Katherine takes a warden blanket and covers the trembling woman.
Ethan and I stand, stoic, waiting, on guard for the news that’s coming.
I hold my breath as Dr. Phillips enters the waiting room and starts with, “We did all we could …”
The tape plays.
“Life-saving procedures did not work. He’s gone.”
And, for the life of me, I get up every morning and put on the uniform for just one more day. Hoping for a good outcome.
This job will never be easy.
Seventeen
Lydia
Will’s been back there for more than an hour. Lilly is at his side, asking a million and one questions. I can tell by Will’s body language that he’d be a wonderful grandfather. I wonder if he is one. I don’t know that I’ve introduced Lilly to Will, but they seem to have taken care of that.
“Why’s your skin so dark?” Lilly asks.
“God thought I could handle it, I suppose,” Will says, turning another page in It Ends With Us.
“Do you like that book?”
“I think so.”
“What’s it about?”
“A woman. A man. Resiliency, so it seems.”
“What’s that mean?”
Will smiles. “It means to recover quickly from bad situations.”
Lilly stares at the book and then to Will. Will pretends to read, but now, I think he’s trying to figure Lilly out.
What’s she thinking about? I wonder as I casually look from the counter, putting new books in the system.
Feeling as though I’m eavesdropping, I hear Lilly’s sneakers against the hardwood floor.
“Mommy, can I run upstairs and get a snack?”
“You may.” Then, I lean down and put my cheek next to her mouth. “But I need a kiss first.”
She smiles and kisses my cheek. She turns back. “Bye, Will. I hope you come back soon.”
Will stands from the chair. Looks at Lilly. “You can count on it, Lilly. It was very nice to meet you.”
Lilly bounds to the back door, and I hear her footsteps all the way up to our apartment.
Will comes to the counter and lays the books there. “Special girl you’ve got there.”
“Yes,” I say, sliding the two books I recommended to him across the counter so that I can ring him up. “Are the books for you?” I ask.
“My daughter.”
“Oh, where does she live?”
“Chicago.”
“Well, you’ll have to tell me if she enjoys them or not.”
He nods. “I will.”
I hear Lilly’s footsteps tromp back down the stairs. The door swings open, and she walks in, carrying an apple with a big bite taken from it.
“Mommy, can Shelby come upstairs?”
Will’s head jerks up. Body stiffens. It’s odd to see this reaction from Will. He’s always been so free. So loose. So welcoming.
“Shelby is Lilly’s new friend,” I say to see if that will ease whatever has just come over him.
Will says, “Is she coming over later?” He scans the store for a little girl.
Lilly smiles. Leans over to Will. “No, silly. She’s right here.”
I smile and look at Will. “It’s her make-believe friend,” I whisper.
But Will changes to a sheet of white. A man who’s always given off an easygoing persona is now two shades whiter than he was just seconds ago.
“Will? Are you all right?”
But he doesn’t answer because he can’t. Caught off guard would be an understatement.
“Will, are you okay?” I slide my hand across the counter to touch his.
His head jerks from Lilly’s to mine.
“Y-yes. I’ll be fine. I’m fine. Thank you for the books, the great company, and the conversation.” And Will hustles out of the store.
I turn the sign to Closed but notice Aaron on the bench out in front of the store. Immediately, my heart beats at a new pace, and I feel my pulse begin to quicken. If this is what love feels like, I’m not sure that I want it. But my concern for him far outweighs any emotion I might have right now.
“Aaron? I didn’t know you were out here.” I’ve already opened the door and I’m standing out on the sidewalk, looking down at him. “Are you all right?”
His hands are in his lap, his fingers intertwined. His uniform tightly put together gives off every indication that he’s strong, well built, and always all right. But his face tells me otherwise. When he looks up at me, doubt and sadness live in the lines that spiderweb from his eyes.
“Hey, Lyd.”
Lyd. I like that.
I sit down next to him and slide my hand into his. “What is it?” I ask, knowing something is really wrong.
Aaron’s quiet for a long moment. As if he’s allowing the evening to settle into the sky, the sounds, the scents of night to find their way in this world as evening pours in like a warm, cozy blanket.
It’s still warm out. About seventy-five degrees.
His hand is large, fingers long. The veins show glints of purple as I release his hand to my thigh. As if this spot has been his for years. All the years I didn’t know him. All the years I spent leaving my heart in the wrong places. My heart quickens as his fingers tighten around my thigh—not out of want, but need. Aaron needs me here in this exact moment. Me, not anyone else but me.
“You don’t need to talk about it now,” I say, watching his hand. Blood coursing through my veins.
He takes his thumb though and barely skims the newly removed stitches.
I don’t wince, but it’s a constant reminder of my mortality. It’s easy with the scars everywhere else. I don’t have to see them every day. But, this one, I do, and so can others.
“Can I just hang out with you and Lilly for a little while tonight?”
And, with that, I stand, take his hand, lead him through the door, lock the bookstore door behind us, shut off the lights, and take him upstairs.
“Aaron!” Lilly looks up from the television. “Watch cartoons with me?”
Aaron looks at me.
“Go,” I say. “I’ll get some dinner ready.”
Before he lets go of my hand, I give his one more squeeze, and if I hear it right, a breath escapes his mouth, but I don’t look because I want to believe that my touch rose that reaction from him. I don’t need to know because it’s just easier that way. It’s easier to prevent heartbreak than it is to get your heart broken; I know this to be true. So, I let go of his hand and walk to the refrigerator. He leaves the kitchen to sit down on the couch with Lilly.
When dinner is done, Aaron refuses to sit down and says he’ll do the dishes. He won’t take no for an answer.
While I bathe Lilly, he finishes cleaning the kitchen.
Lilly says good night to Aaron but asks him to read her a story tonight.
It’s usually our thing—I read the story to Lilly—but Aaron needs this tonight. He needs every ounce of escape that his mind can get.
I pour two glasses of red wine, turn off the light in the kitchen, and sit down on the couch, setting his glass of wine on the coffee table. I take mine and sit back, allowing my head to rest on the back cushion of the couch.
Aaron walks out, still in uniform.
“You must be uncomfortable in that,” I say as he sits down next to me, retrieving his glass of wine.
“I spend long hours in the uniform. It comes with the territory.” He takes a sip from his glass.
The room is quiet.
“Thank you for letting me read a story to Lilly. She was tired. Sacked out on the second to last page.”
Our bodies are dangerously close, and I realize this. I haven’t been intimate with a man since Brett. Haven’t felt the urge or the need. But I feel it now.
“How was your day?” I ask the untimely question.
Aaron takes another sip of his wine. I follow his lead.
“We recovered a man’s body from the lake today.”
I t
ry not to react. But the way I feel for Aaron’s heart makes me want to immediately take away any sorrow he’s had to feel. I don’t give him any words because that’s not what this is about. This isn’t about me trying to make Aaron feel better; it’s about giving him the space to share what’s caused his sadness. So, instead, we wait here, in the dim light of the living room, quiet, as we sip our wine and sit with his grief.
“One thing—” He stops. “One thing I’ve learned about this job is, nothing gets easier. It changes. Your body’s response time. What you go through when you have to do things like this, but it doesn’t get any easier. I think we grow immune. Internally, we do what we have to do to survive, but none of it gets any easier.”
Even though I want to tell him how much I can relate to what he just said, I don’t want to acknowledge it either because saying it out loud might show weakness. I might become the abused, weak wife. The wife who didn’t leave because she did what she had to do to survive. Try to make it work. Not just for us, but also for our daughter.
“I understand,” is all I say.
Aaron’s eyes cause the heat in my cheeks, the burn in my soul.
Instead of pressing my lips to his to feel his skin, wanting his mouth in places I probably shouldn’t with my daughter in the next room, I say what my attorney told me when Brett went to prison, “Sometimes, we get second chances. And it’s what we do with those that make us rise to a more whole person than we were the day before.”
Aaron’s head tilts slightly. He tries to read me, but I feel his tension, too. Tension that we both need relief from. I move one leg up so it’s against the back of the couch, and the other is off to the side, so when he puts his hand on my thigh, this time, it’s dangerously close to my center. I also know that Aaron doesn’t mean to put his hand that close to that spot, but neither of us budges. My breath is caught in my throat, and all I want is to breathe again. To find air.
“Do you want more wine?” My voice sounds rushed.
I stand, take our glasses, and go to the kitchen. I rest my hands on the sink, staring up at the ceiling, praying that I can seek clarity and not allow my heart to lead the way anymore.
I feel his body first as he comes up behind me. His hands settle on both sides of the sink so that I’m trapped.
Chills run through my entire body.
I exhale and feel the ache in my breasts, yearning to be touched. Loved. But I don’t dare turn around.
“I need to touch you, Lydia. I need to touch you right now if it’s the last thing I ever fucking do in my life.” I feel his exhale against the back of my neck. The stifling of his breath when he gently rests the front of his body to my back.
“I wish you had a dress on right now,” he whispers in my ear.
“I-I don’t wear dresses.”
Feeling him harden against my backside makes the ache between my legs worse.
His hands move to my waist, and he buries his head into my back. Aaron trails kisses on what he doesn’t see beneath my top. Scars from stitches. Skin sewn together to protect my life. Ugly scars that remind me that I’m mortal and that death is just around the corner, knocking, waiting.
But his kisses give me something.
Hope? Maybe.
His hands move up toward my breasts, and in one quick motion, he unclips my bra and turns me around. I watch him.
Aaron needs this, too. Gently, he lifts my top to look. His breath hitches.
But he doesn’t touch.
He pushes the fallen hair back behind my ear, touches my cheek, and stares into my abyss. My black hole of sleepless nights, worry-filled days, desperate moments, love, broken faith, and joy. Somewhere in there, he sees my joy. The joy of what Lilly breathes into me. Somehow, in my darkest sorrows, Lilly always gives me joy.
“I am never going to get in the way of you and your daughter.” His hand slides to the back of my neck.
It’s as if he can read my thoughts. The weight of his body is against mine.
Staring back at him, I reach for his mouth. “Kiss me.”
Slowly and also assuredly, he gently presses his lips to mine, as if his lips were king.
As if his mouth were fire and I were the gasoline.
As if we were old lovers, igniting a passion we’d felt in our teens.
As if our bodies had been designed to fit just for each other.
We break.
I feel this kiss throughout my entire essence—from the needle pricks in my skin to the ache between my legs. I open and slide my tongue into fresh hotness that tastes minty with the wine. My breasts need to be touched. Kissed.
His tongue returns the favor, and I slide my hands to his backside, tugging at his uniform. He doesn’t dare pull away but pulls his shirt up, so our skin is touching, his chest against my bare breasts. His hands cup my cheeks, and he kisses me with reckless love.
I melt.
Yearn.
Need.
Feeling his hardness against me, I want to take care of him for both our sakes, but before this gets out of hand in my kitchen, we need to move to my bedroom.
With everything I can muster, I pull away, gasping for breath, and grab him by the hand.
Leading Aaron to my bedroom makes me think of the way Brett used to lead me to do something I didn’t always want to do.
But, with Aaron, it’s different.
“Lydia, stop,” he says before we reach my bedroom. His hand tightens around mine, and he takes the power. Pulls me back to him so that our chests are met again by their familiarity. “I won’t do this right here and right now.” He nuzzles my cheek with his nose, his rapid breathing against my neck. He sighs in my ear and then whispers, “The first time I make love to you won’t be in a dark room. It will be light so that I can take in every inch of your body. It won’t be rushed because a woman like you deserves time, kisses, and patience, Lydia. And last, I won’t have sex with you because this isn’t what your heart wants right now. Your beautiful body might be telling you yes, but your heart isn’t fully committed.”
Chills dance across my skin like dominoes fall. First, my neck, then arms, and then legs. I close my eyes and get lost in his words. I rest my head against his neck, burying my nose in his scent. I don’t know if this is me getting lost in the moment, but right now, all I want is him.
I smile against his neck. “How do you know what I need right now? Because my body says otherwise.” I pull back and look into his eyes.
“You’ll regret it. We will wake up tomorrow, and you’ll regret this. Not us. But the act of satisfying what we think we need. When, really, what we need right now is this.” His arms fall around me.
We stand here, in the hallway, in front of my bedroom door, and we hold each other and rock to unheard music.
Aaron is right.
Something washes over me. Maybe it’s clarity. Maybe it’s anticipation of a next time.
“But you’ve got to know that you don’t make it easy for me.”
I smile, feeling his body against mine.
“Know that I’ll take a very cold shower when I get home tonight.”
I notice he speaks when I can’t. When I’m lost in thought or I just can’t find the right words.
Aaron lifts his head, trying to clear space. Change subjects. Give us room to breathe. “What’s that?”
I look back to my bedroom. “What?” My body is still coming down from us.
“On your nightstand. That book.”
“Oh. A book I’m reading. Standing Sideways. It’s a writer from Alex’s hometown in Belle’s Hollow.”
“Do you enjoy reading?”
I smirk. “I own a bookstore, Aaron.”
He laughs, and his hand on my lower back tightens.
I cringe in all the right ways.
“Will you read me some?”
I think about this. He can most certainly read. I know this to be a fact. He wouldn’t be a game warden if he couldn’t read. “You want me to read to you?”
�
��Yeah, read me a few pages.”
I shrug. “Okay.”
We walk to my bed. He gets on top of the covers on the opposite side of the bed. The place where Lilly sleeps when she’s had a bad dream.
“It’s better this way. You get under the covers, so I’m less likely to touch you.” He smirks. Side-eyes me. “Is this book romance?”
“No, not really.” I retreat under my covers, my clothes still on.
Aaron lies on his back, crosses his hands across his chest, and closes his eyes. “I’m ready.”
Grabbing the book from my nightstand, I pull it to me and open it up.
“Wait. What’s the book about?” Aaron asks.
“Tragedy.”
He thinks. “Like Romeo and Juliet tragedy or different?”
“Different. I think. Livia’s twin brother dies, and we aren’t sure how yet.”
“Oh. Is it sad?”
“Sad how?”
“Have you cried?” He adjusts the pillow, as if it were his own. As if he had a water glass sitting on that side of the bed. A book maybe about Maine’s outdoors.
I want to tell him that I don’t cry. I want to tell him that crying, for me, is like drops of rain after a long, long, drought. That crying isn’t something I do or do well. Moving forward—I do that really well. Too well. Maybe I just don’t know how to cry.
“No.”
“So, it’s not a book that makes you cry.”
“No, not yet. But it might make others.”
He doesn’t say anything. It’s quiet in my bedroom. I see through to Lilly’s bedroom. A night-light sits on her nightstand.
I open to the page that I’m on but think better of it. I’ll start over from the beginning.
I begin to read.
Twenty minutes have passed.
I look over, and Aaron is fast asleep. On his back, hands across his chest, he sleeps like an innocent angel. I set the book down on my nightstand. Do I wake him? Do I tell him it’s time to go home? His uniform can’t be comfortable. But he’s asleep, so that says something. I get up out of bed, grab the blanket from the foot of the bed, and cover him up. But, before I walk away from him, I watch him sleep. Trace his jawline with my eyes, the stubble that’s gained new life. The innocence of his face as he sleeps. As if the world is content, tucked in for the evening.
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