Ryan
Hallowell, Maine
Present Day
“That was really good, Mer. I gotta say, just like your mom.” I stand to clear the table.
“Sit your butt in that chair in the living room. You’re not helping with dishes.”
“You cook; I clean.”
“Well, I’d take you up on that offer, but you have busted ribs and a shoulder injury, so the deal is off until the doctor releases you.”
“It’s dishes, Mer.” I grab a plate.
“Ryan Taylor, you touch another plate, and I will eat your fingers.” She stands and grabs a plate. “Go sit. I’ve got this.”
But I won’t go sit. I’ll help her clear the table and watch her load the dishwasher. Partly because the manly side of me needs to see her ass as she bends to load it. But a bigger part wants her to know that nothing’s changed since we were kids. When I had dinner at their house, which was often, Eli, Brand, and I would clean the kitchen after Merit cooked but only if she let us. Many times, she didn’t want the help.
Merit walks away with our plates, and I follow behind her, close enough to make her notice I’m there.
I’m not going anywhere, Mer. Not right now and not ever. I’m here to stay.
A trail of honeysuckle follows her.
I see her chest heave in and out as she sets the plates in the sink.
I put my good arm down against the counter from behind her. We stare at our reflection in the window. I know she can feel my chest against her back. I never want her to feel like she’s stuck. Safe but not stuck.
“What-what are you doing, Ryan?” I hear the break in her voice, and it makes me move an inch closer.
I drop my head to her ear. Maybe it’s the pain medication that is breaking down my inhibitions, but I want—no, I need her to know how I feel. That the same feelings are still there. Only intensified. Only more.
I want to say, I need you. I want to say, This is the end for me. You’re all I need. Things I’ve never said to her because I was too scared.
“Does this make you uncomfortable? Say the fucking word, and I’ll stop, Mer.” There’s a tone in my voice that says, Please don’t tell me to back away.
But, instead, she rests her hands on the sink in front of her, making sure not to brush up against me. As if bracing herself for impact. Bracing herself for hurt but wanting it, all at the same time.
“I’m not going to hurt you again,” I whisper as my heart slams against my chest.
There’s a long silence.
“Remember, that’s what you said when we were kids,” she whispers back.
And I close my eyes and absorb her words. Now, I brace for impact. I remember that night. The night I held her. Our naked bodies intertwined, tangled under her pink comforter.
This time, I can’t make excuses. I can’t say, But not this time, because that would be a broken record. Actions speak louder than words ever will.
I want her to fall back on me. To trust me. To know I’ll catch her when she falls. But she doesn’t. So, I don’t say anything at all.
I will myself to move back. To move away. To gain clarity. Slowly, I ease back from her. But she doesn’t move. Stays put. Leaning over the sink.
“Mer?”
She doesn’t answer.
I reach out and touch her shoulder. “Merit?”
She falls into my touch, yet resists it.
“Hey.” I gently pull her shoulder, so she’s facing me. Merit’s eyes tear right through me. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t do this with you, Ryan.” Her voice is clearer. Stronger this time.
“Do what?”
“This. You. Me. Your hands. Your body. Your familiarity.” She shakes her head. Laughs. “I can’t believe I put myself back in this position after all these years. It’s not you, Ryan. It’s me. I shouldn’t have allowed this.”
I take a step closer. Take charge. Fuck that. “You’re here for a reason, Mer. Why’d you come back?”
Her mouth falls open. “Because you were hurt. That’s why. And because Eli asked me to.”
“Why’d you come back?” I repeat.
Her face contorts, as if to say, Didn’t you hear me? “I came back to help you.”
“No. Fuck that. I’ll ask you again. Why’d you come back?”
She laughs.
“You came back because you love me. You know that there’s always been something fundamentally different with us. You came back because, while you can’t admit it, you spent years trying to forget me. Forget us. And you can’t. Did I hurt you? God, yes. And I spend every fucking day trying to forgive myself for that. Not for me, but for you. I can’t love you the way you deserve to be loved until I can forgive myself.
Merit, I never, ever want to see the look you gave me when you left for college in California.” I pause. “But, if you want to live in the past, I’ll stay there with you. I’ll wait. I’ll do what it takes. You’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later.” I pause and wait for her to catch up or speak or do something other than just stand there. “Tell me something, Mer,” I whisper. “Tell me you’re angry. That you’re hurt. Tell me the worst-case scenario.”
Merit meets my eyes with a sharp stare. Her blonde hair is pulled back with a pencil. I want to feel the loose strands of hair fall against my face as she makes love to me. Feel the loose strands of her hair fall to my abdomen, against my thighs, as her head drops backward. I swallow.
She repeats the same story but with a twist, “Worst-case scenario: I go back to California. I marry Brad. I have two-point-five children with a white picket fence. A dog named Trigger. But the smile isn’t genuine. It’s one I hide behind to protect the truth.”
My heart slams against my chest. “What’s the truth?”
“That I married the wrong man. But, now, there are kids involved. And maybe the dog has emotional issues. Let’s say Trigger is very picky about his routine. I can’t leave Brad. I won’t. Because I love my children more than I love anything in this world.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Do you know what that feels like, Ryan?” she whispers.
I reach out and want to pull her to me. Take away this pain she’s been carrying for years. Take away the hurt. The sadness.
Merit shakes her head and covers her mouth with her hand. “I just need time. Just give me space. Please.”
“Okay.”
I’ll do anything to give her what she needs. Anything. But so badly, I want to take her in my arms. Hold her. Make her promises. But she’s got to do this in her own time. Even if she decides she can’t do this, us, I still want her heart to be mended. For her to go on. To live. To be happy. To remove the wall she puts up that separates her. I know, when Rebecca died, that was the beginning of the wall. And I know, when I did what I did before she left for college, that finished her.
“Let me finish the dishes. Then, I’m going to take a bath.”
“Okay,” is all I say.
She turns to the sink and begins loading the dishwasher, but I stand and stare at the back of her. Her shoulders that droop from the sadness she keeps.
I want to say, I love you. I want to take back that night. I want to take back every single time I kissed her. Made love to her. All my memories. Our memories if that means it will make it easier for her.
I turn and walk to the bathroom. I get some body wash for her bath. A clean washrag, two towels. One for her hair and one for her body. I don’t run her water because I’m not sure the temperature of the water she wants. I remember the emergency kit that I have in the front closet with a candle. I grab it with some matches I find in the bathroom drawer and put them next to her towels.
I turn wrong when I stand, and the excruciating pain I get from it rips through my lungs and chest. “Fuck.”
I suck in air as I make my way to my bedroom. Gently closing the door, I lean against it.
I hear the soft sound of her feet against the hardwood floor as she makes her way to the bathroom. Waiting several minutes, I hear the door to the bathroom shut, and then I walk the house to make sure the doors are locked, and the lights are turned off.
As I walk past the bathroom, I want to knock. To check to see if she needs anything. Water. Wine.
I stop at the door and listen from the outside. I hear muffled, faint cries, and my heart sinks. I did this. I hurt her. Now, it’s time to see the consequences. But I let her cry. I allow her time. Although I want to rip through the door and pull her to me, apologize over and over and over again, that would be for me, not for her. So, I make my way to my bedroom, carefully sit down on the bed, push myself to a sitting position, and rest my head against the headboard.
A text message comes in.
Eli: Since you’re not released to work yet, Granite Harbor Elementary has a summer science camp, and they called and asked for a game warden to meet with the kids. I let them know you’d be there at 8:30 a.m. on Thursday. Chalk it up to community service.
Eli knows I don’t do well when I don’t have things to do. He also knows I have a soft spot for kids.
Me: On it.
I scroll through my phone and look through work emails. Thank God, Faynette hasn’t emailed me. Though I don’t think she’d use the work server to do that if it wasn’t work-related. She hasn’t texted me either, which is also good. I think she got the clue pretty clearly when Mer and I were there today.
It’s past eleven when I hear the door open, and her footsteps make their way to her bedroom. Although I’m barely able to keep my eyes open, I can’t fall asleep without knowing she made it to bed. Giving her some time to get dressed and crawl in bed, I slowly get up, holding my middle with my good arm so that the movement won’t pain me too deep. I check the house one more time.
When I get to her door, it’s slightly open, and I peek in. She’s on the bed in her pajamas, hair wet, asleep with the bedside light still turned on. I hunch down against the bedside table, and my ribs scream at me to stop.
I can endure the pain, I tell myself.
After Merit took what I did to her, this is the least I can do. After I get into a semi-comfortable position, I look over at her. Fast asleep. Like when she was twelve. Fourteen. Fifteen and seventeen.
Merit’s never been one for scary movies, so when Eli and I rented them on occasion, Merit would sit with us at the beginning and quickly fall asleep because she hated the way they scared her for the following weeks.
Her long blonde lashes are pressed against her cheeks. Her expression, peaceful and saddened. As if she wears two hats. I want to take my finger and smooth them out, pushing the feelings away. But I don’t. Her wet hair sits still behind her, falling against the blue sheets of the guest bed.
A jab of pain shoots through my chest because I take a bigger breath than normal, but I breathe through it.
She falls deeper and deeper asleep as I watch her. Slow, easy breaths, steady.
I turn off the lamp above me but not without my ribs letting me know that this position is the worst. Before I do, I take in a long look at Merit. Burn it to my memory. Tuck it back into my brain where I put all the dark things that I’ve experienced.
“Good night, Violet,” I whisper.