Lilies on Main

by J. Lynn Bailey

  But this isn’t love with Aaron after all. It’s just a text. But, just for a moment, I pretend.

  I know what it’s like to feel loved by a man in all the right ways. Not the wrong ways. The ones that hurt. The wrong ways that make you hope for a better outcome. But you convince yourself that it won’t happen again, and every time you go back, the wrong ways bleed in, wrapping around you and masterfully telling you a story about the way things should be. And you buy it every time. In fact, because you have a daughter, you believe the lies he tells you. Maybe because you partially believe it, but maybe more because fear is really the demon you fight.

  “You all right, Lydia?”

  I decide Will’s voice was put together with tiny pieces of kindness. His tone and pitch assigned by God, perhaps to provide light to see the path right in front of us.

  I put my phone on the shelf just below the counter. “Yes,” I lie.

  Sometimes, I feel weaker when Lilly isn’t around. As if I don’t have to be as strong as I think I need to be when she’s around.

  Will doesn’t buy it, but he also doesn’t say anything else. He sets two books up on the counter. All of Me and If Beale Street Could Talk.

  I’ve known this man for a whole fifty-two minutes, and of those fifty-two minutes, seven were spent at the post office and back, but somehow, I can’t help but feel like our friendship has been worn well, like an old suit. Good woven material to hold it together. Sewn with give and also strength, and the suit still seems to fit impeccably well.

  Silence falls over us for only a few seconds as I ring up his books.

  “My wife used to have an uncanny ability to read right through me. I didn’t have to say anything, and she’d just know.”

  “Used to?” I barely whisper as I put his purchases in a bag.

  “She passed,” Will says, still smiling.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I had fifty years of marriage with a woman I loved with my whole heart. Nothing to be sorry about, Lydia.”

  I push his books across the counter. Give him his total. He pays me in cash.

  He turns to leave.

  “Is All of Me for you, Will?” I ask.

  “Nah, it’s for someone else. But I’ll read it first before I give it to her.” He shrugs. “You have yourself a good day, Lydia.”

  “You, too, Will.”

  Will’s words burn into my memory. His tone. The way they came out as if he meant every single word.

  “… I loved with my whole heart.”

  Eight

  Aaron

  I text Lydia.

  Me: I hope you’ll be at Ethan and Bryce’s tonight.

  I hit Send.

  Shit.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have.

  Fuck.

  Is there a way to recall a text message? I pull up Google but am interrupted with a return text from Lydia.

  Lydia: Thinking about it.

  She’s typing again, and I know this because I can see the bubbles. She stops. Starts again. Stops.

  Type something, idiot.

  But I can’t think of anything, except stupid things. Maybe I shouldn’t type anything at all. Lydia is typing again.

  Lydia: See you tonight.

  I smile and can’t help but get nervous. In my work truck, I’m at my place, parked in the driveway. I shove my phone in the chest pocket of my uniform. I hop out of my truck and walk inside.

  I throw my keys on the counter, grab a beer from the refrigerator, pop it open, and head to the shower. Part of me needs to take care of myself, fulfill the need I only want Lydia to fix. Take care of. But a big part of me knows—I guess it’s my heart—that she’s not ready for anything. But, when she is, I’ll be here. Waiting.

  The shower is hot when I get in.

  Nerves in my stomach build at the thought of Lydia in a dress. In anything and not in anything at all.

  What should I say to her?

  Should I say anything?

  What are good conversation starters?

  Fuck, Aaron, you act like you’ve never talked to a beautiful woman before.

  But it’s Lydia.

  In my bedroom.

  She undresses.

  Pink underneath.

  I find myself in her.

  Pushing.

  Feeling.

  Soft cries in my ear.

  She gives.

  I take.

  We love.

  It ends.

  Out of the shower, I shave. Deodorant. Throw on a black T-shirt and jeans.

  Shit. Should I wear a hat? Nah.

  People say that Ethan and I look more like brothers than twins. When I wear a hat, for whatever reason, it’s harder to tell us apart. When we were little, hat or no hat, people had a hard time with telling us apart, but as we got older, we became our own people. Maybe life experience does this to us. We spent a lot of time together until he left for the military. And I actually entertained the idea of enlisting with him. I knew though he had to do it alone. That it was his journey, not mine. I was scared for him. Terrified actually. Every time my cell phone rang or when I was at my parents’ house and the phone rang when he was in Iraq, my heart stopped. And it took everything in me not to puke. I was a puker. I’ve grown out of it.

  It’s just past five when I walk over to my brother’s. I have a six-pack and some flowers for Bryce, who’s pregnant.

  Be cool, I tell myself, thinking about Lydia.

  Ethan answers the door. Gives me a coy smile. “The flowers must be for me.”

  “Dumbass.” I shake my head and walk past him, pushing the six-pack to his chest.

  Ryan, Merit, Eli, and Alex are already here, gathered around the counter in the kitchen.

  “Where are all the kids?” I ask.

  “Grandparents’,” they all say in unison.

  “Ah.” I nod.

  I’m usually the uncle playing games on the floor with them or dressing up with Emily, Eli and Alex’s oldest. I kind of hoped they’d be here to serve as a buffer between Lydia and me, just in case things went south.

  Ethan and Bryce added an additional one thousand square feet to the house. Ethan was trying to do the work by himself before the baby arrived but soon realized with his work schedule that it was almost impossible, so he hired Mickey from Harbor Construction to finish off what he’d started.

  I hand Bryce the flowers and kiss her on the cheek. “What’s for dinner?”

  I look at the counter where food covers every square inch. Ethan is a barbecue king while Bryce is a great cook.

  The guys gravitate to the backyard to help assist Ethan while the women sip wine and talk about what women do.

  The doorbell rings.

  I take a big swig of beer. In fact, I finish the bottle as the guys talk about the latest waterproof hunting gear that First Lite just came out with.

  Trying to pretend I didn’t hear the doorbell, I attempt to allow my nerves to calm. Just don’t puke.

  Ethan notices me. Walks to the cooler and grabs another beer. Hands it to me and takes my empty.

  There’s no exchange in words, and the guys keep talking.

  I down another beer.

  Within seconds, my nerves calm a little.

  Maybe my nerves are from lingering feelings from Ethan and Bryce’s engagement party. What happened inside me when she kissed me.

  You’ve kissed women before, Aaron. Women have kissed you before.

  But maybe all this is totally in my head.

  “And this is the backyard,” Bryce says as Ethan walks over to help his pregnant wife down the stairs, followed by Lydia, Merit, and Alex.

  I grab one more beer from the cooler, trying to build the liquid courage I’ll need to talk to her at some point in the evening.

  “Hey, Lydia,” the guys say.

  She catches my eye only for a few seconds as she follows Bryce to the lawn, who points out the trees, flowers, the walk path, and small waterfall in the back corner. I don’t look away. I watc
h her. She’s wearing a long-sleeved top, which is dark and flowing, flip-flops, and a little pair of jeans that make her ass look unbelievable.

  I take the rest of my beer in a long drink.

  “Time to eat,” Ethan calls from the sliding door.

  The guys usher their wives in, which leaves Lydia and me last.

  “Hey,” I say.

  Her skin is a perfect peach, her lips shaped in a heart.

  “Hey, yourself,” she says as we slowly make our way inside.

  “I’m glad you came,” the beer says. “Where’s Lilly?”

  “My mom’s in town. They’re watching a movie tonight at the theater.” She bites her lip, staring down at the cement as we make our way inside. Then, she puts her wineglass to her lips. Swallows.

  And all I can do is watch.

  “After you,” I say at the slider, unintentionally brushing my hand against her hip to motion her first. I want to say I’m sorry. That it wasn’t on purpose. But I don’t.

  Lydia stops at the top stair, turns back, and looks down at me.

  She wants to say something, and the moment lasts longer than she wants it to. Her eyes search mine.

  I take a step up toward her, which leaves a foot and a half between us. “Are you all right?” I ask in almost a whisper.

  Her eyes move from my mouth to my eyes. “What?”

  “Are you all right?”

  As if she’s living a new moment, she rigidly adjusts her body. Snaps out of it. “I-I don’t drink too often. It must be the wine.”

  My beer allows me to take one step up toward her, putting our bodies less than a foot apart. Her breathing quickens, as does mine.

  Above her lip is a wet spot where the wine was, a trace of what’s been consumed.

  Slowly, I reach up and slide my thumb across her lip, cupping her jaw in my palm. I don’t ask if this is okay. I don’t ask for her permission to touch her. Feel her skin beneath my hand because I’m terrified of what she’ll say. Deep down, I know she needs this just as much as I do.

  “You guys coming?” a voice calls from somewhere inside.

  “In a minute,” I say loud enough for them to hear, I hold my conviction, my intentions in, wanting just one more minute alone with Lydia.

  With my hand still on her jawbone, she stares down at me, her breathing just as ragged as mine.

  “You gave me a kiss six months ago, Lydia, that has stayed with me for one hundred and eighty days.” My finger leaves her lip.

  I take another step up, leaving us only inches apart, and I tower over her. “I want to be clear, Lydia. I let you slip through my hands once. But I’m sure as hell that it’s not going to happen again.” My lips barely graze her lobe.

  Her breath catches.

  She swallows. “It’s going to be one hell of a fight.”

  A smile spreads across my lips. “I’ve never gotten into something I didn’t win.”

  She breathes in my words. She drops her head forward, resting it on my shoulder, and I take the space on her hip with my hand.

  This has been years in the making, I tell myself. Please don’t let me be dreaming.

  Before Lydia walks inside, she picks up her head, looks down at my mouth, and back to my eyes again.

  “I’m complicated, Aaron. I’m a single mother who will always put her daughter first. You have to know this about me.” She pauses. “No matter the cost.”

  I smile. “This is what draws me in about you, Lydia. And that little girl you have, Lilly, is pretty special.”

  “The food is getting cold, friends.” It’s Bryce, and I know she’s serious.

  Lydia takes the lead. I drop my hand from her waist and we go eat.

  It’s nine forty-five p.m. when everyone heads home.

  “I’ll walk you home,” I say to Lydia as we make our way down the walkway of Ethan and Bryce’s.

  She nods.

  “This town never gets old for me,” Lydia says.

  Summertime in Granite Harbor in the evenings is no colder than seventy. Comfortable.

  I watch her watch the town. Take in the lights. There’s no one wandering the streets this late in Granite Harbor.

  “You should try growing up here. Ethan and I couldn’t get away with anything. My mom would get a call. ‘I saw your boys down at the harbor past dusk tonight, Helen.’” I pretend to use an old woman’s voice.

  Lydia laughs, and my whole world is flipped onto its side. Small, breathy laughs come from her mouth and fly out into the world for everyone to hear. Take hold of. Remember. I promise myself I won’t forget. Her eyes change as if freedom of thought has left and only joy remains.

  I could do this for the rest of my life, I think as I watch her.

  The tension and nervousness are gone. The beer is all gone. Three is always my limit.

  We reach the back alley to her bookstore.

  The summer air that hangs in the space upon us, around us, is aware of what’s between us. It watches. Lydia’s big green eyes stare up at me.

  I take a step closer so that her chest is touching mine. “This time, I’m going to kiss you, Lydia. I can’t promise it will be gentle.”

  “I don’t need gentle right now anyway, Warden Casey.”

  Nine

  Lydia

  I feel his words against my heart but keep up the barrier I’ve set to protect myself and Lilly. I keep the barrier up, which gives me the control. Control that I won’t lose my head when my heart starts to fall. The barrier I let down once and won’t let it happen again.

  Aaron touches his lips to mine.

  I breathe.

  With more force, he deepens the kiss by touching both sides of my face with his hands. His callous, working hands.

  My knees grow weak.

  His lips nudge my mouth open, and he waits for me.

  My lips part.

  He takes his time with my mouth. Searching, exploring. I breathe him in.

  My heart begins to pound. Beats that can be felt like a love song whose lyrics can’t be remembered. But the beat is unforgettable. Unforgivable.

  I awaken. Push my mouth onto his. Pull on his T-shirt in a way that suggests this kiss isn’t enough.

  The barrier in place was built on lies. Lies that I’d been told far too many times, which were old, haggard, that couldn’t stand on their own two feet. And yet, I continued to believe them.

  “It won’t happen again,” Brett said. “I’ll get help,” he said.

  But this is Aaron. Someone different. Aaron drops his hands from my face and moves them to my hips. Presses firmly. I feel it within. I feel my body respond in ways I haven’t felt in years. My breasts swell; an ache between my legs begins.

  I should stop this. It’s not going to go anywhere.

  Aaron pulls away, as if he can feel the confusion that has begun.

  He stares down at me, his lips swollen, he rests his forehead against mine, but my body still rages as if it needs his touch. And this thought scares me.

  “I should go inside,” I say in a low, breathy voice.

  Aaron’s hand moves up toward my face again, covering my cheek.

  Don’t fall into it, I tell myself.

  His eyes wide, he puts his lips to mine again—this time, gently, as if I were a piece of delicate glass.

  The warm summer night slowly pushes us apart, creating space, conditions, and expectations. As if the world is trying to right itself. Right now, my perception is off, askew. This kiss has met me in chaos. The last one left me with regret. Regret that I should have done more. Kissed more. Allowed his hands to touch my body, though he never offered them. It might have been that my kiss, the first time, caught him off guard. Or maybe I’d given him the perception that I didn’t want more. But I did.

  “Good night, Aaron,” I whisper.

  I left that night and tossed and turned in my bed. But my thoughts kept going to Lilly.

  When my mortality was put into question, my life expectancy, things just didn’t look the same
anymore. And I can’t go back. Erase what’s happened. Forget the thoughts that spun, still spin, in my mind while my eyes should be resting. Tossing and turning as I wondered what life lessons should be learned.

  “Good night, Lydia.”

  He removes his hands, and I’m left with empty spaces on my body that were once hot to the touch, now only slowly burning embers.

  Aaron takes a few steps back. “Go ahead. I’ll watch you until you get in.” He shoves both hands in his jeans.

  The jeans that fit his waist just perfectly. The jeans that hang from his narrow hips. The jeans that I’ve envisioned sliding past his waist and onto the floor.

  I walk down the quiet alleyway and open the door of the stairs to our place. Staring back at Aaron, I whisper all the words that I should have said so that he wouldn’t get his hopes up that this might go further. The guilt begins to build in my chest.

  I can never love you like I love my daughter.

  You deserve someone whose wounds aren’t so jagged, so deep.

  You deserve better.

  But maybe this is just the alcohol talking.

  It’s Saturday morning.

  “Mommy, just for the record, Nana did not let me watch Judge Judy.” Lilly slides herself onto my lap and folds my arms around her middle.

  I take in a deep breath of her hair. Kiss the top of her head.

  My mom sits across from us at the table in our apartment.

  “Look,” Lilly says, her head resting on my chest, “I need another day off. Nana needs my help at the park today.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I take a sip of coffee. “I don’t know. Another day off work?”

  “You can take it out of my paycheck.”

  Lilly doesn’t collect a paycheck, but I did agree to pay her this summer, as she’d presented a great argument. She’s saving up to buy supplies to deter turkeys. She saw it on one of the wildlife channels. She said she wants to create a call that warns the turkeys to run for their lives. How she’s going to do this, I have no idea, but when Lilly puts her mind to it, she does it.

  “Oh, well, all right.” I wink at my mom. “Go jump in the bath, and I’ll be in to wash your hair.”

  Lilly springs from my lap and races down the hallway, a trail of blonde hair behind her.