkin and shove it in his hand to catch the blood that might come out. I try not to make a big deal about this, try to make it seem like it’s just a cough.

  I smile at Gail and Walker and ask, “So, how long have you guys been in Pauls Valley, and how on earth did you end up here from Los Angeles?”

  I take a bite of my steak even though I want to throw it all up. The sound of Luke’s cough has changed, and it worries me even though I try to play it cool. I chew the piece of meat and Luke coughs and Walker and Gail look at me, waiting for an answer I can’t give. I put my hand on his back.

  “Well—well,” Gail begins as Luke’s coughing fit begins to subside.

  I want to throw up, and yet I keep chewing and keep pretending everything is okay.

  Luke looks at me, his eyes straining. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

  I nod as he stands, my hand falls from his back.

  “Are you all right, honey?” Gail asks.

  Luke says, “Yeah, just a tickle in my throat.”

  But I saw the blood in the napkin.

  “So,” Gail begins again—she, too, catching on to the act normal façade—“I grew up here, and when Walker retired, we came here to be closer to my parents.”

  “It’s a beautiful place,” I say, trying to focus on the conversation at hand and not Luke.

  “What do you do for a living, Catherine?” Walker asks in his smooth way.

  “I’m a writer actually.” And I went to prison for murder.

  I’m sure Walker knows exactly who I am if he saw my full name in the headlines of my daily newspapers thirteen years ago. I’m sure what happened was a part of his world, too.

  “What do you write?” Gail asks, taking a bite of salad.

  “I’ve written for a few publications. US Monthly magazine is who I currently write for.”

  “Ah, does David Jenkins still serve as acting chief editor?”

  I swallow hard. Put my water glass down. Shit. “Yes, he sure does,” I say as if I know the guy. As if I’d spent Christmases with his family. Babysat his kids or something.

  Luke returns to the table, thank goodness. Sits down. Looks at me, and I give him the you all right look.

  Luke smiles. Plays it off.

  “Everything okay, Luke?” Gail asks.

  “Just a tickle I couldn’t get rid of.”

  In this moment, I believe Luke. I want so badly for it to have been just a tickle. A small tickle, and that’s it. Not a deadly disease festering in his body. I also realize how well Luke plays the part. How well he brushes it off. How well he pretends. He’s an actor, I know. I look at Walker and wonder if he knows the truth. If he knows Luke as well as he seems to. Does he see through the bullshit?

  This time, Gail stands. Takes her plate and Walker’s plate and reaches for mine.

  “Oh, no. You cooked. I have dishes.”

  Gail smiles at me from across the table, plates in hand. In this moment, I can see why Walker fell in love with her. Her smile is sincere and genuine and full of love. I can see why Luke came back.

  Are the white envelopes an explanation to people?

  Is each one full of money?

  A letter?

  An apology?

  A map to treasure?

  I reach my hand across the table to take the plates from Gail. She’s hesitant, but she gives them over.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “Thank you for dinner.”

  I take Luke’s plate, and he thanks me with the soft touch on my lower back.

  “I’ll help you,” he says.

  “No. Visit.” I eye him.

  Luke smiles, and the fear in the pit of my stomach disappears.

  I walk into the kitchen, and Gail follows me. We start the dishes.

  “You know,” she says, “I’ve never seen Luke look at a woman the way he looks at you. Not even Julie.”

  Julie?

  Sometimes, it’s better to listen than to ask questions.

  “That young man in there is absolutely in love with you, Catherine.” Gail smiles and leans against the counter as I submerge my hands in the water.

  Breathe, Catherine.

  “But I’m sure you already know that.” She laughs.

  I grab a pot and begin to wash it, allow the warm, soapy water to ease the tension in my body.

  “We met a week ago,” I say, willing myself to be honest.

  Gail shakes her head, smirks. “Well, if you heard my and Walker’s story, you’d know that I believe your story to my core.”

  “How’d you guys meet?”

  Gail is petite with short brown hair and a beautiful face. Cheekbones and a narrow jawline.

  “My mama said I wasn’t tall enough to be a model, so I left Pauls Valley for the big city of Los Angeles to prove her wrong. It wasn’t more than three weeks when I got there that I met Walker. At the time, he was just building his business. It was 1973. I was just eighteen years old, and Walker was twenty-two. That man has always been a go-getter. But what I fell in love with was his passion and understanding of people. Since the day we met, I’ve always told him he was in the wrong line of work and that he should be working for the Red Cross or some disaster relief outfit. And do you know what that man said to me?”

  I hand the pot to Gail to dry.

  “He said, ‘Marry me.’ ” She giggles.

  Her giggle reminds me of Dolly Parton’s. It’s high-pitched, and it ends on a kick.

  “So I did. We were just so young and so naive.” She shakes her head. “That was forty-one years ago.” She smiles. “My mama said it wouldn’t work. Said we were too young.” Gail bites her lip when she set
s the pot down.

  “My mama was a strong lady, but she was wrong about two things. One, the right person falls in our lap when we need them most. We’re still married. And two, petite women can become models.”

  We both laugh.

  I bury her words in my heart for a time when I’ll need them, especially the first thing about the right person falling right into our lap when we need them most.

  “Oh, my mama. God rest her soul. She was a tough, old bird, but boy, she raised us right.”

  Luke and Walker come from the dining room, bringing the leftovers from the table just as we finish up the dishes.

  Luke leans into me from behind, whispers in my ear, “Are you ready?”

  I feel the warmth his breath provides against my ear, my cheek. He gently kisses my cheek, and my heart picks up pace.

  Live in the present moment, Cat, I remind myself.

  So, instead of falling to fear of the future, I breathe him in, just as if he were gone. I breathe in his scent, his words against my cheek. I picture his smile and the lines that run from the corners of his eyes. His dimple and the two creases in his forehead that you’ll see if he laughs hard enough.

  I’ll remember. “Yeah,” I say, “I’m ready.”

  The drive back to our Airbnb is quiet, not in a bad way, but in a good way. It’s peaceful. I realize our days together are numbered, but I’ll give Luke what he wants, what he needs until he can’t tell me anymore.

  He hasn’t brought up the cancer, and neither have I. In fact, I wish it didn’t linger in the back of my mind, but it does. It’s always there.

  The night feels good against my face, the September air of Pauls Valley, the mood of the evening. I look over at Luke, who’s got one hand on the wheel and the other hand between my legs.

  Live in the moment, Cat.

  I’ve said before that I felt safer behind the metal doors, in prison, but now, after a year of adjustment, I can’t imagine going back.

  Luke could choose to look at his diagnosis like a prison sentence. I could choose to view Luke, our trip, as a prison sentence with an unhappy ending, but I can’t. I don’t think he can either. We get time together.

  I take my fingers, and slide them through his hair, and he gazes over at me.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

  “You.”

  “What about me?”

  “I realize I’ve fallen in love with a woman, and I don’t even know her favorite color or what high school she went to.”

  “Blue and Harvard-Westlake.” I pull my fingertips through his hair. “What about you?” I ask, lingering on the words in love.

  “Blue and Bardstown High School,” Luke says, pulling into the driveway.

  The gravel crunches underneath us as we come to a slow stop.

  The moon shines its brilliance, the river behind the cabin making a consistent shh sound, and all I can think about is the contentment I feel, being with Luke. Like, no matter what happens with life, in this moment is where I’m meant to be. I want to be the keeper of his heart. I want to take all his sadness, his fear, and put it in a box and tuck it away, so he can live whatever time he has left in peace, just as I feel it.

  I know that isn’t a reality, so I say, “What happens now?”

  Luke turns off the engine. Pulls me from my seat in a commanding way and says, “We make love.”

  Luke’s head falls to the headrest, and he looks at me as if I am the most beautiful flower, the most boldly colored flower he’s ever seen. His eyes, in the darkness, make him look mysterious, but I know who they come from. I know that this man in front of me is worth every ounce of grief I’ll eventually feel, every minute of stolen moments from my future, every ounce of love I have in my body.

  I was taught to love with consequence—this I’m very familiar with. I was taught to love with strings attached. I was also taught to love with lies. While I can lie to myself and tell myself that I can withstand the hurt when he goes, what I cannot do is sit here and tell myself that I won’t fall in love because I already have.

  Luke picks up my body, lifts me over the console, and sets me down on top of him. I take my hands, put them on his cheeks, and hold his face in my hands. Allow my skin to feel his, allow my mind to collect these memories, ones I’ll miss so intently that my heart will cry out, I know.

  Because when my family was a family, I wish I had collected the good memories and not the memories of Mother and Father fighting so loudly that we could feel it in our hearts and in the walls of the beautifully broken home on North Alpine Drive.

  “I wish I could have more time with you, Luke. I wish I could collect your thoughts, your feelings, and stow it away for when you’re no longer here to tell me them. I wish I could always feel your heartbeat.”

  Before he can answer, I gently press my lips to his and feel his sadness, a kiss littered with push and pull and conflict, of the unknown. My legs settle down comfortably on either side of his thighs, and I feel him harden underneath me. The only thing between us is his shorts and my panties because of the sundress that’s up over my waist.

  Luke grabs the back of my neck and nudges my chin up with his head, so he can get better access to my chest but not before fiercely staring at me in the eyes. Though his look is intense, his touch is found somewhere between soft and hard. Needful.

  He trails kisses down my neck and against my bra.

  Somehow, I get his zipper on his shorts down, and I put myself against him. He pulls my panties to the side, so I can feel all of him.

  I tilt myself up so that my opening is on top of his sex, hard and waiting. Knowing my body, I ease myself down, and he’s inside me.

  Slowly, I rock.

  He closes his eyes, and his head falls to my chest, but I can’t help but move my body.

  “Look me in the eyes.” I rock against him.

  He pulls his head up. Need bleeds through his dark brown eyes. He bites his lower lip, and he intently stares back at me.

  Badly, I want to go faster, to feel him fill me up, take all of what he has to offer. But I keep the pace slow, even, and he grabs my ass and holds me tight to him.

  He takes my mouth in his and kisses me like tomorrow won’t be here, like we won’t have each other, as if we’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream.

  Luke pulls away, opens the driver’s door while inside me, gets up by lifting us both, shuts the car door with his foot, and walks to the front door while he peppers me with kisses along the way in.

  It’s a feeling to be outside, in the moon’s light, committing an act that should only be done behind closed doors. A rush of euphoria shoots through my body when he rests my back against the front door and pumps inside me. My legs feel like jelly, and this feeling he gives me between my legs makes me want to whisper, Faster, because it feels too good. But I don’t. I want to savor Luke for as long as I can.

  Luke gets a full grip on me before he opens the door to our cabin and carries me in.

  I don’t care where he puts me or where we make love. I just need him—and this thought both terrifies me and makes me feel whole.

  He walks to the couch and sits down. He takes off his shirt while I watch. I reach out and run my fingers down his chest and all the way to the base of us, where we’re connected.

  I push my lips to his as he takes me in, pulling my hair back from my face and then grabbing my jaw and kissing me hard. He pulls away and stares at me.

  “You are why I was made,” he says. “You are why I am here. I believe my sole purpose in life is for you to feel loved by me, Catherine.” He pauses. “And I think your sole purpose is to learn to love completely, without strings attached and without lies, only all things innocent and pure. To know what true love is like, so you can take it with you as you live. I think I’m the one who’s supposed to teach you that.”

  Tears well in my eyes, and they start to fall. Luke takes my hand when I try to wipe them, shakes his head, and watches them fall.

&nb
sp; “It’s really hard to live in the moment, Luke.” I push my thumb across his lips.

  “I know,” he says.

  I know that my life up until now matters. I also know that we must walk through the fire to get to the ground of knowing. All of this is worth it, and I know this with every burning ember inside me.

  I fall to his mouth and rock against him as he holds me in his arms and allows me this time to just be.

  We come together quickly after that. I fall to the side, and we lie here, tangled in each other, panting for a few seconds.

  Luke watches me as I stare at the ceiling.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks, rubbing my thigh.

  “I’m wondering if the cabin is old.”

  The roof has a glittered ceiling that was popular in the eighties.

  Luke looks up. Smiles. “I have a hunch.”

  I wince when he says this. His tone and the grittiness, I’ll miss them with all my heart.

  And when he sees this, Luke scoots to the edge of the sofa, lets his shorts fall down with the zipper still unzipped, and picks me up, carrying me to the bedroom. “Let’s go to bed, Catherine.”

  Luke walks into the bedroom and lays me down but not without taking off my sundress, my bra, my panties. Then, he tucks me into bed. He takes off his boxers and crawls in bed next to me, pulling me to him so my head is against his chest and I can hear his heartbeat. I will myself to remember its beat, and I close my eyes.

  “I love you, Luke.”

  “I’ll always love you more, Catherine Clemens. Always more.”

  “No.” I smile. “I love you more than all the pepper flakes in the world.”

  A slow, throaty laugh sounds from inside him. “I love you more than all the grains of sand in the world.”

  “I love you more than the stars in every galaxy.”

  “I love you more than all the book pages from the beginning of time to present.”

  I’m silent. I look up at him. “That’s a lot of love.”

  “I know.”

  I rest my head on his chest again and find his heartbeat. “I’ll love you even when your body is no longer.”