
Summer Sunsets
by
Maria Rachel Hooley
Summer Sunsets
©2011 Maria Rachel Hooley
Cover Art by IStockphotos.com & Yuri Arcurs
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
It's been almost two years since I saw Skye Williams. Two years. Now, standing in my dorm room for the last time, I look around. The walls are bare, with plenty of nail holes to mark how many pictures I've tacked up---more than a few of growing up with her. Just because she's never been to the University of North Carolina doesn't mean she's never been here...if you know what I mean. There hasn't been a day gone by I haven't kept some part of her with me.
I sit on the bed and stare at an empty room just waiting for its next student, and part of me is ready to give it up. It's not that I haven't enjoyed my five years here, but I know where I belong and whom I belong with. I guess the real test will be what happens now. I grab the last box and head out.
I've just locked the door when my cell rings. Propping the box against the wall, I check the display: Skye. I smile and flip open the phone.
"Hey, Stranger. You on the road yet?"
"No."
Her voice is breathy and panicked. The sound of it tenses my back and shoulders. I force calm into my voice.
"What's wrong?"
"It's nothing, Devin."
I nod, aware that whatever it might be, "nothing" isn't it.
"C'mon, Skye---I know you better than that." I press my face against my shoulder to cradle the phone. "Just tell me."
"I...think there's this guy following me," she whispers.
More tension threads the muscles in my back, and I take a deep breath, knowing Skye could have someone following her, but, more likely, she thinks she does.
"Calm down. Are you near a public place?" I keep my voice even. The last thing she needs is me reacting.
"Yes." Tears deepen her voice. "The student union is just ahead."
"Okay, go inside and see if he passes." I get into the elevator and push the button for the ground floor, waiting. This isn't new for Skye, but that doesn't mean it makes it any easier when I get a call like this. Every few seconds, I want to ask her what's going on, but I have a feeling she's going to tell me she's inside, safe. It's the middle of the day, and her university is probably a lot like mine---buzzing with all the students heading home.
A few seconds later, the elevator doors open, and I step out, heading to the parking lot. I hear her softly breathing in the phone.
"Are you inside yet?"
"Yes."
"Did he follow you?" I set the box in the back of the truck and unlock the door.
"No, he's moving on." Her voice is faster with relief. "Thank God."
I smile, also relieved.
"Are you packed and ready to hit the road?" I start the engine.
"Yeah, I'm going to get a soda, and I'll head out. Sorry for the false alarm." She's breathing more slowly, which is a good thing.
"Anytime, Skye. You know that. I'll see you at the usual spot."
"'Kay."
I disconnect the call and sit a moment, still holding the phone open. I stare at the picture---one of me and Skye taken during her high school graduation. She's wearing a blue cap and gown that makes her look dark. I mean, she is dark, probably because of the Hispanic genes and all, but her smile is kind of uncertain, like she hadn't shaken off some of the baggage. Then again, I think, leaning back against the seat, that made two of us.
Sophomore year---that's when everything went south. Up until that point, Skye had been my best friend since we were kids, and I had been in love with her. She just didn't know it. And when she tried to kill herself, I fell apart. It's been years, but certain wounds never heal. That's just the way things are.
This is going to be a long road ahead to Colgate, Mississippi, the little town where Skye and I have met up twice in college, the same one where Skye's mom took us on vacation years ago when Skye and I were kids. Without realizing it, my hand drifts to the shell necklace Skye made for me. I rarely take it off, not that I'd tell her that. Stuff like that's liable to freak her out because even though Skye knows how I feel, I'm not sure she's ready for anything that serious.
Late afternoon sunlight spills into my eyes, forcing me to turn the visor down to cut the glare. I peer over at the passenger seat where the folder of pictures I took down sits. One of them has slipped free, and I pick it up once I've merged onto the highway. It's a picture of Skye and me on the trampoline. We're sitting close, and she's lifted one hand to form bunny ears above my head. We're probably twelve or thirteen, back before things changed, and I'd give anything to be back there, to be able to take Skye back to that time for both our sakes.
The house is still as I rush up the front steps and begin slamming my fist against the door. "Skye, it's Devin! Open up!"
I wait. Nothing. My heart is ramming in my chest, and I don't understand what's happening. Warren sounded desperate when he called. He said Skye was in danger.
I pound on the door again. "Skye, let me in!"
No answer.
Unable to take the stillness, I throw the screen wide and grab the knob. The door's unlocked, thank God. I run inside, yelling.
"Skye? Where are you?"
I scan the downstairs and find emptiness settled like dust. I have to find her.
"Skye? Answer me!"
Taking the stair two at a time, I pass the bathroom and give it a half glance, at least until I see the pill bottles strewn across the counter and pills scattered all over the floor. That stops me, and I want to pretend I'm not seeing what's right in front of me---that it doesn't mean anything. But it does. God, it does.
"Skye!" I yell, desperate this time as I dart into the bathroom. Only one bottle has the lid off, and that's the one I take with me as I charge towards her bedroom. The world seems to have slowed to half-time, and all I can hear is my heart. It's so loud, and it seems to take forever just to get where I'm going. I nudge open the door.
Skye lies in bed, her face turned away from me, one hand just above her head. She looks so natural I want to believe she's only sleeping.
"Skye?" I prod, expecting her to turn and answer, but she doesn't. I edge towards the bed and see make-up ruined by tears. Although a blanket covers her from the chin down, it fails to conceal her still chest.
"Skye!" I yell, thinking that will jumpstart her heart. Oh, God.
I grab the cordless by her bed and call 911. The operator answers, and I say things. I don't remember what. The voice tells me to start CPR. I go through the motions.
She's never going to wake up.
I jerk upright in the bed, feeling night pressing down on me so it's hard to breathe. I'm crying. Imagine---a six-foot-four guy crying like a baby. That's me. Skye's name is on the tip of my tongue, and my body is bathed in sweat. I calm myself by rocking back and forth, then head to the window to peer out at the beach, watching the roll of the tide, comforted by the sound of the water.
I look back at the bed. There's no point in returning to it, no matter that it's the middle of the night and I'm tired as hell. I rake my fingers through my hair and try to relax. My heart is still racing when I pick up the phone and dial Skye's number. Two rings later, I hear her sleepy voice.
"Hello?"
"Hey, you," I whisper, closing my eyes to focus on her voice. I pad back to the bed.
"Everything okay?" She asks, and I can hear her shifting in bed.
"It's fine. I just wanted to check on you after this afternoon, so don't get up, okay?" I lean forward, resting both my forearms on the flats of my thighs. Right now, I don't want to close my eyes for sleep, not until that dream is a less powerful force. I used to have it every night after it happened, but the years have blunted it some. When it hits, it puts me back in high school again.
"You sound weird," she whispers. "And it's three in the morning."
"Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have called." I know this, but I wanted to hear her voice. "What time you think you'll get here?"
"That depends on how much sleep I get," she replies. "Maybe by 2."
"Good," I say sit up straighter. "I should let you get back to sleep."
"'Kay. 'Night."
"'Night." I hear her disconnect the call, and for a moment, I just sit there, the phone still pressed against my ear. I don't know why. I guess I learned early on that the small things sometimes hint at the bigger ones, and any time I feel currents in the water, I sense a shift coming, even if there isn't one. Perhaps I'm not so different than Skye in that regard; we just fear different things.
Setting the phone on the nightstand, I grab my keys and head for the beach. The night air is heavy with June, so the fact I'm only wearing jeans isn't a problem. It's probably still 75 out. As I step out into the oncoming tide, I look up and down the beach, realizing I'm the only sleepless soul taking refuge in the surf. I let the warm water wash over my feet and in the full moonlight start looking for shells. It's not that I collect them; Skye does. She has a thing about them.
A flash of white catches my eye and I bend to find one I know she'll like. Yeah, it's going to take some cleaning, but that's all right. I don't mind. I wipe away the grit and shove it into my jeans pocket before I start walking. I'd forgotten how the sound of the ocean relaxes me, the way the moon spills across the water, burning with night. It would all make a great picture, but I'm no photographer.
I stop and stare at the moon, recognizing this is the place I want to propose to Skye, but part of me is terrified. It's taken us years to get past what happened in high school. Years. The last thing I want to do is hurt her or remind her of something she can't bear, but I can't imagine my life going on with her just in the periphery. I reach into my other pocket and drag out the ring. Staring at the diamond and white gold setting, I know it's not nearly as much of a ring as I'd wanted, but if I knew one thing about Skye, she liked the simple things---no flash and dazzle would catch her heart. Besides, she would know the ring was a symbol, that if she married me I would love her forever.
As hard as it was to think about, even if she didn't say yes, I'd still love her forever. I'd been doing it so long I don't think I'd know any other way to exist. I give the ring one last look before shoving it back into my pocket and moving on. Ahead, I see a fishing pier jutting long and forlorn into the caps, silhouetted against the moon, and it's as good a place as any just to sit.
I feel the grit of sand stick to my wet feet as I trudge to the pier. There are a few lights strung along its length, at least half of which are burned out, a sign that while this place used to be a big tourist spot, it's lost its charm somewhere along the way, not that it matters. Its charm resides in my memory, a time when things were simpler and I didn't understand the way life could come unraveled so completely. There is a measure of safety in blindness, but you can't find happiness in safety, no matter how much you want to. That's my argument with Skye, I guess. She feels safe in hiding, always has. I know she's afraid of being hurt or of hurting someone else. Maybe she thinks that's all there is to love, but she's wrong. I just need a chance to prove it.
I look back at the house, wondering if I should try to go back and get some shut-eye, but the remnants of the dream are too close, and I don't fancy another round. I figure I'll just stay out here, where it's cooler, anyway, probably thanks to the breeze bracing off the water.
I get to my feet and head back to the shore to grab a stick. Between the moonlight and what feeble glow the lamps provide, I start drawing in the sand. At first, I think I'm just kind of doodling, that I haven't really figured out what I'm doing. Skye's eyes begin to emerge, then her hair. Granted, I've always had artistic ability, and I've sure never chosen to use it---and I've never used wet sand and a stick as a medium before, but nightmares and boredom usually help me figure new things to try.
An hour later, I've almost finished the rendering, and I put the last few strokes in her hair to give it that wild carefree look before I stand to take a look at my work. Smiling, I see her face, almost as good as if she were really here. And that's from memory. Imagine what I could do with her near me, not that she'd approve of my model selection. That's another funny thing about Skye: she's amazingly beautiful but blind to it. Perhaps that's one reason I love her so damned much. Who knows?
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at her perfect face, the one I've taken such care to remove the pain of the past from. She is carefree and unbidden by things she cannot control, things none of us can control, and I only wish I had the power to really grant her that gift in life. Slowly, I turn toward the ocean, aware that in a few hours the tide will inch higher and higher on the shore until it washes up at my design, eventually eroding it. Turning and trudging back toward the house, I tell myself it's all right; no matter what tide seeks to destroy it, I know it can't. The best parts of Skye are locked inside my heart where I protect her. One last glance, and I smile at her beauty.
Once at the house, I fall back across the bed, exhaustion reaching for me yet again. I knew it would. I kick off my shoes and slide under the covers to welcome unconsciousness. The last thing I remember is wondering what time Skye will arrive and whether I will be conscious by then.
"So are you planning on getting up, sleepyhead?"
I slowly open my eyes and find sunlight blooming in around the beach house curtains, haloing Skye's face as she hovers near the bed. Raking my fingers through my hair, I slowly sit up, trying to orient myself to the fact that it's a new day after a night of restless sleep. "See what happens when I leave the door unlocked? Just anybody can walk in."
"Yeah," she agrees, setting her duffle on the dresser. "Just anybody." She's turned toward the window so she's not aware of me rising and swiftly rushing toward her until she feels my arms envelop her and my chin rest on her shoulder.
"Okay. I'm up, wiseass. Now what?"
"That was quick." She kind of jumps like she always does when she doesn't hear me approach. She's often told me I'm one of the quietest people she's ever met. Lots of people have told me that.
For a moment, we just linger like this, and I close my eyes, so glad to feel her this close. I don't know she shares it. Five years ago, she told me that we both needed to find some space and attend different colleges to give us room to grow. I've often wondered if she actually meant to give me time to rethink my feelings. Trouble is, my feelings have a mind all their own, one that definitely includes Skye in the final picture.
"I'm glad to see you," I say, giving her one last squeeze before untangling my arms from around her.
She turns slowly, her hair dark auburn in the sunlight. A small smile tugs at her lips. "I've missed you, too." She lurches to her tiptoes and kisses my cheek but pulls away before I realize it. She smiles brightly. "Your hair is longer than before." Her fingers tousle it. "And definitely a mess."
"Thanks, Skye. You're so sweet." Sarcasm drips from my tone. I peer at the clock. The red digital display tells me it's just after 12 p.m., and I wander towards the kitchen.
"I thought you said you weren't going to get here until this afternoon." I go to the coffee-maker and start a pot. "If you'd let me know, I would have been up by now."
She plunks down at the table and shakes her head. "Well, I was going to wait until later to head out, but somebody woke me at 3 a.m., and I just couldn't go back to sleep. Any ideas who that would have been?" she asks me pointedly.
I shrug. "Absolutely none. If you find him, shoot him." I turn to face her and lean against the counter. "Seriously, what happened yesterday when you called? It seemed like you've been doing so well."
She pushes a strand of hair from her face, and her dark eyes peer at me. Once again, I see the past well up in her eyes. It's only there for a second, but I see it nonetheless. It's always going to be there, I think, but that doesn't mean it has to hurt her like this. She chews her bottom lip for a couple of seconds before finally answering.
"I was probably just dealing with a lot of stress I couldn't seem to bleed off, and there was this huge jock that reminded me of Tyler. You know, the kind who has money and thinks every girl belongs to him. He just got too close, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. That's it."
As I stand there, I watch Skye fold her arms across her chest over the Tinkerbelle t-shirt she wears. Her chin tilts downward, and she refuses to meet my gaze, making me wonder if that were really all that happened. "You sure?" I ask softly, bracing my hands on either side of the counter.
"Yeah, that was it."
I step toward her and wrap my arms around her, kissing the top of her forehead. "You know Tyler has no power over you anymore. You left him in the past years ago." I lean there, wishing I could make her see she had nothing to fear, certainly not Tyler Rutherford.
"I know." She slowly pull back and nods while taking a deep breath. "I mean, my head knows that. Sometimes it's just the other part of me that gets it all mixed up."
"Yeah, I get it," I say, nodding as I turn back to the coffee machine. I knew better than to push the topic. I learned long ago to go easy with Skye. She'll talk in her own good time, and whatever comes out before that isn't going to help much. "Do you want coffee?"
"Sure." She taps her nails on the table. "So what happened last night when you called? It wasn't the dream, was it?"
The dream. I focus on watching the coffee spill into the pot, feeling my entire body stiffen. I know better than to tell her the truth. It will just worry her, and that's the last thing I want to do, especially if memories of Tyler Rutherford are surfacing. I can dance with my own ghosts well enough without introducing them to hers. "I just felt unsettled because of your last call. I wanted to make sure you were all right."
She gets up and walk to me, watching as I pour coffee into one mug and then another. "It was a false alarm, Devin. It's always a false alarm. We both know that." She sets her hand over mine. "It's just me being stupid and overreacting."
I hand her a mug. "It's not stupid. You went through something bad, Skye. You have a right to be afraid sometimes, even if you're just jumping at shadows. That doesn't make it stupid, and you know it." I lift the other mug and take a sip.
She nudges her shoulder against mine and smiles at me. "You always know what to say."
That's because I love you, I think and smile back. "So what do you want to do today?"
She walks to the window and nods out to the beach. "I think I want to go swimming, if that's okay." She looks up at me, uncertainty apparent in her dark eyes.
Gritting my teeth, I think it's going to take her some time to get back to remembering she doesn't have to please me. I just want to be with her. It's as simple as that. She doesn't know how much I love her, and telling her would only frighten her away.
I nod slowly. "Swimming it is. I can definitely stand some cooling off."
"I'll go get changed." She's hardly said the words before flying toward the bathroom, and I stay there, glad some things don't change. She'd always loved swimming. I've often wondered if she's part fish.
As I wait, I sip my coffee and smile, feeling the stress of the last semester and trepidations about seeing Skye again lifting. Everything seems to be falling into place. Now if it will just keep going that way, that will really be something.
A couple of minutes later, Skye emerges from the bathroom wearing a banana-yellow bikini, and the sight of her arrests my breath as her long hair spills around her face. She spreads sunscreen all over her body, and when she looks up, she catches me staring. "What? What are you looking at?"
I shake my head and shrug. "Nothing." I nod toward the bathroom. "I'm going to get changed." I gesture toward her mug. "Don't forget your coffee."
"Yes, Daddy."
I wince at that comment, knowing she never meant to draw blood. It's a saying, that's all. Skye and her father haven't resolved any of the issues of his leaving when she was a child, and I figure they probably never will. Her dad still has his head up his ass as far as I'm concerned. Skye is much better off with her step-father, Warren, who more than makes up for the biological loser.
Once in the bedroom, I tug off my jeans. At that moment, the ring slips from my pocket and plinks against the hardwood floor, I eye it and bend to retrieve it. As my fingers latch onto it, I set it in my palm and close my fingers around it, wondering what to do with it. I know pressing Skye just after she got here isn't a good idea. Hell, I'm not even sure proposing is a good idea. It's a necessary one for my peace of mind, yes, but a good idea, not so much.
In the end, I shove it into one of the dresser drawers just under my tee-shirts and grab my trunks. A moment later, I emerge grab two towels, and join Skye where she stands in the kitchen, drinking her coffee. As I enter, she takes one look one look at me and sputters coffee as she laughs.
"What?" I ask, shaking my head. Unable to figure out the joke, I peer at my swimsuit to make sure I haven't done something stupid while thinking about the ring---something like putting on boxers instead of trunks or putting the trunks on inside out. At this point anything is possible. I haven't really thought I'd be this nervous around Skye. It's just another way my feelings have grown and I have no control over them.
"You are really one white boy," she finally says. "Don't you believe in getting any sun?"
I throw a fresh towel at her, a little harder than usual. "Well, let's say some of us have actually had to apply themselves this year. And some of us aren't naturally dark-skinned."
"Excuses, excuses," she mutters, taking one last sip of the coffee. "Are you ready or what?"
"I'm always ready." I say, grabbing my keys and shoving them into my pocket. "Let's go."
Skye heads toward the door, and I follow. The moment we step outside, I feel the sun beating down on us, and even though I'm not hot yet, the ocean sure looks appealing. I glance over at Skye to find her smiling. We both throw down our towels a safe distance from the water and race toward it. At first, Sky's pace is slow, but as she sees me effortlessly keeping up, she runs faster, thinking her long legs will beat mine. So not happening.
Just as we touch wet sand, I lunge towards her, wrapping my arms around her lithe form. Before she has time to react, I hoist her over my shoulders and begin to carry her into the water.
"Devin! Put me down!" She squeals, kicking at me.
"I will. Don't worry." I carry her out to where the water touches my waist and hurl her in. Even as I release her, I see her wide eyes and flailing arms before she sinks gracelessly beneath the water. Folding my arms across my chest, I cock my head to the side, waiting for her to rise above the surface, and rise she does, sputtering and batting her long, dark hair away from her face.
"Oh, you are so dead, Devin." She rushes towards me as fast as the water will allow, which isn't very fast.
Grinning, I just stand there, waiting for her to reach me. Skye isn't a midget, even though I've taunted her about her height numerous times just to annoy her. She's at least five or six inches shorter than I am, which means even though she comes at me, her hands all over me as she tries to wrestle me into the water, she doesn't stand a chance of getting me under unless I give in. That doesn't stop her from trying.
"Are you having fun?" I ask as she suddenly switches tactics and climbs onto my back, trying to topple me that way.
"You're insufferable!" she pronounces, fighting even harder.
"Am I supposed to be getting closer to the water?" I ask in a bored tone. "If so, you're doing something wrong, Skye. Way wrong."
She wraps her arm around my throat, effectively cutting off the air. That's when I start trying to grab her hand and pull her free. She takes that moment to shift my balance, and I'm falling. I take her with me. Once in the water, I open my eyes until I find her, wrap my arm around her, and drag her back to the surface.
"No fair!" I just got you back!" she yells, once again kicking to get free, without any progress. Both her arms are tucked beneath mine and she faces me, her eyes luminous and dark in the bright sunlight. She's panting through her parted lips, and water drips from her sodden bangs.
"All's fair in love and war," I say, before I realize the implication there. Skye doesn't say anything. She just keeps staring at me, and I feel her breath caressing my face, which is just a few inches from hers. In that moment, I see myself through her eyes, my reflection in her pupils, and I can tell she feels safe with me, which means one of two things: either Skye still only sees me as her best friend or she knows I love her and some part of her wants to love me back because of the trust between us. I wish I knew which.
For a moment, we just linger like that, neither able to say anything. We just keep looking at each other, and in that moment, a memory from long ago comes back to me. Skye and I were jumping on the trampoline, and one thing led to another. We started wrestling because she thought she could beat me. I tripped her, and once she'd fallen on her back, I straddled her, pinned both her hands above her head, and leaned over so my face was close to hers. I was as close to kissing her then as now.
Instead, I shake off the intoxication of her nearness. "You ready to call a truce?" I ask, my voice rough from all the things I'm not saying. My shoulders and back tense, and I feel I'm going to go mad.
"You started it." Her voice also sounds different, but I can't put my finger on how. I just hear it and I feel it in her stillness.
"So, truce?" I ask, waiting.
"Truce," she agrees.
Swallowing hard, I ease my arms from around her, wondering if she feels any of the things I do, and part of me recognizes that unless I say something, she's never going to admit or deny anything. Maybe that's what I'm shooting for because that means anything is possible---difficult but possible. Even after I lower my arms, Skye lingers there, her hands dangling uselessly at her sides as though she doesn't know what to do with them. She takes one last long breath and exhales and that's when she realizes I'm watching her and averts her eyes, yet another Skye-ism. She hates eye contact. I could probably guess a million reasons why, but I've learned that whys don't matter with Skye. They don't change anything.
A shudder runs through her, and I flinch, wondering what's going on in her head. "You okay?" I whisper.
She nods slowly. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just been a long day, that's all." Instead of waiting for me to say something, she abruptly turns and throws herself deeper into the surf. I stand there, watching the water and sun gleam off her dark skin and then I, too, thrust myself into the gentle roll of the tide.
A few hours later, when we've both tired of swimming, we climb from the water and rest on our towels. While I lie on my side toward her, she flops onto her stomach, both hands near her head as her dark hair splays around her. There's nothing like the warmth of the sun after being washed in the ocean all day, and even though Skye seems fine, she's moving a little slower, as though getting up so early is finally catching up with her.
"You look exhausted," I say.
"That obvious?" she mutters. She peers at me through one open eye. "Then again, I think it's because somebody called me so early."
"Guilty as charged and sorry as hell," I say, watching as a strand of hair tickles her nose. I could sit here and laugh all day; Skye hates it when her hair does that. Instead, I reach out and gently push it back.
"Thanks," she whispers, her voice already kind of sleepy. As I prop myself up on one elbow, I look at her back. She's got the wonderful beginnings of a sunburn. Glancing at my shoulders, I know this "white boy," as Skye calls me, is also working on a promising burn, so I head to the house and grab some sunscreen. I figure she'll thank me later, when she doesn't look like a lobster.
I notice she's gone to sleep. The soft exchange of her breath confirms that much. I don't really want to wake her up. Instead, I figure I'll just start applying the sunscreen and maybe she'll sleep through it. I pour some of the white goop in my hands and rub them together to warm the lotion before gently applying it to her back.
"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice groggy as she starts to turn over.
"Making sure your back doesn't get roasted while you're napping," I say, massaging the lotion deep into her skin. "Otherwise, you're going to be in a world of hurt."
"Mmmm," she murmurs. "That feels good."
Beneath my hands, I feel the shoulder and back muscles that had once been so knotted gradually ease and relax. The one eye which had barely opened drifts shut, and she's gone again. I know that's a good thing. For a long time, Skye has had trust issues. I think I've been one of the few people she trusted.
Even after I finish rubbing in the sunscreen, I massage her back for a little longer, marveling at how good it feels to be this close to her, and how good it makes me feel to relax her. A few minutes later, I apply my own sunscreen and lie next to her on my towel, smiling as I watch her sleep. Of course, I've been up just as much as she has and I am just tired, so I let my eyes get heavier and heavier until I finally drift away as well.
A couple of hours later, I see the sun is lower in the sky. Skye lies beside me, but she's shifted from her front to her back. Sunglasses block the glare of the light, and I smile as I get to my feet. As she continues to sleep, I comb the beach for shells until I find enough to outline her body. Then I slip inside and grab my camera and a book. Even as I photograph her, she remains completely still save for the slow rise and fall of her chest. Setting the camera to the side, I open the novel and begin reading, figuring I'll just let her sleep.
Three chapters in, she finally stirs and rolls to her side, blinking groggily. "What time is it?"
"About five."
I can't believe I slept that long." Strands of her hair fly into her face, and I brush them back. "Maybe you were just more tired than you thought."
"Maybe I was." She eases herself to a sitting position. "Did you fall asleep, too?"
I nod. "For a little while. Then I got busy reading."
She peers at the book and spies my camera. "You didn't take any pictures of me, did you?" Her tone is a warning, and I'd dearly love to see her enforce whatever she might be threatening me with.
"What if I did?"
She reaches for the camera, but I'm quicker, jerking it just out of her reach. "Give me that!" Her fingers splay apart and she tries to stretch closer to the wrist cord. My arm is longer than hers, so in the end, I'm the one holding the camera.
"Grabby as ever, Skye." I make a tsking sound repeatedly just to annoy her.
"Not funny!" She dives toward me and knocks me flat on my back as her fingers wrap around the camera and jerk it from me. She leans across my chest and turns it on so she can get a look at the photos I've taken.
"Well, if you really wanted it that badly, all you had to do is say, 'please.'" My lips are close to her temple, and I smell sunscreen and the brine of the ocean. She edges farther over my legs so she can prop her elbows in the sand and focuses her efforts on viewing the images in the camera.
I start laughing at the way she just sprawls there. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable. Don't let me get in your way or anything."
She smirks up at me. "Don't worry. I won't." I see the camera color to life, and she begins flipping through the images until she reaches the last one of her surrounded by shells. Her lips part as though she wants to say something, but no words come. She just sits there in a stunned silence, staring at her still form.
"Somehow I think that's going to be one of my favorites," I say, leaning forward to look at the image even though I've memorized it already.
"Where did you find all the shells?" She lifts her hand to her face and brushes the hair from it, pushing the strands behind her ears. The shells are there, and she toys with one of them.
I chuckle. "Look around you, Skye. We are on a beach."
She grabs a fist full of sand and tosses it at my chest. "Thank you, Captain Obvious." She gives the image one last glance before turning off the camera and handing it to me. Then she crawls back to her own towel, sits there, and rubs her neck.
"Oh, and I even get it back, along with a handful of sand. Thanks, Skye. You're so sweet," I say, setting the camera to the side and batting sand from my chest.
"Hey, I could have put it down your trunks. I'm sure you would have really liked that." She pulls her knees to her chest and sets her chin atop them, her deep eyes regarding me. As she sits there, her stomach growls, and we both laugh.
"Something tells me you're getting hungry." I, too, sit up and eye the sun.
"Gee, how could you tell?" Sarcasm drips from her tone, and she rubs her flat tummy, as if that will keep it quiet.
"Lucky guess." I get to my feet, pick up my towel, and shake it out before grabbing my camera and book. I reach for Skye's hand. "Perhaps we should get some dinner."
"Sounds like a plan to me." Her hand takes mine, and I lift her to her feet so she can shake out her towel. Together, we saunter to the house and slip inside. As she walks to the sink and fills a glass of water, I stare at her shoulders.
"Somehow I think you're going to feel all that time in the sun. Even with the sunscreen you've got a nasty burn." Without thinking about it, I reach up and touch her shoulder, gently nudging her long hair aside so I can get a better look. At the feel of my fingers stroking her skin, she flinches, which is my cue to give her enough distance to sort out whatever she's feeling.
The hand holding the glass trembles slightly. I can tell because I see the water inside waver, and her other hand grips the counter as though she's suddenly afraid she's going to lose her balance. I want to ask her if she's okay, but I don't think that's the best thing to do. She hates that.
She's slow to turn, and when she does, whatever is going through her mind---whatever feelings she's keeping under wraps that might have struggled to the surface---she now has them back under control, so I don't have a clue what's really going on with her. She licks her lips and gives me a half-hearted smile. "I'm going to go and get a shower, if that's all right."
"It's all right." I lean against the counter, feeling as though I'm floundering again---as though somehow I could say all the wrong things and drive her away again like I did the last time. "You don't have to ask, Skye. You know that."
She nods distractedly and sets down the glass. "Okay." She points towards the back end of the house. "I'm gonna go get my clothes, then."
"I'll be here."
She nods and walks towards the hallway, her steps unsure. Her shoulders slump, and her hair spills down her chest. She wraps her arms protectively over her abdomen, and I wonder if her mind is going back in time, back to the moment when I failed her.
What I wouldn't give to take that back.
Once Skye and I have washed away the water and sand, we stroll down the beach towards this small family-run seafood restaurant, the same one we've eaten at each time we've come. Skye enjoys the shrimp. I like the halibut. A soft breeze crests over the waves, and the sky is filled with terns circling in the sky as they call out to one another. The sun sinks lower, dappling the ocean with a fire.
Skye has chosen a loose spaghetti-strapped sundress that flits in the soft breeze. Her dark hair is pulled back in a loose pony, and a few thin strands dance around her face. She wears sandals and sometimes has to shake the sand from them as she walks. Skye is far from graceful, so she often grips my arm to steady herself.
"Having a little trouble?" I ask as we stop in front of the restaurant, her fingers curl around my forearm. "I mean, I can carry you, if it would help."
She finishes with her shoes. "You wouldn't."
"Oh, but I would."
"No, I'm good," she announces and starts for the door again, ignoring me.
"I can even give you a piggy-back ride, if you want." I offer in an overtly friendly tone.
She jumps to the cement and beams at me. "I'm good. See?" She waves at the pavement. "No ride necessary."
I'm tempted to hoist her on my back just for the hell of it, but I see a large family heading our way and figure I'll save the horseplay for later. "So long as you're sure."
"Yep." She starts walking backwards so she can keep smirking at me.
Skye doesn't see the people she's about to run into, so I grab her arm and tug her toward me to free up some room on the path. Our bodies bump against each other, and she inhales sharply.
"Devin, what are you doing?" Her dark eyes peer intently at me, and her hands splay at my chest.
"Trying to keep you from walking into people." I nod behind her as the family approaches, getting close enough to pass us both. She looks over her shoulder and shakes her head. "Chalk one up to the non-clumsy guy," she mutters and turns to me. "Thanks, by the way."
"You're welcome."
Although either of us could easily pull back, we linger like this, our bodies entangled familiarly. She stares at me and I stare at her, at least until the people around us finally pass and we can walk to the door. The setting sun catches the dark highlights in her hair and flashes off it. She's even got a few freckles on her face just like she had as a teenager, and I feel myself smile.
"What are you grinning at?" she asks, slowly pulling away.
"You still have freckles."
"So?" she challenges. "I've always had freckles." She stares at the ground as though I've embarrassed her.
"I'd forgotten, that's all." I start to reach for the door when I hear someone behind me call my name. I turn and in my peripheral vision see Skye mimicking my movements, her gaze ahead toward a petite blonde named Kimmie Acres. In that instant, Skye folds her arms across her abdomen and steps back as Kimmie steps towards me and wraps her tanned arms around me before I can figure out a way to put some distance between us. Yes, Kimmie's beautiful if you like the whole Fatal Attraction sort of thing, which I don't.
"It's good to see you," she whispers in my ear. "I didn't even know you were coming here."
There's a good reason for that, I think and begin detangling myself from her arms. "Yeah, well, I wasn't sure myself." I turn toward Skye, planning on introducing her, only to find Skye has already slipped into the building. "Look, Kimmie, it's nice to see you, but I've got someone waiting on me, so I've got to run."
"Okay." She lifts her hand and gives a little wave with her fingertips. "Bye."
Tugging open the door, I find Skye standing by a fish tank, staring straight ahead. "Hey, I was wondering where you went," I say, frowning.
"Just thought I'd give you some privacy." She's folded her arms across her abdomen again---for Skye, a defensive stance.
"Privacy?" I start to ask more questions when a server appears to seat us.
We follow her back to a corner table. I pull Skye's chair out for her, and once she seats herself, I find my own chair. Already she's scanning the menu, and her mouth is tight, as though something is bothering her. Getting her to talk about it isn't going to be easy. It never is.
I pick up my own menu and start to look at my choices, but the silence between us troubles me. "So what's going on, Skye?"
Her dark eyes flash toward me. "I don't know what you mean."
"What's bothering you?" I lean back in my seat, not caring about the menu or anything else, just trying to pry the truth out. That's what matters.
"I'm not upset, just hungry."
"How long have I known you?" I reach across the table and take her hand. "Spit it out."
She says nothing. Then it dawns on me: she's thinking Kimmie and I have dated. That thought makes me laugh because there's no way in hell I'd go out with Kimmie Acres. Of course, this really isn't the best time to be laughing, considering Skye has actually looked up and the frown has deepened, as though she's figured out I've figured out.
"It's Kimmie, isn't it?"
She pulls her hand back and grips the menu with it. Her charm bracelet jangles as she moves. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know who Kimmie is."
I nod back toward the door. "The blonde who stopped me on our way in. That's Kimmie. And you're...jealous?" While I'm not sure that's right, I don't know what other word would describe her behavior.
"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffs. "I'm not jealous."
I fold my across my chest and narrow my eyes. "Really? Strangely enough, you were fine until I ran into Kimmie. Then suddenly your whole demeanor shifted."
"It's not like I care who you date," she says, taking a sip of water as the waiter approached to take our order.
I feel my body tense, and I want to ask, "Don't you?" but don't. First of all, the waiter is there, and challenging Skye on this could lead to unpredictable results. Second, even though I suspect how she feels, what if I'm wrong? So instead of rocking the boat, I listen to her order and tell the waiter what I want to eat. After he leaves, I look at her.
"How's your mom?" I figure that's a safe enough question until I figure out how to navigate through the more difficult conversational waters.
"She's good. She and Warren are going back to Vegas in a few months to renew their wedding vows and take a real honeymoon, the one they didn't get the first time."
"That wasn't your fault, and you know it."
She looks down. "Sometimes I'm not sure what I know, Devin."
"You'll figure it out," I say softly. "You always do."
Her gaze meets mine, and for an instant I see beyond the walls and armor Skye has built so the fear is right there. I just wish I knew how to make things less rocky for her.
The rest of the meal passes in small talk, and some part of me wonders if Skye is thinking about Kimmie. I know I'm not. It would be pretty near impossible for me to think about someone so surface-level when Skye is sitting right here, even if she is distant.
By the time we leave, a cold wind has picked up, gusting inland. Looking at the sky, I realize it's probably going to storm soon. Skye crosses her arms over her abdomen, and I can see her shiver. To me the wind feels good, so I pull off the long-sleeved button-down I wore over a white tee and say, "Here." I gesture for her to hold out an arm. I slip the shirt on her.
"Thanks."
Lightning arcs across the sky, and the wind starts to pick up slightly, tousling her hair. "Better?" I ask.
"Yeah. It stops the wind." We both look at the heavens. "Storm's coming."
I nod. "Yeah. We'll be lucky if we make it back to the house before the sky opens up. C'mon." I grab her arm to up her pace.
We've only taken a few steps when the deluge begins, a cold rain so thick it's like a curtain of water. The wind tries to push us backwards. Sensing Skye is struggling to maintain her footing, I wrap my arm around her and propel us both onward. It takes about five minutes before we even see the house. We're almost on top of it by then, and we're both completely soaked.
I pull her onto the porch and unlock the door. I hear her teeth chattering noisily, and I nudge her inside as I flip on the lights. The white sundress has molded itself to her lithe figure, and the storm has pushed her dark hair from her face in soft waves that shimmer down her back. She's breath-taking, and I can't help but stare at her, amazed at how the water beading on her skin seems to accentuate every line and arc of her body.
"What are you looking at?" she asks, running her fingers through her hair.
"You're soaked," I manage, feeling my throat constricting with desire.
She turns towards the window and shakes her head. "Great."
"What's wrong?" I ask, walking to the bathroom and grabbing two towels, one of which I give to her.
"The only outfit I brought in is the one I'm wearing." She looks ruefully at her dress.
I squeeze her shoulder. "I'll get you something you can wear until tomorrow. I don't think either of us wants to go out in the rain."
"No," she sighs. "Not especially."
I go to one of the dresser drawers and start to grab a tee shirt when I see the ring. For a moment, I pick it up and stare at the diamond. I think about giving it to her when the power suddenly goes off, which is probably a sign on more than one level, so I put it back and find a pair of drawstring shorts to go with the shirt. Then I fumble my way back to Skye as she stands before the window. When my hand touches her shoulder, she jumps, whirling.
"Crap! You scared me."
"Who did you expect it to be?" I ask. "The Staypuff Marshmallow Man?"
"Funny," she snaps, taking the clothes I offer. Then she asks, "Can you turn around? I don't really want to try fumbling in the dark right now."
"Okay." I turn away. In spite of my racing heart, I hear her tug the zipper of the sundress down and the fabric rustles to the floor. I swallow hard, the sounds burning themselves into my brain. I tell myself to focus on something else, anything else---until she says, "Okay, I'm good. You can turn back now."
I slowly face her. A jagged clip of lightning arcs across the sky, silhouetting her figure, now covered in my clothing, which is baggy on her. She towels the length of her hair, trying to dry it, and the moisture curls it into loose ringlets.
"I'm gonna go change," I tell her, and slip off to the bedroom, where I strip and towel off before putting on clean, dry clothes and stepping back into the living room where Skye waits, still trying to dry her hair.
"I'll get some candles from the kitchen. Stay put." Without waiting for her answer, I drift into the kitchen and begin searching for the candles I've seen recently. At first, I don't remember which cabinet, and my searching fingers keep missing them. Then, as I think back, I head to another cabinet and find them, as well as the matches.
Lighting the candles, I take a deep breath as the storm rages around us. The wind has now picked up to even more violent gusts, whirling sand into mad dervishes along the beach. The air carries a brittle coolness not customary for this time of summer. I carry one of the candles into the living room and set it on the table so Skye has something to break the darkness with before I go back and get a few more.
When I return, she's sitting on the couch, her knees drawn to her chest as though she's trying to glean some kind of body warmth. A smile tugs at her lips.
"What's so funny?" I ask, setting the other candles next to the first one. I sit on the couch beside her.
"I used to think rain and candlelight were romantic, and on the day I first made love to a guy, it would be like this." She looks at the roof, listening to the rain pound the shingles. A nervous hand shoves a strand of hair behind her ear. "Silly, isn't it?"
"It's not," I tell her, knowing any other guy would take what she's saying for an open invitation. They'd be mistaken. Skye doesn't work that way. "It would be nice to be close to somebody during a storm."
"You have to say that," she argues, pointing a finger at me. "You're my best friend."
Leaning back, I give her one of the looks that tells her she's deluded. "I don't have to do anything, Skye---so don't flatter yourself."
"Your hair's messed up." She leans towards me and runs her fingers through it, as though she thinks she'll somehow be able to tame it. Yeah, right.
I let her play with my hair for a minute before I catch her hand and look her dead in the eye. "So can we have a serious moment here to talk?" I give her fingers a gentle squeeze before turning them loose. Already, I feel my body stiffening, anticipating the conversation going south as it easily could.
She averts her eyes. "Okay. What do you want to talk about."
"How you're doing."
Her shoulders sink, and I can tell that's really the last thing she wants to talk about. She hates to be vulnerable even with me. "I'm fine. I told you that."
I arch an eyebrow, which forces her to rethink the story she's telling me. "Okay, there're times I still suffer from the stupid PTSD. It's no biggie. The therapist from high school said it might always be with me, and that I just needed to learn how to manage it. So that's what I'm doing." She folds her arms across her chest sullenly. "Don't worry. I won't call you out of the blue anymore with stupid fears about some guy."
Before she can react, I reach out and slip my finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look me in the eye. "That's not the problem, and you know it. I'd rather you called me than not. I just want to make sure that you're doing okay. It's my prerogative as your best friend, and you know that, too."
"I'll be okay," she says in exasperation. "It just takes time."
The power stays off, and with that kind of storm raging around us, the only thing to do is try to get some sleep. I think we're both exhausted, so that won't be a problem, even with all the thunder and lightning around us, not to mention rain that sounds like hail.
Although I know Skye will argue, I send her into the bedroom to get some shut-eye while I take the couch. She's got two candles with her, and I have the other two, not that they cut through much of the darkness. I'm not sure there's anything that will do that at this point. It's better than nothing, and even though I know the layout of the house, as I peer down the hall toward the bedroom, I can't see anything, especially Skye. It's like that half of the house has ceased to exist. I don't know if the door is open or closed, not that it matters.
I stand and jerk the shirt over my head before lying down with the thick, white comforter nestled around my body. In a way, the sound of the storm rumbling above is comforting. I have trouble sleeping when it's too quiet. It's too much like I'm waiting for something bad to happen. I just don't know what it might be.
It doesn't take long for me to hear the siren call of blackness and let myself sink toward it, and once I start falling, there's no easy way to turn back.
"Devin? Wake up!" Someone shouts my name and jerks at my arm, trying to pull me from the blackness, and I quickly jerk into wakefulness, probably more exhausted than before, if that's even possible.
For a moment, the world is just blackness, breath, and pain. Then I remember the dream---the same dream as the other night, except this time it goes on. I'd given Skye CPR repeatedly, but when the EMTs got there, they pronounced her dead without even trying to save her. They said it had been too long, that she was beyond saving. I went nuts as one of them threw a sheet over her head. I actually hit him and screamed she wasn't dead. And I started calling her name as though she could answer me.
Then Skye wakes me.
I gasp for air, trying to breathe enough to stop the pain in my chest. Again, my body and face are glossed with sweat. All I can hear is the beat of my heart, and I it to slow down, but it keeps racing. There's nothing I can do about it. Tears pool in my eyes and run down my face, and I wish I could shake the power of the dream, but I can't. It owns me. It's always owned me.
"Devin? Geez, are you all right?" She latches onto my arm and hovers nervously. She's never seen me after I've had that dream. I've always been able to hide it until now. Now there's no way to hide anything. I feel kind of naked and stupid as I wipe my face, trying to clear the tears running down my cheeks.
"I'm fine," I say in a gruff voice. "Go back to bed."
"Like hell," she says, suddenly wrapping her arms around me.
A strangled gasp comes out, and suddenly I'm crying again. Stupid. I'm lecturing her not to worry about PTSD, and I can't get over something that happened years ago. Some days it's like it just happened.
"Shhh," she whispers. "It's going to be okay. I promise."
Closing my eyes, I wrap my arm around her and hold her as tightly as I can, burying my face in her hair. I don't know how long we linger like that, slowly rocking back and forth. Times like these, when pain seems to sucker-punch me, it's like everything stands still. Except the pain. That goes on and on with its nasty rodent feet, continually clawing until all I feel is that I'm on fire somehow and that my world is so broken it can't be fixed.
She waits until I'm calm before slowly releasing me, and even though I try to look away, she won't let me. Her hand finds the trails left by the tears and wipes them away, a concerned frown tugging at her lips. "What just happened, Devin?"
"Nothing," I tell her. "Don't worry about it."
"You were screaming. I heard you call my name." She sits so close our shoulders lightly touch. "I need you to talk to me."
"I said it was nothing." My tone is sharp, and I know she doesn't deserve it, but I can't talk about this, can't talk about what it feels like. Sometimes I wonder if I'm always going to have this nightmare, or maybe that if we do end up together, that will finally drive it away. Who knows? Unable to look her in the eye, I force myself to my feet and pace the room, trying to calm down and get a grip. The last thing she needs is to see me like this.
"If that was nothing, I'd hate to see something," she says, following me. We both stand in front of the window. Although there are small hints of a storm that's finally passed---scattered rain and gusts of wind---the night has eased to a relative quiet. I feel her set her hand on my shoulder, each finger a separate unit of heat on my flesh.
"It doesn't matter," I whisper.
"Of course it does. I'm the reason for it, after all." Her forlorn voice cuts through me, and I stagger backwards slightly before I turn to her.
"Nothing is your fault," I say, setting one hand on each of her shoulders.
"Wrong. That was the dream, the nightmare about me, wasn't it?" she closes her eyes and exhales, her body seeming to shrink as the air leaves her. "I was so selfish."
"You had help---and lots of it, just in case you'd forgotten. And I was being an ass."
She reaches to my face and strokes my cheek. "You weren't an ass, Devin. You didn't have all the facts, so how could you have known what was happening? That wasn't fair to you."
Taking a deep breath, I set my hand atop hers and look into the depths of her eyes, searching for anything that will moor me to a universe far removed from the world where she died. That world hurts too much.
The world seems to stop until she's the only thing I can see. I find myself slowly lowering my head as though gravity is gently tugging me toward her. Her lips are parted as she takes quick shallow breaths, and I keep expecting her to move, to run, but she doesn't. A moment later, our lips gently brush together as I kiss her for the first time. I feel as clumsy as a seventeen-year-old, the same seventeen-year-old who should have given her a first kiss. There were so many firsts we should have shared; if we had, maybe none of the past would have haunted us like this.
For a moment, we linger there in perfection, then I slowly back away, afraid to linger too long so I make her second-guess everything we have. Even as I lean back, I see her eyes are still closed, her lips softly parted as though waiting for me, and she's lost in a place I hope is half as happy as that she brings me to. I smile softly and stroke her cheek, waiting for her eyes to resurface. At the feel of my fingers, her eyelids flutter and open. In that instant, all the ease and bliss abruptly vanishes. It's like she senses the return of all the things I've wanted to erase but have had no power to, and her lips clench shut. She winces as though in pain.
"Skye?"
She pulls away from me then, flying out the front door. I race after and find her on the porch, staring at the endless roll and return of the waves, the smell of rain yet clinging to the newly washed world.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, standing at the threshold. "I shouldn't have done that."
"Why? Why did you?" Her voice is thick, and it sounds like she's crying, which is probably what made her rush out of the room in the first place.
I look down at the wood beneath my bare feet. The planks are cold and damp, but that's nothing compared to the sudden chill between us. "I didn't mean to upset you. Skye, it's just hard, having that dream and worrying about you. It's no secret I love you. It's never been a secret."
She wipes her hand across her face. "And yet somehow I was the last to know. Go figure."
"I won't do that again," I promise, trying not to think about what this means for the future I so desperately want. "Just please come inside. I don't want this to spoil the time we've planned together." I start to reach out and touch her shoulder, but I can sense it's the wrong thing to do, that it won't bring either of us comfort no matter how desperately I want it to.
She slowly turns and looks at me. "I kind of thought you had a girlfriend."
"What do you mean?" I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to get the unruly strands to cooperate and lie back down.
"Kimmie Whatsherface." She hedges through the doorway, and I follow.
I shake my head. "Kimmie is just an acquaintance. We've never gone out and never will, trust me on that one." I close the door behind us.
"Does she know this?" Skye steps to the couch and sinks down.
"I'm sure she'll figure it out eventually."
I sit on the opposite end, wondering how to get past my cosmic blunder. Usually, I'm much better at keeping my feelings under wraps, but having that dream makes me vulnerable in a way nothing else can. I hate it.
"So can we call a truce?" I ask. "Just go back to how things were before I...did that?"
She sighs and stares ahead distantly. "Yeah. Sure. But I'm going to have to get some shut-eye. I'm pretty worn out."
I nod. "Me, too."
She rises slowly and shuffles towards the bedroom. "'Night."
"'Night."
I watch her go, hoping she'll be sleeping better than I will. I'll probably spend the time going back over things and mentally kicking myself for not having better control. Yet, I think, lying on the couch, I know I felt her respond to my kiss. It was only when she started thinking again she freaked out. I wish I knew the right way with Skye. All the pieces are there, but I can't seem to find a way to put everything together as though it had never been broken---as though we had never been broken.
I walk to the window and look out at the night, where everything is now calm. There's no sign of the storms that ripped through here, which is kind of how Skye is. Everything seems fine on the surface, but even now, even after all these years, I see the scars no one else does. I wish I knew what to do.
For the next couple of days, things seem to fall back into the same rhythm, as though I had never kissed Skye. We never speak about it, even though I want to. I guess part of me is afraid of what will happen because of it. I've thought about it so many times, trying to analyze what she might have been thinking or feeling at that moment, and surely if she had had no feelings, she would have protested. But she hadn't, and that's what I don't get. Maybe I'm not supposed to. Anyway, since we never talk about it, nothing is pushed, and nothing changes, which could be good or bad, I guess.
We spend the days lounging on the beach or fishing off the pier, and it's a welcome respite for both of us, considering the stress of graduating we've both just had. From time to time, I see glimmers of the old Skye hidden beneath this one, and I wonder if perhaps the two of us just stayed here would she return. Could that happen?
I guess I'll never know because no matter how much we'd both like to stay here and enjoy summer, we'll do have to get moving in a few days, though neither of us is talking about it. It's almost like we don't want to ruin what is right in front of us with worries about the future and what we're going to do in the "real" world.
We have a few days yet, and right now Skye and I stand on the pier where I try to teach her to fish. I'm no expert by any measure, but I do know enough not to get my line tangled. That's trademark Skye.
"How did you do this?" I ask, madly trying to detangle the line.
"I wish I knew. I just cast it out like you said."
Although the beach is pretty much deserted, to the left of us, we hear a couple of teenage girls giggling as they push each other. One is blonde and bubbly, the other dark-headed and more subdued. At that moment, I think they really shouldn't do that, not on the pier, anyway. As if they can read my mind, they push harder, the blonde literally shoving the brunette toward the edge. Her body seems to stop at the railing, but the force of it sends her reeling over. She screams.
In that instant, I watch her body fly through the air, smacking her head on one of the support beams before she sinks into the water. The thudding sound reverberates, and I doubt she's even conscious. I drop the pole and yell at Skye. "Call 911. Now!"
Jerking off my shirt and shoes, I jump into the water near where the girl has sunk. The cold rushes up to meet me, and at first, I can't find her. I have to bob back to the surface to get a breath. I scan the area. She hasn't come up. I dive deep again, searching. Just when I'm almost out of breath, I see her long, dark hair flowing in the water around her. Her still body tells me I was right. She's unconscious and breathing water.
I grab her arm and pull her to the surface, where I prop her still body against my chest and backstroke to the shore on which the other girl, sobbing hysterically, waits. I'm out of breath when I carry the girl to the beach. I set her down amid the other girl's screams, asking me if her friend is okay.
"I don't know," I tell her, gritting my teeth as I wave her to silence so I can hear if her friend is breathing. She's not. "Damn it," I mutter, lightly tapping her face. "Hey, can you hear me?"
Nothing.
"What's her name?" I ask, turning her friend on her side so I can thump her back to dislodge anything blocking her airway.
"Sam. She's my best friend. You gotta help her!"
I turn Sam back over. "Sam, can you hear me?" I ask, lightly tapping her face.
Nothing. She's still not breathing.
In my peripheral vision, I see Skye on the phone, calling for help as I begin compressions. Water drips from my hair onto the girl's soaked face. I count to myself and breathe for her. No matter how much I don't want to think about this, it reminds me of Skye and that day. This girl is probably right around the same age. No, she hadn't made the same choice, but does that matter? She's here. She's not breathing, and I'm the only one tethering her spirit to this body.
I check to see if she's breathing. Stillness. I hear Skye tell the other girl, "He's doing everything he can. I promise."
I begin another round of compressions, counting in my head. My arms are starting to feel the brunt of swimming and now this, but I won't give up. I can't. I don't know how many sets I complete before the sirens scream toward us, telling me help is on the way. Skye embraces the blonde girl, who never meant for any of this to happen, and I want is this girl to be okay. I want it so badly, but things don't always work the way we want them to, no matter how desperately we try to make them that way.
Another breath for her. "Come on," I gasp. "Don't do this." I can see the EMTs running this way, but I keep going, hoping it will be enough. My eyes are playing tricks on me and I keep thinking it's Skye, even though I know it isn't. This is the beach, not the bedroom. The girl's lying in wet sand, not Skye's bed. Yet no matter what I tell myself, my mind sees what it wants, and I force myself to keep moving until an EMT takes my place. I crumble onto the sand and try to catch my breath. My arms are on fire, and for all I've done, the girl's as still as a stone.
"Come on," I whisper. "Please."
Suddenly she starts coughing, and I feel my whole body collapsing into itself as she starts coming around. It's then I notice Skye walking up to me. She sets her hands on my shoulder and gently squeezes. There are tears in her eyes, and I know what she's thinking, not that I have the strength to talk about it. There are moments I wish I could forget, but I know we're all damned to remember things that hurt so much and leave scars that never heal.
Ocean water drips from my hair, and I close my eyes, wanting to slow the gallop of my heart. I slowly get to my feet and walk toward Skye, my hand reaching for hers as I lead her back to the pier to collect our poles and whatnot. Neither of us says much, leaving the soft breeze across the ocean to carry the conversation. More than once, I look down at the two girls and feel a tightness in my chest as my mind skitters among the possibilities. I used to be the optimist, but not anymore.
More than once, Skye's fingers fumble, and she drops things I bend to retrieve. Her face is flushed, and I can tell the gears in there are spinning on overtime. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know where her thoughts are---they're with the elephant both of us are pretending we can't see.
"You okay?" I ask softly, staring at her, even though the sun is in my eyes, casting a golden halo of light around her head.
"Yeah," she says carefully, unwilling to look into my eyes. "Why?"
"How long have I known you, Skye?"
She doesn't say anything as we carry our stuff back to the house. Her gaze is fixed ahead, and even though I could try to force her to talk, it wouldn't do any good, at least not until we get inside the house. So I don't push. I take the poles, set the hooks to the eyelets, and set them on the porch before we slip into the house, where I unload my arms of the tackle box and folding chair. Skye follows my lead. Once unencumbered, she steps to the window and peers out at the beach, her gaze drifting in the direction from which we've come as though she's still looking for the two teenagers we left behind.
Frowning, I step up behind her and linger there, wondering if she senses me. "So what's up, Skye?"
She lifts a hand and touches the back of her neck, trying to ease the kinks there. Without asking, I lift my hand and my fingers join hers, trying to help. At the feel of my hand, she stiffens at first but gradually relaxes as though accepting it's just me. She knows that no matter what, I wouldn't hurt her for the world.
"Skye?" I prompt, hoping she'll open up.
"I was wondering if that was what happened when I...." Her voice dies, and I know she can't say it. It's been years, and she can't. That's part of the problem with choices.Sometimes they leave you speechless years after the event, and no matter what you try to do to make things easier, some choices never ease into manageable things.
I move my hand to her shoulder and slowly turn her to face me. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted, and the weight of the world seems to hang on me. I have trouble speaking because I don't want to hurt her, but with that question, I'm not sure there's a way around it. "Something like that," I manage. There's no way to relay what those minutes felt like when I didn't know if she were going to live or die. How could anyone explain that with words?
Sometimes there's only the sound of breath, the stutter of the heart, and the spin of the clock's hands. It's the rush of emotions, the panic of knowing the wrong things, and the emptiness of never having the right ones.
She frowns. "I've tried to recreate those moments I put you through hell because I figured it was only fair, but I just couldn't see it. Until today. You jumped into the water for a stranger because you knew there was no one else, and when you thought you were losing her, I could see the pain on your face. But that was nothing compared to what I caused, was it?"
"It doesn't matter, Skye. The only thing that matters is you're here. That's all I care about. That's all I've ever cared about." Although she struggles for me not to embrace her, I don't give her a chance to argue with my arms. She's in them, right where she belongs. Maybe it won't heal the past for either of us, but I believe that, given time, it will be enough.
The week seems to fly, but I know that's just because I don't want it to end. I never want it to end because of Skye, especially since we'll both be driving back to West Martin, Illinois, back to the town that seemed to tear us apart in the first place. I know she'll be glad to see her mom and Warren, but I also know part of her won't be able to forget the past. I see it rising in her eyes when she gives me that distant look. She's been freer here, less guarded, but I sense all of that is about to change, and I can't blame her.
"Are you all packed?" I ask, looking at her car, which appears to be stuffed with all her college belongings.
She, too, glances over at the vehicle before nodding slowly. "Yeah. I think it's all in there. What about you?"
I give her a thumbs-up gesture. "I'm ready, too."
"Then what are we waiting for?" She settles her hands on her hips playfully, and I shrug.
"I was waiting on you," I tell her. I'm waiting on her in more ways than one, but I'm definitely not going to say that.
"Okay, I'll follow you. Just remember that I need to stop for some gas, okay?"
"Sure. I'll get us out of traffic and find a place." Both of us head to our vehicles, and I give the house one last look, wondering when I'll come back here. It's one of my favorite places in the world, maybe because the memories I have of Skye here are safe and happy. Who knows?
At any rate, I pull out and check to make sure Skye is following. Then I start through town, heading toward Illinois and home. I keep my cell in the seat, just in case. My fingers touch it before moving on to the radio to break the silence flowering in the cab of the truck. While I like introspection, right now I really just want something to distract me; otherwise, all I'll do is think about the ring I want to give Skye. I keep telling myself that it is a matter of timing feeling all wrong. Trouble is, I'm not sure when it's going to feel any differently. You'd think it'd would be easy to tell my best friend I'm so in love with her I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Yet unless you know Skye, you have no clue just how easy that isn't.
The first gas station we come to after most of the traffic has thinned out is half gas station and half grocery store, neither side of which is especially clean or appealing. I look in my rear-view mirror, wondering what Skye will say. I don't know how low she is on gas, so I tap my turn signal and lurch into the parking lot, figuring if she really objects to this place we can go somewhere else.
I look at my own gas gauge. I could probably use a little, too, since it's going to take more than just this tank to get us home---it's the curse of not driving something more gas-efficient. I pull through the line to the second pump so Skye can get to the first one. Getting out of the truck, I straighten my shirt and look at her as we go inside to pay.
"I've got to use the restroom," she says, nodding to where a "Restrooms" sign hangs from the ceiling.
"I'm going to get something to drink so I'll wait for you," I tell her, heading to the refrigerator section. I'm thinking bottled water because a lot of times the soda has a dirty taste if it's been sitting on the shelf too long, and considering how unappealing this place looks from the outside, I'm willing to bet a lot of customers drive right past. The whole judging-a-book-by-its-cover thing. Now I'm inside, I can honestly say that if this were a book, I think it would need lots of help.
I fiddle by the drinks, thinking that if I waste enough time Skye will emerge from the hallway leading out from the bathroom, but the storekeeper eyes me, worried probably because I'm so tall and he's not sure I'm not going to rob the place blind. On the contrary, I'm not taking anything more from here than the bottled water in my hand. I make it two so Skye has something to drink on the road.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the outline of a guy standing in the hallway. I catch a glimpse of Skye, her back plastered against the wall as the guy leans towards her, way too close. I start to head that direction when I hear the guy at the register yell, "Hey, you can't take those back there."
Whirling, I shoot him a glare and smack the two bottles on the shelf. I arch an eyebrow, daring him to say something else. Instead, he rings up a biker in black leather. When I step into the hallway, I notice the guy is shorter than I am and he's rubbing Skye's wrist. The thinning hair on the top of his head is a clue that he's about twice her age, meaning he has no business even coming around her. Skye's eyes are closed, and her face is a pasty white. She's breathing fast.
"Get your damned hand off," I tell him, standing so close he actually bumps his head on the hall shelf as he whirls to face me. He's cocky, all right, from a distance, but when he realizes I'm taller and pissed as hell, his hand drops, and his shoulders slump slightly.
"I didn't mean nothing," he says, averting his gaze.
"She didn't ask you to touch her." I snap and look past him to Skye. Her eyes are closed, and I figure she's fighting to keep her breathing normal.
"She didn't tell me not to."
I step closer, my chest and back taut with fury. "She shouldn't have to. I could plow my fist into your face with the excuse you didn't tell me not to."
He scoots away. I step toward Skye and gently touch her shoulder. She jumps, and her eyelids flutter open.
"Hey there. You okay?" I whisper, my free hand curled into a fist I would love to slam across that jerk's face---not that I believe it would help. Some people are beyond that, really, they are.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, averting her gaze.
"For what? Attracting a jerk who should know better? How's that your fault, exactly?"
Without warning, she slips forward and embraces me, resting her head against my chest. I'm sure she can hear the rapid pounding of my heart, and I'm willing to bet she'll think that has to do with almost getting into a fight, but it's about being so furious with that jerk I can't see straight. Yet the moment she folds into me, all I can think about is holding onto her for as long as I can, so I gently wrap my arms around her and lean my head atop hers.
I don't know how long we linger like that---long enough for a biker to need to get past us to get to the restrooms, and I figure whether I want to stay like this all day or not doesn't matter. We're going to have to hit the road, so I slowly withdraw and look at her. Her gaze is fixed on the floor, and I know she's probably lost in some memory, a place she's been a thousand times before that never gets easier. I reach up and slowly brush the hair from her eyes.
"You okay now?" I ask.
She nods slowly and looks up. "I'll be fine, Devin. I always am."
Except that one time, I want to add but don't. That it's unspoken doesn't mean we don't both feel it. Not all scars are visible. Some are so bad they don't have to be. Trust me on that one.
I nod toward the register. "We should probably hit the road. It's gonna be late before we get home as it is."
"Yeah," she agrees weakly. "You're right. You're always right, Devin."
Without waiting for my answer, she heads towards the register to pay for the gas while I grab the two waters I'd put to the side before following her. She's already paid for the gas and slipped out the door as I step up to pay, and even though I would have pumped the gas for her, she's already got it started by the time I get there. Too late as usual, it seems.
Call me suspicious, but I'm looking around for the jerk I came so close to punching out. Yeah, doing so might have gotten me into trouble, but Skye would definitely have been worth it. Nobody should treat her that way. Nobody.
Luckily, the charmer is nowhere to be seen. I'm not sure Skye has completely let go of what happened, so rather than getting into my truck, I lean against the driver's door of her car, holding both bottles of water. More than once, her hair falls into her face, and I watch her long, slender fingers brush it aside. While she isn't meeting my gaze, she does seem to be functioning okay. I wait until she's finished putting the gas in her car before I hand her the water.
"You ready?"
"Let's go."
Hours later, in the middle of the night, the road begins to blur, and I stiffen in my seat, feeling hours of driving beginning to take their toll, and I know we have a couple of hours before we'll even hit West Martin's city limits. I don't think I can drive for that long without falling asleep, so I pick up my cell and call Skye.
"Hello?" she says. Her voice is breathy and tired, which means she's probably just as exhausted as I am.
"Hey, Skye. I think we might want to pull over and crash for the night. You've been weaving a bit, and I'm starting to feel it, too."
"Okay. I'll pull into the next hotel I run across. There should be a few coming up."
Sure enough, when a Holiday Inn's welcome sign appears, I see Skye's turn signal blink. I tap mine and follow her into the parking lot. As we get out, I'm grateful to be able to stretch my legs. At 6'4", I'm pretty tall, and even though the Jeep has ample leg room, I feel confined.
Looking at Skye, I see her deer-in-the-headlights expression, and I know if I nudged her she'd fall over. That's how tired she is. Instead, I slip my arm around her and guide her toward the office. She's so exhausted she leans against me.
"May I help you?" a forty-ish woman asks, offering a smile which must have been fueled by a ton of caffeine. Nobody grins like that at 2 a.m.. I glance at my watch. Okay, make that 2:30.
"We need a couple of rooms," I say, pulling out my wallet.
"Okay. Just a second." She starts typing, probably checking to see which rooms are available. Then she looks up. "I'm sorry. We only have one available."
I immediately tense, wondering how Skye is going to feel about that.
"We'll take it," Skye says, blinking a few times in an attempt to wake up enough to get checked in.
The hostess looks at me for confirmation. "I guess we'll take it," I say, digging my debit card out of my wallet.
Once we've paid, we drive around and park by our room. As we head inside, I ask, "Anything you need carried in?"
"Just me," she replies in a weary voice.
"Okay. I can do that." I lunge toward her and grab her legs so I can hoist her over my shoulder.
"Hey!" she screeches. "Put me down!"
"I will," I reply, shoving the plastic card in its slot. "In a minute." I feel her arms trying to pummel my back, but she hits like a girl, so it doesn't hurt. The kicking feet, however, could very well topple us both.
"Put me down!" she demands.
"Okay." I open the door. "You asked for it. Just remember that." I carry her to the bed and throw her down.
"You are so gonna pay for that!" Skye seethes and awkwardly rises from the bed as I stand there, my arms folded across my chest while I watch her.
"You're too tired to hurt me," I mutter. "Maybe tomorrow."
She comes at me full force---I have to give her that much---but even with her full body weight and force leveled at my waist, all it does is force me to take a couple of steps back and shift to keep my balance.
"Am I supposed to be falling down or something?" I ask calmly, looking down at my watch.
"Damn it, Devin!" she snaps, regrouping. Even if it's not working, Skye is too persistent to give up, and if I don't "help" her, we're going to be at this for a while, so I sort of let her catch me off-balance and tumble to the bed, where she promptly sits on me, grabs my hands, and pins them above my head.
"Now that's what I'm talking about!" she smirks proudly.
"Oh, really?" The temptation is too great. In a flash, I flip her over and saddle myself atop her, pinning her hands down. She's breathing fast, and a caustic frown replaces the smirk as she glares at me.
"You're so no fun," she says, trying to catch her breath.
"Why? Because you can't pin me anymore?" As I sit there, I feel her breath caressing my face and throat. Once again, I want to kiss her, but I know that's not the best idea. I definitely don't want to spook her again.
Without saying anything else, I get up and move to the edge of the bed, and that's when it occurs to me the room only has one. "I guess I can take the floor."
She sits up and readjusts herself, watching me with those bottomless eyes. "No, we can both sleep here. It's okay."
"You sure?" I frown, wondering what she's thinking. Even if I asked her, she wouldn't tell me. There are some things Skye just can't seem to get out, especially when it comes to feelings.
"Yeah, it's cool. I'll take this side since I'm already here." She pulls off her shoes and slides under the covers.
"I'll get the lights."
I turn them off and walk back to the bed to pull off my own shoes and slide beneath the covers as well. The curtains aren't entirely closed, and as I peer towards her side of the bed, I see Skye's eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted. I know she hasn't gone to sleep yet, but that's what it looks like. Then again, it could be just her way of opting out of serious conversation.
I close my eyes and settle myself for the night, glad there's a bed because I'm tired. I'm drifting on the border of sleep when I hear Skye's voice. "I'm glad you found me, Devin---and I'm glad you're here."
The next day, we finish the drive home, and as I park the Jeep behind my mom's car, she stands outside, watering her flower bed. I get out, and she turns the water off so she can give me a hug.
"How was your drive?" she asks.
"Long but good." I point to the flower bed. "Are those the same weeds from two years ago?"
"Not funny," she warns. "Don't criticize the gardener unless you want to help."
I raise my hands in surrender. "Nope. It looks beautiful, Mom."
She turns the water back on. "I thought you were going to get here last night."
I thrust my keys into my pocket. "Skye and I were both too tired to keep driving."
"So how is she?" She sets the hose by the hydrangea, which is overflowing with bluish-purple flowers. A bee buzzes nearby, and I wave it away, feeling sweat beading across my forehead.
"Great." Suddenly I'm feeling not so comfortable with this conversation because my mom's known forever how I feel about Skye, and I sense the coming avalanche of questions, some of which I can't answer.
"Great as in, 'Yeah, we are dating,' or great as in 'We're just really good friends'?" She gives me a pointed stare that expects an answer.
"Great as in I don't know, Mom." With that, I walk up the steps.
"You're never going to know unless you ask her," she retorts.
"I'll keep that in mind," I call, shaking my head. I sense that my mom, who adores Skye, wants to know just as much as I do. Well, she's going to have to be patient, too. I go inside, heading to my room. As I step across my threshold, I realize it's always strange coming home. I mean, I remember living here, but suddenly, as I look around the room at the movie posters and remnants of high school, it's hard to believe I was ever that person. The only real clues this is my room are all the pictures scattered around of Skye I didn't take to college with me.
Since I'm going to be here until I figure out something about a job, I set my duffle bag on the bed and start unpacking. When I find the ring, still hidden in my jeans pocket, I pull it out and look at it for a moment before hiding it in my dresser drawer, figuring maybe one day I'll find a way to actually propose. I'll sense things are right or at least feel right, and then I'll stumble through all the words, knowing I couldn't begin to tell her what I'm feeling. There're no words for that.
I finish piling the dirty clothes on the floor and reach for my cell to punch in Skye's number. She picks it up on the second ring.
"So, hey, you want to grab something to eat tonight? We can take a tour of the town and see what hasn't changed."
Laughing, Skye says, "Devin, nothing's changed. It never changes. You know that."
"Okay, so how about I pick you up at 7?"
"Okay," she agrees. "But if you're going to drag me around town to reminisce, it'd better be a good dinner."
"Done." I snap the cell shut and set it on my dresser.
Although it's only been hours since Skye and I were together, I feel my back and shoulders tensing as I walk up to her front door. As I peer at the driveway, I see two cars, meaning that probably both Warren and Helen are at home. Skye's car is parked by the curb in front of the house.
I no sooner ring the bell than Warren eases the door open. Seeing me, he thrusts out his hand.
"Hey, there, Devin. It's really good to see you."
I shake his hand. "You, too, sir."
"I'm no 'sir.' It's Warren to you." He holds the door open wide, and we both go inside to the living room, where Helen sits, watching television---at least until she spots me.
"Devin Abbott!" Before I know it, she's darted toward me and embraced me. "Have you gotten taller?" she asks when she finally releases me.
"No, ma'am. Still the same." Yet even as I say the words, somehow it does feel like she's a little shorter for some reason. God knows she's not shrinking or anything, so I don't know what the deal is.
"So what brings you over here?" she asks, gesturing for me to take a seat in the recliner while they sit on the couch, both seemingly glad that I'm here.
"Skye and I are going to go grab a bite to eat." I stare around the living room, wondering where she might be. "Is she around?"
Warren nods. "Yep. Out back on the trampoline. Last I checked, she was trying to do a flip like she used to, and it wasn't going so well."
"She's trying to flip?" I repeat, shaking my head. "Okay, this I've got to see."
"Be my guest," Helen says. "That trampoline belongs to you two, anyway."
I smile and get up, heading toward the back sliding door. Even before I open it, I see Skye jumping really high and launching herself into a summersault that breaks apart before she even hits the tramp. Her arms splay wide, as though she's really trying to regain her balance, but it doesn't work.
I step out onto the porch as quietly as I can and watch as the late afternoon sunlight glows gold through her hair, catching the dark strands and burning them with light. She goes through two or three more flip attempts before I start tsking at her. She jumps.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to see you crash and burn a few times." I step off the back patio and ease towards her. "You used to not suck at that."
"Oh, well, let's see you do a flip, then," she challenges. "I don't think you've got it in you, either."
I say, "You're on." I take off my shoes as she climbs down. A moment later I'm airborne above the tramp, and the feel of it is like flying. It's been years since we were out here, and yet jumping like this makes it feel like no time whatsoever has passed.
I jump a few more times to get the feel of it again and fling my body forward, somehow completing the rotation before my feet come back down on the tramp again.
"No way!" Skye shouts, staring at me in disbelief. "You cheated."
"No, I didn't. Watch and learn." Grinning, I complete at least three more summersaults, not that it makes Skye very happy to know I can do something she can't. Poor baby.
She turns away in disgust, and I get off the tramp. "You ready to get some dinner now?"
"Sure. Why not." Her long fingers begin fastening the straps of her sandals while I ease back into my shoes. When we're both finished, we walk through the house.
"Bye, Devin, it's good to see you again," Helen calls.
"Good night," I say, slipping my arm around Skye and ushering her toward the door. Once again, she doesn't protest, and that must mean she's okay with it. I can't see Skye just putting up with something she doesn't feel comfortable with.
"So what about this wonderful dinner you're supposed to be taking me to?" she asks, winking.
"Well, let's get in the car, and you'll figure it out," I promise, leading her to the Jeep. I open her door and wait for her to slip inside before shutting it.
"So?" she prompts, folding her hands in her lap.
"You're so impatient," I respond, pulling away from the curb. "Maybe I should blindfold you."
"So not happening," she says, brushing the hair from her eyes. With the windows slightly rolled down, that isn't going to do much good. It's too pretty a night to run the AC. Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I turn onto Main Street but drive past Portman's Steak House, the only good restaurant in town. As I expect, Skye arches her eyebrows and points at the steak place as though she can't believe I passed it.
"But...."
"I've got something better. Don't worry."
"Now I'm scared," she retorts, shaking her head.
Five minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of Lucy Park and take the keys from the ignition before I get out.
"Okay, I give. What are we doing here?" she asks, also getting out.
"Having dinner," I tell her, grabbing a picnic basket from the back of my Jeep. "I told you I had everything under control. Oh ye of little faith."
"Did you bring the antidote?"
"It's in there somewhere." I reach for her hand, and she suddenly seems to freeze. Part of me stiffens, wondering if I'm taking things just a little too fast for her. Then I start walking and shove my hand into my pocket so she won't feel so obligated. That's when she starts walking again, a little slower than I am, probably because she feels awkward next to me.
Although there are a few families out, it's pretty quiet, considering how beautiful the weather is, and I'm pretty sure all the high school kids won't be out here for another couple of hours. They like to wait until it's dark. Glancing around, I pick the first picnic table that isn't in close proximity to anyone else and nod to the round stone bench.
"Have a seat."
"As you wish." She slips one leg over the bench and then the other so she can sit. Watching me, she smiles, and I think again about how beautiful she is---how beautiful she's always been. The smile that's on her face suddenly shifts into overdrive as I pull out the fried chicken I picked up from the store just a few minutes earlier and put it on a plate. I give it to her.
"Oh, wow," she gushes, shaking her head. "This is really awesome."
"I promised you a wonderful dinner, didn't I?" I put a couple of pieces on my plate and hand her a can of soda. "You might want to eat while it's warm." I give her a napkin.
"You don't have to tell me twice." She takes the napkin and tucks it under her plate to keep the breeze from blowing it away. She takes a bite.
As we eat, we watch a dad and his four-year-old daughter fly a kite---or try to, anyway, the wind isn't cooperating enough to get it off the ground. I turn back to Skye and see an odd expression on her face as she looks at the girl whose blonde ringlets fall around her face. The girl laughs and begs for her father to swing her through the air, and he does, probably because he knows the kite will never leave the ground.
Skye's expression seems neutral, but I've learned there're a million things buried in her head. She could be thinking about the father who abandoned her or the child she aborted. She could be wondering whether she'll ever have kids. No matter what it is that now rattles around in her mind, I don't have an answer to make it easier. Besides, she'll talk when she's ready.
"Is the food okay?" I ask, wishing I could read her better. It was so much easier when we were kids and she trusted me with everything.
"Yeah, it's great," she says, suddenly looking down as if I've caught her in the middle of something embarrassing.
"Then why aren't you eating?" I see a fly buzzing close by and wave it away.
"I am," she says, grabbing a piece of chicken and taking a bite. "See?" She waves the drumstick in front of me for effect, yet even as she eats, I see her watching the little girl, and it worries me. A lot of things worry me with Skye, but right now I see something pressing troubling in her dark eyes. I just can't pinpoint what it is.
"Skye, look," I say, unable to focus on the food, either. "I know maybe it's been a while since we've been inseparable, but I'm the same guy, really."
She frowns and brushes a hair from her face. "No, actually neither of us is the same. We haven't been since...that day."
I start to argue and stop, knowing she's probably got a point, even if I don't want to admit it. I don't think anything has been the same since that day, so I try another way.
"I know you've got trust issues, and I understand, but---"
"I trust you, Devin. That's not it," she finally says in a quiet voice that doesn't sound like her. I'm right. There is something really eating at her.
"Then talk to me. That's all I'm asking." I gently reach out and grasp her hand. "You know me, Skye--even if I have changed, there's still nothing you can't say to me. Period."
She starts fiddling with her soda can, not bothering to drink from it, just tapping the side to keep her fingers occupied---yet another Skye-ism. There's so much in everything she doesn't say.
I nod toward the little girl. "Look, I'm about to start inventing some kind of back-story about that little girl being your half-sister, adopted by that guy because your father walked out on her, too. Maybe she's even been adopted by midgets at the circus and this guy is just a weird uncle or something. Can't you just see her with a rainbow wig and a red, bulbous nose? You want me to continue?"
She kind of half-laughs---less than I'm hoping for but definitely more than I expect. "Yeah, well, maybe he got another cheerleader pregnant. Two four six eight, who do we insperminate? Way to go, Dad." She shakes her head in disgust.
I scoot around the bench until I'm sitting beside her as she folds both arms on the table and leans on them. "Okay, if you don't want to talk, I will." I pause, waiting for her to chime in, but no go. She's as silent as the grave. "Okay, her real mother is a cheerleader/witch. She's wiccan, actually. She used to read fortunes for the circus owned by the midgets, but when they saw her get knocked up by your dad, they knew she was a fake because she should've seen him coming, so she doesn't have a job anymore and lets the midgets adopt her so she can practice her cursing skills. Right now, she's even looking for a curse to saddle your father with---I'm thinking perpetual jock itch might do---"
"Devin, stop!" That does it. Skye's laughing so hard she's crying.
I nod. "Okay. It's your turn. Tell me why you keep staring at that little girl. Yeah, I know she's cute---adorable even. But we both know that's not it. So tell the truth. I'll know otherwise and make the witch curse you with a never-ending tickle spell." I run my finger down her side, and she jumps.
She starts to open her mouth and closes it while brushing the hair from her face. She takes a deep breath like she's psyching herself up for whatever she's going to say. She licks her lips, and I think, C'mon, Skye, just spit it out. Whatever it is, we can handle it together.
She nods to the child. "She's a beautiful girl, Devin. Perfect in every way."
I nod in agreement, suddenly sensing the hill we're about to go down isn't a medium-sized one like I thought. It's not about the disappointment of her father leaving. Oh, no. This is the first hill of a monster roller-coaster, the big one that sets the speed for the whole ride. This is about the abortion.
I shift slightly and say, "Yeah, she's amazing. So?" Ahead, a flock of ducks flies overhead, honking as they pass."I'll never know if the child I carried was a boy or a girl." She blinks a few times. "Sometimes I try to imagine, but it's hard."
Part of me wants to ask, "Skye, why would you do that?" but I know why. That's the hell of it. She thinks she deserves it even after all this time. "Skye, you can't change it. There's no point in dwelling on it."
She kind of looks at me funny. "It was a baby, not an 'it,' Devin---a boy or a girl. I'll just never know which." Her back and shoulders are rigid, and I know how hard this must be for her. I'd hoped time might help her heal, but it hasn't.
"I didn't mean it like that, Skye, honest to God I didn't. It's just that even if you knew the gender, it wouldn't make you hurt any less."
I hear the child giggling, and we both look over in time to see her father chasing her around, grabbing her, and tickling her silly. Sunlight dances through her hair, and her eyes shine with happiness. He starts laughing. I wish somebody were taking pictures for him to remind him of how wonderful his life is right at this moment and how he needs to fight with everything he's got to keep it that way, especially when that little girl grows up.
"I've always thought the baby was a girl. She's probably be five by now---dark hair, maybe blue eyes." Her voice is breathy like she can't take in air quickly enough.
My jaw clenches, and I want to shake her from all this pain. I could tell her it's not her fault. Then again, I've said that before, and I don't know think she listened then, either, so I do the only think I know to do: I slip closer and gently ease my arm around her. "I know you never meant to hurt anyone. Things happen. We all make mistakes."
"No," she whispers, staring at the child. "This was no mistake. It was a choice. My choice. I could've done things differently, but I didn't."
I set my palm on her back as I see she's actually trembling. At first, she jumps from the sudden feel of touching me. Then, as I start lightly tracing patterns on her back, she gradually relaxes. "I know you'd take this back if you could, but you can't. I'm sure when you have kids, you'll be a great mother because this hurts so much."
"Why would God ever give me another child after this?" She closes her eyes, and her shoulders slump as though she's carrying the weight of the world and it's starting to bury her. "I don't see any kids for me. I don't even see any boyfriends in my future, let alone a husband---not after what Tyler did."
At those words, part of me freezes. Deep down, I know Skye is meant to be with me, but even if I didn't believe that, I'd still want her to have a wonderful husband and as many kids as her heart desires. "What you're feeling isn't unusual. There're lots of women who have abortions, and emotions like what you're feeling kick into overdrive years after."
She crinkles her nose at me. "You talk like a shrink, Devin. Have you been reading Psychology Today or something?" she jokes, and in another situation, it would have been funny. This just isn't that situation.
"Actually, I've been keeping up with the studies and articles on the subject."
Her eyes grow wider. "Why? Why would you even want to read about it? I don't."
The fact she can't bring herself to say the A-word isn't lost on me. Somehow Skye thinks she's like Hester Prynne that the mark is there for everyone to see. That's the way she thinks it should be, and from what I've read, that's not uncommon, either---not uncommon but wrong.
Why, indeed, would I keep up with the readings? I could lie and tell her it was a topic for a research paper. Yes, I have used it for that, but that's not why I read about it. I could lie, but I'm pretty horrible at it. Skye would know immediately. I might as well just tell the truth and get it over with.
"Well, I started reading about it because of you and the pills." I rake my fingers through my hair, suddenly feeling nervous, wondering if it's going to make her mad. The last thing I want is for her to think I'm meddling.
"I don't understand." She's whispering again, and now she looks like she's about to cry. Her eyes are brimming with tears, yet another thing I was trying to avoid. Me and my big mouth.
"I'm your best friend, Skye." I watch her face carefully. "Yeah, I'm a guy and talking about...it...it might never happen for that reason, especially considering what a jerk I was right after. I wouldn't have blamed you for shutting me out because I deserved it. But I wanted to find anything I could to help you. I know you're tight with your mom, but I didn't know if you'd be open enough to talk with her about it." I lick my lips. "I didn't want to take a chance and be stupid when you needed me."
She shakes her head. "You've never been stupid, Devin. That's my job."
I snort and pat her head. She bats at my hand. "What?" I ask innocently. "I was just seeing where you bumped your head. I know there has to be a knot around here somewhere because I've been stupid plenty of times, and we both know it."
When I say that, I'm smiling, but deep inside, I'm always thinking back to that conversation when I pretty much told her she had ruined my life and I never wanted to see her again. See? Stupid, I'm telling you.
"So what does your research say?" She swallows hard, and I can tell the tension is back.
"That for whatever reason there's an emotional spike years after the...event." I don't say the word because if she's not going to use it, I'm definitely not about to.
"And?" She suddenly looks up at me, her eyes wider and more luminous in the gathering dusk.
"And you're not alone. There are lots of women sharing the same feelings. It's just that nobody wants to talk about it unless it's to fight over whether it's right or wrong. It doesn't seem to matter to anyone what happens after the choice has been made."
For a moment, we just sit in silence, and while it seems everything is calm, I know Skye is still going over what I've said just as surely as I'm going over her words. Finally, I ask, "Do you trust me, Skye?"
She nods without hesitation. "You know I do."
I think, Okay, here goes. "So can you trust me enough to try one thing?"
She blinks a couple of times before finally nodding. "All right."
"Close your eyes."
She stiffens, and I can tell she suddenly wants to refuse. It's safer that way. "Devin...." My name sounds like a warning, but I don't want to hear it.
"Please," I whisper. "Just this once trust me." My tone is soft and pleading. I wish I could drive away the fear in her eyes, but I can't. Only time might be able to.
"Okay." She finally agrees, offering the only smile she has right now---a shy, broken thing that barely remembers joy. I'll take it. She closes her eyes and whispers, "What now?" Her hand reaches out, and I can see her fingers trembling, so I take it and give her fingers a squeeze.
"This," I say and slowly lean toward her. It seems forever before my lips touch hers, and it's a clumsy dance, almost like we're both back in high school and unprepared for the places out hearts lead us stumbling into.
At first contact, I feel her shudder as my other hand slides to the nape of her neck and lingers, not meaning to hold her close but just to touch her. The last thing I want to do is make her feel like she doesn't have a way out. A soft breath comes out, and I know at any moment she could run, but I don't believe she will. I deepen the kiss, stroking the skin behind the waterfall of her hair. That's when I feel the line of her shoulders tart to melt as she relaxes.
A moment later, I pull away, and in the last ebbing of light, when dusk is close to night and the yard lamps flare on, I see the glitter of tears on her cheeks, and I'm suddenly ashamed. My hand drops from her neck.
"Skye, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't," she whispers, wiping the tears away with the back of one hand before gently grabbing me.
"I don't understand. You're crying. Tell me what I did." My whole body aches with tension, and I want to break something. How could I have been so wrong?
"You kissed me so gently, Devin---the same way you talk to me, like it matters." She closes her eyes, flinching. Her voice is hoarse with emotion and she isn't looking me in the eye.
I slowly lift both hands and set one on each side of her face before setting my forehead against hers. "Maybe you haven't felt that before, but you needed to feel it now to understand just how wrong what Tyler did was. That's what it's supposed to feel like, and you never knew it."
She takes both of my hands in hers. "I don't know why you just don't give up on me. I'm a whole lot more trouble than you bargained for."
I kiss her forehead. "Nope, I'd say you're just the right-sized trouble, and if I'm asking, then I deserve what I get, don't I?"
She starts laughing and collapses against me as the first star twinkles into the sky.
In the next few weeks, things seem to fall back into the old rhythm when Skye and I were inseparable. We spend most nights together, either over at her place or mine, and it works because, in Skye's mind, it's not exactly dating, although I'm trying to work up to that without freaking her out.
There's still this distance, an emotional wall Skye keeps intact, probably to make her feel secure. I'm kind of hoping if I just keep hanging around, she'll let me slip around that wall. No, it may not work---Skye may never be able to totally trust anyone again---but that doesn't mean I won't try.
I'm sitting at my desk, looking at my resume, trying to fill in blanks and coming up empty when my cell rings. Picking it up, I see it's Skye calling---big surprise---and I smile before I even flip it open.
"Hey, you." I close the folder, figuring my job strategies can wait another day. I lean back in my rolling chair.
"Hey, yourself." Her voice is breathy, like she's been running. "Are you busy?"
"Not really. How come?" I glance at the clock by my bed. 10:30. "Do you have some wickedly deviant plans you want to share?"
"Painting."
I smirk as an image of Skye in paint-spattered overalls comes to mind. "Okay, I give. What are you painting?"
"My mom's house, silly. What did you think?"
"No clue." I shake my head, knowing I'm in for a long day and an intimate relationship with a paintbrush, but I don't care. It'll be a whole day with Skye, and that's definitely enough of a reason to be there.
"Okay, count me in. I just need to get changed," I say. "Then I'll drive over."
"Cool. I'll see you then."
I snap the phone shut and put on some old jeans and a holey t-shirt that's seen far-better days. These were the same clothes I wore the last time I painted---also with Skye, no less. The fact that there's so much paint on them says a lot about how much time we didn't spend painting her room when we should've.
Smiling, I grab my keys and head out the door. Mom's already outside, watering as I head down the front steps. She never used to care so much about flowers, but lately she's taken to landscaping everything.
She sees me heading toward the Jeep and catches my arm.
"Hey, not so fast. How's Skye?" Her eyes regard me, and I know she's trying to figure things out without seeming nosy.
I shrug. "She's good, Mom." I bend and kiss her head, liking how tall I am compared to her.
"I mean really, Devin." She levels a meaningful glare and I know exactly what she's thinking. Mom was the one who ended up helping me pick up the pieces after Skye came so close to dying. Since for a while Skye refused to let me visit, I had to find someone to talk to or go out of my head. Both Skye and I were a mess, and Mom definitely doesn't want an encore for either of us.
I smile more broadly. "I know you're concerned, but she's good, Mom---really, really good. I think the whole college experience helped her sort some stuff out."
She nods. "And what about you? Didn't you meet anyone at The University of North Carolina?"
I stare at the daisies she's watering. "Nobody who really matters." I start walking toward my Jeep. My mom figured that when I went to one university and Skye to another we would gradually grow apart, but it didn't happen. I know Mom wished it had, but whatever is between me and Skye, it has nothing to do with physical proximity.
"Be careful," she calls, switching her water flow to the nearby mums. I know she isn't talking about my driving. I've never even had a ticket. Mom's always known how I feel about Skye, and I think because of what's happened in the past, she's afraid something could go really wrong, yet even if it does, I don't care. I'll find a way to make things work because Skye is worth it. She always has been and she always will be.
Mom watches me pull out, and even though she hasn't asked me where I'm going, she doesn't have to. We both know.
Five minutes later, I pull into Skye's driveway to see Warren dragging out a ladder. While Skye stirs one of the gallons of paint, Helen leans near one of the vehicles. Her hair is drawn away from her face in a blue handkerchief.
I get out, walk up to her, and touch Helen's arm to let her know I'm here. As she turns to face me, I'm kind of unsettled by how pale Helen appears.
"Are you feeling okay?"
She looks at me and gives a weak smile. "Devin! It's good to see you again."
"Yes, ma'am," I say, concerned. "You don't look like you feel well at all."
She waves me away. "Oh, it's just a little headache. Nothing major. Besides, I've been getting them a lot, and I should know how to function with them."
I nod toward the house. "So, why don't you go inside? The rest of us can handle this."
She leans against the car, her body seeming to sway unsteadily, and she looks really tired. "Oh, I couldn't do that. I'm the one who had the bright idea in the first place."
"It's okay." I give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'll tell them you don't feel well."
"Are you sure?" Her smile kind of dies, and I get a glimpse of how bad she really feels. "Yes, I'm sure. Now go on before I send Warren to carry you inside."
She briefly touches my hand. "One of these days I just hope Skye realizes how lucky she is to have you." That said, she turns and stumbles towards the house.
Once she's inside, I amble to Skye, grinning as she kneels and mixes paint so efficiently. "Wow! Warren even let you stir the paint. I'm impressed."
She gives me her best go-to-hell look. "Aren't you here to help, flyboy?"
"I'll chase Warren from the ladder, once the master stirrer is sure she's done. I figure I've got a hard enough head so if I fall on it, no big deal."
Without warning, Skye lifts the stick from the paint and flicks it toward me, flinging grey globs at me that spatter on my jeans, shirt and face."
"Oops. I thought that was mixed enough. Now I'll have to do a little more stirring to make the master painter happy."
"Real funny, Skye." I lift my hand and try to wipe the paint away as she watches and bursts out laughing.
"What's so funny?" I rub harder.
"All you're doing is smearing it." She pulls a rag from her pocket. "Here, let me help." She steps toward me and begins trying to wipe the paint away.
"You helping? Isn't that how I got it all over me in the first place?" Nonetheless, I stand still and let her try to clean me up. Warren looks down at us.
"Hate to break it to you guys, but the house needs painting, not your clothes."
I smile at Skye. "Remember what they say about paybacks." I step over to where Warren has just gotten the ladder set up.
"Hey, Devin," Warren says. "Am I glad to see you."
I nod. "Yeah, it sucks to be outnumbered, doesn't it?" he chuckles, and I point to the ladder. "why don't you let me climb up there and take care of the high parts?
He eyes me and finally nods. "Yeah, well, I guess you are taller. I'll grab a brush and help down here."
As if on cue, Skye appears with the paint. Knowing I'm going to be the one on the ladder, she hands it to me. I get it settled where I'm pretty sure it won't spill and take the brush she's offering.
"Haven't you stirred the other gallon yet?" I ask. She opens her mouth in protest, but I don't give her the chance as I shake my head in mock disapproval. "No excuses, Skye. You were given a job, and you were slacking off. Shame on you."
Warren smirks as Skye glares at me a moment before heading back to tackle the other can. We both watch her, fighting the urge to giggle.
"You know, you're really good for her, Devin. You always have been," Warren says as I climb the ladder. I could argue there was a time I wasn't good for her, that I should've done things differently, but we both know that's old news and that bringing it up now isn't going to help anybody, least of all Skye.
"She's wonderful," I say.
"She never smiles nearly so much as when you're around. It's like you bring out the best in her."
"Really?" I say, wondering if Skye's okay inside. She's always been one to bottle things up, and that scares me.
"Yeah." We both watch her shake the next can, open it, and stir the paint to make sure it's well-mixed.
"She's different when she's with you."
I dip the brush into the paint. "How do you think she's doing?" I reach to the top of the wall, a place even I have to struggle to get to, so it's a good thing Warren isn't doing this.
"She's got her regrets, Devin. That's easy enough to see, but haven't we all?"
"Isn't that the truth?" I mutter, dipping my brush in for another swipe. "Other than that?"
"I think she's finally okay. It's taken her a while to get there, but I couldn't be happier she's finally arrived."
I nod. "Yeah, well, between you and me, I kind of wanted to propose to her, but I don't know if it's the right thing or if she's ready. The last thing I want to do is spook her."
Warren stops painting a moment as though he's concentrating. "Yeah, that's a tough one. I've no doubt Skye loves you---she'd lost without you---but I can also understand your apprehension." He takes a deep breath as Skye approaches. "The best advice I can give you is to give it time."
"Give what time?" Skye asks, handing Warren the second can and a brush.
"Painting," I say as Warren simultaneously replies, "Job hunting."
Skye narrows her eyes and sets her hands on her hips as she looks from me to Warren and back. "You two might want to get your stories straight before answering next time," she retorts, going to pick up her own brush.
"You think she heard us?" I ask.
"Nah. Otherwise, she wouldn't have bothered asking."
As we spot Skye approaching, we get quiet and busy painting, much too busy to carry on with our conversation---never mind that it was already over. I feel Skye watching us carefully, as though she's trying to puzzle out our exchange.
"I know you two are up to something. You're always up to something." She waves a warning finger at us. "No funny business or we won't get the house painted."
Warren shrugs at me. "I wasn't intending to do any 'funny business.' Were you, Devin?"
"Nope," I say, dipping my brush into the can. "I'm just here to mind my own business and paint. That's it."
She gives us one more warning look and begins painting close to the ladder. For a while, things progress smoothly---at least until I load a little too much paint on my brush and it drips on Skye's head.
"Hey," she complains. "Paint the house, not me."
"Oops," I say and mean it. If I'd meant to do it, it would have amounted to far more than a few specks. That does give me a little inspiration, which is always a dangerous thing. I dip the brush back into the can but let a lot of the excess run off: I'm trying to mess with her, not change her hair color to sterling gray. I lift the brush and flick it at her, raining paint on her. She stands there, shaking her head.
"So not funny, Devin. Would you stop that?"
"On one condition," I say smugly and let more paint fly.
"Okay, stop splattering me, at least until I have a chance to turn you down," she smirks.
"Turn me down?" I yell and spray her harder.
"Okay, okay---what's the condition?" She dabs at her face, trying to wipe away the paint but ends up smearing it. Apparently she's lousy at taking her own advice. That makes me chuckle because even covered in paint she's so beautiful it steals my breath.
"Come away with me tonight---no questions asked." I dip the brush in the pain and paint the wall. In my peripheral vision, I watch her set her hands on her hips and glare at me, one paint-splattered hand shielding her eyes from the sun's glare.
"No questions asked? Is that what you and Warren were talking about?"
"Nope." I flick the almost spent brush in her direction, stippling her face with a fine layer of paint.
"Okay, that's it," she says and starts grabbing my leg as the brush drops from her hand. Knowing that if I don't get down on my own, both the ladder and an almost-full paint can will be toast, I jump to the ground and set my brush on the ladder.
"All you have to do is say yes. Then I'll paint the house instead of you."
She lunges toward me, and I move to one side, thinking she's trying to trip me, but instead she wipes her face on my shirt, sharing the mess.
I laugh, and that makes her try to trip me, which results in her on the ground instead of me.
"Yes is a simple word," I say, picking up her brush. "You really should use it.
She closes her eyes. "No questions, eh?"
"Non, nada, zip, zilch."
She takes a deep breath. "Okay---but you'd better get to painting or neither of us is going anywhere."
"Deal," I say, offering my hand. She takes it, and I pull her upright.
As I turn to focus on painting again, she grabs her brush and swipes it across my nose. Laughing, she says, "And that's for earlier."
As I clean up, it seems to take forever to get the paint out of my hair and off my face and body. I think we spent most of the afternoon seeing who could get the most paint on the other, and yes, I won. As Warren watched, he seemed to be smiling about the whole thing, even though we didn't get as much paint on the house as we should've.
As we quit about six, there are a few hours of light left, which is perfect for my plans, which include pitching a tent out by the lake and enjoying another picnic dinner with only singing birds as our company. I can't help slipping the ring in my pocket, not that I believe there'll be a chance to propose. That doesn't stop me from hoping. I pack a small duffle with things I'd need for the night, a few things I think Skye might need since I haven't exactly clued her in on my plans. For some reason, I'm afraid if I tell her, she'll decide it isn't a good idea. Skye is okay with spur of the moment, but any time I try to plan anything remotely romantic, it tends to go awry with her.
Once I finish putting everything together, I drive to her place and ring the bell. Although I'm kind of expecting Warren to answer because it seems to take Skye forever to get ready, she opens the door, and I can tell by the rest of the dark house that something strange is going on.
"Are your mom and Warren out?" I ask as she steps onto the porch.
"No. Mom's got a raging headache. She's been getting them a lot lately, which bothers me."
I touch her arm. "I'm sure she's going to be fine."
She nods. "Yeah, I know. Anyhow, Warren is up there with her, reading. He's always reading." Skye shakes her head and I wonder if she's thinking about the time Warren first came into her life and gave her a book. She'd once hated him, but now you can't tell he's not her real father.
Skye pulls the door closed and smiles. "So, where're we headed?"
I lean close and whisper, "It's a surprise."
Growling, she punches my arm. "You keep saying that."
"I keep meaning it." I slide my arm around her. and even though she initially tenses, her shoulders gradually ease as our steps fall into rhythm.
"All right." She gestures to her jeans and t-shirt. "Am I at least dressed properly for this mysterious event?"
I take a step back and stroke my fingers down my chin as though thinking. "Hmmm. I'm thinking maybe you should be wearing one of those cool Marilyn Monroe halter dresses and pose over a vent."
That gets me both a slug in the arm and a savage push. I can't help but laugh at the outraged expression on her face as she screams, "So not funny!"
As quickly as I can stop laughing, I tell her the jeans are fine, but I get the sense that even if they weren't, Skye wouldn't change. That's one of the things I really like about her. She wants people to take her the way she is, and I agree with that. There's nothing wrong with her. Granted she's stubborn as hell, but even that has a place in things.
The whole way to the campsite, Skye sings along with the radio, and even though I love her dearly, the girl can't carry a tune. I'm kind of surprised the dogs aren't howling, but I smile and keep that observation to myself.
The singing abruptly stops as I pull into the campsite and park. Frowning, she ask, "Should I ask what we're doing here?"
I shrug. "You could, but I thought it was fairly obvious: fishing, camping, that sort of thing." Not waiting for her to respond, I get out, and she follows. "We can even go swimming if it gets too hot." I shove my keys into my pocket.
She brushes the hair from her eyes. "I didn't bring a suit."
"I packed an extra tee shirt and shorts in case you wanted to swim in those."
"Oh, well, you've thought of everything." She beams.
As I start to pull my hand out of my pocket, my fingers touch the ring. She's only partly right. I've figured out everything except the most important thing. I guess I'll know what to say when I get to that point, so instead of dwelling on it, I grab the fishing poles from the back of the Jeep and take the small Styrofoam container with the worms.
"You're serious about the fishing part?" she asks as she spies the poles.
"Of course." I carry the poles to the shore and return for the two folding chairs lying next to the tent. Even from my peripheral vision I can see Skye is shocked.
"I don't know about this," she says dubiously, folding her arms across her chest.
Smiling, I unfold the chairs and nod for her to sit. "Don't be such a baby, Skye."
"All right, all right," she agrees, sitting, "but don't blame me when I get my line tangled into God-only-knows-what. Remember last time?"
"I remember." I sit and get one of the poles ready by loading a worm onto the hook. I pass it to Skye. "Here---hold this. In a minute, I'll help you cast out."
"Lucky me."
I finish prepping the other pole before setting it aside and motioning for Skye to follow me to the water's edge. Taking a deep breath, she joins me, and I look at her pole. "You ready?"
She eyes the pole and then me. "Okay. Sure. What can possibly go wrong? It's only a little hook." That's when she takes a good look at the worm. "Ewww, that's disgusting."
I grab the pole. "Okay, Skye. Quit acting like a girl---"
"I am a girl," she argues, grabbing the pole back. "Besides, I think I've got this, and she casts out all right---too bad she releases the button way early and the hook tangles in her hair.
"Ouch!"
"Don't move!" I tell her and ease the pole from her hand. "I've got to say you suck at this."
"Just get the damn hook out already."
"Give me a minute." I gently take the strand of hair where the hook and worm are tangled and slowly work the hair from around it until I can get it free. I wind the line back up to prepare for another cast. She starts to take the pole, but I jerk it out of her reach.
"I need my pole to fish." She holds out her hand, expecting I'll just give it to her.
"Okay, well, first I'm going to help you cast the line out as it should be so neither of us ends up getting hurt."
"Oh, this should be fun."
I step behind her so there's no room between us and lean over her shoulder to wrap my arms around her. "Set your hands atop mine so you can feel what I'm doing."
As I start to east the pole back, I feel her strain, almost as though my arms are much too close, but she doesn't complain or let go. I feel the lightest pressure of her fingers atop mine. It's like, for that moment, our bodies are one, and even when I snap my wrist and release the button, she's there with me, just like Skye has always been. We both watch the line fly out over the water before the weight sinks it.
A moment after I've cast out, I'm still standing there, my head just over her shoulder, and even if neither of us looks at the other, we sense the proximity of our bodies, the only motion is the light lifting and falling of our chests as we breathe.
It's a perfect moment, and I'm afraid to move, afraid to speak. I don't want to separate from her, and in this nearness, I sense she wants to be close to me, too. I think about kissing her again when the line snaps, tugging the bobber under.
"Did you see that?" Skye asks, breathless as her hands fall away.
"Yeah." I reel in slightly. The bobber bounces a few more times and then settles. Either the fish has lost interest or there's no bait left. Either way, I've been brought back to fishing, so I grab my pole and sit in the chair next to Skye's.
We fish for an hour or so before I start setting up the tent as dusk fills the sky and sunset sets the lake aflame. Skye watches me for a moment before setting her pole aside. "I didn't think you were serious about camping. You could have told me."
"You didn't ask." I've about got the tent halfway up, and I see her step toward the lake, indecision written all over her face as she wipes a light sheen of sweat from her forehead. A few moments ago, she felt free as a bird, but suddenly not so much. I have to get this tent assembled before it gets dark, so I keep working.
Finally, when that's done, I pull out the cooler with sandwich stuff and call her over so we can share some food. She really picks at her lunchmeat, and I can tell something is really bothering her.
"Okay, out with it," I say.
"Out with what?" She takes a bite and looks at the ground.
"Something is bothering you, and I want to talk about it because I won't have a clue how to help otherwise." I reach over to touch her hand, and she stiffens.
"There's nothing going on. Really."
"Bullshit. You're freaking out, and I want to know why. Is it the tent?"
She kind of looks over at it, and a flush creeps into her face. That's what tells me I guessed right even when she won't say a word. Finally, I nod. "Okay, so what's wrong with the tent? I mean, we've stayed in the same beach house before."
"It's not the same, Devin." She starts to get up when I gently grasp her arm.
"Tell me what's different." My voice is quiet, and I'm kind of nervous, like I've done something to upset her when I never meant to.
She takes a nervous breath and stares at the ground. "It's like we're so close together. It's such a small space, and there's nowhere to go."
Immediately I see where this is going. "It's not like that between us, Skye. There's never going to be anything that happens that you don't want to happen. I won't ever hurt you, and you know it, but if you really feel that uncomfortable, we don't even have to stay in the tent. I can drive you back. I was just trying to surprise you."
Her shoulders sink even further, and I feel I've said the wrong thing yet again. "No, I want to stay. I'm just afraid."
I stand and slide my finger under her chin, forcing her to look me in the eye. "Afraid of what?"
"Devin, God knows why you don't give up on me." She pulls away and tries to walk off, a flush coloring her cheeks, and I feel her close to an emotional edge, but my feet don't seem to dig into the earth. Even though she half-heartedly tries to pull away, I catch her wrist and then I twine my fingers with hers.
"I'm never going to give up on you, Skye. Never. You might as well understand that."
"Why?" Tears pool in her eyes. "Why does it matter?"
I pull her toward me and kiss her forehead. "Because you matter."
She finally nods, but I can tell she's thinking of something else, something she's not quite ready to share. "Perhaps we should unroll the sleeping bags."
"I'll get right on it." I go to the back of the Jeep and grab them, and once inside the tent, unroll them. I look toward the doorway and see Skye standing there, staring in, her expression nervous until she finally crosses the threshold and sits.
For a moment, we sit and watch the last of daylight leaving through the unzipped sections of the tent. Her eyes are wide and luminous in the starlight, and I can tell she's nervous the way her fingers act like butterfly wings, unable to still themselves for any length of time.
She closes her eyes, and I want to tell her that no matter what she's thinking everything will be all right, but I don't think she'll believe me, so I hold her hand and let the night fill the void around us.
"Devin, what if I can't ever have a relationship? I know you care about me, but even you have to get tired. What if I never get over this bottomless fear?"
I scoot closer. "I'll wait for you, Skye."
She looks at me. "I didn't date in college. How lame is that?"
Reaching out, I stroke her face. "It's not. You weren't ready."
Leaning close, she sets her head on my shoulder. "Do you think what I feel is normal?"
"Of course." I lie down and motion for her to join me and for the next hour, we just watch the sky, witnessing a shooting star and listening to cricket song before drifting to sleep.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, I hear rain pattering atop the tent, and I get up to zip the windows. I move slowly so as not to jostle and wake Skye, and I lie back down facing her. Lifting my hand, I stroke her face as the rain picks up. I lean close and kiss her forehead.
Her eyes open, and her breath catches. For a few seconds I freeze, wondering if I've overstepped my bounds. Her eyes widen, and she eases toward me until her lips touch mine. I'm not expecting it, so everything inside freezes, and I force myself to follow her lead.
The kiss is slow and tentative, as though she isn't sure of what she's doing, and that's the last thing I want. I reach out and touch her cheek. That seems to draw her closer, and add to the intensity of her mouth on mine. My heart thunders in my chest, and it seems so loud I wonder if she can hear it. My hands tremble from being so close. She is everything I want. She's always been everything.
Her hands reach out and draw me closer to her so I feel a sudden urgency in her. Part of me wants to pull back and make sure Skye is okay with this, but if I do, that will only make her think, make her doubt what she's doing---make her doubt her feelings for me.
The rain beats down harder. The droplets are driving with the same intensity of our kisses. I touch my lips to her cheek and neck, and that's when I hear her breathy request. "Make love to me, Devin."
It's then I do draw back because I have to know Skye is really okay with this. I don't want to be some crazy thing she did because she needed to prove to herself she could. That's not me at all. "Skye, are you sure about this---I mean really, really sure?"
She takes a deep breath and nods. "Yes. I want you to make love to me."
This should be the one thing I've waited for, but I have doubts, and it's only when her hands begin exploring my body that I push my trepidations aside and give in to a need that's been building for as long as I've known Skye, and yet even as I touch her, gently peeling away her clothes as the rain spatters the tent, I take things slowly, always giving her time to stop me until there is no time left and nothing to stop---nothing that can be stopped. Our bodies finally join the way our souls did long ago, and when we've spent ourselves, I gather her against my chest and listen to the rain.
Lying there, Skye is quiet, and that troubles me because even as much as I know Skye, I can't always read her. I kiss her forehead. "You all right?"
She smiles, but it doesn't quite touch her eyes. "Yeah."
I want to ask her more, but I don't know what to ask. I feel tremors in her world, but I don't know where the fault line is. So I do the only thing I know to do. I whisper, "I love you, Skye. I've always loved you." Then I wrap my arms around her and wait for her to drift to sleep before I finally close my eyes.
The next morning, I find Skye already up. She's facing the lake, her arms folded across her chest, and the gentle wind stirring at the water drowns out the sound of my approach. I smile, leaning toward her, and kiss her neck.
"Hey, you," I whisper.
She kind of jumps, and her arms fall to her sides. I reach out and lightly brush my hands up and down them, trying to relax her.
"Hey." Her voice sounds small and lost. Not a good sign.
"Did you sleep okay?" I ask, not liking the way the silence feels. It makes me worry that somehow she might have taken last night the wrong way.
"Yeah," she manages, slowly turning. Her gaze is averted, and I can tell she's stressed. "Last night was---"
"Perfect," I finish for her. I don't have a clue what she's thinking. All I know is there's this ring in my pocket, and if I'd believed it would help her understand that what happened last night is the least of the reasons I love her, I'd pull it out and propose right now. She'd chalk it up to feeling guilty over making love. But she'd be wrong---oh, so wrong.
Instead, I gently pull her into my embrace and kiss her forehead. She looks up at me with her dark eyes misted with tears, and it hurts to see her like that. "Devin---"
"Shh," I say, touching my fingertip to her lips. "I know you, Skye. You've got a million reasons why last night was a bad thing, and I've only got one why it was right---but my one reason trumps all of yours. I love you. What we have isn't based on last night, and whatever crazy thoughts you've got running through your head, I'm not going anywhere, and I don't look at you any differently now except that I love you more. So whatever it is you think you need to tell me, don't. Just let me hold you."
Instead of arguing, she ducks her head beneath my chin and rests there. That's when I know she's finally listening to my heart.
On our way home, Skye suggests we rent a movie for tonight, and that's fine by me---any chance I get to spend with Skye is great. I'm pretty jazzed because I wasn't sure how she would deal with what happened between us, even though she said it was what she wanted. There're times Skye is still so skittish I'm not sure she knows what she wants.
I pull up to the video store, and we both jump out. She looks over at me and flashes a smile. "What's the matter, Devin? Got to make sure I don't find a romantic comedy or something?"
Sliding my arm around her, I flash a grin. "Nope, we can watch your romantic comedy. I'm just here to rent an action movie to balance it out. You know---a little blood and guts with my romance.""Figures." She starts to open the door, but I beat her to it, and she giggles and steps inside. Watching her face, I'm amazed at the transformation, and I hope it lasts. I don't think I've seen Skye this carefree since we were kids. Her humor is infectious, and I find myself grinning like a moron, but at least I'm a happy moron as I reach out and grab her hand.
I'm right about Skye's choice. She gravitates toward the romantic comedies, which is pretty much commentary on what Skye believes---she wants to think that a permanent and perfect kind of love exists, but part of her is confused by it. It's a nice "diversion" from her doubts, and she ends up watching a lot of chick flicks. Me, I watch them with her, hoping that something from them sticks and she finally accepts that I can love her unconditionally.
"What about this one?" She holds up Ever After and looks at me to see what I think.
"You're in a mood for Cinderella, eh?" I ask, taking a glance at her offering and then looking over her which isn't hard. I'm much taller, something I often give her grief about because it's too much fun to pass up, if you want the truth.
"I've thought about renting it before. It was just an idea." She sets it back on the shelf and starts to move on when I pick it back up.
"So rent it. I don't mind." I take her hand and push the box into it.
"Yeah, you don't mind so long as you get your blood and guts, right?" She pushes some hair from her face.
"Exactly."
One moment, Skye is looking at me, and the next her has drifted to the side and beyond. The smile she's been wearing vanishes, and her eyes widen like she can't believe what she's seeing. Her fingers release the box, and it falls.
"Boy, are you clumsy," I say, not sure what else to say as I feel things rapidly spiraling south. I start to hand her the box, but she backs into the shelf and knocks over a couple more boxes, still staring the same thing. I'm too busy picking up the boxes to have a clue what she's staring at or why she's so intent.
"Clumsy, like I said." I manage to get the boxes back on the shelf before I turn. For a moment, all I see are a handful of people roaming the store, and even though it's true Skye isn't much of a "people" person, five or so strangers wouldn't cause her to act like this. There has to be something more, and that's what makes me nervous.
I look harder at the people, trying to recognize them. I figure that's what's spooked her---and I'm right. One of the guys is a little taller than I remember and wider, with more muscles than before, which was creepy because Tyler Rutherford had plenty of muscles in high school.
I look back at Skye, and my whole body tenses. While she seems to be drifting into the fight-or-flight mode, I'm the opposite. I don't care how ripped Tyler looks because no matter where else he's filled out, his head is empty. Always has been, always will be.
"What do you say we get some lunch and rent these later?" I don't wait for her to answer but take the box from Skye and set it back on the shelf. She's standing there, her chin tilted downward, her eyes closed. Her face is pale, and all I want to do is get her out of here before that asshole sees her.
She doesn't say anything as I slip my arm around her and lead her to the door. As I open it, the bell overhead jangles, and everybody turns to look at us, but luckily Tyler doesn't give us more than a passing glance.
I lead Skye back to my Jeep and open her door for her so she can slip inside. She's staring somewhere beyond me, and I'm pretty sure if I knew where her thoughts were, I'd hate them. It's amazing how it takes so little to remind her of the past, and here I am, working so hard to establish a future between us---a future that makes her feel as safe and loved as she should.
I slip my keys into the ignition and start to pull out of the lot, already thinking over my options for where to eat.
"Could you take me home, please?"
I look over at Skye, but she's staring out the window like she's afraid to face me. Damn Tyler Rutherford---damn him to hell.
"How about some breakfast first?" I ask, trying to buy some time to talk to Skye. I definitely don't want to give her time to think too hard about what just happened because I know it'll lead her to jumping to conclusions I really don't want her to jump to. It's weird how Skye doesn't have much faith in a lot of things, but if she thinks she's gotten a sign about something, she'll jump on that in a heartbeat, especially if it's a negative sign. Like Tyler.
"I'd rather just go home."
Knowing it's probably going to cause a fight between us, I tap my signal and turn the way opposite of Skye's house. I can't just drop her off like this. I won't.
"You're going the wrong way," she half-whispers and leans back in the seat.
I don't say anything. Right now, I'm trying to figure out what to say that'll make this whole nightmare better, but I keep coming up empty. I'm pretty sure she's going to have a bird and we're going to have a fight if I keep driving, so I find a parking lot and pull into it so I can give her my full attention.
"Skye, listen to me. I know you saw Tyler, and he probably creeped the hell out of you, but it doesn't matter. He's part of the past and doesn't deserve a second thought."
Her eyes are closed, and I'd swear she was sleeping if I hadn't seen her swallow hard. "Devin, I just really want to go home. I'm tired."
One step forward, two steps back.
"You're not listening, Skye," I tell her, desperate to get her to hear something besides what she's telling herself because I know how powerful that voice can be. It was the same one which almost made her kill herself.
"It doesn't matter."
That's when I lose it. I whirl toward her and grip her shoulder. "Damn it, Skye, it does matter. Everything matters. But here's the kicker. I could tell you I love you every day, but it wouldn't matter nearly so much as seeing Tyler. He's a waste of flesh, Skye---a waste---and yet because of what he did to you, you let him keep hurting you."
She flinches at my grip, and I must be holding her harder than I thought, so I ease my fingers back and slowly move away. "It doesn't matter. I just want to go home."
Sensing I've lost, at least for the moment, I tool through the parking lot to turn around before heading to her house. "So I guess that's it then. We don't matter, either, do we, Skye---or was there even a 'we' to begin with?"
She doesn't answer. Instead, she keeps staring beyond me to a place I can't reach her. I could keep throwing out arguments all day, but that doesn't mean Skye would respond to any of them, and the last thing I want to do is make her back off even quicker because I couldn't keep my temper. So the only option I have left is to pull up in front of her house, watch her get out, and drive away.
So much for one perfect evening that should have been the turning point.
I've barely reached my parents' driveway when my cell rings, and part of me is grateful because I'm hoping it's Skye calling to ask me to come back for lunch or something. Yeah, I know, as much as she doesn't have faith, I have more than enough.
This isn't Skye. It's Warren. Unnerved, I say, "Hello?"
"Devin, it's Warren."
"Hey, Warren." A pause fills the air, and my stomach starts tensing like I'm expecting a punch to the solar plexus. "Is there something wrong?"
Another pause. "Did something happen to Skye? She was really upset. I haven't seen her like that in years."
I grit my teeth, already imagining how her world must have unfolded when she walked in. All the emotions she was trying so hard to hold back in front of me started spinning out of control.
"We had a great evening, and then it all went wrong this morning."
"Did you propose to her?" Concern deepened Warren's tone.
"No, I didn't get a chance." That was a lie because I'd had plenty of chances. None of them had felt right, and that was the problem. Now I'm wondering if I should have. Would it have made any difference?
"Then what happened?"
I get out and lean against the truck. "She was okay, and we headed to a video store to rent a movie. While we were there, Tyler Rutherford happened to walk in, and seeing him spooked her." I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to calm down. "I tried to talk to her, but I couldn't make her see Tyler was powerless in her life." I close my eyes, suddenly feeling just as helpless as I did when we were in school and our lives came unraveled at the drop of the hat. "I'll come back over."
"No," Warren said. "She's quiet now. I'll keep an eye on her."
I start to get into the Jeep "I can be there in five."
"It's okay, Devin. She needs time. You've been down that road before. I'm not going to let anything happen to her. I promise."
I know he's right. That's why I lean against the Jeep, trying not to imagine her face and all the emotions storming through her she won't be able to control. "Please." My fingers curl into a fist I lightly tap against the side of the Jeep. "Please, if there is anything she needs---anything---let me know."
"Of course. Just give her time. She'll come around."
I close the phone and lean back, trying hard to keep calm in the face of a panic rising like a wall of blackness that blots out everything. There're no words to tell him how much I'm counting on that promise.
It takes two days for Skye to finally come around. The whole time I've been calling her cell and checking in with Warren to make sure she's all right. While I'm not getting any information from Skye, Warren's definitely keeping me informed about what is going on.
It's late in the morning when I hear the doorbell. I'm half-drowsing because I've not been sleeping well. The old nightmares have been rearing their ugly heads, and nothing gets rid of them except daylight and Skye. I've replayed how things went so many times my head is spinning, but no matter what I do, it doesn't change her pain. I wonder if I should have made love to her. Would that have made a difference?
I'm not expecting the soft tapping at my door. Yeah, my mom knocks, but it's more of a loud warning before she comes in---a way for me to throw on clothes so she doesn't see me naked and embarrass the hell out of both of us.
The knock comes a second time, so I frown and get up. When I open the door, Skye stands on the other side. She's wearing a white t-shirt and tan shorts. Her long hair flows around her face, shadowing a lot of her expression, which makes me wonder if she's trying to hide. Her cheeks are pale, and there are dark shadows beneath her eyes, suggesting she isn't sleeping any better than I am. Probably Tyler again.
"Hey," I say, feeling my back and shoulders stiffen as I pull the door open wider. "Come on in." I try not to seem overly glad to see her, and right now I feel like everything I do is a mistake in the making.
Her eyes flash briefly toward my face, and she quickly ducks her head and steps across the threshold. She starts to sit in the chair by my desk, but the shirt I wore yesterday keeps her from going there.
"Here, let me get that." I grab the shirt and throw it in the hamper. I rake my fingers through my hair and ease down on the bed. I start to say something, but everything I've imagined coming out of my mouth sounds stupid, from "How are you?" to "What's going on?" Somehow we are both past the surface-level stuff, and there's no going back. That camping trip changed things, and I'm not sure I can put all the pieces back together.
Skye eyes the chair but walks to the window and looks out. My jaw clenches. "Did you come to check out the view from my window? It's the same as it was when we were in high school." I fold my arms across my chest, immediately regretting the words. I don't know what the hell I'm doing and it scares me.
"No, I came to tell you I shouldn't have done that." She keeps looking out the window, and right now I want to shake some sense into her.
I know what she's talking about, but if she's going to go down that road, she's going to have to drag me. I'm not going to make it easy on her because in this case, she's wrong. She's afraid. "Can you be just a little more specific?"
She takes a deep breath, and it shudders through her. "You know---the other night."
Forcing a calm I don't feel, I try to engage her eyes. I know she must feel me staring as she scurries around the room, trying to keep moving so the pain she's obviously causing both of us never catches her. The problem with that is sooner or later it does catch up, and you can either feel it with someone who matters or feel it alone.
"What about the other night?" Again, me playing dumb.
Skye flinches and steps towards the door. Crazy, I know, that I can almost see the flight-response kicking in. Then again, she's going to have to get through me first. I'm not saying she can't, but it's not going to be easy.
She's two steps from the door when she finally turns back. Her gaze rises, and our eyes meet. "Look, Devin, you're my best friend, and I don't know what I'd do without you, but the other night when we...." Her voice trails off. She can't even say it.
"...made love?" I supply for her, inching her way.
"Yeah." She pushes the hair from her eyes, and she's wearing this pinched expression that makes her seem like she's in physical pain. "It shouldn't have happened."
I see just the slightest hint of tears in her eyes, and she turns to leave, her trembling hand seeking out the doorknob. Without thought, I set a hand on one side of her, and then I place the other on the other so she's forced to slowly turn and face me. Her eyes widen in surprise. Although she's not breathing very loudly, I can hear the rapid inhale and exhale as the nervousness seems to overtake her.
"What...what are you doing?" she whispers as her hand drops from the knob and she leans against the door.
"Trying to talk some sense into you. I'm not sure it will work, but I guess I'm stubborn that way."
She closes her eyes and leans back. "Look, this is hard enough already, Devin---"
"Hurting someone isn't supposed to be easy, Skye. You of all people should know that." My voice is low and raw, and even though I'm trying really hard to keep control of my emotions, they keep wanting to get the better of me.
"I...I...." Her voice dies off as she stares at me, but that doesn't stop the tears. They slide down her face with remarkable ease. "I just think it's better to pretend this didn't happen---"
"You mean that we didn't happen, don't you?" I arch an eyebrow at her in challenge. "Skye, I know you. I know how you bury things in boxes so you don't have to face them, and so long as nothing reminds you of the past, you're okay, but then suddenly something triggers it and you jump back. I love you. I've loved you for probably as long as I've known you, and I can't pretend anymore."
More tears. "Devin, please." She squeaks from under my arm and turns her back to me.
"Please, what, Skye? Don't tell you I love you? Don't act like something happened between us and you felt it, too? Don't keep hoping something will happen so we can finally have a relationship I know you want as badly as I do? Why do you keep pushing me? Do you want me to leave? Is that it?"
Her shoulders sink as though I'm piling weights on them. I hear a small voice telling me I should stop, but I can't seem to make myself. She folds her arms across her abdomen and takes a resigned breath. "Perhaps that would be best, Devin. Really."
I cross to her in two large strides and grab her arms. "Bullshit! What in the hell are you thinking?"
As I stand in front of her, I sense she's lost again, and I want to be the navigator who finally helps her read the landmarks as something real that'll lead her away from the past, but somehow I'm not that guy. I'm not even sure she's going to let someone help her.
I grab her arms and hold her still. "Do you love me, Skye?"
"I...I...." She won't look at me. She just keeps crying. "I should go."
"Not before you answer," I tell her, hoping that if I make her say it, it'll force her to admit there was nothing wrong with making love. It's a stretch, granted, but I have to do something. "Do you love me?"
It seems to take forever there, both of us barely breathing, before I get my answer. She shakes her head. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "You're my best friend, Devin, and I don't want to hurt you."
My finger slowly ease, and I watch her edge out of the room, too shell-shocked by how things have gone drastically wrong again, and how I felt them spinning out of control but couldn't seem to change the outcome no matter how badly I needed to. I'm standing there when I hear the door close, and all I can do is wonder what the hell happened and why.
For the next few weeks, Skye and I don't talk. It's not that I don't try to call her. She won't answer, and every time I go by her house, no one is there. Maybe I could accept this if I felt like Skye were telling the truth, but I sense something deeper, and it troubles me. Then again, maybe I'm the only one unwilling to face the truth that keeps punching me in the chest---that maybe Skye will never be ready for a relationship. Or maybe she'll never be ready for a relationship with me.
A knock at my bedroom door interrupts my thoughts, and I finally say, "Come in."
Mom pokes her head in the door. "Are you busy?"
Trust Mom to ask about the obvious. I've got a ball in my hand I've been tossing against the ceiling. How busy can I be?
"No," I finally tell her, setting the ball on my nightstand and sitting up. "Do you need something?"
She opens the door wider. "Well, I was going to make a pot roast for dinner, but I don't feel like going out to the store. Would you mind getting a few things for me?" She holds out a list with some money, and I take it, figuring it will be good to do something besides stare at walls that seem to close in on me every day.
"Sure. I can do that." I give her a half-hearted smile and reach for my shoes.
"How's Skye?"
Mom's test question. She's aware I haven't been hanging around Skye, and she wants to know what's up. Yeah, well, that makes two of us, and I don't think either of us is going to get answers anytime soon, unfortunately.
"She's okay, I guess. Been too busy to hang out." I know I should just tell her the truth, but my mom is a worrier. She knows what Skye's attempted suicide did to me, and the last thing she wants is a repeat performance of any kind.
"I just hadn't seen her with you lately."
"She's got a lot going, Mom. I'm sure you'll see her again." I didn't say that she see Skye with me because even I can't be sure of that one, no matter how much I really want to. Skye's holding all the cards now, and once again I'm blind to what the future held. Lucky me.
"I'll go to the store and get your stuff," I say, standing. As I'm heading toward the door, I feel her gently grasp my arm, stopping me. Our eyes meet, and I sense the warning before she ever speaks.
"Devin, I know you really like Skye, but sometimes you have to come to accept that no matter how much you want something, it isn't always meant to be."
You know the one thing I hate about parents: they play dumb, and then when they decided to tell you about what they know, you realize they're not blind or deaf and know what's going on the whole time. It ought to be illegal.
"Stop worrying, Mom," I tell her and kiss the top of her head. "You do that far too much."
"Somebody's got to. You know that."
I pull out my keys and walk to my Jeep. Even though it's not even noon, it's already hot, something the closed interior of my Jeep quickly confirms. It's stifling in here. Perhaps that's why my mom didn't want to get out? No, she probably just figured I needed a break from brooding.
"I'm going to get some lunch and I'll stop and get what you need."
A look passes between us, and I know that no matter what I say, it's not going to change the fact she's concerned, and I get it. I'm concerned, too. It's not just about me. That's what she doesn't know. I feel that concern smothering me until I walk outside and try to ease the tension from my shoulders and climb into the Jeep.
While I do plan on getting some lunch, I find myself driving mindlessly around, trying to get some kind of spin control. West Martin has never felt big, and truthfully, it seems like every place I go reminds me of Skye. I never expected we would end like this. Inasmuch as it hurts to find this town so laden with memories, it's also comforting, too, because if I can't have Skye with me, her memory is the next best thing.
Maybe that's what makes me drive out to Lucy Park, heading to the old picnic table where Skye and I sometimes sat. I know she won't be there; she's too busy, after all, hiding from the inevitable, but when I step in front of that bench, alone and trying to makes sense of things, it make me hurt in a way I can't explain even now.
"It's not supposed to be like this," I mutter, folding my arms across my chest and staring off into the distance. Above, I see gaggle of geese flying toward the pond not far away and frown, wishing like hell I could fly out of here, too. Maybe I never should have come back.
"Well, well, look who's come home."
I turn slowly, already sensing whoever is standing there is no friend of mine. I'm not counting on that person to be Tyler Rutherford. He's got a fishing pole in one hand, probably headed to the pond, knowing it's been well-stocked for kids under sixteen. Hell, maybe he's looking for girls under sixteen; it wouldn't surprise me.
"You really shouldn't be here," I say, forcing myself not to move.
"Oh, and where should I be? Prison? I'm willing to bet you thought I'd do time, right? That your girlfriend would ruin my life? Didn't happen. It helps to have a powerful daddy." He smiles, and it takes everything I've got not to thrash him. In the parking lot, I spot a couple getting out of their car, and I know they can hear everything we're saying.
"You might just want to stop while you're ahead." I set my hands on my hips, waiting for his next move. Some part of me hopes he shoots off his mouth. It's his damned fault Skye isn't talking to me, and he's got it coming.
"Yeah, I'm ahead, all right. I've always been ahead of you. Skye sure didn't sleep with you, but I didn't have any trouble. Hell, maybe she still won't sleep with you. Maybe I should just go over and slip myself back into place. Who knows? Maybe she's missed me. Then again, maybe I'll teach her a lesson for opening her fucking mouth to begin with."
It takes everything I've got to restrain myself when I want to kill him. Instead, I bait him, knowing that once he swings, he's mine. "What's the matter, Rutherford? You only go after the girls who can't fight because you know if they have a choice, they'll just laugh at you."
In an instant he rushes towards me. I feel his fist hit my left eye, and then he's done. My fist slams across his nose, breaking it. Blood spurts everywhere. In the distance, I can hear him making some kind of a noise, but I hit him again. And again, my body angling as he goes down. He might have gotten that one punch in, but let's just say that he's barely moving after the fourth blow.
I'd keep going, if I didn't feel someone trying to grab my arm.
"Devin, stop swinging!"
It's a woman, and for a split second, I think it's Skye, which stops me cold, and I turn to face her, knowing that Tyler's blood is all over my hands and clothes. Probably my face, too. No, she's not Skye, but the face is familiar, and I struggle to remember. For a few seconds, I can't. Then recognition washes over me.
"Bethany?"
"Hey, calm down." She grabs my arm and eases me away from Rutherford, who isn't moving, and once we're a short distance away, she touches the area around my eye. In that moment, pain exploded in my head.
"Damn, that hurts."
"Not half as bad as what you did to him." She nods toward Rutherford, and I look. The guy who is with her is leaning over him, checking to make sure he's okay. Rutherford is covered in blood. I grit my teeth and look away.
"He had it coming, Bethany."
She nods. "I'm not saying he didn't. But I need to call for an ambulance." She gives me a meaningful look. "Just stay put, okay?"
"Whatever." I glower at her and sit on a nearby park bench as she makes the call. Already I'm going through what kinds of trouble I'm going to get into for this, but I don't care; I'd have done it sooner if I'd had the chance.
It seems forever I'm sitting there, waiting. I feel blood seeping down my face, probably from dipshit's ring when he punched me. I dab my fingers at the wound while watching as Bethany finishes the call and walks over to Rutherford. She speaks in a low voice to the guy leaning over him, and he answers. I just can't hear what they're saying.
In a moment or two, Bethany finally walks back, just as the ambulance and police car arrive. I shake my head, and Bethany sits next to me.
"Great---as if my week couldn't get any worse." I hang my head, waiting for the cop to get out. The EMTs are already hustling over to Rutherford, and he's probably going to milk his wounds for everything he's got. Guys like him are cocky when they're winning and whiny when they lose. There's no in-between.
Setting her hand on my leg, Bethany stares at me. "Just tell the truth, Devin. I heard every word he said, and the threat was unmistakable. Besides, he threw the first punch."
"Yeah, well, we both know who his dad is." I lean back against the bench and watch as the cop gets out. He goes to Rutherford first and checks in with the EMTs then heads our direction.
"It doesn't matter who his dad is. He got a suspended sentence, and he just blew it."
I stare at the cop, unsettled by a sense of familiarity I can't place. I know him. That's no big surprise, considering how I know a lot of people in this town. But there's something that won't leave me alone about him, something really bad. He's almost to me when I finally place him. I suck in air as though somebody's punched me and mutter, "Fuck my life" as Kellin Morgan steps towards me.
"Interesting greeting," he says, pulling off his sunglasses. "It has been a while."
I'm looking for that same cockiness that Rutherford exudes, but Morgan just stands there.
"Hey, Kellin." It's Bethany who moves first as she stands. She always was better at trying to smooth things out. Some things are just a little too rough for her to fix---things like me putting Rutherford in the hospital and him now being called to where his former best friend was punched out. I'm expecting the cuffs to come out any minute.
"What happened with Rutherford?"
"He threatened to go after Skye again and threw a punch at me." I avoid his gaze because I know he's not going to believe me.
"Not surprising," Morgan mutters under his breath. Then he turns to Bethany. "When did you get here?"
"Probably about the same time Tyler did. I heard him threaten to rape Skye again because of the charges which had been filed, and I watched the creep take a swing at Devin."
Morgan nods and looks at the guy by Rutherford. "Is that your brother over there, Bethany?"
She nods. "Yeah. He was here with me."
Morgan shoves his sunglasses into his shirt pocket. "I'm going to go talk to him." He nods at me. "You might want to have one of the EMTs look at your eye. It's still bleeding."
Although my hand starts to go to the wound, Bethany grabs my arm. "Come on. Let's go see the EMT."
No, I'd rather not be walking beside Morgan, and maybe I shouldn't have such a grudge against him. It wasn't really his fault Skye was attacked, but sometimes, when things aren't going well, those grudges are all we have, and that's something to hold onto, isn't it?
"Could you take a look at his head, and see if he needs to go to the hospital for stitches?" Morgan asks, pointing back at me.
"Sure. I'll take care of it." The EMT closest to the ambulance says. She's already pulling off her bloody gloves and swapping them for a new pair as she points to the back of the ambulance. Gritting my teeth, I act like a good little boy and park it, my gaze straying to Morgan and Bethany's brother.
"You didn't do anything wrong." Bethany leans against the side of the ambulance.
"I know I didn't. But that doesn't mean Morgan is going to believe a word I say." I turn my focus to the EMT coming toward my head with a swab to clean away the blood. As it touches my skin, I wince, expecting pain but finding none, just a cold wetness.
"Give Kellin a little credit. I don't think he's the jock you knew in high school, and even he's smart enough to know Tyler was the problem here. Always was, always will be."
I shake my head. "You know, you always find the good in everyone."
Shrugging, she replies, "Somebody has to, Devin. There has to be someone who refuses to give up hope, or there won't be anything to hope for."
"Looks like you're good as new," the EMT says, peeling off her gloves. "Too bad I can't say the same for the other guy."
"Thank you," I tell her and hop off the ambulance so they can load the gurney with Tyler on it. Judging from the amount of blood on his shirt, I think I probably broke his nose. It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.
Bethany looks at him and then at me. "Dang, for such a big guy, it looks like you beat the crap out of him."
Stepping back, I shrug. "Size isn't everything, and he pissed me off. Nobody talks about Skye like that. Period."
Bethany is just about to ask a few questions when Morgan wanders back to us, effectively silencing her. Unsure what to do with my hands, I shove them in my pockets and wait. I suspect I'm about to have the privilege of hearing my rights read to me.
"Well, I've got statements from everybody, and it doesn't appear Rutherford has any witnesses on his behalf, so I'm going with what you told me, Devin, which isn't going to be so easy for Tyler, not with his suspended sentence. Sometimes karma truly is a bitch." He smiles at me. "Have a good day."
With that, he's walked away, and I know my mouth has probably hit the ground.
"C'mon," Bethany says. "Let's go get you cleaned up and get something to eat so we can talk."
"What about your brother?"
She peers over at him and shrugs. "He'll walk to my parents when he's ready. Besides, he was the one who wanted to come here in the first place."
We head to the café around the corner to get a burger basket. Maybe while I'm there, I can try to figure out what to do next. There's a small crowd, enough to blend in. Obviously people wouldn't necessarily recognize me, considering how long I've been away from West Martin for college, but right now I'm just stumbling over my own two feet, and there's nothing I can do.
Bethany picks a booth by the restrooms. As she sits down, I head to the bathroom to wash up. I'm not expecting to find my face speckled with Rutherford's blood, but my hands are covered, and I gladly wash them off, just wishing that completely getting rid of that asshole would be so easy. Peering at the bandage by my eye, there's some swelling. Have to admit that he did get one good punch in. Not that it saved him.
Shaking my head, I go back to the table and sit across from Bethany.
"So, how are you?" she finally asks, slipping a straw in the sodas that the waitress has brought us.
"I'm good." For a moment, we look at each other, watching as time melts before our eyes, seeming to leave two high schoolers again. God, I wish it were that easy.
"Your brother still lives in town, but you don't, right? Are you here by yourself?" I ask, raking my hand through my hair.
"Yeah, I was getting some lunch before I drive to Missouri to meet my husband."
"So, what about you? Are you married?" She looks at the menu instead of me.
The weight of that question seems to swallow me, and yet she doesn't have a clue what it's doing to me. How could she? I shake my head. "No." I take a sip.
Bethany glances up at me curiously. "That's kind of strange," she says. "I always figured you and Skye would get together."
I take a deep breath. "Yeah, you and me both." Right now, my emotions are spinning out of control. Bethany must sense it as she reaches out and gently strokes my hand.
"So what's going on? Where is Skye these days? Tyler seemed to think she was back in town."
"She is."
Before I can elaborate, the waitress comes over and takes our orders. The whole time I'm spouting off about what I want for lunch, I keep thinking about Skye and how things were supposed to go. Obviously not like this.
"So?" Bethany prompts once the waitress leaves. "What's going on?"
"Well, you're right about Skye in that I love her. Always have." I shrug. "But you already knew that."
"So what's the problem?" She takes a sip of water.
I lean back against the bench. "Thanks to the damage Tyler did, I'm not sure Skye is ever going to be ready to open herself up to any guy."
"But you're not just any guy, Devin." She toys with her glass, running her finger around the rim.
"That doesn't mean she's ever going to trust me. Ever. She keeps pushing me away. Every time I think we're making progress, something triggers the past, and she doesn't seem able to fight it."
Bethany gives me a sad smile and squeezes my hand. "Okay, so maybe it's not going to be easy. It's never been easy, but that doesn't mean it's not worth it, does it?"
"You're right," I admit, shaking my head. "I know you are. And I know she loves, me even if she won't admit it, but I'm not sure where to go from here." I reach into my pocket and pull out the ring. "I bought this months ago, and I haven't been able to work up the courage to propose. I keep telling myself it's the wrong time."
Bethany starts to answer when I see movement out of the corner of my eye. That's when I realize Skye is there, staring at the two of us, or, more importantly the ring I want to give her. In a few seconds, I mentally go through what she's thinking. It's pretty clear by the slight drop of her jaw and wide eyes that it isn't good.
"Skye?" I whisper, blinking.
She bolts for the door.
"Excuse me," I tell Bethany and literally fly toward the door, shoving the ring back into my pocket. She's almost to her car by the time I'm just leaving the restaurant. "Skye, wait!" I yell and rush toward her as she jams her keys into the lock.
I get to her just as she's about to open the door and press my palm on it to keep it shut.
"I didn't even know you were there."
"That's obvious." She brushes the hair from her face and refuses to look at me.
"How long were you standing there?" I try to meet her gaze but she won't play along.
"Long enough, Devin. Definitely long enough. I came because my mom got a call from the police department, trying to find me to warn me about Tyler. They said you'd been in a fight with him."
"He asked for it." I let out an exasperated sigh and look up at the heaves, trying to figure out what to say. "Long enough for what for what, by the way? What is it you think you saw?"
She laughs, but the sound is caustic. "Well, let's see, there was a ring and a girl. One plus one equals two, Devin." She jerks harder at the door, but I won't let go. "Can you just get out of my way?"
"No, I won't. I don't get it." I lean my body against the door. "What, you saw me with a talking to a girl while I was holding a ring, so you think I'm proposing. Not that it matters to you because you have no feelings for me except as your best friend, right?"
The tremble of her lips gives her away, at least before she purses them together and patiently keeps refusing to meet my gaze. "You're right, Devin. It doesn't matter. You can propose to anyone you like."
I rake my fingers through my hair. "Oh, really? Because I don't think that's true. Really I don't." My voice is raised, which never happens with Skye, but I'm at my wits end, and I'm tired. People are starting to look at us, and a flush creeps into her face.
"Lower you voice," she hisses.
"Why? I don't give a damn what they think."
"Forget it." She jerks her hand away from the car and starts to walk off. It's then I act, without thought or reason. I grab her, whirl her around, and kiss her, demandingly at first, then softening. I feel her body tense against me, but that slowly gives way to the tenderness, and by the time I draw back, she's not fighting anymore. Her eyes are closed, like she's waiting for me to kiss her again. Her nostrils flare slightly with each breath, and when her eyelids finally part, she looks slightly dazed and more than a little confused.
She blinks a few times. "I...thought you...liked that girl," she whispers in a breathy voice.
"Skye, we've been down that road. That was Bethany. Bethany Fields---a friend, nothing more."
The flush on her cheeks deepens. "But you had a ring."
I wrap my arm around her. "It doesn't matter. She's already wearing a ring. It just isn't mine."
"Oh." She stares ahead, and while I know she's listening, I can also tell the gears are spinning a mile a minute. I wish I knew what was going on. We stop in front of her car.
"Look, we need to talk. I'm going to tell Bethany that I've got to go and I'll be right back. Will you do me a favor and just wait? Please?"
She looks at the car and back at the restaurant before finally giving me a slow nod. Unable to sense how long Skye's going to be okay with this, I dart back into the restaurant, and tell Bethany I need to go. She smiles and waves as I head outside, grateful Skye has stayed put. Half of me figured she'd have hit the road once I slipped inside.
Instead, she leans against the driver's door, her arms folded across her abdomen as she stares into space. An uncertain frown plays at her lips as her long dark, hair falls toward her face.
"So what are you doing here?" I ask, slipping into the passenger seat while Skye gets behind the wheel.
"Devin, I---"
"Look, Skye, you don't have to explain. I know you. I know when you're scared. I know when you need time. I even know when you feel like the world is falling down around you. What I don't know is why you won't let me love you. What's so wrong with that?"
She starts the engine. "It's complicated."
I touch her arm. "I don't believe that. Maybe it's something you have trouble saying, but you know the reason. The least you can do is share it with me."
Sensing this discussion is going to take a few more minutes than she'd planned, Skye turns off the car. "Devin, I can't compete with the person you seem to think is right in front of you. You see me as someone who's beautiful, amazing, and good. I'm none of those things. I---"
"Wrong," I counter, turning toward her. "You're not perfect Skye, and I'm not blind to your faults. You can be stubborn. You're often sarcastic to the point of driving people away, and you have trouble letting things go. But you're also beautiful. You're amazing, and you're not only good, you're one of the best people I know."
She actually flinches at those last words, and I reach out and take her hand. "Look, Devin. I'm scared."
"That makes, two of us. But we're never going to get past this unless we try."
Leaning back in the seat, she closes her eyes. "I know you're right. It's so much easier to see the future when we aren't here where people like Tyler always remind me of the past."
I slip my hand beneath her chin and lift so she has to meet my eyes. "You let me worry about Tyler, Skye. He's not going to get anywhere near you."
Her eyes stare into mine, and for a moment neither of us say anything. We just breathe. Then I ease closer and press my lips to hers.
I don't know how long we sit there. In some ways, it feels like it's forever. In others, it's like it'll never be long enough, and there's only one thing I know---that for right now things are okay again with Skye, and that's enough for me.
"So what happens now?" she asks.
I shrug. "I promised my mom I'd pick up a few things from the store."
Immediately, Skye starts smirking, which tells me eventually everything will be all right. "Your mom actually sent you shopping? With a list and everything?"
"I don't need a list, thank you very much," I reply, indignantly. That doesn't stop her from grinning, so I try to play it off. "I think she just wanted to get me out of the house because she was tired of me being all broody and stuff over you."
The smile kind of freezes and dies. "I'm sorry."
A lone strand of hair falls into her eyes, and I brush it back. "It's okay. You're here now, and that's what's important."
She nods slowly. "Okay, let's go to the store." She taps her turn signal, and we start down the road.
"So what're we doing here again?" Skye asks as she nervously toys with the hem of her white sundress while sitting in the passenger seat of my Jeep. She watches her fingers as though expecting them to do something unusual, but I know it's just the way Skye is when she's nervous.
"My parents are having a barbeque. I told them I'd be there, and I don't feel like socializing with all my dad's co-workers all by myself." I pull the keys from the ignition and scan the numerous cars parked near the house. "Looks like things are already under way."
I start to get out, but Skye catches my arm. "Devin, wait." Her voice is breathy and panicked. It matches the expression on her face.
"It's just a barbeque, Skye. Relax." I peer towards the house. "Looks like Uncle Rick is here, and you'll definitely love him. He has so many embarrassing stories about me it's not even funny."
I start to move again, but Skye's grip only cinches down even harder. "Devin!"
Turning, I sense the growing panic, and I don't understand. To me, it's just a barbeque, but to Skye, it's something else entirely, and that something else isn't good, not by a long shot. "Yeah?" I manage and turn my full attention onto her.
Gritting her teeth, she leans back against the seat and looks toward my house. "I haven't spoken to your mom since before everything went crazy."
"And?" I prompt.
"I'm pretty sure she doesn't care for me, not considering all the trouble I got you in during high school."
Without meaning to, I laugh. "Skye, that was years ago. Years. And anyway, she doesn't hold grudges like that."
Skye's eyes flash in my direction. "So can you tell me she doesn't have any problems with us dating?"
The first thing I think about is Skye's open admission to dating, something Skye's has never done before. Then I follow her thought and frown, unsure how to answer. "Well, she's concerned because of how things transpired that year, but that doesn't mean she doesn't like you. It means she wants everything to be okay, and like anyone else, she can't control how things turn out."
Another car pulls up in front of the house, and I nod toward it. "Besides, this barbeque is going to have lots of people here besides my mom. If you're worried she's going to make a scene, she won't. Promise."
This time I do get out, and Skye reluctantly follows my lead. Her fingers quickly brush down her dress, straightening the soft flowing cotton as she mutters, "I shouldn't have worn a dress like this."
I smile and wrap my arm around her. "Come on, Skye. You look absolutely beautiful."
"That's easy for you to say," she mutters, drawing close.
"Yeah, it is," I whisper, and kiss her ear. "Because you're beautiful no matter what you're wearing, and I'm glad you're with me."
She doesn't answer as we amble up the steps and into the house. As I'd expected, everyone is out back, so we head that way, Skye hovering close beside me. Once we get to the glass sliding door leading to the back patio, she stops suddenly as she stares about at the twenty or so people congregating in the yard. Even though everyone is dressed in shorts or casual clothes, Skye stops abruptly.
"It's just a barbeque," I say again. "No one is going to be rude."
Her gaze flickers to me, and I ease open the door and gently nudge her forward. As we step across the threshold, she shakes her head. "You owe me big time for this, Devin."
"Looks like the next ten movies we're watching are going to be romantic comedies," I sigh and paste a smile on my face as Uncle Rick slowly approaches. He's wearing jeans and a white polo shirt. Much of the black hair and beard I remember has greyed, and there are fine lines around his eyes and mouth. The grin he wears grows larger by the moment, and he wraps his arms around me.
"Devin! Long time no see."
"Hey, Uncle Rick," I say. He looks over at Skye.
"And who is this lovely lady?"
Skye squirms uncomfortably beneath his inquisitive gaze. I try to reassure her by slipping my arm around her, my fingers lightly resting at the middle of her back.
"This is Skye Williams."
She nods awkwardly in acknowledgement. "Hey, Skye, this is my Uncle Rick."
Realization dawns on Rick's face. "Oh, so this is Skye. I've heard a lot about you."
With that, Skye glares in my direction. "I hope it was good."
"Of course." He looks back at me. "And have you gotten taller, or am I shrinking?"
"You're definitely shrinking," I confirm, and pat his shoulder. "It's hard to get old, isn't it?"
Rick wags a warning finger at me. "Old, eh? Yeah, well, I must be old because I remember when you were this short," he says, lowering his hand to just above his knees. "And you decided to strip off your diaper and walk around the house, spurting pee like a little cherub fountain."
"Thanks, Uncle Rick," I manage as Skye bursts out laughing so hard I think she's going to fall down.
Rick pats my shoulder. "Any time. That's what you get for crossing foils with an old man." He winks at me and walks away, leaving me red-faced and Skye giggling.
Once Rick has stepped away, I shake my head. "You enjoyed that way too much."
"You're the one saying I never smile enough. I think that's about a week's worth, don't you?"
"Just about." I shake my head and nod toward my father, who's busy manning the grill. He's stacked a pile of burgers and hot dogs on a platter, and the air is filled with the scent of them. "Come on. Let's get a burger."
"Some things never change," Skye says as I grab her hand and lead her that way.
"What do you mean?" I ask, edging among the guests, my grip sure on Skye's hand.
"You and food. Inseparable."
I frown at her grin. "It is a barbeque, Skye. You know---an opportunity to eat." I point at the platter of burgers. "Besides, you wouldn't want all that food to go to waste, would you?"
"Oh, definitely not. We couldn't have that."
"That's what I'm saying."
As we step up to the grill, my dad turns toward me. "Hey, Devin. Grab a plate for you and Skye."
"I intend to." I reach for the paper plates and give her one. "For you."
"Thanks." She looks at the burgers and dogs, probably thinking neither of those fit into her birdlike diet.
I lean toward her and whisper in her ear. "You have to pick one. Like this." I grab the tongs and heft a couple of burgers onto the plate then hand her the tongs. "Your turn."
"Yeah, I got that." She takes the tongs and puts one patty on her plate, then we walk over to the table where the buns and other fixings wait. As we assemble our burgers, I see my mom at the other end of the table, her gaze fixed first on me and then on Skye. Although Skye is nervous, I'm not. For one thing, even if my mother had something against Skye, which she doesn't, Mom also knows Skye is very important to me, which means she's not about to say something hurtful.
Skye is so fixated on her plate she doesn't recognize Mom is there, not until we reach the end, where the drinks are and come face-to-face with her.
"Hey, Devin. Skye."
Immediately, Skye's head jerks up and she sort of takes a tiny step back, inhaling sharply. I can see her hands tremble and for just a second I worry she's going to drop the plate. She doesn't.
"Hey, Mom," I say. "It looks great."
She nods towards my plate. "Are two burgers going to be enough?"
"Yes, Ma'am. They'll be fine."
She peers at Skye's plate. "You're not eating much, hon. Aren't you hungry?"
"Skye always eats like a bird."
Skye gives me a dirty look. "That's not true."
"Only on days that end in Y," I smirk. I nod toward an empty table not far away. "There're some seats."
Rolling her eyes, Skye says, "Yes, your royal pain in the butt." She saunters that way and sinks into the first open seat she comes across.
"You think I'm a pain in the butt? I'm hurt, Skye. Really." I try to keep from smiling, but it comes out anyway.
"Oh, sit down and eat," she mutters, glaring at the chair. As I sink into it and she starts eating, I can tell there's something she's not saying. Skye is notorious for keeping things bundled up inside, where it takes a salvage team to find them.
"See, I told you this wouldn't be so bad."
She shrugs and takes a bite of her burger. "You know how I feel about getting together with all these strangers."
"You're not with a group of strangers. You're with me. They just happened to be here, too. Besides, you wanted to watch a bunch of chick flicks without me growling any complaints."
"You got that much right." She leans forward so her long hair falls into her face, and she lifts a trembling hand to brush it back. Her hair only stays there for a few seconds before the breeze tosses it back over her face.
"So, have you figured out any jobs you might be interested in?" I ask and study her face. It's more for conversation than anything.
She shrugs. "I've put in my application with various schools, but I'm thinking it's probably going to be a few weeks before I hear anything." She grabs her napkin and dabs at her mouth. "You?"
I shake my head. "No, not yet. I've got resumes out there, but nothing has come of it yet."
Reaching over, she grasps my hand. "It will---for both of us."
I smile and once again marvel at how she has so much faith in certain things while not having much in others. I guess I can thank her real dad, who left when Skye was small, for starting that trend, and Tyler for keeping it going.
"Yeah, I know." She looks around at all the people and sees my mom talking to her neighbor, Sandra Owens. The two stare at us.
"Ten to one I know what they're saying, and it's probably not good." She looks down at her burger.
I nudge her shoulder. "No, you don't know what they're saying. You think you do, but it could be anything. We've been friends forever, Skye. That's a lot of ammo over the years. Don't you remember when Ms. Owens caught us playing Hide and Seek in her garden out back? I thought she was going to have a coronary right there. I got grounded for two weeks."
Skye laughs. "I'd forgotten about that."
I nod toward the burger on her plate. "You haven't eaten much, Skye. Maybe you'd better finish that."
She exhales loudly with a sighing sort of sound. "Yes, Mother. I'll be sure to do that."
"Good." I pat her leg and stand. She looks at me questioningly.
"Where are you going?"
I point to a far table. "Dessert is that way, and I spotted brownies."
With that, she busts out laughing because she knows my weakness just as well as I do. I love brownies, doesn't matter what kind. "I should have known, Hollow Legs."
"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, stepping away. "I'll even bring some back for you."
"Thanks."
I head to the table, and my mother meets me there. Glancing over my shoulder at Skye.
"Devin, is Skye all right?" she asks, cutting me a piece of brownie and piling it on a plate.
"She's fine, Mom. Really good."
"She looks kind of nervous." She hands me the plate and our eyes meet, telling me she's worried. Again.
"Mom, she thinks you don't like her because of everything that happened. It's hard for her to adjust."
Mom starts cutting another piece. "I never said I didn't like her. I just worry about how things are going between the two of you." She starts to set the brownie on the other plate, but it begins to fall. Without thought, I shove my plate under and catch it so she can relocate it to the other plate.
"I know you're worried, Mom, but Skye isn't like that anymore, and no matter how much you think I ought to look at other girls, I know what's right for me. And it's her. It's always been her."
Averting her gaze, Mom kind of ducks her head and nods. "Yeah, I know. You two have been inseparable since you were little. I just thought time and distance might...change things."
"They did," I agree. "They made it painfully clear don't want to be without her."
"Give this one to Skye. She needs to eat something. She's too skinny." Mom pushes the plate with the other brownie into my hand.
"Thanks. I'll tell her you sent it."
As I turn and head back to my chair, I feel Skye's gaze lingering on me, her lips tugged into a nervous frown. Maybe I should take that as another confirmation of how she feels about me because if it didn't matter what my mother thought of us, how much could she really think of me as more than a friend?
"Devin? Is that you?"
The voice stops me, and I turn to find my dad's secretary, Brenda Marcos, right there. It's been years since she's seen me, so I know what's coming as I look into her face and find more wrinkles there than the last time I saw her. Her blue eyes are a little more faded with time, but she smiles nonetheless, and the late afternoon sunlight seeps through her honey hair, dyed though it probably is.
"Hey, Brenda." I offer her a smile, and she reaches out to tug me into a soft embrace.
"It's so good to see you," she whispers before pulling back and giving me a good once-over that reminds me of my mother's. "You look more and more like your father every time I see you."
"I'm sure I do." I nod absently. No, she's not looking at me at present, just at the ground, averting her gaze. I know she's uncomfortable here. She's never been one for crowds. "I should get back to Skye."
Brenda slowly turns and focuses her attention on Skye, and a smile crosses her face. "She's beautiful. Is she your girlfriend?"
I nod. "Something like that."
Setting her hand on my shoulder, she nods. "I'm sure there isn't a luckier girl to be found."
"Thanks." I take a deep breath and wonder if Skye feels that way. Hell, I can't even bring myself to formally call her my girlfriend, but it doesn't matter. Skye's as much a part of me as my arm or leg.
Skye's staring into space when I finally sink back into my chair and offer her the plate with a brownie. "Mom sent this over for you."
She slowly turns to face me and reaches to take the plate. "Thank you." For a moment, we quietly enjoy dessert while my father's guests chat. By the time we've finished, I think Skye has had pretty much all the socializing she can stand, and I'm pretty tired of it, too.
When she finishes, I take the plate and nod toward the house. "So are you ready to start that chick flick marathon?"
She glances at my Mom. "Won't your parents be upset you left so quickly?"
Shrugging, I grab her hand. "Hey, I did the obligatory showing-up thing. I came, I chatted, I ate. What else is there?"
Rising, she shrugs. "You've got a point, and who am I to argue with Devin logic?"
"A wise woman." I toss the plates into the trash and lead her back toward the house, offering a few passing "hellos" and nods as we go. Still holding her hand, I slide open the back door and lead her through the house.
As we step off the front porch, there are still guests arriving, and I waive them inside before we head back to my Jeep. I open the door for Skye and tuck her inside before getting in and starting the engine.
Although I know this may not be the ideal time, I've finally decided to take my chance as best I can with the future I want to make. I don't know what she's going to say or even if I've given her enough reason to believe in me. Is a life of loyalty and desire enough for her? Would that she could look through me and know what's there, but she can't. No one can.
I take a deep breath and start driving, not to the video store to rent movies and not even to Skye's house. Instead, I go to the park where we used to lie on cement tables and look at the stars---so many memories that remind me of how good things can be between us. I know she remembers them, too. Yes, it seems like forever ago, but it wasn't so far.
For a few moments, Skye says nothing, not until she sees me pull up in front of the park. That's when I kill the engine and frown, trying to gather both my wits and my words, wondering what I can say that will convince her this future is right. There has to be something. Now if I can just find it in the next five minutes.
"This is the park. What are we doing here?" She looks out the window and finally turns to me.
"Yeah, it is," I agree, thinking of the ring in my pocket, wondering if I should take it out in expectation or leave it inside in doubt. In the end, I just decide to keep it there and wait. It's not that I know for sure what her answer is going to be. I just don't want to spook her, and I think that might actually do it. So let's see what I can accomplish with words instead.
"I know it's the park, but there's something I want to talk to you about."
"Here?"
"Why not?" I shrug and turn to face her. "It used to be one of our favorite places in the world. Don't you remember all the time we spent here when we were in junior high and high school?"
A smile touches her lips, and she nods. "Yeah, it just seems so long ago. So many things have changed since then that sometimes I wonder if we're even the same people."
I reach out and brush the hair from her eyes. "Of course we are. They're just buried in there."
Skye shifts nervously in her seat. "So what did you want to talk about?" She's chewing her bottom lip, and she's removed her gaze from mine.
"I wanted to talk about us, about how I feel about you."
Her shoulders stiffen, and she inhales sharply. Her bottom lip falls slightly, as though she's going to say something, but no words come out so that leaves me no choice but to go on.
"Skye, we've been best friends for years, and I've tried to let that be enough, but it's not. I---"
"Don't," she whispers, not looking at me. Her hand clenches the door handle, and it feels like she's going to try to claw her way out at the first opportunity.
"We need to talk about this. I need for us to talk about this."
Without warning, she slips her fingers to my lips and shakes her head. "I know what you feel, Devin, and there's probably nothing I can do to change them. God knows I've made enough mistakes, so you should have already changed your mind, but it hasn't happened."
"And it won't," I admit quietly.
"Maybe not," she agrees, her hand gently stroking my face. "But I don't want to jinx it, Devin. I don't want to speak it out loud or call it something that might make it all fall apart. Maybe that's stupid. Maybe it's juvenile, but every time I start to believe the world is settling, something happens, so right now I just want to be, without deep talks involving a future neither of us can predict or control. Please. However you feel about me, don't use words to control it."
Her eyes moisten with tears, and I hear pain her voice as it trembles over the break of words. I think of the ring sitting at the bottom of my pocket, and even though I want to pull it out, I'm willing to consider that maybe she's right. Maybe we need the time to get used to being together. Just because I know I'm in love with her doesn't mean she's ready to admit how she feels about me in broad daylight.
"Skye," I begin, but she places her fingertips over my lips again, halting whatever I might be about to turn loose of.
"Please, Devin. Don't. Give me time."
I look into those haunted eyes, and I know I can deny her nothing. Besides, I've been in love with her forever. What's a few more months going to do to change that?
Then again, I know better than to ask that. Time isn't just a healer. It's also a destroyer, and right now both Skye and I are dead in its sights.
Time seems to drift around us, and it seems as though everything is unchanging as Skye begins to slowly let her guard down and allow me back inside the fortress she's worked so hard to build. Above us, the sky is open and blue, aching with summer's promise, almost like it believes summer won't end, and this beauty will live forever, just as the calm waters Skye and I swim in will never suddenly roil with the waves from passing boats.But change, when it comes, is swift. It lacks discretion and charges in with brute force, and it announces itself in the form of Skye's biological father. His visit is unexpected, leaving everyone in Skye's family to scramble with his coming. I know because earlier that day, I'd spoken with Skye. We'd planned to go to a movie that evening, and I'm just as surprised as everyone else to find a strange vehicle in front of the house. It's a new sports car---a Mustang convertible that looks about as in place in the driveway as a plastic pink flamingo would be dangling from the roof above the porch.
As I ring the bell, I have no idea what I'm walking into, and it's only when Skye's mother answers the door that I get the sense that something is way off. Her eyes are tired and her shoulders slump, as though she feels invisible weights pressing them down hard.
"Hey, Helen," I say and reach out to give her a hug.
For a moment, we linger like that---another clue something just isn't right here. Call me slow, but I'm deliberate at least. When she pulls back she frowns. "Devin, what are you doing here? Did Skye call you?"
I shrug. "We spoke earlier and set up plans to go to a movie." I glance at my watch. "It starts in about twenty minutes."
She nods and vacant stares at the convertible. "Well, you might want to reconsider your plans. I don't think Skye's going to feel up to it."
I point at the convertible. "Nice ride. Who does it belong to?"
Helen swallows hard. "Skye's father."
"He's here?" I manage, feeling my back and shoulders stiffen.
"Yeah---not because I want him to be, mind you." She nods toward the foyer. "Why don't you come in? You're so close to Skye you might as well be family."
Yeah, something I'm still working on, I think, and edge inside. "Did Skye call him?"
"Gracious, no!" she says, shaking her head. "He just showed up, wanting to talk to Skye. I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how Skye is when she makes up her mind about something."
"Yeah, I do."
We walk over to the couch and sit. Immediately, Helen leans back against the cushions and rubs her temples. "It's been a long day."
"Where's Warren?" I look around the room, half-expecting he's going to pop out, but he doesn't.
"Away on business." She flinches and closes her eyes.
"You all right?"
She nods and forces a smile as she opens her eyes again. "I'm fine, Devin. But thanks for asking."
"Where are they now?" I keep thinking I should hear somebody saying something, but I don't.
"Out back."
"How long have they been out there?"
Helen looks at her watch. "About fifteen minutes."
I nod and immediately I wish I could slug the guy. He has no idea how long it's taken Skye to get over his sudden departure, of all times, when things are finally seeming to fall into place for her, he wants to come back and make things all better. Son of a bitch. I grit my teeth and force myself to keep sitting, knowing that even though I want to jump right in the middle of this, it's not my place. This is a demon Skye has to dance with no matter how much I hate it.
Down the hall, I hear the grandfather clock chime. Helen is probably right. There's no way we're going to make this movie. That's of little consequence compared to what the aftermath of her father's visit will be. Even if the man can get Skye to give him the benefit of a doubt, which I really don't see happening, he's going to have to live up to whatever he's telling her, and when he fails, that's just going to make it harder for everyone else. I close my eyes, wishing I could just have a few months with Skye when nothing fell apart so maybe she might be able to trust me to pull her through. Yeah, like that's going to happen now.
"So how are things going between you and Skye?" Helen asks, reaching for the glass of ice water sitting on a coaster on the coffee table.
"They were going well."
She nods. "Before he came back?"
"Yeah."
I ease up, thinking I'll just go into the kitchen and take a peek, but Helen also stands. "I know what you want to do, Devin, and it's not a good idea. Whatever is happening out there is going to happen whether you watch or not. It's just harder when you see the storm coming and realize there's is nothing you can do to prevent it." She takes a sip from her water. "Would you like me to get you something to drink?"
"Yeah, that would be great. Thanks."
"No problem." I watch her slip from the room and take a deep breath. Damn, I just thought this was going to be a stress-free night involving a romantic comedy---part of me keeping my promise to Skye. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect this. Never.
One minute the house is too quiet. The next, Skye is slamming the back door. I whirl and see her stride through the doorway. Tears spill down her face amid two smudges of mascara, and immediately I see the wreckage of her attempts to make herself beautiful for me---the ruined make-up and hair that has slipped from the clips meant to hold it from her face.
She gives me a look, something akin to pain and surprise, as though she's been so blindsided by her father's sudden visit she didn't remember I'd be here, not that I'm going to hold that against her. There was no way she could have known either. She rushes past me out the door as I hear a male voice.
"Skye, come back."
Immediately, I see Skye's father---this is the first time I've ever seen him. She has his eyes, but she's crying, and he's angry. As if he has a right to be.
He starts to go past me and I step into his path. "Let her go."
"Who the hell are you?" He glares at me, expecting that because he's her father and older I'm going to back down. He doesn't know me.
"Someone who's been picking up the pieces you left behind."
Helen suddenly appears and grabs his arm. "I told you nothing good would come from this, but you refused to listen."
"I need to talk to her a few minutes more." He jerks his arm free and glares at me. "And this is none of your business." He starts to walk around but I step into his path.
"Wrong. Anything that involves Skye is my business. If you'd stayed in her life, you'd know that."
"Get the hell out of my way or I'll call the cops," he snarls.
"And tell them what? This isn't your house, and your daughter is an adult. She doesn't have to include you in her life anymore."
He starts to argue with me, and I can tell by his stiff shoulders and jutting chin this could come to blows, but Helen grabs his arm again even though she looks at me. "Devin, go check on Skye. I'll handle this." He starts to go out the door, but she says, "No, you stay. You started this, and now I have to finish it for you. Again. You broke her heart twice, and that wasn't enough."
Helen is yelling, something she rarely does, and that's my cue to step outside. Skye's nowhere to be seen. I didn't expect she'd advertise her whereabouts. Probably the last thing she wants is to be someplace out in the open, where her loser dad can find her.
I walk around the house but don't see her so I head to the Jeep and get in, planning on searching the street. It's not unlike Skye to take a walk to cool off, and if only that could clean up this, she'd probably walk to China, but I don't see that happening.
I shove the keys into the ignition and turn the key before I even realize Skye is sitting there, staring out into the darkness. Tears stream down her face, glittering in the darkness. She's folded her arms across her abdomen, as if that can hold in all the pain she's feeling. Not likely.
"Hey, I've been looking for you."
She takes a shuddering breath and wipes one hand across her face, trying to erase the tears. Trouble is, more keep coming. "Could you just drive, please? I don't want to talk to my dad, and with my luck he'll find us."
I pull away from the curb. "Not if your mom has anything to say about it, he won't. That's why he's in the house, Skye---and I sure as hell wouldn't want to be him after she gets through."
I wait for her to answer. Instead, she's looking out the passenger window. I know why. She has this thing about crying in front of people. She seems to think looking vulnerable is one of the worst things that can happen, which is crazy considering all the stuff she's been through. I sense that wall going up, brick by brick, and somehow, without meaning to, I've ended up on the other side again, as though I wanted to stand next to her father. Lucky me.
"Where do you want me to go?" I ask, wondering if she's even got a destination in mine. I can tell it's definitely not going to be the movies. That much is sure.
"I don't care."
"Okay." I start to reach for her hand, but it's locked tight against her body, and that pretty much tells me she doesn't want to be touched. Then again, I know the key to getting Skye to deal with those emotions is touch. It's always been touch, and ten to one it's always been my touch. She can build all the walls she wants, but even she can't keep the emotional turmoil buried forever.
"Why did you even agree to talk to him?" I ask softly. Maybe it's the wrong question; I don't know, but I can't stand this silence.
"I don't know."
Her voice is terse, and I sense she's losing the battle against her emotions, which means I'm going to have to find a destination and park. She needs to talk whether or not she thinks she does.
Ahead, I spot the turn-off to the cemetery---a strange choice, but what other place is going to be quiet, where we can talk? Besides, it's not like the dead can do anything with the secrets they overhear. Who're they going to tell?
Skye's staring out the passenger window when I pull to a stop in the gravel lot and shove the gearshift into park. I kill the engine and turn to face her. "He's not worth it, Skye. Not by a long shot. You're the best part of him."
Her shoulders sink but she refuses to face me. "That's easy for you to say, Devin. You have both your parents with you."
"This again?" I ask, puzzled. "Okay, I know he's the sperm donor. But he's never going to be the father Warren has been. Your mom knows it, I know it, and deep down, so do you."
At that moment, Skye loses it, and I hear the awful, gut-wrenching sobs that tear through her. I scoot closer and wrap my arms around her, tucking her head just beneath my chin as I rock her, waiting for her world to settle enough so it isn't breaking her heart like this.
"Why couldn't he just have stayed gone? Why does he have to make these guest appearances, like I should be grateful for being a stop on his tour to right things? Why?" Her voice is muffled so it's kind of hard to hear, but I get them nonetheless.
"I don't know. I wish I did." I kiss the top of her head. "But would it matter if you knew? Would it change things?"
"No." She sniffles and draws back slightly. "I got your shirt all wet."
"It'll dry." I reach out and tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm more worried about you."
"I'm fine," she whispers in a tired voice that suggests she's lying, and she's wearing that lost expression I've come to know so well.
"That's what you always say," I gently remind her, "and maybe you mean it, but you can't control what you feel, and no matter what you tell yourself, they're just words, Skye. Saying them won't make them true."
She grits her teeth and averts her gaze. "I hate it when you do that."
"Do what?" I stiffen, unsure where I suddenly went wrong.
"When you act like you know me so well, like maybe I can't even surprise you anymore."
I arch my eyebrows at her. "We've been inseparable since we were in elementary school, Skye. We've told each other things we wouldn't dream of telling anyone else. I know you better than anyone, and I don't see what's wrong with that." I reach for her hand, wanting to hold some part of her close to me.
"Because you don't leave me any place to hide when things get messed up." Her voice trembles, just like her body.
"Why would you want to hide from me, Skye? I know you, remember?"
"That's why."
Suddenly my cell rings, interrupting us. I'm tempted to just let it ring because the person most likely to call is...well...right next to me at the moment, but considering the tumult over at Skye's, I fish it out of my pocket and glance at the display.
It's Helen.
Skye goes back to staring out the window, and I figure this will give me a minute to gather my thoughts as to how to deal with what she's saying.
"Hello?" I say, looking out my window.
"Devin, it's Helen. Look, don't say anything. I just want to know if Skye is with you and if she's all right. She was so upset when she left. Please don't let her know it's me."
I take a deep breath, knowing the odds of keeping Helen's secret are about seventy percent against. Skye's way too smart. She'll recognize who's on the other end. I'm willing to try. "Sure. I understand. I have what you need, and we can talk about how to fix it later, Dad."
"Thanks, Devin."
"Bye."
I snap the phone shut and slowly turn toward Skye. She's not looking at me, and I wonder if she knows. If she does, she's not saying a damned thing--never a good deal with Skye. It's when she's not talking you have to worry about what's going on inside that head of hers.
"So what's the deal?" I ask. "It seems the better I know you, the more you'd trust me, but it never works that way with you, Skye. It's like the closer I get, the more you shy away, and I don't understand." I reach out to take her hand and find it pancaked to her side.
"It doesn't matter," she mutters.
"Bullshit," I snap. "Erecting walls might keep everyone else out, Skye, but it doesn't work with me. You know you might as well answer because I'm not going anywhere, and your silences can't make me. You know that as well as I do."
Her fingers stiffen against mine, but I keep my hand there, waiting. "Why don't you just give up on me already?"
So we're back to that, are we? I think. "You already know the reason, even if you're too scared to admit it. Why don't you just stop fighting me and tell me what it is that makes you want to push me away?"
A breath shudders through her, and I can tell I'm close to her weak point. She's never been a good liar, and even when I push her toward that point, she would usually rather tell the truth, no matter how hard that gets. Lying reminds her of what happened after the rape.
"I...can't."
"You mean you won't," I gently correct and scoot closer to her. "I know you're scared, and you think ten shades of bad are going to happen to you if you open up, but they won't. I promise." I slide my hand under her chin and gently lift. "Just tell me."
"You don't get it," she whispers and tries to pull away, but I refuse to let her go.
"That's because you won't tell me what 'it' is. How am I ever supposed to 'get it' when you won't let me?" My shoulders and back are starting to tense with stress. I could kill her father for stirring things up again.
"Devin, no matter what I do, you don't get the hint. You shouldn't be with me. Period." She whirls toward the door and jerks on the handle. In her haste to get out, she almost falls. I start to grab her, but even as quickly as I do, she's faster and more intent on escape. It's not me she's fleeing but whatever demons her father triggered once again.
I, too, slide out of the Jeep and slam the door after as I rush towards Skye. I see the light blue shirt she wears as she heads into the cemetery proper. Her long hair flows behind her like dark kite ribbons, and she's running like the devil is after her.
So what does that say about me?
"Skye, wait!" Unsettled, I run after her. Before I can even get to the gate, her body disappears beyond the tree line that borders the grounds, cutting everything off from view.
A image of long ago and far away pops into my head of the one time Skye and I decided to play hide and seek here. As a seventh-grader, I'd thought it would be funny and creep Skye out. It was one of those stupid kid things; I'd thought maybe if the experience was like a horror film and scared the crap out of her, she'd draw closer to me and want me to protect her.
I should have known better. Skye'd been more comfortable with the dead than the living and still was. Maybe it's because whatever secrets the dead might have, they take with them, and there's some kind of peace in that. The living are still struggling with their secrets, and even those we keep tend to take their toll.
No, Skye's probably just as happy to go in there now as then. It's the one place nobody wants to ask her questions and nobody expects anything. She can just be.
That's when I stop running, to give her a few minutes to gather her emotions and try to calm down. There's no point in cornering her. She's just going to come out fighting. Always has, always will.
I take my time walking through the cemetery, even though I no longer see Skye in front of me. There's only one entrance, and I've just come that way, so I know she's here, hiding. Shoving my keys into my pocket and amble down the path, I scan the rows of graves.
Halfway through the graveyard, I see her, sitting on the ground, her back pressed against one of the taller stones. She's drawn her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them to keep them stable as she lays her head on her knees. More tears.
Sighing, I force my steps to have a measured pace so that even though I'm not exactly calm on the inside, Skye doesn't have a clue. She has many great skills, but she can't read people; I don't know why. I just know that's part of what causes her problems. She takes all the wrong cues and runs with them. Like now.
I'm almost to the stone when I feel the first few raindrops. Granted, the sky had looked even-tempered enough when I drove to Skye's house, but maybe it's just as fickle as everything else.
Stopping in front of her, I look down. "Is this seat taken?" I gesture to the ground next to her.
"Help yourself," she says gruffly, not looking up.
Easing myself to the ground, I try to pretzel my legs across each other as I lean against the headstone next to her. A cold raindrop splashes my temple and I look up at the fast-moving clouds above.
"How 'bout this weather?" I ask.
"What weather?" She finally looks up, puzzled. Just then a big fat raindrop smacks her in the eye, causing her to squinch her eyes shut.
"It's raining, or hadn't you noticed?"
"Yeah, I got that," she agrees, rubbing her eye, "right in the eye."
"I'm willing to bet the sky opens up any minute."
She, too, scans the heavens. "Yeah, right. Just for that, I'll take your bet. You never get the weather right." She leans against my shoulder.
"So what do I get right?"
"Huh?" I see her cut her eyes toward me. It takes her craning her neck slightly, but she does it.
"Skye, I must be doing a million things wrong for you to keep running from me. So tell me one thing I'm doing right. Just one." I lean my head against the stone and watch her face, waiting for an answer.
"You do everything right, Devin."
With that answer, I burst out laughing. More drops. I have a feeling in about five minutes we're going to be soaking wet. "Yeah, right, Skye. Remember when I beat the crap out of Kellin when it was Tyler I should have dealt with? That was...not right, and we both know it. And every time I turn around, you want to run away. Why?"
She slips one arm beneath mine and wraps hers around it as she leans closer. "Devin, you've always tried to make everything wonderful for me. You've never once failed me, not when you knew what was going on. The other was my fault, not yours...." Her voice dies away.
I kiss her on the forehead. "So? Don't you want to be with me?"
"Of course!" The answer explodes from her.
"Then what?"
Her arm tightens around mine. More rain drops. She shivers as the cold wetness lands on her upturned face. "Devin you are so good to me. I couldn't ask for a better friend or someone to love me who is more self-sacrificing...."
"But?" I interject. "I know it's coming. I feel it even though she doesn't say it."
"But I can't do this."
"Why." I pull away slightly and stare at her willing her to meet my eyes. "Just tell me why. I know you love me. You just don't want to seem to let me love you. Why?" I slide my finger under her chin, desperate to understand.
"I'm not good enough."
"What?" The word almost sounds like laughter. Actually I just can't even believe she went there.
"I don't deserve you, Devin. Look at my past."
"Bullshit," I snap, staring into the wide brown eyes which refuse to blink even though there's a pool overflowing from them. "You know better."
This would be a great time for her to say something, but her lips just part and tremble. That's when it hits me. She really believes that. Once I get it, all the pieces fall into place. Trouble is I feel like I've been sucker punched because there's this hole in my chest where my heart used to be. God, how could she even think that?
"Goddamn it, Skye, I don't care what you believe. The past is the past. I love you. I've always loved you. I will always love you, no matter what you do and no matter what you think you've done to become unlovable."
"Devin," she whispers. It sounds like a warning, and suddenly I know by the swell of tears overflowing and pouring down her face, I've finally made it inside that wall. She feels naked and vulnerable, and all these things I never meant. I just wanted to love her.
"I don't care what you think about yourself, Skye. I know the goodness in you, and that's all I have to know." I tug her into my arms and kiss her forehead as she cries. Feeling her tremble and sob against me unleashes my own tears, and all I can do is hope she knows that I won't leave. I'll never leave.
Never.
The sky opens with hard, fast rain. As it pours down, I hear Skye inhale sharply and let out a strangled gasp from the cold. The wind picks up, howling furiously with the storm.
"Looks like I win," I yell, forcing myself to my feet.
"You probably planned this," she accuses as I offer my hand to help her up.
"Oh yeah, I just wanted to get doused, Skye. C'mon. Let's run." I turn and start jogging toward the exit. More lighting that blinds me, and thunder pounds through me. Damn, this is one hell of a storm.
I risk a glance back to see that Skye is no longer following me so I double back, despite the raging wind that makes going that way so hard. I can't even see all the well right in front of me with the driving rain that stings like small pellets of hail, which is probably why I almost reach her before I know it. She's lying on the ground, her hands clutching an ankle, probably a sprain. She probably couldn't even see where she was running.
"You okay?" I yell, but my voice is lost in the storm so she doesn't answer. She probably can't walk on it. It's hard enough to see her with the rain, but her long dark hair is plastered to her face so I can't read her expression. I start toward her.
That's when another lightning bolt cuts across the sky and strikes the huge elm tree near her. I hear a sizzling, snapping sound. Then I see a massive branch teetering precariously. Like it wants to fall right on top of her.
"Skye!" I yell and rush towards her. The wind pushes me back, and the branch snaps, falling. It lands right in my path, almost right on top of me, and it completely blocks my line of sight.
And it's right where she was.
"Skye!" I yell again, and race around it. All I can think is please let her be okay. Please, God, let her be okay.
It takes a moment for me to find her amid all the rain and branches, but she's there, half-buried in the tree. I propel myself toward her, gripping the tree branches for leverage. Then I squat in front of her and start unburying her.
"Skye! Can you hear me?" I call, seeing a body without a face. Immediately, my mind jumps ahead and I start to see blood where there is none. Panic makes my heart jump into my throat. She has to be all right.
At last I see her face. There's a huge gouge on her forehead where blood runs a small river amid the rain. Her eyes are closed, and she looks pale; I can't tell if she's breathing. There's too much noise and fury.
"Skye!" I call and lean closer, holding my cheek just above her nose, checking for breath. At first, I don't think I feel anything, but then, just as I'm about to start compressions, a soft, warm breath touches my skin.
Thank God.
My shoulders sag in relief, and I lightly touch her face. "Skye! You've got to wake up, baby!"
At the feel of my fingers, her eyelids flutter slightly before finally opening. Her lips part and she groans.
"There you are," I whisper, thankful.
"What happened?" she asks, blinking repeatedly. She looks dazed and confused. And then there's the big tree branch across her lower body.
"A branch came down, and you were in the way. Let me see if I can get it off you."
I turn my attention to the branch and clear away smaller debris. When I come down to the last of it, even through the cold rain, I see Skye has been lucky. Her legs seem to have slipped into a groove in the ground, saving them from being smashed by the tree. While she's wedged there, at least she's probably okay, and that's a miracle.
I look back at her and point to the tree. "I'm going to have to try to find a way to move this branch so you can scoot your legs out from under it. I need you to get ready, okay?"
She nods and forces herself to lift up enough so she's almost sitting. "Go ahead." She's shivering, and her teeth chatter loudly.
As I bend low to start lifting, rainwater spills into my eyes, threatening to blind me. Overhead, lightning lances the sky, and thunder roars around us. I grit my teeth, trying to focus on moving the tree instead of thinking of all the branches that might fall around us. Bracing my hands on the log, I start to shove it.
At first, it doesn't seem to move. I push harder and harder. More lightning. The rain spits harder, if that's possible. I look back at Skye and find her face is pale and troubled. She squints to keep the rain from her eyes, and blood seeps from the gash on her forehead. "You okay?"
"Just cold."
"Hang on. I'll get you out of there."
She nods and pushes the sodden hair from her face. Her tight lips form a line. Lightning arcs overhead, and the wind rips another branch from the tree, toppling it on me before I can duck. I'm lucky it's not heavy, or I wouldn't be much better off than Skye. It makes me lose my balance and tumble to the muddy ground.
"Devin!" I hear Skye scream, her voice frightened and desperate.
Fighting the wind, I scramble to my feet so she can see me. "I'm all right," I call. I turn my efforts back to moving the branch from her legs. My feet seem to dig into the mud, kind of like the tree is pushing me instead of the other way around, but I keep adjusting the placement of my hands until I find a spot that seems to allow me to unsettle the branch. Granted, it's not much, but it's a starting place.
I look back at Skye. "Okay, be ready! I think I can push it enough."
She nods again, knowing I probably won't hear her over the storm. Turning back, I shove at the tree with all I've got. That does it. Skye awkwardly pulls her legs from under it, and once she's free, I stop pushing.
"Can you walk?" I ask
"I don't know." She starts to scramble to her feet with me hovering nearby. The minute she plants her foot atop the sodden ground and puts her weight on it, the ankle gives. She starts to collapse, but I catch her before she hits the ground. Her face is contorted with pain.
In a quick motion, I sweep my arm beneath her legs and hoist her into my arms. Even as she leans against me, I feel her shivering. Hell, I'm shivering, too. The rain and wind are chilling, and there's no telling where the hell this storm came from. No, I hadn't checked the weather, but I'm not sure anyone could've predicted this to hit so suddenly. The sun had been out earlier, so what happened?
Skye tucks her head beneath my chin and clutches me tightly, as though she's scared I'm going to drop her. It's probably because she feels the force of the wind I'm fighting, and she knows how hard it is to see. I wish the damned rain would ease up.
"Relax," I say. "I've got you." I start making my way toward the path. Around me, I see a few stones the storm and fallen branches have toppled. Nothing like an obstacle course in a storm. I ease my way around the debris and finally start toward the exit again, this time knowing Skye is right here with me.
"How's your ankle," I ask.
"Throbbing."
I nod. Just ahead I see the exit, and relief spills through me. "Do you think you need to go to the hospital?"
"No," she gushes, probably afraid I'll actually take her. "I just want to go home."
I clench my jaw, well aware I could argue this point until I'm blue in the face. It's better just to get us both out of here, drive to her house, and see what the injuries look like. While I don't think the branch hit her too hard, that doesn't mean it didn't. It's hard to tell if she just twisted the ankle or whether the tree made the injury worse. And then there's the gouge on her head.
Despite the wind's force, I manage to get her through the gate and to the Jeep where I open the door and carefully deposit her into the passenger seat. I rush around, anxious to get the hell out of this rain. Once inside, I dab at my face, uselessly trying to dry it off with a wet hand.
"Let's get you to the house. Your mom will probably be freaking out." Speaking of mothers, I reach into my pocket for my phone. Just as I thought, it's soaked, and the display isn't working. Shaking my head, I shove it back into my pockets and start the engine.
As we drive home, I keep slowing down. If it's not the rain, it's the wind or branches which have fallen into the road. The crews are going to have a field day with clean-up, I'm sure.
"You okay?" I ask, risking only a glance away from the road. The conditions are just too dangerous to give her the attention I want.
"I'll be fine," she whispers. She's shaking, so I reach out and flip on the heater.
"Give it a minute, and it'll warm up. Once we get you home, you can get out of those soaked clothes.
I force myself to focus back on the roads, and a drive that should take us about five minutes ends up taking twenty because of the storm. We get there in one piece to find numerous branches strewn around Skye's yard. The driveway is empty except for Skye's vehicle. I'm guessing Warren's car is parked in the garage because he's away. At least Skye's dad is gone, and that's a blessing.
"Where's your mom?" I ask, surprised she would
consider getting out in this mess.
Skye suddenly sits up straighter. "Oh, no. Warren's flight is supposed to come in tonight. She's at the airport." Her voice is breathy and panicked.
I gently grasp her shoulder. "I'm sure his flight has either been delayed or cancelled. They won't fly in this storm."
"I hope you're right," she murmurs, staring out at the falling rain.
"I'm always right. Even about the weather, and you know it," I smirk, opening my door. "Wait for me to come around and get you. I want to take a look at your ankle before you try walking on it again."
"Yes, Mother." She leans back in the seat, closing her eyes. The gash on her forehead is still bleeding, and I'm betting that whether Skye likes it or not, we're going to end up at the ER to take care of that gash. I guess we'll see.
I step out into the hard rain and dart to her side. I jerk open the door. She reaches for me so I can carry her to the door. Neither of us says much of anything until we've finally made it inside, where I set her on the couch. Her teeth chatter, and she folds her arms across her chest, probably trying to hold in all the warmth she can.
Before I look at her ankle, I go to the cordless phone in the kitchen and grab the receiver to take it to Skye. "Call your mom's cell and find out what's going on while I check your ankle."
"Thanks." She takes the phone and starts dialing as she leans back. I focus on untying her sneaker and gently easing it from her foot. Even that slight motion brings a grimace to her face, and I mouth the word "Sorry" before gently prying the soaked sock from her foot.
"Mom?" Skye says. "Where are you?" She pauses and frowns. "What's going on with Warren's flight. He's okay, isn't he?" Her voice teems with all the emotions she tries so hard to bury. She gasps, revealing just how tender the ankle is. It's swollen---there's no doubt about that. It could just be a horrible sprain, but it worries me.
"Okay. Yeah, I'm here at the house. Devin is with me. We got caught in the storm, and I think I did something to my ankle." She pauses, watching my fingers as though waiting for me to tell her something. "No, Mom. Don't leave. You need to stay in case they do send the flight on its way. If I need something, Devin will be here. He always is."
With that I smile, aware Skye is disconnecting the phone. "I'm always here, am I?" I run my fingers lightly over the discolored area, trying to feel anything unusual.
"Of course you are."
"I do. I was just waiting to see if you'd figured it out." My finger happens upon a particularly sensitive spot, and she groans. The foot spasms beneath my touch.
"Are you done yet?" she manages in a voice made raspy by pain.
"Yeah, I think it's probably a bad sprain." I lift my hand and look at her. "What about Warren's flight?"
"Like you said, it's been delayed." She clenches her teeth, trying to still the chattering.
"That's a good thing." I look towards the stairs. "You ready to get out of those wet clothes and into a warm bath?"
I don't wait for her answer but instead lift her into my arms.
"You really want to take me upstairs?"
"What, are you doubting I can carry you or something?" I challenge, aware of how dark her eyes look right now delving into mine.
"The stairs are kind of steep," she says, snuggling closer.
"I think I can manage---as long as you're still." I head that way and start up, my gaze alternating between her face and the steps ahead. It's not like I don't know where I'm going. I know Skye's house just as well as I know my own.
At the top of the stairs, I pause before heading into the bathroom. I set Skye on the counter before turning to the tub, settling the drain plug in place and turn on the water, opting more for a very warm bath than not. Skye and her crazy love of hot water. When I turn back, she's pulled off her shirt and bra.
I inhale sharply as desire hits me---a punch in my solar plexus that steals my breath. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. My hand knocks the shampoo bottle into the tub and I have to bend to fish it out. As I turn back, I see her about to hop down from the counter to get the pants off.
"Here, lean on me." I wrap my arm around her so she can keep the weight off that ankle and shimmy out of the pants, leaving them in a sodden pile on the mat. Then comes her panties. I force myself to take a deep breath and think of something stupid. SpongeBob SquarePants comes to mind as I scoop one arm beneath her legs and lift her to set her into the tub.
"Thanks," she mutters as I slowly release her and straighten up.
"You're welcome." My voice is rough, and I know it's because of the effect she's having on me. She always has that effect on me. Right now it's just been magnified about ten times. Go figure. "Do you have what you need?"
"Yeah." She begins splashing the water over her body, trying to get warm. "I think if you look in my second dresser drawer, you'll find a pair of your sweats and a t-shirt you gave me.
I frown, trying to remember giving her those, but I don't, not that it matters. I'm sure I did. It's not like I wouldn't have given her everything I had.
I look at the blood still oozing from her forehead, and I douse a washcloth with some peroxide and dab the wound. She flinches. "Hurt?"
"Not so bad, she whispers. "It's just kind of cold and fizzy."
I pull the rag back, not liking the way there's a lot of blood there, and as quickly as I draw it back, there's more seeping out. "Yeah, well, you're still bleeding, and if we can't get that stopped, we're going to have to go to the ER." I nod to the rag. "Hold that while I take a good look at your ankle."
Her hand creeps up, and her fingers touch mine as she takes my place at holding the rag. Once I'm sure she's got it, I turn and look at her ankle. Even from a distance, the swelling strikes me. If it's just a sprain, it doesn't look good. "I'm thinking maybe we should check out your ankle, too."
"I'd rather try some ice on it first once I get out of the tub." She shakes her head. "You worry too much, Devin."
I trace my fingers down her ankle, trying to figure out if I'm missing something. Only an x-ray would be able to tell me for sure. I look up and smirk. "This, coming from you? You're an accident waiting to happen, Skye. One of us has to worry."
Convinced I can't tell anything by touch, I slowly rise. That's when I figure I can finally tend to my own needs. Water drips from my hair, and I'm finally aware of being too cold and wet for my own comfort, so I pull the shirt over my head. It's a battle, sure, considering how the rain has plastered it against my chest, and once I'm done struggling out of it and the wet fabric lies in a pile on the rug, I look up and find Skye staring at me with a curious expression I've never seen on her face before. It's out of place, and it strikes me, but I can't exactly put my finger on what it hints at.
"What are you staring at?" I finally ask, raking my fingers through my hair.
"You," she whispers, and turns off the bathwater. The tub is almost full, and I can tell by the way she lies back and closes her eyes she's content.
"Okay, that's a given. Why?" I grab a towel from the cabinet.
"I don't know."
Another non-committal answer. Skye is famous for those. I towel off. Figuring I'm probably not going to get an answer, I thumb toward the door. "I'm going to go find those clean clothes, and I'll be back. You stay put."
"All right." I head out the door and down the hall to Skye's room. Even after all these years, I pause at the doorway. Skye's moved all the furniture around, but that doesn't stop me from staring at the bed and remembering. Nothing stops that.
I stiffen and slip across the threshold, heading for the dresser. I open the second drawer, and just like Skye said, I find a pair of navy blue sweats and a white t-shirt. I squint again and try to think back to when I might have given them to her, but I honestly don't remember. Yet she has them. I look deeper in the drawer and realize this is where she keeps her nightgowns.
Skye sleeps in these?
Another piece falls into place. Perhaps it really wasn't about her going off to college to make sure of what she wanted. Perhaps she knew even when we separated to go to different universities she had feelings for me, and she was trying to give me time to make up my own mind, not realizing I had already made it up.
All because she didn't feel she was worthy of my love?
I grit my teeth and wonder how the hell I can convince her she's all I want, and that no matter what we all fall short of whom we want to be? There has to be a way.
Unsure what else to do, I close the drawer, strip off the rest of the clothes, and put on the dry outfit before running my fingers through my hair, trying to pat it into place.
I amble back down the hall and into the bathroom, where Skye remains in the tub. Judging from the sweat beading just above her top lip and the flush on her cheeks, she's not only managed to get warm, she's probably ready to get out.
"You warm now?" I ask, bending and taking the hand towel from her so I can look at her forehead. A little sigh of relief escapes me when I realize the bleeding has finally stopped. Now we just have to hope nothing's broken. Otherwise I'm going to have a massive battle with Skye about going to the emergency room---never mind that it's still raining and the last thing I want to do is drag either of us out into that mess.
"Yeah," She agrees, looking up at me. "I'm ready to get out."
"Okay." I reach down, pull out the plug from the tub, and wait for the water to run down the drain. Once the tub is empty, Skye sits up and reaches out for me. I gently lift her out and set her on the counter so I can hand her a dry towel.
"Thanks." She takes it and begins drying her body. Once she's wiped away most of the water, she wraps the towel around her midsection. "Could you take me to my room?"
"Of course." I lift her again and walk down the hallway towards her bedroom, where I set her on the bed. "I'll get you some clothes.
Trying to keep my mind off her body, I turn toward the dresser, but before I can move, she latches onto my hand. "Come back," she whispers and gently tugs me toward her.
"Skye," I say. But that's all I get in before she pulls me to her and kisses me with an urgency I hadn't expected. That's when I realize what the look in her eyes was before, in the bathroom, when she was watching me so closely. Desire.
We kiss, and the nearness of her takes my breath away. I stop for a moment and look into her eyes. "Skye, we don't have to do this if you don't want to."
Her lips curve into a smile. "But I do want to." She wraps her hand around the back of my neck, pulling me to her once again.
We lie on the bed, our bodies entwined along with the sheet tangled around us. I'm lying on my back, and Skye's on her side, her head resting below my chin while her fingers toy with the shell necklace she made for me years ago. Considering both of us are sweating, it's hard to believe that just a few minutes ago we were freezing. Funny how that works.
Tilting my head, I kiss her forehead and rub my hand gently down her arm. "How are you?"
"Much better. At least I'm not cold."
"That's a good thing." I glance over at the clock. It's only ten, but somehow it feels much later, probably because of everything that's happened. Talk about a rocky start to things.
Outside, it sounds as though the rain has finally tapered off, and while the wind is still a little rough, smacking tree branches against each other, it's nowhere nearly as violent as it was.
"Skye," I whisper.
"Mmmm?" That's her tired voice, and probably in a few minutes she'll drift away to a place where I hope happy dreams find her.
"I love you."
"Love you, too." I can barely hear her, but the words are clear enough. I've been waiting for them forever, and it's been so worth it. I give her one more kiss and slowly but gently detangle my body from hers. Scooting to the edge of the bed, I prepare to rise.
"Where are you going," she asks. A yawn attacks her, making me laugh.
"Well, considering we don't know when your mom is going to be back, I should probably go find the couch, and you should probably put some sweats and a t-shirt on. I know she likes me, but I don't think she'd want to find us like this."
"You're probably right."
"Once again, I know I'm right. When I have a daughter, I'm going to have a shotgun."
At the sound of my words, Skye kind of freezes, and she averts her gaze. Suddenly she's more awake than I expected, and I know I've said something wrong. For a moment, I can't begin to fathom what it might be, but then I know it's the part about having a daughter. Skye's not worried about the gun. It's the mention of kids that's set her off---and particularly the thought of a kid she'll never be able to hold.
"I'm sorry I said that," I manage. "I just meant I'd want to protect her from jerks. That's all."
"You're not a jerk, Devin." She licks her lips as though trying to calm herself. "And I know what you meant. Wherever my thoughts went, it's not your fault; It's mine. I'll put some clothes on."
I fumble into the sweats "You know I didn't say that to hurt you; I would never do that."
"I know." She's looking down, and I feel myself falling back behind the wall.
I finish dressing and slip downstairs, where I lie on the couch and wait for Helen and Warren. Occasionally I hear Skye moving around upstairs, and I'm hoping she's not on her weak ankle, but I can tell she needs some time alone. Besides, if she needs me, she always knows where to find me.
"Devin?"
I feel someone jostling my shoulder, and I blink into wakefulness, expecting to find Skye. Instead, Warren leans over me, his expression haggard, with dark circles under his eyes and stubble lining his jaw. His white button-down shirt is rumpled from long hours waiting for his flight, and for once he doesn't look completely put-together.
"Morning," I say peering toward the window where bright sunlight spills into the room, casting odd shapes on the carpet. It looks bright out there, nothing like yesterday.
"There're a few large branches across the driveway in front of your Jeep," Warren says as he eases into a recliner and leans back. "Must have been one really crazy storm."
"It was," I assure him. "That's part of why I stayed---that and the aftermath of Skye's father."
Warren frowns. "What?"
"He came over to talk to her, and it upset her. She took off right before the storm hit. By the time I found her, she was hiding at the cemetery, and a branch had fallen across her legs so she couldn't get up. She also had a nasty gash on her head. I didn't want to leave her like that, so I just camped out on the couch." Okay, so it's not exactly the truth as it happened, but it's close enough. Sometimes the truth is just too complicated.
"Is she all right?" Helen asks as she slips into the room, two cups of coffee in hand. She gives one to Warren and sits on the couch next to me.
"She's calmer. Still mad as hell at her dad, but he's definitely got that coming."
"Did you?" Warren asks, nodding at me. I know what he's getting at, but Helen has no clue.
"Did he what?"
I shrug. "I was going to, but every time I try, things seem to get crazy and something sets her off."
"What are you talking about?" Helen looks from me to Warren and back as she searches for answers.
I look at Warren, wondering if I should tell her, and when he gives an almost imperceptible nod, I finally turn to her. "I've been trying to propose to Skye ever since we both finished college. It just always seems that something gets in the way---something I can't prepare for."
"Oh, Devin." She immediately sets down the coffee cup and wraps her arms around me. "I would love to have you as my son."
I grin, hug her back, and shake my head. "I'd love that, too, but there's one small factor that has to be considered. I haven't proposed yet, and Skye might actually say no."
Helen nods. "Yeah, I know. She might not say 'yes' the first time, but she loves you, Devin. You can't give up."
"I don't intend to, but sometimes Skye can be pretty stubborn." I rise from the couch. "Speaking of Skye, I should probably check on her. Last night, I was pretty sure all she had was a gash on her head and a nasty sprain, but I want to make sure."
"Thank you for taking care of things," Warren says as I walk past.
"You're welcome." I stretch, head toward the stairs, and trudge up them, suddenly aware of all the kinks in my body left by the unforgiving couch I just slept on. Granted, it looks comfortable, but in this case, looks are deceiving. My back is killing me.
As I reach Skye's door, I find it open. Peering inside, I see Skye is already out of bed, so I knock on the molding and wait, thinking she's probably in her closet, looking for something to wear.
"Skye?"
No answer. Frowning, I wonder where she might be. It's not like she really needs to be walking around on that ankle. It looked bad enough yesterday.
I trudge down the hall, heading for the bathroom. As I raise my hand to knock, I hear Skye cough and vomit. My hand falters, and I wait, unsure what to do. The vomiting seems to go on forever, and I wait until I hear the sound of the toilet flushing before knocking on the door.
"Skye? You okay?"
A pause. I know she doesn't want to answer, but I'm worried, so I knock even louder. "Skye?"
"I'll be right out." Her voice is uneven and painful. Sensing that's about all I'm going to get until she comes out, I step back and lean against the wall, waiting as I fold my arms across my chest.
The door swings wide, and she hobbles out, and each time she puts pressure on the ankle, she winces and nearly falls. Her eyes slowly meet mine, and her face is kind of splotchy, almost like she's been crying.
"Didn't I tell you to stay off that ankle?" I ask, rushing toward her, putting my arm around her and scooping her into my arms despite the way she's trying so hard to protest.
"You can't be everywhere, Devin, and I needed to go to the bathroom."
"You could have yelled," I argue. "I would have come up." I look down at her ankle and cringe at the swelling. I can only imagine how it must feel. In the morning light, her legs look worse from all the scratches. While the branch did no serious harm, there are angry gouges in the flesh. I turn my attention to her forehead, where nasty bruising discolors her skin.
"Devin, I'm a big girl. There are some things I need to do for myself."
"Fine. I'll get you a pair of crutches to keep you off your ankle. You're damned lucky nothing is broken."
I ease her onto the bed and run my fingers over the ankle again, searching for any new signs of distress. Yet I don't feel anything going on to lead me to believe it's broken. I turn my attention to her forehead. Yeah, the bruise is nasty, but it's not nearly as bad as it could have been. If that massive branch had fallen directly on top of her, she might've died.
"Come on, Gimpy. Your mom and Warren are home. Let's go get some breakfast." I turn and squat so she can get on my back. "Then we'll go to Walgreens and get you a pair of crutches."
"Oh, all right," she mutters. She's already changed out of her pajamas, so all she needs is a pair of flip flops that I will grab on the way out. I feel her slide her arms around my neck to hold on as she slings her injured leg up first and then the other one so I can carry her downstairs.
Both Warren and Helen await us at the foot of the stairs, and when they see that instead of Skye walking I'm carrying her, they both frown. "I didn't think the injury was that bad," Helen murmurs.
Then they both get a look at the swelling. "Oh, my. Are you sure it's not broken?" Helen's voice is rising in panic as she follows us.
"I don't think so. She can walk on it, but it's painful, and I don't want it to get any worse." I deposit Skye into one of the chairs at the dining room table and turn to face Helen. "I told her after breakfast I'd drive her to Walgreens so we could get a pair of crutches."
"I'll cook some eggs," Helen says, immediately going for a pan.
"No, Mom. I'm not really hungry." Skye frowns and looks down.
I kneel in front of her, sensing something is wrong. I may not be able to see it, but I sense the whitecaps in the water. "You've got to eat something, Skye. You sounded like your stomach was upset this morning." I reach out to touch her head. "Is your head bothering you?"
For some reason, the color leaves her cheeks, and she pushes my hand away. "I'm fine, Devin. Stop hovering." She turns to Helen. "I'll take a bowl of cereal."
While Helen busies herself with getting Skye's breakfast, I sit at the table next to her while Warren goes to the refrigerator and gets a glass of orange juice before settling in the chair next to Skye.
Although I'm expecting Helen to give Skye a bowl of cereal, she also brings me one and sets it on the table with a spoon. "That should take both of you." She leans against the table and yawns. "I'm pretty tired. Warren and I have been up all night, so I think I'm going to lie down and get some rest. Otherwise, this headache might just blossom into a migraine." She gives Skye a pointed look. "Will you be all right?"
"Fine, Mom. I'll be fine with Devin." Instead of looking at either Helen or me, Skye focuses on her cereal, and I can tell by her unhappy expression she really doesn't want to eat.
Helen, unsure, looks at me, and I nod to tell her I've got it covered. Finally, she slips out of the room and heads toward her bedroom.
"I think I'm going to go, too," Warren calls, following. "Just yell if you need anything."
"Will do," I reply, and wait until they both head out of sight, pretending I have more interest in my cereal than talking, but once we're alone, I lean back in my seat and level a stare at her I know she feels through and through.
"What are you looking at?" she asks, pushing the bowl away.
"You, pretending nothing's wrong, that nothing bothers you when I know better. I just wish you'd be honest and let me know what's going on now." I wait, hoping that will prompt her into talking. No go. Skye is the most stubborn person I've ever met, hands down.
"I wish everyone would stop walking on eggshells around me. I'm not going to break!" She starts to rise and walk, but her ankle, still tender, collapses under her, and my hands are the only things that keep her from falling.
"Skye, it doesn't take much to know you're under stress. We just want to help."
For once, she looks me straight in the eye. "You can't help, Devin. Sometimes no one can help."
I know that should make me back off, but it doesn't. "Then I guess you're going to have to settle for us hovering because even if we can't help, according to you, it doesn't mean we're going to back off and let you flounder."
With that, I pick her up and carry her to the sofa. "Maybe you should just stay while I go and get a pair of crutches for you."
"No, I want to go." She tries to get around me, but I block her at every turn.
"You can't even walk, Skye. The last thing you need to do is hobble into a Walgreens and damage your ankle even worse than it already is."
She grits her teeth. "Look, Devin, there's something I need to get."
"Just tell me and I'll pick it up for you." I rake my fingers through my hair.
"I want to get it myself," she says, looking beyond me. She always does that when she and I don't see eye-to-eye on something.
"Fine, whatever." I glance towards the front door, where a pair of Skye's shoes wait. "I'll get your shoes."
"Thank you."
I get the brown flip flops and hand them to her. She slides into the first one easily, but when it comes to her injured foot, she's slower and more careful. Once she's set, I turn and bend. "Let's go."
She wraps her arms around my neck and eases herself onto my back so I can carry her out to the car. The whole way to Walgreens we're quiet, and she stares out the window absently.
"I'm glad your mom and Warren made it back," I say, more to try to draw conversation out of her than anything.
"Me, too," she agrees, and silence resumes, telling me she really doesn't want to talk.
The Walgreen's lot is half-empty, which makes it easy to get Skye inside without running into anybody. Now, if we had gone to Wal-mart, that would definitely be a different story. I take her to the crutches and find a pair that's appropriate for Skye's height.
Skye nods towards the pain reliever aisle. Could you go find some Tylenol, please?" When I look in that direction, I see about fifteen people---probably pretty much every customer in the store---which makes me wonder if Skye really wants drugs for pain relief or just wants me out of the way for some reason. She's acting funny.
"Of course." I'm guessing it doesn't matter either way so I walk down the aisle, knowing whenever Skye is ready to talk about this, we will. There's no point in trying to force her hand. It will only backfire and push her that much farther away.
With all the people in my way, it seems to take forever to find the Tylenol, and more than once I glance at Skye. At first, she's grabbed the crutches and then, before I can even get back to her, she's hobbled toward a register to pay, which makes no sense.
I scrabble to grab the pain reliever and get back to her, but I see her give the clerk money and get change as he hands her a bag.
"Didn't you want these?" I ask, waving the bottle at her. "Perhaps your Oldtimers is acting up again?" I suggest.
"Sorry." She watches me hand the bottle to the clerk to pay and starts to offer money, but I shake my head.
"I think I've got this. You focus on driving your crutches."
"Thanks." She rolls her eyes.
"Don't mention it."
A few seconds later, we leave the store. She's already adapting to the crutches, and she seems to like the independence they offer better than climbing on my back. Typical Skye.
The only thing that even seems difficult for her is clutching the small bag in her hand while trying to grip the crutches. I start to take it from her, but she jerks both the crutch and her hand back, almost causing her to fall.
"Skye, you can't exactly walk and carry that. Just let me take it."
She shakes her head. "I'm fine, Devin. Really."
"No, you're stubborn as hell, and you know it." I correct and hover closer so if she does fall, I'm within catching distance.
We finally make it to the Jeep, and I unlock the door for her, still pondering why her actions have been so secretive. This is one of the many times I wish I had the ability to read Skye like I used to. After all, while I might be able to guess her emotions any day of the week, I damned sure can't figure out what her thoughts are most of the time.
The whole drive back to the house is quiet, yet another sign Skye is thinking about something, and I don't have any landmarks to guide me. Back at her house, I get out of the Jeep, ready to help her, but she's already getting herself out, that small bag clenched tightly in one hand in spite of the crutch. So I walk beside her up to the door.
Inside, she hustles up to her room and then the bathroom. I wait on the bed, still not sure what's going on. Her behavior makes no sense, and yet I feel like if I draw attention to it, it's only going to make it worse somehow, so I figure I'll give her a little bit to work through it.
She's gone for a few minutes, and I'm wondering if she's feeling sick again. When she returns to her room, her face is pasty and she won't look me in the eye.
I stand and edge from the bed. "Skye? Is something wrong?"
She blinks a few times like she doesn't know what else to do. "No, there's nothing. I just don't feel well, that's it." She looks straight ahead, almost like I'm not even there, and I wait for something else to come out, something I can puzzle into the truth behind all of this.
She hobbles past and sinks into the rolling chair by her desk before setting the crutches aside. "I think I'm going to take a nap and see if I feel better."
"Okay." I shove my hands in my pockets, wondering what to do now, wishing I knew what was going on. I hang there for a moment, giving her a chance to talk to me, but nothing comes out, just this awkward distance lingering between us.
Yet she is my everything. She always has been, always will be.
I lick my lips and pull out my keys. "Give me a call when you get up."
I know I shouldn't, but I can't seem to help myself as I get up and walk over to her so I can bend and kiss her forehead. Although I feel her stiffen, I try to tell myself I'm imagining things. If only I believed that.
Skye doesn't call me that afternoon, and she doesn't take my calls. They go straight to her voicemail, and even though I leave five messages, she doesn't call me back. It's close to nine p.m. I'm just about to go over there when my phone rings. I flip open my phone and look at the display. It's Warren.
What is going on now?
"Hello?" I force myself to smile, knowing Warren will be able to tell there's something wrong if I'm not careful.
"Hey, Devin. Is Skye with you, by chance?"
Okay, the smile's gone. "Uh, no. She was tired and wanted to take a nap earlier, so I left. Isn't she at the house?" I start pacing the room, suddenly more worried than ever. I wasn't sure that was possible.
"No, she isn't." He pauses, and I sense more coming--more that I'm so not going to like. "She must have left while Helen and I were trying to get rested up. She left a note propped on the kitchen table, telling us she was going to be gone for a few days."
I stop walking in mid-stride. "Did you try calling her?"
"I've tried. Helen has tried. More than once. Every call goes to voicemail."
Okay, this is far worse. What the hell is going on with Skye, and why didn't she at least tell someone where she was going? It makes no sense. I walk to the bed, trying to wrap my head around this one.
"Devin?" Warren prompts. "Are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here." I shake my head, wondering where she would go, especially for a few days. "How long has she been gone? Do you know?"
"A few hours at least."
I grit my teeth. I shouldn't be so tense because it's not as bad as it could be. I just have to figure things out. "Give me a little while to think it over, and I'll see if I can come up with some ideas where she might have gone."
"I'm worried, Devin." Warren's tone tells me just how worried he is.
"I'll find her," I promise. Right now, I'm not sure how I'm going to keep my word, but I will. Skye is far too important to lose, and somehow I sense that whatever is bothering her is the ultimate test to getting behind her defenses. Failure isn't an option.
"All right," he finally agrees. "Call me when you figure things out. I'll do my best to keep Helen calm while she's gone."
I snap the phone shut and start pacing again. Now to figure out the possibilities. She didn't talk about any close friends she made in college, and Skye's pretty much a loner, so I don't see that as a place she'd go back to. There's no place around here she liked that well. The only spot she ever seemed to enjoy was the beach.
The beach....
I nod, suddenly getting it. That's why she's going to be gone so long. She's driving back to the beach, probably the same one where we stayed at.
That in mind, I consider calling Skye. I even flip open the phone before the thought dawns on me that if I warn her I'm coming, she might actually run again and try to hide better. No, she doesn't get to know I'm coming.
With that thought, I go to my dresser and throw some clothes into my duffle, not really caring how I cram things in, and I look at my watch. I know what time it is, so it's more just something to distract me from the nervous feeling bottoming out my stomach.
Once I get things packed, I start heading through the house. My mom is in the kitchen and she spots me at the front door.
"Devin, where are you going?" She wipes her hands on a dishtowel and walks towards me, frowning.
Here's where I have two options. First, I can tell the truth and watch my mom freak out---her natural response, unfortunately---or I can lie and make her think nothing is wrong. In the end, I'm probably stupid, but I decide on the truth.
"Warren just called and he doesn't know where Skye is. She just left a note saying she'd be back in a few days, so I'm going to find her."
Mom folds her arms across her stomach. "Devin, maybe this time you should just let Warren and Helen handle this." She licks her lips nervously, knowing that no matter how much she wants me to agree, I'm not going to. She's still got to try.
"I know you think Skye is more than I can handle, but you're wrong. I have to find her." I pull my cell out of my pocket. "I've got my phone, and if you call, I'll answer, but you have to understand, Mom. She needs me, and I love her. I'm always going to love her no matter what happens."
For a moment, she doesn't say anything, and I know she wants to interfere. Sometimes it's difficult to change reactions, and she senses danger, kind of like the last time Skye fell apart. This time is going to be different. This time Skye's going to talk to me.
Finally, she senses the futility of objecting. Regardless of who feels what, I'm going to find Skye, and she knows it. "All right. Just be careful and let us know where you are."
"I will." I reach out and wrap my arms around her. Then I slip out the door and head for the highway, so not looking forward to the long drive but just as glad to be doing something as sitting around, waiting for a call that may or may not come. Speaking of calls, I keep looking at my cell, waiting for it to light up in the darkness, but it doesn't.
I rake my hand through my hair and peer out into the blackness, knowing the road I'm driving is the same one Skye has taken to flee. I just wish I knew from what.
Hours later, I see the ocean, the slow waves shimmering towards the shore beneath the moonlight. I roll my window down and inhale the salty tang. While I've been having doubts since I started the drive that perhaps I was wrong, the minute I smell the ocean, I know I'm on the right track. Both Skye and I find peace here when everywhere else seems out of kilter and messed up.
I've been here enough to know my way to the beachfront location where we also stay without blinking. As I start scanning the rentals, I start to get nervous because I don't see her car right away. In fact, it's only when I'm at the last parking spot I see it cached deep behind a huge black SUV that my shoulders sag as the tension drifts from me.
`This whole trip I've been trying to tell myself there's nothing to worry about, but when it comes to Skye, I can't help but worry. It's kind of like breathing.
I scan the lot for an empty space. That's when I discover I'm going to have to turn around and go back a few yards. After that, I get out of the Jeep and look at the beachfront cabins, any one of which Skye could be sleeping in. There's no guarantee she was able to rent the one we typically use, not considering how ill-planned this whole trip was. Yesterday she didn't know she would need a reservation. No, she would have to take whatever she could get, and I'm not sure which one it would be. Unless I want to wake up every resident until I stumbled upon her, I'm going to have to wait for morning.
I flip open my cell just on the off chance she might've called. No such luck. Both my mother and Warren have. No surprises there.
I closed the phone, get out, and shove the keys into my pocket. I head to the beach so I can watch the moonlight shimmer off the water and listen to the roll and return of the waves. Although the air is slightly cooler than the last time we came here, it still brings back memories of the two of us playing on the beach, fishing or doing many of the other things we'd done right after graduation.
I reach into my pocket and feel the ring waiting there, patient as ever. One of these days, I'll be able to find a good moment to propose, and some part of me has to believe that during that moment, Skye will finally understand just how much I adore her, and she won't say no no matter how frightened she might be.
Finding a place where the tide reaches the shore, I sit in the sand and ease off my sneakers and socks before setting my feet directly into the water's path. The first wave is chilling as it washes over my skin, but I don't move. I just take a deep breath and brace for the next wave. That one doesn't feel as cold, and I love the feel of it coursing over my skin. My mom used to joke I must have been Ariel's brother or something because I loved the water so much. She had trouble believing it.
I wrap my arms around my legs and look at a full, luminous moon, the light sparkles off the water, dancing upon the crest of each wave, and tumbling with the roll of water heading to shore. A slight breeze picks up, the wind's fingers tousling my hair unpredictably.
So what was going on with Skye? This is really the first moment I've given much thought to it because, up until now, I've been so completely focused just on finding her. That was so much more important. Now that I've discovered her whereabouts, I can afford to worry about the much bigger picture---what had driven her so far away, and what was going to happen when we finally speak to one another? Did I in some strange, unknown way, have something to do with her need to run away?
So many questions, and yet she was the only one who had answers.
The more I think back to making love to Skye and her strange behavior the next day, the more lost I feel. Had I unwittingly done something wrong? I pull my arms from around my legs and brace them behind me so I can lean back and stretch my legs. Yeah, that definitely feels so much better.
Now about Skye. I replayed things again, looking for some small detail I might have missed. The answer had to be there. I just couldn't see her running from her mom and Warren. Whatever she was running from, it had to do with either her father, the asshole, or me, the clueless one.
And I sure as hell wasn't comforted by the realization that I could've been the one to hurt Skye when I never would have done that intentionally.
And what was she buying from Walgreens? That was another mystery to add to things.
I look back at the cabins. All of them are dark. Closing my eyes, I think of my body merging with hers, our heartbeats matching so perfectly it was hard to believe they're in two bodies. We belong together, so what had happened.
Suddenly a thought dawns on me, something I should have taken into consideration before but didn't. I have been so obtuse, when I should have been paying attention and focusing on the important things.
We made love a few weeks ago. Skye was now vomiting. She'd gone to a drugstore to get something she didn't want me to know about--her first secret from me in a long time. Now she was panicking. I close my eyes and hang my head as the pieces fall into place.
Skye is pregnant.
"I am so damned stupid," I mutter, suddenly wondering how I could ever have missed that. All the clues had been there, and I had consistently missed them. Shaking my head, I mentally got through the list of options, trying to think about them in the same way I knew Skye would be looking at them. She was unmarried and probably convinced I deserved more than she could ever be---her perspective, not mine. Even if she thought that, she wouldn't ever consider having an abortion; the first one had been too much for her to handle. Even now, years after the event, she's still reeling at times from her decision. It didn't take a genius to see she isn't up for another go-round like that.
Is she considering adoption, or possibly trying to have the baby on her own? Is she ever going to tell me?
Frowning, I get up and grab my shoes, suddenly more disturbed than I had been. No matter how terrified Skye might be about this, I'm excited. Granted, the timing is incredibly bad. I would much rather have been able to propose to her when there was nothing at stake so she would know just how much I love her, but if this complication forces my hand, I'm okay with it. I want Skye to be my wife. It really doesn't much matter how the circumstances have played out to make that happen.
And I love kids---absolutely love them.
Unsure what else to do, I plant my butt back on the beach and lie down, my arms folded beneath my head. No, sleep isn't an option in this position, but I pretty much know I wouldn't be able to force myself to sleep, anyhow, not with all this chaos between me and Skye. So instead, I watch the heavens change from midnight black to a burst of fiery pink that starts in a small eastern pocket and gradually flames the whole sky until the ocean, too, glows sherbet.
Smiling, I stare, at the sunrise, entranced until day finally banishes the pink, and there is only one thing which would have made it better---if Skye had watched it with me.
Skye.
I glance at my watch, wondering if the office for the cabins would be open yet. There's probably no way to tell without actually going over there, so I slip on my shoes, stand, and dust the sand from the back of my jeans. I'll probably carry a small pocket of beach home in my jeans, but I don't care. The time in the sand has definitely been well worth it.
Although I don't expect the glass door of the rental office to give at my push, it does and I smile. A bell over the door jangles at my arrival and I walk up to the counter, where an elderly gentleman stands, typing at his computer.
"May I help you?"
"Yeah, that would be great. I'm supposed to meet my girlfriend here. I know she rented one of the cabins, and she was supposed to call me, but my cell died on the drive out. We come out here every year and usually stay in cabin fifteen.
"Does your girlfriend have a name?" He cocks an eyebrow at me suspiciously and waits.
"Skye Williams."
He flips through some paperwork before looking up at me. "Yeah. She's in fifteen." He lowers his eyebrows at me like he's thinking way too hard. "Yeah, come to think of it, I remember seeing you with her. You do come every year."
I'm relieved he remembers me after all. "Yeah. Skye's a beach baby."
He nods. "Perfect place for it." He turns and lifts a trembling hand to grab a key. "Here, this will let you slip inside and surprise her."
"Thanks." I take the key and turn around, heading to the door.
"That's a pretty little girlfriend you've got there."
I stop at the door and shoot him a smile. "Prettiest one I've ever seen."
We give each other an understanding nod, and I slip out, already trying to figure out the best way to propose to Skye. Hell, I should be putting together a battle strategy to get her to listen to me because that's going to have to come first. I can already hear her arguments; there won't be any shortage of those. Of that, I'm sure. Trouble is, when she's made up her mind, it takes a miracle to get her to change, which is why I need to get to her as soon as possible. The future she's been carefully trying so hard to avoid is now staring her in the face, and I fully intend to make her see my point, especially if she's pregnant.
I look at the cabins as I walk, double-checking to make sure I'm headed to the right. Although I don't think the key will fit any of the others, I'd hate to be wrong and give some ultra-macho jock a nasty surprise. I'm not sure how I'd explain my mistake before he wanted to beat the crap out of me.
I spot fifteen, and it brings back memories of a few months ago when things were a little less complicated---a place I'm definitely hoping to return to very soon because all this tension is for the birds. Aware Skye might be sleeping, I take care to muffle the sound of my shoes as I go up the steps. I gently slip the key into the lock and twist the knob. The door eases open. The rusty hinges protest as I nudge it open wider and step inside.
Not far from the door, I spot Skye's bags, still packed, which is totally like her. She's probably just worried about decompressing. Two more steps.
Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my calf, and someone grabs my arm, hurtling me head over heels into a full somersault that slams my body against the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I start gasping, trying to take in enough air, but it won't come fast enough.
Blinking, I see Skye hopping around, trying not to stand on her injured ankle.
"Damn! Damn! Damn!" She finally sinks onto the couch. "That hurt!" For a few seconds she looks at her ankle and then turns to me, a horrified grimace pasted on her face, and for the moment I'm relieved she seems truly contrite for knocking me on my ass. "I'm so sorry," she whispers breathlessly, her long, dark hair cascading toward her face, the curls unruly and tighter than usual, probably from the ocean's humidity.
"Sure you are." It's going to take me a few minutes before I can catch my breath. Hell, I'm not so sure I even remember my name, considering how hard I hit.
She sits there awkwardly, her arms dangling uselessly at her sides as though she doesn't really know what to do with them. She's wearing a Betty Boop tee-shirt and matching sleep pants, and something tells me she only came out of bed when she heard me moving around outside. So much for my stealth mode.
"When did you learn to do that?" I manage, easing myself to a sitting position.
Shrugging, she said, "Last year. I took a self-defense class because I thought it would help. I'm not sure it did, though. Devin, what are you doing here?"
"Trying to talk some sense into you." I get up and rub the back of my head where it hit the floor. "Of course, that was before I realized you were a lethal weapon."
"Very funny." She frowns. "How did you even get in?"
"The little old guy who owns the cabins remembered we often came together. I convinced him I was supposed to be here with you."
"How did you know I was here? I didn't tell anyone." She leans back against the couch, making her hair poof out around her head.
"You didn't have to. I know you, Skye. It took a few minutes to get inside your head and figure out where you'd go, but it wasn't hard. This seems to be the only place you feel like you're free." I stretch for a moment, more to make sure when I hit I didn't damage anything except my pride. I mean I'm a lot taller than Skye, but she flipped me like that didn't even matter. Kudos to her self-defense teacher. I sit on the couch next to her.
"You shouldn't be here," she finally says, looking away. Interesting how she goes from feeling bad about throwing me on the floor to wanting me to leave, but I know no self-defense class is going to protect Skye on the inside. The more vulnerable she feels, the harder she'll try to push me away---not that it's going to work, mind you.
"And why is that?" I ask, trying to engage her eyes. She won't look at me.
"Devin, there's just some stuff I have to think about---some things I have to decide on. That's why I came here."
I lean toward her and set my hand on her knee. "That doesn't make sense, Skye, not unless there's someone back there you're trying to leave behind---say your dad or me."
Her gaze jerks in my direction, and now I know I have her attention. I also know I'm onto something just by the emotional reaction. "I don't know what you're talking about." Her nostrils flare, and I can tell she's having a difficult time keeping things on an even keel. Part of her wants to react the way the old Skye would've, but then again, she really doesn't want to go to visit all the places she ended up because of the old Skye. Even I know that much.
"Don't you?" I ask softly. I'm challenging her, thinking if I try to draw it out, at least the topic will be on her terms, making her feel more comfortable with it. "You can lie to a lot of people, Skye, but I'm not one of them. I might as well have known you my whole life, and I'm not going to back away because you're scared. You know I don't work that way."
Her shoulders sink, and I feel the tension working through her body. Although I'd like to believe that if she were pregnant, she'd just tell me, the more I sit here, watching her, the more I think I'm right. I just don't get why she won't say something.
"It's complicated, Devin." She starts to stand, but I grab her arm.
"What's complicated? The fact that I love you? That I've always loved you? Or is it something else, something I already have a pretty good idea I know?"
The color abruptly leaves her face, and she exhales a stuttering breath, obviously unsettled I might already know her secret. She looks down at my hand, and while I want to keep holding on, I ease my fingers from around her elbow and release it. She immediately stands.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Her voice is quiet, and in that moment, I realize she's never going to willingly admit what's happening. It scares her too much. I mean, look what happened the last time she got pregnant. She's probably scared that this time will somehow end up the same. Instead of talking more, she gives me her backside and stares out the window at the water rolling toward the shore. Even though the windows are closed, it's impossible not to hear the sound of the surf.
"All right. You don't want to talk. That's fine. I've got plenty to say." I get up and step toward her, my shoes thumping against the floor, giving her time to get used to the idea I'm right behind her. She doesn't turn.
"I just want to be alone."
"Sorry. That's not one of the options. I gently take her hand and turn her toward me, well aware she's going to keep staring at the floor until I give her a reason to stop, and I'm planning on that. She just doesn't have a clue what's coming.
"While I'm a lot of things, I'm not dense, Skye. Both of us know that. I'm not exactly unaware of certain things. You were vomiting yesterday. You wanted to pick up something from Walgreens, something you sure as hell didn't want me to know about. And then you take off like Satan himself is chasing you. All of those things point to one simple point, yet another thing you don't want to talk about: you're pregnant."
Her shoulders sags and she almost falls. That's enough to tell me I'm right, no matter what comes out of her mouth. Although she lets me hold her for a second to stabilize her, just as soon as she's sure-footed again, she tries to pull away.
"Devin, I just need some time to think."
I won't let her go. "Maybe you do need time to think. I get that. But running away and pretending like you're the only one in this isn't fair---not to me, and not to the baby."
Tears prick her eyes, and she tries to blink them away. Her lips part like she wants to say something, but she can't seem to find the words or the energy to form them, even if she knew what they should be. So we just stare at one another, this damned invisible elephant between us. I won't budge, and neither will she.
"Say something," I finally demand, figuring she at least owes me that much, as I've been up all night and yet never once considered letting her go as she thought I might. I really had hoped she knew me better.
"You don't understand." She walks back to the couch and I can tell it's because she wants to put space between us, and if she thinks she needs a little bit of wiggle room, I'll give her that, I think, staying put.
"What is it I don't understand?" I start to say more but force myself to shut up and let her get it out.
"We're not married. I don't even have a job. Neither do you."
"That's your best shot?" I ask, reaching into my pocket where the ring is hiding, and once I pull it out, I kneel in front of her, holding it up. "Skye, I love you. Will you marry me?"
The first cue that this has gone wrong is that she just stares at the ring, her eyes growing wider, giving her the same frightened appearance as when she was sixteen and pregnant, back when the world was practically caving in around her. "Devin, don't do this." Her voice is quiet, and that scares me. If she were screaming, it would mean she wasn't nearly so far away. It's quiet Skye that means she's practically unreachable.
I wait a few seconds longer, hoping she'll take the ring, but she doesn't. Instead, she closes her eyes, shutting both the ring and me out, so I get up. "Okay, do what, Skye? What is it I'm doing that's so wrong?"
She folds her arms across her chest. "You're throwing your life away. Because of me."
I step back, emotionally reeling because I sure hadn't expect that. Maybe she meant to hurt me, but I don't think so. No, that was what she honestly felt...about herself. So I take a deep breath and step toward her. "Wasting my life? That's what you think? Because you're pregnant, right?"
"Yeah." She averts her eyes, preferring the carpet to my face.
"Sorry to shatter that illusion, Skye." I look down at the ring. "I've had this ring since before I came back from college, and I've been trying every way I know to propose without scaring you off. Maybe you think this is a pity party, but it's not. I wanted you long before we made love, I want you more now, and I'll find two damned jobs if I have to. I've already got an interview next week. But one way or another, I want us to have this baby. Together."
"You don't know what you're saying," she whispers.
I slip my finger beneath her chin and force her to look at me. "I know exactly what I'm saying, and whom I'm saying it to. The only thing you have to do is give me the answer in your heart because that's the only one that matters."
Once again, I kneel in front of her, taking her hand in mine. "Skye Nicole Williams, you are the best part of my life. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
I look at her face, wondering if she'll still fight me. For a moment, I see pain wavering in her face. Then she answers, her lips trembling as tears spill down her face.
"Yes."
She shivers, as though she didn't even know what she was going to say, and I pull her into my arms and kiss her face. "That's my girl." I look down at her ankle. "How is your ankle?"
"It's better. I propped it up after getting her, and that helped a lot, at least until I flipped you."
I shake my head. "Hey, don't blame me. That was all you."
For a moment, we just sit there, locked in each other's arms and knowing there is no more perfect place for us to be. Hell, we'd probably stay here all day if my cell wasn't ringing.
I start to pull away, and she whispers, "You're not going to get that, are you?"
I nod. "'Fraid so. You only left Helen and Warren fit to be tied---and my mom's a huge worry-wart. Then again, you knew that."
Looking at the display, I see Warren's name. "It's Warren," I tell her and flip it open. "Hello?"
"Devin, did you find Skye?"
I look over at her and wink. "Yeah. She's fine."
"Thank God."
I can tell by his breathy, panicked voice something is wrong on his end. "Warren? Is something wrong?"
"It's Helen. She had a stroke. She's in ICU now."
"Okay. I'll let Skye know. We'll get packed and head back. It's going to take us most of the day to get back."
I snap the phone shut, all the while dreading what's coming, and I can feel Skye staring at me like I've grown another head.
"What's going on?"
"Your mom had a stroke, and we need to get back."
Immediately, both hands rush to her face, covering her nose and mouth. I can hear the sharp intake of breath as fear overcomes her. "Oh, God. Is she all right?"
"She's in ICU. I told Warren we' leave now to get back there as soon as we can."
Back in high school, I didn't have a problem staying up most of the night; however, the whole drive home, I feel myself fighting sleep, and there're a few times it almost wins as I follow Skye. The drive seems to take forever, and I imagine Skye sitting behind the wheel, her left arm propped on the door and her hand supporting her head---the usual Skye driving position.
She's got a million things to think about, and this drive isn't helping anyone, least of all her. By the time we pull into the hospital parking lot, I'm grateful for the chance to stretch my legs. It's not like there's not ample leg-room in the Jeep; it's just hard to get comfortable there, and even as I get out and stretch, Skye is eyeing the front entrance while talking on the phone, probably confirming Helen's room number.
She snaps the phone shut and turns to me, the keys dangling from her hand. "She's in 148."
"Let's go." I slip my arm around her, my hand resting on her lower back.
I can tell by the way she leans close she's scared as hell, and I don't blame her. This has definitely made me think about my parents in a different light---one of gratitude and recognition of my stupid moments. I guess we always expect our parents are incapable of dying, that they'll always be there so that when we finally figure things out, we can talk with them.
But they aren't immortal, and one day, they, too, will leave us. It's not about what anybody wants; it just happens. I'm praying today isn't that day for Skye. I want this to be the happiest day she's known, and I want Helen to be able to know Skye's future is safe.
We slip into the lobby, where a handful of people sit talking. A few others stand at the reception desk, asking for room numbers. Glancing at the elevators, we head that way and take the first car to the next floor.
The dietary staff is handing out dinner trays, cluttering the halls as they go, and the two of us gainfully dodge the trays and workers while searching for Helen's room. When we get there, we find the door closed. Skye looks at me, and I look back. Then she decides to grab the handle and push.
Only the sunlight drifting through the half-open curtains fills the room and casts away the dusky darkness. Warren stands with his back to us as he looks out the window at a terrible view of the roof. Helen is lying in bed, her face pale against the light blue sheets, and she's still, almost as though a statue lies there. Skye takes one look at her, and a shudder rips through her. She gasps, and once she can manage to speak whispers, "Warren?"
Skye's voice is stark, alien here, and I suddenly feel like I'm in a church sanctuary awaiting a funeral. Warren turns. He senses her, that she is racing towards him, and catches her in his arms as though she were five, drawing Skye close. His face is pale, too, and he eyes me worriedly, like he doesn't know what to say, either. The typical reassuring calm is gone, and even he looks lost, which tells me just how seriously Skye's world is about to be rocked.
Skye leans against him, and I wait for her to draw back before I finally ask, "How's Helen?"
Warren stares at his wife, who hasn't moved since we've been here, which is so not like her. Typically, voices wake her. "Sleeping. The doctor has given her sedatives to help her deal with the pain and medication to treat the clots."
Skye's face turns ashen, and I can tell by her crestfallen expression she wanted him to tell her nothing serious had happened, that everything was just a misunderstanding, but he can't. She takes small, shallow breaths, as though her body can't handle more. "So what happens now?" She licks her lips, and I can tell by her tight expression she's about to cry.
"We wait and see how the medication is working." Warren brushes his fingers through his hair, and I can tell by the thick stubble on his face he's been here a while, and it's wearing on him.
Skye takes a dazed step backwards, the shock evident. "We wait? Mom had a stroke, and they want to wait to treat her?" Her voice is rising, and her nostrils flare with each breath. The storm is coming.
"Skye, it's going to be okay." Warren reaches for her shoulder as he senses the precipice in front of them both, but she backs away.
"No, it's not. It's never going to be okay again!" Her tone is fringed with panic, and she takes one last look at her mom before flying out the door.
Warren's shoulders sink, and he starts to follow, but I gesture for him to stay with Helen. "I'll get her. Just give me a minute."
He nods slowly and walks back to Helen's bedside while I slip out the door. As I suspect, Skye is right there, her back plastered against the opposite wall as she tries to hold everything inside. She's breathing fast. When I reach for her, she snaps, "Don't!" in a tone fraught with tears and emotions, which tells me she's afraid she's going to lose whatever composure she might have.
"Okay." I lean against the wall next to her, my hands in my pockets. For a few seconds, we stand there, me looking at her, and Skye looking at the ground. No big surprise there, really. When she's upset, she'd much rather stare at anything except at someone. It makes it easier to think she's in control, which she isn't. When it comes to a lot of the big stuff, none of us are in the driver's seat.
"I get that you're upset, and I know you love your mom, but so does Warren, and he's doing everything he can to stay calm; he's as terrified as you, Skye."
That's when the flash of tears appears in her eyes, and she starts blinking, trying to push them back.
"I know you want to be angry, but it's not going to do anyone, least of all you, any good. We both know that."
She leans her head against the wall and closes her eyes. "I know. But if I wouldn't have driven like a maniac because I was so afraid, I would have been here when it happened." Her hands begin to tremble, and I know she's losing control. She knows it, too.
"And what would you have done Warren didn't? How could you have made things better?" I keep my voice low as two nurses walk past. One of them looks in our direction and I offer a half-smile, trying to tell her we're all right. She must see things like this a lot because she nods and keeps going.
Skye opens her eyes. "I would have been able to tell her I loved her."
I nod and reach out for her hand. "And you think your mom doesn't know that? You think she doubts how you feel? I don't."
Skye leans toward me so her head rests on my shoulder. "I know what you're saying, Devin, but it feels like I should have done something instead of being stupid---and how could I have missed the fact she was in pain? Who does that?"
I squeeze her hand. "Everyone. No matter how much we want to think we know when someone we love is in pain, we don't. Hell, the day you took all those pills, I had no clue you were trying to kill yourself. I knew you were upset, but that's it. And you can't imagine how guilty I felt after I got there, knowing how close it was." I rest my chin lightly on her forehead, liking the way it feels to have her there.
"That was different, Devin."
"Was it? How? Loss is loss, Skye, and pain is pain. It doesn't matter if someone means to kill themselves or whether something bad happens. The guilt is there no matter what, and right now, Warren's in the same boat you are. He thinks there's something he should've done even though there's no way he could have known."
Skye slips one arm over my stomach. "So what do I do, Devin?"
Kissing her forehead, I reply, "The best you can. It's all anyone can do."
She lingers there a few more minutes before finally slipping from my arms toward the door to Helen's room. Her face is ashen, but at least she seems steadier on her feet and more composed.
Taking a deep breath, I follow, praying Helen recovers. As I slip into the room, I see Skye sitting in the chair near the bed, her hand tentatively reaching out to take her mom's. Warren has turned to face her, his back braced against the window.
I watch Helen's face a moment, searching for some signs of change, that she's even aware Skye is there, but her features are slack, more than likely controlled by the drugs creeping through the IV tubing. Giving Skye a little distance, I walk over to Warren and lean against the window ledge next to him. I take in his pale face and the bloodshot eyes he rubs in fatigue.
"You all right?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest.
"Yeah. It's been a long day." He blinks a couple of times as though trying to clear the haze.
I peer at the clock. "Well, you have been here a while." I nod toward Helen. "I take it she's going to be out of it for a while."
"Yeah." He nods and turns his attention to Skye. "How's she holding up?" His voice is a low rumbling, and I can tell he doesn't want her to know he's asking.
"She's scared, like the rest of us."
Warren swallows hard and tears film his eyes---the first sign in all this that's unsettled me. "I can't pretend I have any better idea than anyone else what's going to happen. I do know whatever happens, I'll always be here for her. I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it." He draws in a shaky breath.
Patting his shoulder, I say, "She knows that. Right now, she's pretty shaken. Give her some time, and she'll be okay." I look back at Helen. No change. Right now, Skye's bent close to her, whispering something in her ear.
"I wish there were more I could do." Warren's voice is distant, and I can feel the pain as he barely holds everything together. That's when I know he needs to take a break. Hospital rooms are too damned depressing for anyone's good.
I pat his shoulder. "Why don't you take a break---get some sleep or something to eat? We'll stay here with Helen." I nod toward Skye. "It's not like we're going anywhere."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can," I tell him. "There's no point in just standing here, waiting for things to get better or worse. That'll happen without any action on either of our parts, okay? Just go get some air and get out of this place. Helen would understand."
He rakes his fingers through his hair, and I can tell he's afraid to leave, afraid something else will happen. The problem with that is something might. Then again, even if it happened when he were here, he couldn't control it then, either. Control is an illusion, that's it.
"Go," I whisper, sensing he's about to cave in.
"Are you sure?" he whispers, his shoulders sagging
"Yes. We've got her. Just go take a break." If my words aren't enough, I gently take his shoulder and urge him toward the door.
"All right." He stops beside Skye and gently grasps her shoulders reassuringly. When she looks up, he whispers he'll be back in a few moments, and she gives him a slight nod before turning her attention back to her mom, where nothing has changed. Stillness has settled on Helen like a fine sheen of dust.
Warren edges towards the door and slips out, his last gaze at Helen's face. For a moment, I just stand there, watching all the sadness and pain wash over Skye's face. Her hand gently grasps her mothers, and she keeps watching as though she's expecting her mom to wake up at any moment. I wish Helen would wake up. How I wish that.
Sensing she won't, I step towards Skye. My hands touch her shoulders and my fingers gently begin to work the tension from her muscles.
"Why couldn't this have happened when I was here?" she whispers in a trembling voice.
"It wouldn't have mattered." I brush the hair toward her front so I can keep massaging. "You'd still be where you are, and it would hurt just as much."
She starts shaking, and I know it has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. It's at least seventy-five in here, and definitely warmer than I like. No, the cold comes from fear, and for a moment, she says nothing for a while. When she finally does speak, her voice breaks. "What if I lose my mom?"
This is when I wish I had all the answers so I could put her mind at ease, but I don't. No one does, and while that universal should put all of us at ease in our ignorance, somehow I don't think it does. So I take a deep breath and do the only thing I know: I wrap my arm around her and pull her close.
"I know you're scared," I whisper, kissing the top of her head. "And you have every right to be. Just don't let that fear overshadow everything. Your mom is here. Just hold onto that."
She blinks and looks up at me. "Devin, she's all the family I have. I don't count my father anymore."
"Is she? I don't think that's right." I push the hair from her eyes. "You have Warren---and good luck trying to get rid of me. I'm worse than ABC gum."
Her eyes close. "I'm not Warren's real daughter, Devin. We both know that." Her voice breaks again, and tears spill down her face.
"No, you're not his birth daughter, but that doesn't mean he doesn't think of you as family. Warren's not going anywhere. I can promise you that."
She nods, unsure. "But what about Mom? What if she misses the wedding?" Her gaze drifts to her left hand, which is shaking badly.
"She's not going to miss anything. She will be there. You just have to believe that things are going to turn out okay." I try to meet her gaze, but she refuses to look at me.
Each breath is shallow and painful. "That's where I'm not so good, Devin. You know how shaky the ground is for me."
Outside, a nurse rolls a blood pressure cart past the doorway. Her gaze finds mine momentarily and I offer a smile because I don't know what else to do. Then the nurse is gone and I'm back with Skye and Helen.
"Then I'll carry you. One way or another, we'll get through this. It's just going to take some time.
I feel her lean into me, and while I wish like hell her mom were awake and lucid, right now I'm grateful to be holding Skye like this. There's nowhere else I'd rather be. Together, we sit down, ease back, and rest against the back of the chair, and it's not long before both of us drift off to sleep, waiting for some good news.
"Skye?"
The sound of Helen's voice prompts me from sleep, and I wake to find Skye nestled against me, her head resting comfortably on my shoulder. Although there's a slight crick in my neck, it's not so bad. After I work the kinks out of my neck, I'm starting to think otherwise. Skye's worth it.
"Mom," she whispers, leaning close as she takes Helen's hand and buries herself against her mom's chest. Sensing she needs a moment, I step toward the window and look out, watching the last of daylight leaving the sky.
"Shh." Helen's voice is weak, but I still hear her trying to calm Skye. "It's going to be okay."
I glance back and see Skye clinging to her, crying softly as the pain she's been trying so hard to keep hidden forces its way out. Helen has wrapped her arm around her daughter, and she holds her tightly, murmuring things I don't want to hear. This is a private moment, and I start to leave when I see Helen take Skye's hand---the left one---and gasp at the sight of the ring.
"Oh, my," she croons, looking from Skye to me and back. "Does this mean what I think?"
Skye slowly brushes the back of one hand across her face and nods. "Yes. You have to be here. Devin and I are getting married, and I can't plan the wedding by myself. You have to help me." Her voice breaks again, and I feel the pain that just keeps eating away at her. Somehow I know deep down Skye thinks all of this is her fault, that she's never really deserved to be happy, but she's wrong. She's so wrong.
Helen smiles at Skye and reaches to brush a strand of hair from her face. "I know you're scared, baby, but I'm going to be fine. You'll see." She offers a weak smile and nod that finally coaxes a grin from Skye.
"Devin," she says, stretching her hand toward me. "C'mere."
I reach the bed in two strides and stand behind Skye as I take one of Helen's hands into mine. Helen looks at us both, and I swear I see tears in her eyes. That's when I lean close to Skye and whisper in her ear, "I told you she was going to be fine."
That forces her to face me. "You're not always right," she whispers, daring me to contradict her.
I grin. "No, not always. Just when it matters, and you know it."
"Whatever you say," she retorts and turns back to Helen. Taking a deep breath, Skye starts to say something again, and I know what's about to come out. Call me surprised. I wasn't really sure when she'd tell her mother about the pregnancy, but I'm thrilled. One less secret to haunt Skye.
"Mom, there's just one other thing---Devin and I are going to have a baby."
Helen draws in a sharp gasp of air, and her expression is so shocked I'm waiting for it to kind of filter into some other expression so I can tell what she's thinking. Is this a good thing, or a bad one? Is she angry or happy?
It takes a moment to see the grin that slowly emerges and blossoms into a smile. "You mean I'm going to be a grandmother?" She can barely get the words out she's so excited.
Skye nods, and I say, "Yes, ma'am, you are." In that moment, when I finally tell someone there's a future between me and Skye, one that's going to have another little person in its future, I feel myself break into a wide smile that consumes me because for once I feel like everything I've worked so hard to make a reality is just that.
Helen reaches up and pulls us both to her as tears brim and spill down her face. "Oh, my. What a wonderful gift."
We linger in her embrace for a few minutes before pulling back and smiling at each other. Skye and her mom begin talking, and that's when I decide to get a soda. It's not that I'm thirsty; it's just been a long couple of days, and the fatigue is quickly catching up to me.
"I'm going to grab a soda," I tell Skye as I reach for the door handle. "Do you want anything?"
They stop talking long enough for Skye to wave at me and let me know she's fine and doesn't need anything. Then again, Skye doesn't need much sleep, which is a good thing, considering the baby in our future. Neither of us will probably be getting a whole lot once he or she makes a debut.
I walk down to the soda machines and slip a couple of dollars into the slot. As I bend to get the soda, I see movement from the corner of my eye. Turning, I see Warren stands there, his hands shoved into his pocket.
"Hey, Devin," he says, and his eyes look clearer, as though he's finally left the fogginess of exhaustion behind. A few hours of good sleep will definitely do that.
"Warren." I gesture to the machine. "Can I get you something?"
"Nah, I'm fine." He peers down the hallway, the worry tugging his lips into a frown. "Where's Skye?"
"With Helen. She just woke up a little while ago, and the two of them have catching up to do and a wedding to plan."
At that, he turns towards me, his lips curving into a smile. "You finally asked her? And she said yes?"
"I wasn't going to take no for an answer. You should have figured that."
He nods. "I did. I was just waiting for you to get up enough courage to realize you had it in you." He reaches out and gives me a hug. "Sounds like congratulations are in order."
I pull back and unscrew the top from my soda. "In more than one way, if you want the truth." When he cocks an eyebrow questioningly, I save him from asking. "Skye's pregnant." I take a sip and savor the rush of chilled soda down my throat.
He slowly nods, finally catching on. "Which is why she took off, isn't it? She was scared." He shoves his hands back into his pockets and scrutinizes my face.
"Terrified." I screw the cap back on the soda. "For a while, I didn't think she was going to let me inside." I rake my fingers through my hair. "But she did, not that it happened quite the way either of us expected." I walk away from the machine and down the hall, back toward the waiting area.
"What do you mean?" Warren follows, and we both sit on one of the benches.
"Skye's pregnant, and if you think the proposal freaked her out, this was worse. Way worse." I shake my head, marveling at the way Skye looks at herself versus the way I see her. "She thought she didn't deserve me or this baby."
Warren stares off into space, and I know he's thinking about the same thing I am---the day so long ago we both almost lost her. It was the worst day of my life, and I don't think it was much better for him.
"The choice she made is going to leave a mark no matter what, but it doesn't mean she's bad, Devin. We both know just how wonderful a girl Skye is. Unfortunately, abortions don't just go away. It's not necessarily the quick answer expected. It has its consequences, and she has to come to terms with those."
He's right. I know, but whatever demons Skye faces, we'll face them...together.
The days after Helen's stroke seem to blur together. Skye spends long hours at the hospital until her mom is finally released. That gives me plenty of time to get resumes out and get a job. The salary isn't quite as high as I'd hoped, but then again, I'm sure my work experience wasn't quite what they wanted, either, so both of us are going to have to settle.
Once Helen was back at home and situated, the real planning for the wedding begins, and while Skye tries to involve me, I usually give her an answer she doesn't like. I mean, I'm not exactly into flowers, so how would I know what to suggest for the ceremony? Besides, it's really more important for Skye to get the details right, and it provides a wonderful distraction to keep her from worrying over the baby.
I also kind of figure that while it's normal to worry, I feel Skye is just a little more sensitive to what is going on inside her body than a lot of new mothers would be, and the former self-inadequacies I'd finally gotten her to express only seem to flare up that much worse, as though she's waiting for horrible symptoms from the abortion to manifest themselves all these years later. I know it's a possibility, but I doubt it will happen.
While I'll never openly admit this to Skye, I've been sneaking peeks in the What to Expect When You're Expecting she's left lying around her mom's house. I've made myself familiar with the complications during each month. There are things I can't anticipate, no matter how much I want to.
The best time to spend with her is usually at lunch, and we've taken to meeting at a hole-in-the-wall hamburger joint because any of the fast food places only make her feel sick after the meal, and even as we sit in a corner booth, both of us are feeling the effects of the fact that the owner, a portly man named Mel who's old enough to be my dad, has stupidly decided to give up on using the air conditioner---never mind that it's the hottest Indian summer I remember. Both Skye and I are roasting in the mid-eighty temps, and although I figure I have the worst of it in my white dress shirt, silk tie, and navy jacket, I'm wrong. Skye's face is flushed, and her lips are tight, one way I know she isn't feeling so hot.
Concerned, I touch the top of her hand. "You okay over there?" I ask softly.
She nods absently. "Yeah, I just think I need to use the restroom. That's when she eases towards the edge of the booth and starts walking away. She takes three steps, the last of which kind of drags---the first hint something is wrong. I sense it, but a little voice tells me I'm overreacting.
Then I see her falling. In horror, I watch as her head begins to fall toward a table, and I know she's going to hit it. I'm frantically trying to escape the confines of the booth to get to her, but I'm never going to make it. There's too much table and distance for me to clear.
"Skye!" I call. My voice sounds deep and dragging, as if time itself has slowed. Her body keeps falling. At the last minute, I see a woman swoop toward my fiancé and catch her enough to thwart the impact with the table. It doesn't totally stop Skye from falling, but it does keep her from hurting herself.
By the time she's lowering Skye to the floor, I've finally gotten free and rush over, my heart racing in panic. As she lies there, I feel the panic taking over. Skye's face is flushed, and even though she's pregnant, she's not far enough along for anyone to make that leap.
"Is she with you?" the woman asks, her short brown hair falling into her eyes."Yes. She's my fiancé." I lean over and touch Skye's face, my fingers stroking. "Skye, baby, you need to wake up."
Despite my touch, she's not responding. Sweat beads at her temples, and I don't blame her much for that. I'm sweating, too. The air should be on.
"Any clue what's wrong with her?" the woman asks, looking at both of us, which unnerves me.
"She's pregnant, and it's probably the heat." My voice sounds steady, and I should be confident in this, but some part of me still feels the draw of panic reaching to claim me.
The woman brushes her hand across her face and nods in agreement. "I can see that. I'm burning up, too."
A manager appears behind me. He's tall, thin, and clearly worried---probably about a lawsuit, if you ask me. "What's wrong?" That's when he spots Skye lying there, her long, dark hair flowing around her face. "Should I call 911?"
Part of me wants to say yes, but I shake my head. "Just give me a chance to wake her up." Without waiting for his response, I grab her arm. "Skye, can you hear me?"
At that, her eyelids flutter open slightly, and she turns her head toward me, probably guided by the sound of my voice. "Devin?" Her voice is weak, and she seems disoriented.
"Hey?" I paste a smile on my face, wondering if she'll see right through it to the cold streak of fear cutting through me as I dab at a strand of hair curled against her forehead and matted there with sweat.
"What happened?"
I shake my head. "I don't know. One minute you were heading for the bathroom, and the next you ended up on the floor, out cold."
"I don't understand." Her voice is weak, and the last thing I'm expecting is for her to rise up on her elbows and try to sit up.
"Whoa!" Settling my hand on her shoulder, I ease her back down. "I don't think you're ready for that, not unless you want to pass out again."
She closes her eyes, and I can tell she's weak, which only troubles me all the more. What the hell is going on? She gives a slight nod. "Maybe you're right. I don't feel so good. It's so hot in here."
The manager has folded his arms across his chest and keeps looking at us expectantly even though I haven't a clue what he's expecting. I force myself not to mutter something antagonistic, even though I'm sensing he would deserve it. Instead, I ask, "Could you get a couple of wet paper towels and a glass of ice water, please?"
"All right." He strides off, and I turn back to Skye. Her eyes are open, but the gaze is glassy. The logical side of me suggests all of this has to do with the heat, but that does nothing to quell the panic rising inside. If anything happens to Skye, I'm not sure what I'll do. Period. She really is the best and most beautiful part to me.
The woman who's been kneeling with me senses that she should be elsewhere, and in my peripheral vision, I see her go. My gaze never strays from Skye's face, and I'm relieved when I notice her eyes open wider, almost as if she's fighting away the sluggishness and returning to an awareness of the world around her.
Her lips part slightly, and she gives me a weak smile that's so beautiful I feel my heart start pounding even harder.
"What are you smiling at?"
Her hand reaches up and touches my face. "You've got that cute worried expression."
Taking her hand in mine, I kiss it. "Well, I am worried."
The manager returns with what I've requested, and I quickly take the wet paper towels and blot her face, trying to cool her off. After a couple of moments, I notice some of the glaze has left her eyes. "Are you ready to try sitting up?"
"Of course."
I know Skye hates feeling like an invalid, but that doesn't stop me from slipping my arm around her back and helping her to a sitting position. I keep thinking about how close she came to hitting her head on the way down, and I'm not willing to take any chances.
Once I've got her sitting upright and I feel she's stable enough, I reach out and take the glass of water the manager is still holding, hoping perhaps he'll go back to harassing the kitchen staff or something that gets him out of our hair. I can tell by the way Skye keeps looking at me she doesn't like all this attention. I don't blame her. I'm not crazy about it, either.
Her hand trembles as she takes the glass, so I keep holding it as well. While cold water spilling all over her might both cool her off and totally snap her awake, I'd rather do it in a little less sudden way. She starts out sipping the water but keeps drinking until the glass is empty. I take it and hand it to the manager.
"Do you want more?"
She shakes her head. "No. I just want to get up. It's not comfortable."
"All right. Let's see what we can do about that." I ease myself to a standing position and gently support her as she scrambles to her feet, her reflexes a little slower than they should be. Perhaps I should release her once she's on her feet, but instead we both stand there, looking into each other's eyes, one of my hands resting on her back and the other gently grasping her arm.
"Wow. That was so not fun," she whispers, feeling the weight of the other patrons' eyes resting on us.
"You okay?" I ask, leading her back to our booth. "You're still pale."
"It's hot in here."
At the table, I look at our food. "Do you want any more of this?"
"No. I'd rather just get out of here."
Glancing at the wall clock, I realize we have about thirty minutes before her appointment with Dr. Klein, but I don't care. His office is bound to be cooler than this place, hands down. "Okay, why don't we head over to the obstetrician's office, then."
"'Kay." She leans against me as I walk to the register and pay. My arm stays tight around her even as we slip out into the bright sunlight, and even though I have to blink to avoid the glare, I notice immediately the cool breeze that toys with Skye's hair and it's like the temperature drops just by being out here instead of in there.
"Better?" I ask, leading her to the car.
"Definitely. It was like a sauna in there."
I want to ask if she feels any differently, if something might have happened with the baby, but I know that's not a good point to bring up. Skye worries about it incessantly. I think it has to do with the abortion. As such, there's no point in calling attention to it and upsetting her. Besides, Dr. Klein will be able to tell us if something is wrong. I just need to be patient and keep my mouth shut until then.
In silence, we head to the Jeep, both lost in thought. While I know Skye is stable on her feet now, I'm not ready to let go of her. It's like I'm supposed to be right beside her no matter what's going on, and that's the only place I feel completely at home, so I tuck her into the Jeep, slip into the driver's seat, and head toward the doctor's office.
We're almost there when I feel Skye staring at me. Turning, I smile. "What are you thinking?"
"What if I lose this baby? Will you still love me?"
The pit of my stomach falls. There're a lot of issues to address there, and no matter what answer I give her, she's going to focus on what I don't say. I know Skye. Instead of responding immediately, I wait until I can coast into the parking lot before turning to meet her gaze.
"Nice out, Skye, but it won't work. I was in love with you long before you and I first made love, and since that day I've only loved you more." My hand drifts over and touches her stomach. "I don't think you're going to lose this baby, but even if you did, I'd be here. You know I would."
Her hair falls around her face, and it helps her hide, something Skye does intentionally when she doesn't know what else to do. She nods to let me know she's heard, and I get out, thinking she'll follow. Instead, as I stand outside the Jeep, she sits there, staring out into space. Puzzled, I walk around and tug her door open.
"We should probably get you inside and out of this heat."
She blinks a couple of times and nods, scooting out of the seat, averting her gaze. Her steps are slow, almost doddering, which confuses me. It's almost like she doesn't want to go in there. I start to open my mouth and ask about that until the truth dawns on me---she's afraid she's going to find out something bad about the baby.
Sensing that at any moment she's going to dig her feet into the ground and stop altogether, I wrap my arm around her, not only to get her moving a little quicker but also to keep her calm.
"It's going to be okay," I say, leaning close.
"What if it's not?" Her voice is breathless and weak.
"And what if it is?" I counter, kissing her forehead. She doesn't answer because by this time we've arrived at the door of Dr. Klein's office, and no matter how much faith I've got and she doesn't, the truth is about to be staring us both in the face, and we need to be together when it does.
Knowing she's probably not going to go in unless she has to, I tug open the door before gently pushing on the middle of her back to get her to go inside. She's trying to resist, but she knows she doesn't have a choice, no matter how badly she might want one.
As usual, there's a handful of people, mostly pregnant women and their spouses, filling the chairs. Although Skye's tummy is still kind of flat, her hand drifts to it, almost like she's looking for a reason to be here when she so obviously doesn't fit. I nod to the desk.
"Perhaps you should sign in."
"All right." She takes a deep breath, steps to the desk, and signs the sheet before grabbing a magazine and returning to sit beside me. Her trembling fingers flip open the glossy spread, and she feigns reading pretty well. In fact, I'm probably the only person who recognizes she's hardly paying attention to the black print in front of her and she's flipping pages too quickly for her to be reading anything.
As she sits with the magazine, one hand holds it spread open while the other flutters nervously about, brushing the hair from her eyes, tapping her thigh, brushing against her throat. She can't sit still for all the nerves tearing through her, yet while she can't manage the stillness, I can't handle her constant motion. It makes me tired, so I do the only thing I know---I grab her hand and hold it, my fingers squeezing hers reassuringly.
Her gaze flickers towards me for a second, and I see the fear running rampant within. I wish the doctor would hurry up and call us back. Yeah, I know we just got here and we're early for the appointment, but there are some things that defy patience.
Leaning back, I try to tell myself to think of the projects I'm heading up at work or the things that need to be done before the wedding and Skye moves in with me in the apartment I've rented---anything to keep my mind off the fears Skye can't seem to forget.
"Skye Williams?" A nurse calls out to us from the doorway leading back to the examination rooms. Her short brown hair is pushed behind one ear to keep it away from her eyes. One hand holds open the open, and the other holds a clipboard with Skye's medical history.
Gritting her teeth, Skye sets the magazine on the table next to her chair and forces herself to get up and meet me as we head toward the door. Once we pass through, the nurse lets the door close and stops at the scale Skye stands on.
"So how is our new mother-to-be?" the nurse ask cheerfully, watching the numbers on the scale. Skye's gained two pounds since her last visit, and I'm smart enough to know that's a good thing.
"Fine." Skye pastes a fake smile on her face.
"She fainted a few minutes ago," I correct, trying not to see the glare Skye's intent on giving me.
The nurse scribbles the weight on the chart before gesturing for us to enter the first room on the right. "And what was going on when that happened?" She waits for us to enter and closes the door for privacy.
"We were having lunch at a restaurant, and it was hot. So hot. The air conditioner wasn't even running."
"That's not uncommon. Pregnant women are very susceptible to heat. I'll make note of it and let Dr. Klein know." She grabs the blood pressure cuff from the wall pocket and pats the examination table. "Why don't you lie down here so we can make sure everything is all right?"
After Skye is lying on the gurney, she reaches out and wraps the cuff around Skye's arm. Once the cuff is secure, she begins squeezing the bulb. A moment later, she shakes her head. "Well, it would appear your blood pressure is slightly elevated, but that might have something to do with the heat and stress. At any rate, Dr. Klein will be right with you." She finishes the note she's jotting in the file and slips out, closing the door behind her. Once she's gone, I step closer to Skye so I can take one hand and effectively still her twitching fingers.
"There's no point in stressing, Skye---and I'm sure everything is fine."
"That's easy for you to say."
I squeeze her hand. "You think so? Really? Because from where I'm standing, everything that matters to me is lying right here."
Tears fill her eyes, and I know if she could think of something to downplay my words, she would, but right now she's just too terrified.
The door opens, admitting both the nurse and Dr. Klein. He looks at us and says, "Well, good afternoon, Ms. Williams. How are you feeling?" He turns his attention to the chart and begins reading.
"I'm okay." She licks her lips and forces a smile she doesn't feel.
"She passed out a little while ago," I say, figuring I'd rather just call the elephant to the center of the room rather than keep pretending that nothing is going on. Dr. Klein frowns.
"All right. Let's have a look." He closes the chart and pulls out a measuring tape. "Could you lift your shirt just a little so we can get a clear look at your stomach, please?"
"Of course." She pushes the fabric up higher, exposing her pale flesh, and the doctor promptly measures, probably checking to see if there are any changes. He's completely silent the whole time, which unnerves me, and I know it can't be doing much for Skye, either. We both watch as he sets aside the tape measure and picks up a small device. He nods to the nurse, who grabs a bottle of gel and walks over to Skye.
"This might be a little cold, but it's necessary for the Doppler to pick up the baby's heartbeat."
Although Skye stiffens, preparing for the cold on her skin, she isn't completely ready for its suddenness, and her body tenses. I don't think all that is about temperature, if you want the truth.
I watch her as one hand clamps the side of the table and she grits her teeth. I know what she's expecting and that it has to do with a long-ago choice she can no more erase than I can, even though we both would, and in a heartbeat.
When Dr. Klein first puts the Doppler against her skin, all we hear is silence. He shakes his head. "First thing, we have to find the little one." He starts moving the small wand around, smearing more of the gel across her stomach.
Skye closes her eyes, and her whole body is taut with tension and fear. I squeeze her hand, trying to reassure her, even though it's probably not going to do any good. It's only when the sudden, rapid whooshing sound fills the air that her eyelids flutter open and she gasps.
"Is that...the baby?"
Dr. Klein smiles. "Yes, that would be the baby. He or she is nestled a little deeper than I expected, but the heart rate sounds good."
A relieved smile crosses Skye's face and she looks at me as though she's finally able to take a deep breath and face me. She levels another question, probably just to make sure there's nothing to worry about, not that it'll matter. It's in Skye's nature to worry, worry, worry.
"So is there anything I should be concerned about?"
Dr. Klein picks up the Doppler from Skye's tummy and hands to the nurse before walking over to flip through the chart. "Your weight gain is good, and the heartbeat is strong. Your blood pressure is fine. I know you have concerns because you passed out today, but I'm pretty sure that was heat-induced. Based on all this, I think the biggest concern you have at this point is staying cool until autumn finally decides to put in an appearance." He closes the chart. "Everything looks good, and I think it's fine to schedule an appointment for next month. Hopefully, at that point, we might be able to tell if you're having a boy or girl."
"Thank you, Dr. Klein," I say, feeling as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, too.
"Here's a tissue," the nurse says, giving her a couple of Kleenex.
"Thanks." Skye takes them and dabs at her skin.
"Come out front when you're ready, and we'll set up that appointment." The nurse slips out, Skye's medical chart in hand.
Skye smiles as she starts to get up. Sensing an opportunity for her clumsy streak, I take her arm. "What's so funny?"
"It's not funny," she says. "It's just I can't believe I heard the baby's heart. She's going to be beautiful." Skye peers up at me, this amazing smile on her face, a smile I haven't see in a long while.
"So you think it's a girl?" I ask as we head toward the door.
"I know she is." Her hand drifts to her tummy.
"Care to bet?" I drape one arm around her and use my free hand to pull open the door.
"Sure. But you're going to lose."
"Not a chance," I argue, kissing her forehead. Then again, Skye does have a sense of things I can't explain, and I'm more than willing to be wrong. I'd love a little girl just like her mama, but the fact of the matter is, so long as both Skye and the baby are safe, I'll be happy even if we have tiger-striped twin boys.
"Are you nervous?"
I'm staring out one of the windows in a small church when I hear my dad's low voice. We're both sitting in a small room not far from the sanctuary, waiting until it's time for the wedding to start. Turning, I see he's got his tux on, with his tie already perfectly in place. It's kind of weird to see my dad dressed in a black monkey suit. He's much more of a jeans and t-shirt guy, like me.
"I'm all right." I reach up and tug at a collar that feels like it's strangling me.
"Mmhmm. Sure you are." He pats me on the shoulder. "Just keep telling yourself that."
I lean against the windowsill. "Aren't you supposed to be here for moral support?" I cock an eyebrow at him.
"I am." He nods toward my tie. "You're tie is crooked. Of course, you tugging at your collar is only making it worse." I reach to straighten it, but he brushes my hands away. "Let me. You can't see what you're doing."
He's got a point, I think and stand still to let him have at it, hoping his hands will be steadier than mine.
He tugs at the tie to even it out and studies my face for a minute, which feels strange. Although my dad and I have a great relationship, it's been a while since we've really talked, and it's been even longer since I've taken a good look at his face. There're a lot of fine wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, and a few creases in his forehead from frowning over things one too many times. It's weird to think of him getting older, but I can't deny what's right in front of me.
"So, where's your head?" he asks quietly. It's his way of asking what I'm thinking.
"Just worried about Skye."
He nods at my tie. "Much better--and you've always worried about Skye. How is this new?"
"Yeah, but this is different. It's like between the wedding and the baby, everything's is so overwhelming for her, and the last thing I want to do is drive her away." I take a deep breath, my hand drifting toward my tie."Leave that alone before you mess it up," he says, shaking his head. He walks to one of the nearby chairs and sits, cutting his eyes towards another, and I get that he wants me to join him. I sink into the other chair.
"Dad, how did you and mom manage?"
"Same chaos. We wanted to be together so much we didn't listen to the doubts---and you can't, either."
I nod slowly. "Looks like it's about that time." I swallow hard, suddenly feeling an eruption of hummingbirds in my stomach. I know I shouldn't think it, but part of me wonders if Skye might try to run away. It's not that I have doubts about how Skye feels; it's the coping mechanism she usually reverts to in times of crisis.
"You ready to head out there?" Dad nods to the door leading to the sanctuary.
"Guess so." I'm not. There're a million fears rushing through me, and none of them have anything to do with Skye but with the promises I'm about to make. I want to be the best husband I can, but what if I fail? What happens then?
"All right. Let's go." He steps to the door without looking to see if I'm following. He knows I'll be there, hummingbirds and all.
Even before we enter through the side door of the sanctuary, I can hear organ music filling the air. The piece is familiar, but not overwhelmingly so. I should know the title, but I don't. It's upbeat tempo and beautiful arrangement have a soothing effect on me, and by the time I step onto the sanctuary stage, I feel a little calmer than before, calm enough to glance out at the handful of people who are sitting in the audience, waiting for Skye and me to join our lives.
While the small church Skye has always loved has been decorated with bows and plants, the simple honesty of light pouring through the stained glass windows is actually the real centerpiece. Somehow Skye knew the sunlight would be streaming through those windows at about 7 p.m., or at the moments we'd planned to start the processional, and I find myself staring down the aisle, waiting for her.
As I'm not wearing a watch, I nudge my dad and ask, "How much longer?" The pastor, a man about the same age as my father, replies, "Patience, Devin."
Dad tugs up the sleeve of his tux jacket to check his watch. "Should be any time."
I nod to let him know I've heard and lean my head from side to side, trying to work out the knots in my neck. Part of me tunes out the music, and my mind wanders to my job and other stuff that's far less important, but it's my way of keeping the nerves in order, at least until I hear the music I do know---"Canon in D." That's when I see Skye's mother, dressed in a beautiful blue, silk gown start down the aisle.
Perhaps it's strange Skye picked her mom as her matron of honor and I picked my dad to be my best man, but the truth is, both of us have never really needed other friends, not like we've needed each other. Most people don't understand that, and I don't care. My world is as it should be, and that's enough for me.
Helen ends up on the other side of me, her hands clutching a bouquet of daisies. Her long hair spills around her face, framing it, and in that moment, I can see Skye in her features, and that makes me smile. It's hard to believe that she had a stroke so recently, and I know just how lucky Skye is that the effects were minimal.
"Canon in D" abruptly gives way to the processional, and the few people in the audience, mostly relatives on my side, stand and turn to see Skye and Warren start down the aisle.
In that moment, my world seems to shift as I take in the beautiful girl who has become a woman, soon to be my wife. Her long hair flows around her, and a simple veil covers spills down her back. The white gown is a simple silk affair, fitted to her bosom, where it eases and flows to the floor. Only the slightest bump of her tummy reveals the baby nestled deep inside, and to me that makes her all the more perfect and amazing. I'm one lucky guy. The sunlight flowing through the stained glass windows halos both her and Warren, giving them an ethereal appearance.
As she makes her way to the stage, her steps are slow and uncertain, but her gaze happens across me and locks with mine. Her eyes are wide and luminous, so different than I expected them to be when this day finally arrived. Then again, this Skye is different from the girl I first fell in love with. She's scarred and bruised from things neither of us were able to escape, but she's also beautiful and strong enough to survive whatever life can throw at us. Of that, I'm sure.
It seems to take forever before she finally stops right in front of me, her arm entwined with Warren's as the pastor asks, "Who gives this woman away?"
"I do," Warren responds, and gently frees his arm from Skye's so I can take it.
The ceremony continues, and I don't remember much of it. I'm pretty sure I said everything I needed to in all the right places because suddenly the pastor tells me to kiss my bride, and the rest of the world blurs as Skye's dark eyes loom closer and I touch my lips to hers, no less surprised by the feel of them as the last time, and the time before that. Everything seems to stop as I touch her face, my fingers whispering across her cheeks. Even though I pull back, my hand reaches for hers and squeezes gently. As Skye and I face the handful of people in the sanctuary, we are being introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Devin Abbott.
The recessional begins, and we walk down the aisle, both looking at each other as though we're fifteen again. I'd like to be a teenager again, but this time I'd find a way to do things right with Skye. Somehow I'd make it work. That's not possible. The best I can do is keep walking until we slip out of the sanctuary and into the hall beyond, where we both burst into nervous laughter as though neither of us can believe we've really done this. I stare at her perfect face, which is flushed with happiness. One hand touches her belly, as though she expects the baby to be laughing, too.
Unable to resist her, I slip both arms around her and draw her to me. Our gazes lock, and a nervous breath ripples through her. "Did we really just get married?" Her voice wavers slightly in disbelief, and I nod.
"Yeah, I think we did. You got a problem with that or something?" I lean close and kiss her ear.
"Well, no," she giggles and tries to duck her chin because my kisses tickle her. "But you might remember this is how we got Helena in the first place."
Grinning, I reply, "Biting your ear? That's how you got pregnant? Boy, I can't believe all those coaches got that wrong." Then the other half of what she's said finally dawns on me. "Helena? That's what you want to name her---if it's a her?" I pull back enough to stare into her face.
"Yeah." Her gaze meets mine, and a wistfulness seems to take over her expression. "For my mom."
I raise my hand and brush the hair from her eyes. "Then I guess you'd better be right about having a girl," I challenge, cocking an eyebrow. "As much as I love your mother, I'm not naming my son Helena. Period. No way, no how."
Skye giggles again. "It will be. I know it."
"Mm-hmm." I nod toward the sanctuary doors. "Maybe we should get back out there before they send a search party. Your mom was adamant about the wedding photos." I lean over and steal a kiss. "Although I'd much rather just carry you out to the car and kidnap you."
Skye takes my hand and starts to lead me. "No, we don't want my mom to follow us to the apartment with photographers in tow. That wouldn't be good. So let's go make her happy first."
"All right," I concede, and let her lead me away. "I'll kidnap you later."
Taking a deep breath, I nudge Skye toward the doorway and head back into the church, where the guests are standing around, waiting to see us. As I said, I see a lot of relatives from my family, but besides Warren and Helen, only one other person stands out, and I don't mean stands out in a good way.
Skye's father, Ronald, slouches there. Granted, he's alone and dressed in his chinos and a button-down shirt, but that doesn't take back all the years of hurt Skye suffered because of him. Nothing can take that back, unfortunately. My back and shoulders stiffen as I see him walking toward us. Right about now, I try to gently veer Skye to the left so we might be able to dodge him, but no such luck, not considering she's seen him, too.
"Skye," I say in a low tone while wrapping my arm around her more tightly. "Why don't you let me handle this?"
She pulls free no matter how diligently I try to keep my arm around her. "No, I think I can manage."
And manage she will, I think, because she's folding her arms across her chest and glaring as he steps up to meet us.
"Skye, Devin." He nods to both of us. "Beautiful wedding."
"I didn't even think you knew who I was," I mutter, stepping toward him. "Oh, that's right. The pastor did say my name, didn't he?" I plan to continue, but Skye lifts her hand and gently nudges me back.
"Just let me handle this, okay?" Her gaze seeks mine out, and even though I keep expecting to see panic or hurt as usual, this time her emotions are completely reserved, hinting she's not going to fall into that trap again.
"Okay." I take a step back, noting the way Ronald keeps looking from her to me and back again. "I'll just check with the photographer about what shots he needs." I give Ronald one last parting look and head off to find the photographer who's already walking around taking shots of the guests. He sees me approach and we talk about pictures and poses, yet the whole time I keep looking at Skye, wondering what's happening over there. As the photographer and I finish our discussion and I start back to Skye so we can get things rolling, I see Ronald press a card into Skye's hand and walk away. For a moment, she stares down at the envelope in her trembling fingers, and she looks kind of like she wants to cry, which is definitely my cue.
I stride toward her and slip my arm around hers. "Hey, how's my beautiful wife?"
She looks at me, her eyes luminous with tears. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Her fingers clench the envelope so tightly her knuckles turn white, and I sense she's really stressing.
I bend low and kiss her temple. "It's okay. Really." I touch the envelope. "What did he want, anyway?"
"Nothing." She touches her throat, as if that's going to steady her voice and keep all the pain inside. "He just wanted to see me and wish us well."
I pull her to me so her head rests just below my chin, and once again it seems that no matter if her father has appeared with well-meant intentions, they've turned out to be anything but helpful. "Okay, well, you need to forget about it for a while and enjoy the day you worked so hard to put together." I kiss her forehead and smile.
"Don't you drop me!" Skye squeals as I carry her up the stairs to our apartment after we've left the chaos of the wedding behind. Normally, carrying her isn't a problem; however, this time, she's wearing this long white dress. Don't get me wrong---it's beautiful and has only a slight train---but it's still getting in the way.
"I'm not going to drop you---unless you keep squirming like that." I level a warning gaze in her direction.
"I can walk, you know."
I nod. "Normally, yes. Some days are a little more clumsy than others, but you're still alive, and I'm only thinking of the life of our unborn son."
"Daughter!" she argues and sticks her tongue out at me.
I laugh. "Yeah, that was really mature. Is it the best you can do?"
"Just remember what they say about paybacks."
I look at the stairs we're halfway up and shake my head. "That's okay. We might never get off this staircase to worry about those."
She shrugs. "You were the one who wanted to carry me."
"It's an important tradition," I argue, and half stumble.
Skye cinches her grip around my neck. "An important tradition that might just get us both killed."
"Very funny," I mutter and manage to negotiate the rest of the stairs. The keys are in my hand already. I never thought it would be so difficult seeing around piles of white silk, but I still manage to find the lock and get the key in. The lock clicks, and I twist the knob, swinging it wide so I can carry her across the threshold before closing the door with my foot and heading into the bedroom, where I've scattered piles of red rose petals across a bed draped with mosquito netting. As she catches sight of it, she inhales and smiles again.
"Devin, it's beautiful."
"So are you," I say, gently setting her on the bed. Once her head touches the pillow, I lie next to her, feeling my heart start to speed up. It always does when I'm around her. Somehow I think it always will.
For a moment, we just stare at each other. Then, as I shift from lying on my side, I rise above her and slowly lower myself so my lips touch hers. I stroke the sides of her face, feeling myself getting lost in all she is.
Her fingers reach for my tux jacket and begin tugging it off before reaching for the buttons on my white shirt. I pull back slightly so I can see her face, liking the way her closed eyes suggest a peace I wasn't sure I'd ever see on her face again, not with all the stress we've been under.
"Skye?" My voice sounds rough, and I know it's all the emotions that are bursting inside me. "Look at me, please."
Her eyes slowly open, and her lips part slightly, but she doesn't say anything. She's waiting for me. I smile and brush my fingers across her cheek and down her throat, amazed at her beauty. She shudders at my touch, and that broadens my grin because I know she feels the connection, too. She feels what I feel.
"I love you," I whisper. "I've always loved you."
"I love you, too," she says, drawing me closer so I'll kiss her again.
In the heat of our lips meeting, I feel her unbuttoning my shirt, and I feel myself slipping out of my clothes before I ease the dress from Skye. As usual, she's so beautiful it takes my breath away, but I can tell she's self-conscious just by the way her hand lingers over her stomach.
"What's the matter?" I touch her hand. "Why are you trying so hard to hide your stomach?"
"It's kind of embarrassing."
"What? That you're pregnant?" I lay my hand on top of hers and twine our fingers.
She shrugs. "I'm used to having a flat tummy. It feels strange for you to look at me now that I have an alien in me."
I burst out laughing, thinking of that old horror film. Only Skye would make that connection. "You're not carrying an alien, I'm sure."
"How do you know? Maybe you're an alien, too." She reaches up and tousles my hair.
"Very funny."
"I thought so," she quips.
I lean close and kiss her again, my hand still resting on her belly.
Suddenly I feel her body stiffen, and I draw back, unsure what to make of it. A huge smile crosses her face, and she inhales sharply. "Skye? What is it?"
"Didn't you feel that?" Her fingers wiggle beneath mine.
"Feel what?" Although I'm used to Skye getting side-tracked, this is unusual even for her---and a little unnerving. What's is going on?
Without saying a word, she lifts my hand from atop hers and pushes my palm flat against her stomach. When I start to say something and move, she shakes her head and murmurs, "Just wait. You'll understand."
So I wait. I'm ready to give up when I feel the slightest brush from beneath her skin, and I tense. "What in the world?"
She smiles. "So it wasn't just me. You feel it, too, don't you?"
Half-thinking it's my imagination, I wait, and there it is again---the slightest stroke against my palm, so weird and foreign, like the alien she mentioned.
"Yeah," I say cautiously, trying to imagine the baby moving inside her. Yeah, Skye is small, but our child is now definitely big enough to move, and when he or she does, there's a possibility Skye will feel it. I hadn't expected it.
"Okay, maybe I was wrong and you are carrying an alien.
"So not funny." She elbows me.
"It's incredible, Skye," I say, pushing my hand more firmly against her, waiting for another brush. This time, it's a bit harder. "Amazing."
"Yeah, I know." She sets her hand atop mine. "It feels so weird on the inside, like my stomach is suddenly shifting. I can't even begin to explain it."
I stroke her skin, wondering if he can feel that from the other side. It's kind of hard to tell because Skye immediately begins squirming, demonstrating that she definitely feels it. "What are you doing?" she gasps, between giggles.
"Trying to see if our son can feel that."
"It doesn't matter if our daughter feels it. It tickles!" She grabs my hand to still it.
"Party pooper!" I pretend to pout.
"I think you need a little distraction."
With that, she leans close and kisses me, hard and heavy---nothing like the romantic sort that happened in front of the wedding guests. This tells me exactly what she has on her mind, and I'm not arguing.
The world slows to half-speed as I touch her and revel in joining our bodies, and by the time we've spent ourselves, we're both sweaty and tired. Instead of lingering in bed, Skye grabs her robe from the closet and slips it on.
"Where are you going?" I ask, propping myself up on one elbow.
"To get some water. You want anything?" She ties the robe closed, which is really too bad because I was enjoying the view.
"Just you."
She rolls her eyes. "Poor you. I'll be back in a few minutes."Although I roll to my side and try to find sleep, it feels wrong just to lie in this bed all by myself, and no matter if I turn to the other side, flip on my back, or even roll onto my stomach, it doesn't stop me from thinking about the other side of the bed, now empty.
It's taking a long time for her to get a drink so I stand, tug a pair of jeans on, and head toward the kitchen to find Skye standing there. Yes, there is a glass of water nearby, but what she's focusing on is the card from her father, still unopened in her hand. Part of me wishes she would just throw it away and be done with it. She deserves better.
But Skye's not going to do that. No, her fingers peel up under the envelope flap and tug it up so she can ease the card out and open it. For a few seconds, I debate whether I should clear my throat so she'll see me standing there---or should I just leave, or maybe just walk in without warning? Instead, I stand there, waiting, unsure what to do because I sense this is a private moment for Skye.
She reads the card, and her expression abruptly changes as tears pool in her eyes and flow down her face, which is about all I can stand. Taking a deep breath, I slip into the room and stand next to her, leaning against the counter.
"All right. So you read the card. What did he say?"
Brushing a hand across her face, she tries to hide the tears, not that it matters. I've seen him do this to her too often, and it infuriates me. "That he's sorry, and all he wants is a chance to be there for his grandchild like he was never there for me."
My shoulders sink and I want to shake Skye and tell her he has no right---that he hasn't had any rights to her since he walked out---but that would only make us argue. No matter how much water flows under the bridge, part of her still tries to see the good in him.
"So what does that mean?" I ask, stepping in front of her. I reach down and set my finger just beneath her chin. In her dark eyes, I see the old Skye, and she worries me.
My wife shakes her head. "I wish I knew."
Disgusted, I take the card from her. "Well, it doesn't matter. This doesn't matter. You matter and so does the baby, so let's focus on that." I nod to the glass. "Did you get all the water you wanted?"
She peers toward the glass and absently nods. "Yeah."
"Good. Then I'm taking you back to bed." With that, I sweep her into my arms away from the past to a place only Skye and I exist.
The weeks slip past as I settle into the new job. While I'd rather pay for everything on my own, I'm smart enough to know this salary isn't going to take care of everything, especially not with a baby due in a month, so my parents have been helping us out so Skye can stay home. I figure she'll want to work once the baby is born and will quickly grow tired of being stuck in a house with an infant who only speaks in globs of sound, not words.
That means that right now Skye has a lot of time on her hands during the day---time to redecorate everything three times. I swear, the furniture rearranges itself at least once a week, and I usually find out only by tripping over something, usually the couch or coffee table. I've suggested Skye really shouldn't be moving things because of the baby, but she's never been all that big on listening to me or anyone else, so I'm pretty sure me saying anything isn't going to do any good.
Since she moved the furniture last week, I should be safe as I carry a pizza box and a two-liter of soda into the house. As I walk to the kitchen, I look around the living room, looking for Skye, but she's nowhere to be found, which unnerves me. Usually, she's buzzing around the apartment, doing something.
"Skye? Where are you?" I call, setting the box on the counter. "I brought dinner." My stomach growls, and I think about opening the box but decide to wait, figuring she'll emerge out at any moment. Pizza, especially loaded with supreme toppings, is Skye's guilty pleasure, and on our budget, we don't eat out very often.
I grab the paper plates from the pantry and set them next to the box before turning toward the doorway. I listen for a minute, thinking she'll say something, but only silence answers. "Skye? Did you hear me?" I set my hands on my hips, straining to hear a reply.
Silence. Something just isn't right.
I frown, heading toward the bedroom. Sweat beads at my temples, and suddenly the room feels stuffy, like I'm suffocating. I reach the bedroom and find it dark. The only light filters in around drawn curtains, and that's not much.
"Are you in here, Skye?"
Instead of answering, my wife shifts in bed, and I hear the covers rustling. The frown deepens as I edge closer to the bed and sit at her side. I can barely see her lying there, her long, dark hair spilling like dark ribbons around her face.
"Skye?" Bending close, I stroke her face, and she flinches. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she manages, curling into a ball, which is kind of weird for Skye. She tends to take up as much of the bed as possible when she sleeps---and I won't even talk about what she does with covers.
"So what are you doing in bed this early?" I brush the hair from around her face, and that's when I realize she's sweating. "And why are you wrapping yourself in this blanket? You're burning up."
"I don't...feel well. My stomach is bothering me."
At the sound of her words, my back and shoulders tense. "What do you mean?"
She winces, and I recognize for the first time the level of her discomfort. "It keeps cramping up."
"Do you think something could be wrong?" I ask, mentally calculating the days left until the baby is due---thirty. She can't possibly be going into labor early, can she?
"I think maybe I just ate something I shouldn't have, and it's making me feel sick." She pulls the blanket off, probably finally feeling the effects of the warmth.
"Let me turn on the light so I can get a look at you." I know she'll probably argue, so I just lean over the nightstand and turn on the lamp. As the bulb glows to life, I turn my attention to Skye, and while I'm not expecting her to look great, but she's a lot paler than I'd like, and the sweat glossing her skin doesn't do much to make me feel any better.
"Okay, maybe it is food poisoning, but I think we need to get you to the hospital and make sure."
She closes her eyes. "I'd rather just stay here. The cramping is bad."
I nod. "Yeah, I get that. Don't worry about walking. I've got you covered." I finish throwing back the blanket, slip my arms beneath her body, and carry her. Granted, the baby has made her a little heavier, but it's nothing I can handle.
While I'm thinking Skye will probably fight me on this---her stubborn streak tends to go on forever---she rests her head against my chest and closes her eyes, yet another reasons to be concerned because if she's too tired to show her true nature, something is going on.
Luckily, my keys are in my pants pocket, so all I have to do is lock the door and trudge down the stairs. Once I've set her inside the Jeep, I start the brief drive to the emergency room.
Glancing at my watch, I see it's only a little before six, and while I think about calling Helen and Warren, I decide against it, at least until I know what we're dealing with. I know they're both going to have a million questions, and I'd rather have answers than not.
I park and start to pick Skye up, but she shakes her head. "I'll walk this time." She gets out of the Jeep on shaky legs, and I hover nearby, worried she's going to pass out. Food poisoning, hell. This is something else entirely.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
Unconvinced, I slip my arm around her for my own peace of mind, and we make our way to the entrance. Once inside, we head to the triage desk, and as I look around, I'm grateful there are only a handful of people because that will mean Skye gets seen soon.
"May I help you?" a mid-twenties woman with a badge that reads "Gloria" asks.
I nod towards Skye. "My wife is thirty-six weeks pregnant, and she's feeling sick, almost like she has food poisoning. Her stomach is cramping. I want to make sure she's okay."
Gloria nods and shoves a clipboard, at me. "Here. Fill these out and come back to the desk when you're done."
"Thank you." I take the clipboard and we head toward the rows of metal chairs. Although I'm anything but grateful for the delay, I did expect to get paperwork shoved at me, and I scramble through filling it out as best I can as Skye rests her head on my shoulder, half-dozing as her hands clutch her stomach.
When I finish filling out the paperwork, I ease from under Skye, waking her as gently as possible, and take the clipboard back to the desk. Gloria is typing as I approach, and it's only when I clear my throat she finally turns and reaches for the paperwork without meeting my eyes.
"Have a seat, and as soon as a doctor is free, we'll get your wife back to an examination room."
"Thank you." I shove my hands into my pockets and go back to where Skye sits, but before I can even get there, I see Skye sit up straight, her mouth gaping, and I don't understand.
"Skye? What's wrong?" I hasten my steps.
She blinks a couple of times and looks down as water seeps from her jeans. "I think my water broke."
In that instant, it seems everyone is watching us, and I don't have to say anything to get a doctor. The nurses appear quickly around Skye, buzzing with questions as I step back and watch them quickly load her onto a wheelchair. Yet instead of going into one of the emergency exam rooms, they wheel her a different direction.
"Wait. Where are you taking her?" I ask, following.
"Labor and Delivery."
My mind is spinning. "She's not due for another four weeks." I'm still trying to figure out what's going to happen now that her water has broken.
"It doesn't matter when she was due. Once the water breaks, that baby is coming out. She needs to go upstairs now." The nurse stops the wheelchair in front of an elevator and punches the button.
For a few seconds, I just stand there in complete shock, trying to take all this in. "But what does that mean for our baby?" My heart is ramming in my chest, and I can barely breathe.
"I can't say. All I know is that your doctor will be called, and you're going to be a daddy today, not four weeks from now." The nurse looks at Skye and frowns at her pale face. "You okay, honey?"
"My stomach hurts."
"I know. We'll get you to labor and delivery so your doctor can take a look at you." The elevator doors open, and we all slip inside. As the car starts moving, I lean against the paneled wall, grateful to have something to support me because right now my world is spinning out of control, and I know I'm not ready for this, it's not because I'm not ready to be a father---I'm ready for that---but seeing Skye like this terrifies me. I can't stand for her to be in this kind of pain, and thinking about what's going on with our baby only makes it all so much worse.
What if Skye actually loses the baby? She'll never get over that. Once again, I think about calling Helen and Warren as well as my parents, but as I reach for the cell, I realize I still don't have anything to tell them. They're going to ask me a million questions I can't answer.
The elevator doors slip open at the second floor, and the nurse checks to make sure the hall is clear before wheeling Skye out and heading for the nurses' desk ahead.
"What have we got, Sally?" another nurse asks, coming to meet her.
"A twenty-three-year-old woman at thirty-six weeks. She came in with complaints of abdominal pain, and her water just broke."
The other nurse nods wearily. "There's something in the water. We have twenty other women right now. Put her in four. It's the last one we have open."
Sally nods. "Will do."
Then the other nurse leaves, and I keep following Sally into a small room with one chair and a bed. As the wheelchair rolls to a stop, Skye starts to get up, but Sally quickly sets her hand on Skye's shoulder.
"Easy there. Just stay sitting for a second."
Skye grimaces, and I can tell the pain is doing a number on her. Her breathing is shallow, and she's sweating profusely. Sally takes one look at her and opens a cabinet to pull out a hospital gown she snaps together before handing to Skye.
"Do you need some help getting this on?" Sally asks.
"I'll help," I say, standing and hedging toward Skye.
Sally nods and heads for the door. "All right, then. One of the nurses will be right in to examine you." She points to the counter. "And I left a couple of towels there, too."
I wait until she leaves before I step over and take the gown. "All right, Skye, let's get you out of those clothes."
"You were just looking for a reason to get me naked," she retorts, tugging the garments off and handing them to me so I can fold them into a pile.
"Of course I was. You know me far too well." As I slip the gown over her head, I see her hunch over.
"What is it?" I ask.
She waits for a moment, probably so the contraction will pass. "Nobody ever told me going into labor meant living with menstrual cramps from hell."
"Having no experience whatsoever, don't look at me," I say, guiding her to the bed so she can wipe away the wetness as I sit beside her. Her motions are slow and erratic, probably because of the pain she's feeling, and I wonder if they'll give her something to take the edge off.
The door slowly opens, and another nurse, blonde this time, comes in, Skye's chart in hand. "So, Ms. Williams, it sounds like you are about ready to deliver. I'm going to check to see how dilated you are, and since the water has broken, insert an internal monitor which will let us know what's going on with the contractions, okay?"
"Yeah." She turns to me. "Could you call Mom and Warren for me?"
"Of course. I bend and kiss her forehead. "I'll just go outside and make the call."
Skye grabs my hand and offers me a smile. "I love you. You know that, right?"
"Of course." I squeeze her hand. "And I love you, too." Although she's in pain, Skye's eyes are bright, brimming with the same fear running through me.
I bend low and whisper in her ear. "I'll be right back. Don't worry." I kiss her again before slipping out. As the door closes, I feel my shoulders sag beneath the weight of everything, and I take a moment to catch my breath and try not to let everything sink in too deeply. If I start analyzing, I won't be able to stop, and Skye needs me with a clear head.
There's a bench to my left, and I ease down on it and pull out my cell. The phone rings twice before Warren answers, and all the things I'm dreading to say form in my mind.
"Hey, Warren, this is Devin. We're at the hospital. Skye's water broken. She's going to have the baby today." I pause for a second, waiting. There'll be a million questions, and I hope I can handle them.
"Isn't this a little soon?"
"Yeah. She's four weeks early. I haven't spoken to Dr. Klein yet, but I'm sure they'll be calling him in if they haven't already."
Another lengthy pause. Warren's trying to stay calm, but he feels the panic just as well as I do. "How is Skye?"
"In pain. She didn't even know she was in labor. She thought she had food poisoning or something."
At a different time, I'd be laughing about that, and so would Skye, but right now we're all trying to grasp what this is going to mean.
"Hang in there, Devin. Helen and I will be there as quickly as we can." Despite trying to keep his tone even, I can hear the panic.
I swallow hard. "I will, Warren. And I'll tell Skye you're on your way." Snapping the phone shut, I peer at the door, and figure I'll stay here just a couple of minutes more to give the nurse time to finish the examination. It's only when the door slowly opens I stand.
"How far along is she?"
"At a six. It won't be long."
I grit my teeth, knowing this can't be good, that the baby isn't ready. "But if the baby is early, won't that cause problems?"
"I can't really tell you, but I'm calling Dr. Klein right now. Whenever he comes up, I'm sure he'll be glad to talk to you about it."
"Thanks."
She nods. "You're welcome, and by the way, she's asking for you." Brushing past, she heads back to the nurses' desk, carrying the clipboard.
I thrust my hand through my hair and jerk the top button of my shirt loose so it'll be easier to breathe. Have I ever mentioned I hate hospitals---especially this one, which is where she was brought after the pills that they almost didn't pump out in time. I know this hospital should mean something else, like the birth of our first child, but when I'm looking at the fact she's way early going into labor, it's hard. God, it's hard.
I force myself to stop thinking along those lines, knowing it's not going to help anyone, least of all Skye. Instead, I edge back into the room where Skye has turned onto one side, her eyes tightly closed. I'm not sure she hears me approach. Is she sleeping?
Not sure what to do, I sink into the one chair in the room and lean back. As my weight settles, the chair squeaks, and Skye opens her eyes, seeking out my face.
"There you are," she whispers, reaching for my hand.
"Told you I'd be back."
She gently squeezes my hand. "I thought you'd found some pretty nurse to run off with."
I encircle her hand with both of mine. "Well, there was this brunette...."
She glares at me. "Not funny." Her expression shifts, contorted by another contraction. "Did they say how long it was going to be?"
"No, not yet, but I'm thinking Dr. Klein will be here at any moment. I'm sure he'll want to examine you himself."
For a moment, she holds her breath as the contraction takes hold, tensing every muscle in her body. It's only when the breath finally seeps through her clenched teeth I know the contraction has finally passed. She turns her attention back to me.
"I don't need a doctor to tell what's going on, Devin. I'm having a baby---your baby."
"Even in pain you're a smartass," I mutter, relieved she's dealing with all this so well. Then again, I'm not sure she's got a choice.
"You taught me everything I know." Her eyes close, hinting she feels another contraction, which unnerves me because they're so close together. Sweat plasters the hair to her forehead, and she licks her lips as though she's thirsty. I wish I could take her pain away, but I know that's not in the cards.
And where is Dr. Klein? I would feel a little bit better if I'd at least seen the man set foot in the hospital.
The door opens, and I look up, thinking that my wish has been granted. No, it's actually Helen and Warren, both wearing flustered expressions.
"Skye? Are you all right, baby?" Helen says, stepping to the bedside.
"I'm in labor, Mom. Other than that, I'm fine." Her tone is sharp, but it's not without reason as I look at the monitor beside her bed. She's at the high point of the contraction, and even though Skye's got a really high pain tolerance, she's not impervious to it.
"Did the doctor say anything about what's going on?" Warren stands next to me, his worried gaze fixed on Skye.
"He hasn't made it in yet, but I think he'll be here soon. He can't afford not to, considering how quickly Skye's contractions are progressing."
As if my words had magic, the door opens, and this time Dr. Klein steps through, Skye's chart in hand. He looks from Skye to me, and I'm pretty sure he's going to want to examine her. "Perhaps we should step outside," I suggest, nodding toward the door.
"All right."
Warren and I step toward the door, but Skye holds fast to her mom's hand, her way of asking Helen to remain with her. As the door closes, shutting both of us into the hall again, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"I'm sure she'll be fine, Devin." Warren sets his hand on my shoulder.
"I know. I just hate seeing her in pain like this. I wish I could do something for her instead of feeling so useless."
"I know," he says, walking over to the bench where I'd been sitting earlier. "I felt the same way when Helen was in here. I think it's easier to be the one in the hospital than the one sitting and waiting for something to happen."
I sit beside Warren. "This seems so unreal."
"Of course it does. You thought you'd be ready for the birth of your child when the time came, but the truth is, no matter how much time you had, it wouldn't be enough to prepare. It never is."
I lean back. "I know. It's just tough. I mean, give me something I can fight, and I'll do it in a heartbeat, but this...this is hard in a different way."
"It won't be for much longer."
He's right. I know deep inside he is, but being able to convince myself of that is a bit more difficult, so instead of dwelling on that, I shift the conversation to something more manageable---something I can protect Skye from if necessary.
"Did you know Skye's father was at the wedding? Did you see him?"
Warren's frown deepens. "Yes, I did."
"How'd he even know about the wedding? I can't see Skye having invited him." I rake my fingers through my hair.
"I think Helen sent the invitation." He stares ahead without meeting my gaze.
"Why would she do that?" I glare at him, not sure how to take this latest twist.
Warren turns slowly and looks at me with that calming demeanor he has, as though there could be a massive earthquake and he'd never even panic like everyone else. Sometimes that calm can be infuriating.
"Devin, I know you see this as a betrayal of sorts, but---"
"Damn straight I do, and you should, too. You know how hard it was for Skye to finally get past the fact he'd uninvited his own daughter from his life."
Warren holds up his hand. "Here me out. It's important. When Helen sent the invitation, she was still reeling from the stroke. She kept worrying what would happen to Skye if she passed away; she knows that Skye feels isolated most of the time. In her mind, she was trying to restore her relationship with her father."
My back tenses, and I try to loosen it, but this conversation damned sure isn't helping. "But what if he doesn't deserve to have Skye anymore?"
Warren offers a sad smile. "Skye more than anyone could tell you sometimes it's not about what we deserve."
I stand, wanting to punch something, not that it would ease this fury I can't ditch, but at least it would take the edge off. "So what happens when he hurts her again? Did Helen even think of that?"
Warren, too, stands. "I know you're angry."
"Damned right I'm angry."
"Which is one of the ways I first knew you were the one for Skye. You've always tried to protect her, Devin, but no matter what you do, you can't protect her from everything. No one can. Sometimes you just have to have faith that everything will eventually work itself out the way it's supposed to. Ronald might hurt Skye again, and you're right to be concerned, but what if he doesn't? What if he's ready to try to do the right thing? Have you considered what that might mean to Skye?"
Frowning, I try grapple with what this means, and suddenly it occurs to me Warren has more to lose than I do because he's not Skye's father. I shake my head. "Have you?"
He nods. "Yes---but I have enough faith that Skye's heart is big enough for the two men she thinks of as fathers, and I'm okay with that."
Before I can argue the point further, the door opens and Dr. Klein sticks his head out. "Mr. Abbott, your wife is asking for you."
"Thank you." I turn to Warren and nod for him to follow, and together we walk back into the labor room, where Skye is lying in pretty much the same position as when I'd left. "How is she?" I ask.
Klein scribbles a note in the chart. She's dilated to a 9, and I'm thinking that baby will be out within an hour or two at most."
I'm diligently working to grasp what he's saying even though in some respects it scares the hell out of me. "Is the baby going to be okay, considering it's four weeks early?"
He looks at me. "As I was telling Skye, there are risks. The lungs might not be completely developed, for one thing. There's also a risk of jaundice, but had Skye gone into labor a week to two weeks earlier, things would have been considerably worse."
Skye groans as another contraction hits, and I look at Klein. "Is there anything that can ease her pain?"
He nods and glances at my wife. "Yes. I'm ordering an epidural now to get her through the last part of labor."
Although he starts towards the door, Skye suddenly gasps and yells, "I have to push!"
"Ms. Abbott?" Dr. Klein abruptly turns and decides to take another peek. The ensuing frown deepens the creases on his forehead, and he stands. "Scratch that hour, Mr. Abbott. The baby is crowning." He rushes to the door and yells for a couple of nurses.
Warren nods toward the hallway. "I'll wait out there." Helen, too, gets up so I can move to Skye's bedside. The sheen of sweat is thicker, and droplets run down the sides of Skye's face. Her breathing is erratic, and the monitor beside her seems to be going crazy measuring the contractions.
It's no wonder Skye's body is tight with pain and fear. She latches onto my hand, and her wide eyes look into mine, saying all kinds of things she doesn't have the energy to put into words.
"I'm right here." I settle my other hand atop hers so it's sandwiched between them, and she closes her eyes as the nurses swarm around the room, prepping everything for the birth. It all blurs around the edges except for Skye.
"I need to push!" Skye screams again, her back suddenly rigid as she strains with the pain. Her other hand clenches the mattress, and she's taking this shallow, raspy breaths which doesn't seem to be doing her much good.
Dr. Klein slides into place so he can guide the baby out. Then he says, "All right, Skye. Wait until the next contraction, and then I want Devin to help you sit up so you can push as hard as possible, okay?"
She closes her eyes as the last of the contraction passes and her body relaxes into the brief reprieve she's been granted, yet we all know it won't be long. The nurse on the other side of Skye is staring intently at the monitor, waiting for the slightest rise signaling the next contraction, and when she sees it, she nods to me.
"Okay, babe, it's time. Take a deep breath and sit up to push."
Skye's dark eyes resurface, and she nods. As she moves to sit up, I slip my arm around her and help her move the rest of the way.
"Now push, Skye," Dr. Klein orders.
Skye grips my hand so hard her knuckles are white Her whole body clenches not only from the contraction but also from the force she's exerting, trying to push the baby out. It seems to go on forever, and I hear my wife groaning. It's only when I think she can't take any more I see the contraction's peak easing as I look at the monitor.
"Good job, Skye. Part of the baby's head is out. Now I need you to lie back and rest until the next contraction. Devin will let you know when it's coming."
As I hear Klein's words, I gently set her back against the bed. More sweat. She can barely see through it, so I wipe her forehead with one of the nearby towels.
"You okay?" I ask, feeling miserable in her pain.
"Been better," she mumbles, and I know if she weren't in the middle of trying to get this baby out, she'd be sleeping. She's that exhausted.
About three pushes later Klein says, "Okay, the baby's out!"
Skye seems to immediately go limp in my arms, I gently set her back against the bed, grateful she's looking at me because if not, it would almost seem she'd just passed out. "You were awesome," I whisper and kiss her forehead.
"You're only saying that because I gave you a daughter."
"A son," I correct, grinning.
"No," Klein, argues, "Skye is correct. You have a daughter." And in that moment, I hear our baby's first cry---a healthy squall which Klein responds, "and her lungs are just fine."
The color leaves my face as I think about this, suddenly swept away by the realization I'm a father. It's one thing to be told it's going to happen and quite another when the baby is being offered to you in a light pink blanket.
"Oh, God," I whisper, suddenly not sure I'm at all ready for this, and yet I reach out to take her, amazed at her small size and beauty, with dark blue eyes that peer at me.
Her skin is splotchy and red. She's only got a small tuft of light brown hair atop her head, and she's making sucking motions with her lips, yet I can't help but recognizing Skye in her, and I realize that for the second time in my life, I'm in love as I've never been before, and that my daughter is the second most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on.
"She's amazing," I whisper and turn so Skye can see her.
"She's perfect," Skye whispers, tears pooling in her eyes as she reaches for our daughter. "So perfect." Her voice is thick and painful, twisted with many emotions, and it's only when I think about it I know doubt is the strongest, probably because she never thought God would trust her with such a miracle again, but I think God sees Skye as I do. How could He not?
I hand the baby to her and watch as the little one immediately curls against Skye's chest and goes to sleep, content to be close to her mama. It's not long before Skye, too, drifts to dreams, and I have no doubt they include a beautiful little girl she's just met, especially when I see the corners of her mouth tilt slightly upwards.
It's been over a year since Helena was born---a year of sleepless nights and walking the floor, not to mention a million wonderful changes. I sit on the beach where Skye and I always vacation. Somehow we even managed to get the same cabin we stayed at last time, when things finally started to come together for the two of us.
Right now, the sun is setting, casting an orange watercolor glow across the ocean while Skye holds Helena's hands and walks with her just at the edge of the water where the tide is ebbing toward the sand. Helena's pudgy toes dig into the sand, and she points at the gulls reeling overhead, spiraling around one other. Her hair is baby-fine, and Skye has taken the very top of it and pulled it into a ponytail that reminds me of Pebbles on the old Flintstones show. She's wearing a navy sailor dress that only makes her more adorable somehow. Skye is also wearing a navy dress that's pretty close to Helena's.
Although I'd expected Helena would look like Skye, she's a mixture of people---Skye's cheekbones, my nose, the shape of Helen's eyes, and a mouth that's distinctly her own. Every day, Skye and Helena are the first two thoughts in my head, and every night, they are the last ones I have before drifting to sleep.
I shift in the sand and think of how I used to worry Skye would never be at peace, that she would never find direction enough to forgive herself for the past, but Helena changed all that, and I'll always be grateful to my daughter for that. It also helped that Skye finally met with her father and they were able to at least find enough middle ground to talk so he could meet Helena. While I didn't really believe in him much to begin with, since that point, he's been nothing short of good to Skye, and I've learned to tolerate him. One day I might like him if he ends up being the man he seems to think he wants to be. I guess only time will tell, but I'm glad Skye has finally been able to let go of the pain of his choice.
Staring at the two women in my life, I see Helena has turned loose of Skye's hand, and her gaze has shifted to me. One hand reaches out to balance her while the other madly rubs at the gums where new teeth are probably ready to surface.
"Hey, baby!" I call, stretch my arms out, knowing she's coming for me. Her eyes widen, and she hurries her steps, momentarily losing her balance and toppling into the sand. Skye starts to hurry, her arms reaching to scoop Helena up, but I shake my head.
"She's not crying. Let her get up on her own. It'll be okay."
Frowning, Skye hesitates and forces herself to fold her arms across her chest and not intervene, which is always hard. I know she wants to catch her daughter before she cries and thus spare her future pain, but that's just not possible, not for any of us.
It doesn't happen very often, but sometimes, I still see that old expression on Skye's face, the one that tells me she knows how unpredictable things are and that life is like a seascape where the tide doesn't care what it erases. In those moments, I know she isn't at completely at peace. Then again, who is? Still, she always comes back to find me and Helena. It may not be as quick as I would like, but she does return, and that's enough.
I hear Helena giggle and turn to her. "Come on, baby. Come to Daddy!" I make the goofy face she likes, and she squeals before clambering back to her chunky feet and toddling her way into my arms.
"She really is a daddy's girl," Skye says, shaking her head as she walks over.
"What about you? Are you a daddy's girl, too?" I ask hopefully, nodding toward the sand next to me.
"Yeah, I guess I am." She sinks onto it and leans her head against me. "How could you tell?"
"Well, you haven't run off with the milkman."
She laughs. "He's blond. You know I hate blonds."
I kiss Helena's forehead. "Yeah, that would definitely be the reason you haven't escaped with him. I can tell that." Helena leans contentedly against me, and I see her eyes are growing heavy. "I think it's someone's nap time."
"But I'm not tired," Skye whines, knowing it's not her I'm referring to.
I touched Helena's baby curls, amazed at their softness. "Hey, I look for any reason I can to get you into bed. You ought to know that by now."
"Oh, really?"
Skye leans over and kisses my ear, which would be okay if it were one of those quick pecks, but it's not. It's a little less PG than that, and I'm definitely feeling a reaction.
I suck in air. "Careful. Isn't that how we ended up with a munchkin?"
"Are you complaining?" Skye leans back and challenges, one eyebrow cocked slightly.
"Hell, no." I lick my lips. "C'mere, you."
And she does. That's when I know that whatever doubts I might have had about the future, everything is going to be okay. It might not end quite the way I think it might, but that's okay. I'll take whatever I can get so long as my girls are with me.
About the Author
Maria Rachel Hooley is the author of over twenty-five novels, including the Sojourner series, New Life Inc., and When Angels Cry. Her work has been featured in numerous publications such as Green Hills Literary Lantern, Westview, and Kimera. She has written over twenty novels in numerous genres. Her first chapbook of poetry, A Different Song, was published by Rose Rock Press in 1999. She is a high school teacher and lives in Oklahoma with husband and three children. You can view more of her work at www.mariarachelhooley.com.
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