Merit
Hallowell, Maine
Present Day
The sun peeks through the blinds, catching my eye.
I’ve always loved summer in Maine. Maybe it’s the tourists. The ones who gather and flock to our piece of heaven. To experience our way of life. The beauty that comes from lighthouses, small towns, our rugged coastline. Through and through, no matter how far I travel, no matter how far I run, I’ll always be a Mainer. Somewhere inside me, I find pride in that.
I stretch and twist and pop and turn. “Jesus!” But it’s quiet enough so that Ryan doesn’t wake.
He’s in an awkward position up against the bedside table. He’s going to be so sore today. His head is against his good arm, which is resting against his knees.
We left things at odds last night. Or rather, I left things at odds.
I see his five o’clock shadow make its way up his jawline. The Maine Warden Service looks down upon facial hair.
Has he been here all night?
Why would he do this to his body?
Did he get stuck here and maybe couldn’t get back up?
Was he afraid to leave me alone?
His long, calculated breaths tell me he’s sound asleep. I should wake him. Get him to his bed where it’s more comfortable.
What did you do to yourself, Ryan?
I drop my feet to the side of the bed, and the strap of my nightgown slides off my shoulder. I push it up and get down on the floor next to him.
“Ryan? Come on, buddy. You need to get to your bed.”
A groan escapes his mouth.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
Slowly, he stirs and then gasps as he becomes aware of his body. He meets my gaze with a pained expression.
“Hey.” My voice is softer than last night. Easier. “What happened?”
His look grows as his body begins to talk to him.
“I’ll help you up.”
Slowly, we ease him up, but Ryan takes it in stride even though I can imagine he’s probably dying inside from pain. He grimaces and contorts but doesn’t say a word as I take his good arm and allow my fingers to wrap around his large arm.
We get him to his bedroom on his side of the bed, and I tell him to place his good arm around my waist so that he can brace himself to sit down on the edge of his bed.
The strap of my nightgown falls to my shoulder again. There’s no way to pull it up without letting go of him, and I’m not about to do that, but as it slides lower, my breast becomes more visible.
Ryan’s eyes stay fixated on me, and I feel the cool air against my newly exposed skin.
Once he’s sitting upright on the bed, his eyes fall to my shoulder, my breast. But I don’t push it up. I allow him to stare. I allow his eyes to undress my body as he takes me in with one deep breath. He doesn’t tell me I’m beautiful. He doesn’t tell me that my skin is the shade of milk as his eyes inspect every inch of me.
My middle begins to ache, and this isn’t a safe place for me to be. At least, my heart anyway. I feel my nightgown dangling mid-thigh. The gentle rub from the lace makes me feel more alive, more attractive, than I’ve felt in an awfully long time. I’m well aware of my body. That my nipples are standing at attention, and if Ryan reached out right now and took me by my hips, I’d fall. I’d fall into his touch, his grip, and I’m not sure I’d be able to find my way out again.
My breath hitches as he reaches up and pushes the strap back up on my shoulder, his lips parted, his eyes intense. This is not what he wants to do. But it’s what he needs to do.
My middle gives me another push of anticipation, and I feel the wetness against my panties.
I swallow as he stares back.
You need to stop, Merit.
His fingertips dance down my shoulder and barely graze my breast, my hip, my leg before his hand slowly falls to his side.
The only thing that separates us is a thin layer of cotton because I know, with the pajama pants he has on, there’s a hole that is used for his penis. Easy access.
After I can breathe again, I say, “I’ll get your pain pills.”
“No,” Ryan says and grabs at the hem of my nightgown.
My heart begins to slam against my chest so hard that I feel it in my ears. “You’re sore, Ryan,” I whisper, my lips barely moving, coming up with excuses, more for myself than for him.
“Not right now.” His eyes rage against mine. My nightgown still in his hand.
The ache between my legs deepens.
My body wants to lean into his. To feel him. To touch his skin.
The last time he grabbed the backs of my thighs and pulled was when we were teenagers. The first time I felt his tongue rub against my sex, I thought I’d scream. I’m not sure if it was our age or our inexperience, but whatever it was, I quietly whimpered as he pushed me over the edge.
My sundress had been pushed over my waist, and we were down by the harbor in the cool green grass, late in the evening. I wasn’t ready for sex yet. I thought Ryan was, but he never let me know. I could feel it when he kissed me, the way his hands moved, sometimes roughly, but he never asked. It was after prom when we reached our maximum capacity for everything but sex.
I know, the day he had seen my dress, he’d thought I was going with someone else. Why he’d thought that, I have no idea. But, when I’d asked him if he’d like to go, I’m not sure I got an answer because, when he’d stood, his kiss had come hard and fast.
My knees grow weak as he tugs at my hem once more, bringing me back to the present moment. I spread my legs—not by conscious thought, but by hope and want. I look down into his eyes, and they’re shielded with the same desire. His lips are slightly parted, his jaw clenched, his hand still hanging on to my hem. I know what he needs, but I know what I want and what I need are two separate things.
Want is my desire for his body against mine. Inside me. Pushing me to the limit. And the slow quiver of recovery when the damage is done.
Need is my head protecting my heart. That this situation right here won’t end well because I know I’ll walk away from this, dragging my heart behind me, my regret in tow.
Thank God, Ryan’s phone rings.
I suck in a deep breath of uncertainty and relief. Uncertainty of how this situation would have worked out had the phone not rung and relief that we didn’t have to dig our way out of this. When a warden’s work phone rings, they answer. No matter the circumstances because, if he doesn’t, it could mean a real bad outcome.
Ryan drops his hand from the hem of my nightgown, and I don’t step back when he carefully leans forward to retrieve his work phone from the nightstand. When he does this, his head almost brushes my thigh. I should move. I should step back, but I can’t. I barely swallow. My heart still fluttering with no signs of slowing down, I know Ryan feels what I’m feeling right now.
If he had two good arms right now, I know he would have grabbed his work phone with one hand and the back of my thigh with the other and thrust me on top of him as I towered over him. But, instead, with his good arm, he grabs his work phone, pulls back, and winces, now his face a flurry of red, but I think it’s from pain.
“Warden Taylor.” His eyes burn into mine.
And, when there’s a pause, I walk to the kitchen to grab his pain medication and some water.
I need to create some distance between us, I think.
I need to do things differently.
That can’t happen again.
But why? my heart says.
My head chimes in, Your past. Your heartache. Don’t you remember?
I do. All too well.
Create distance, my head says, trying to preserve what’s been trying to heal for years.
Like with a scab, I just keep picking, hoping for a different outcome.
Things I tell myself:
Maybe you can give it one more chance. Maybe it won’t hurt this time.
Maybe try it from this angle, and it won’t feel so bad.
Try to leave it alone, ignore it, and stuff it down deep. Try to forget.
None of these have worked. The only one I haven’t tried—giving myself to Ryan, isn’t a price I’m willing to pay yet.
I take the two pain pills and the water to him.
“So, Eli asked me to go speak to the kids at Granite Harbor Elementary this morning,” he says as I enter his bedroom again, pills and water in hand.
I look at the clock, trying to act normal as I hand him the pills. “What time?”
“Eight thirty a.m.”
It’s just after seven.
“Well, we’d better get moving if we want to make it on time.”
“Are you all right with going?” he asks.
“Yes,” I lie as I step back to create some distance between us. “Do you need help with your shoulder brace before you get in the shower?”
He takes both pills, not very willingly, and chases them with water.
He sees the look in my eyes.
Fear.
“No, I can handle it.” He groans as he stands.
When our bodies are inches apart, my heart—my stupid, stupid heart—starts to pick up pace. Ryan pushes a strand of my hair from my face behind my ear and is careful about not touching my body before his good hand falls back to his side.
Step away, Merit.
“You ought to take a cold shower, Ryan.” I take a few steps back, so I can breathe again. So that my heart stops annoying my chest.
Ryan smiles, drops his head, and laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ryan’s work truck, because I’ve been driving his personal truck, isn’t as hard to drive as I thought. He said the gears get stuck sometimes, but I haven’t experienced it yet. I turn onto the highway toward Granite Harbor. I’m pretty sure non-wardens are not allowed to drive the warden trucks, but in this case, I don’t care. It’s for the kids.
I look over, and Ryan’s black sunglasses are sitting on the bridge of his nose. I must say, he looks really good in his uniform. A uniform I’m all too familiar with. One that doesn’t look quite as good on my brother or my father. This uniform looks particularly good on Ryan. It fits his chest, broad shoulders, and thick thighs in all the right places. My cheeks grow warm.
Get control of your thoughts, Merit. You’re going to an elementary school, for God’s sake.
“What are you going to say to the kids?” I ask, attempting to add conversation to the quiet truck.
“I’ll wing it. Maybe I’ll talk about some of the laws that wardens have to uphold. Maybe I’ll let the little ones turn on the siren in the truck.”
Ryan has always been good with kids. Exceptional.
“You could talk about water safety, too.”
He nods, his good arm hanging from the handle above the door. “You’re pretty good at driving the truck.”
“Learned from this guy I know.” I side-eye him.
When I was fifteen and Ryan and Eli were fourteen, we used to take Dubbs’s truck and practice on the back roads of Maine when Dubbs was passed out, drunk. Ryan had learned because he had to pick up his dad whenever he called drunk from some god-awful place. Ryan taught himself, and then he taught Eli and me. Though, when Pop took us out for driving lessons, we pretended not to know as much as we did to give him the satisfaction of teaching.
We drive through Granite Harbor at fifteen after eight and take a left on School Road. The elementary school dead-ends the road.
Ryan, I’m sure, has been back to Granite Harbor Elementary many times in his career since we left the school, but it’s nostalgic for me. The same musty smell from when I was a child fills me when we enter. Brings back both good feelings and bad. The large, cool hallway that houses each of the classroom doors takes me to my younger years. The trophy cases show pictures of past teams and athletes, past school board members, past principals. It’s as if the child who walked the halls all those years ago is still the same but in a different body.
“This is weird,” I say to Ryan as we make our way down the hallway. “I don’t think I’ve set foot in here since we left.”
“Warden Taylor!” a voice calls from behind us.
I turn with him.
“Ruby?” I say.
The redhead comes from the main office, bounding up to us. “Merit? Oh my goodness!” Ruby throws her arms around me.
I bring mine around her.
“I heard you were back in town. Taking care of this guy? Heard about the accident, Ryan, which is why I’m surprised to see you.” Ruby turns back to me. “How are you? How have you been? I haven’t seen you since … well, since you left Granite Harbor for California.”
“I’m good,” I lie. “Fantastic actually. Just helping out where I can.” I casually put my hand to my stomach to the nonexistent itch that lives there—also called a lie.
Ruby eyes both of us and bites her lip. “Huh.” She slides her phone from her back pocket. “What’s your number, Merit? I’d love to catch up.”
We exchange numbers while Ryan checks out the trophy case. Ruby Red was her nickname in elementary school because of her flaming-red hair and big smile. She was one of my only friends in elementary school and high school.
“You’re a teacher here now, Ruby?”
“Principal, actually. We do this summer camp for the kids because of a grant we received about five years ago. It’s specifically for science, and the warden service always comes out and gives us a great presentation. The kids love Warden Taylor.” She stops. “Merit, didn’t you become a marine biologist? I think Brand mentioned it sometime back when I ran into him at Ring’s Pharmacy.”
“I am.”
She squeals. “Will you be here next summer?”
No.
Yes.
No. Maybe. Yes.
Probably not.
“I’m not sure.” My stomach drops, and I don’t dare look back at Ryan.
“I hope so, Ruby,” Ryan calls out from the trophy case.
“Me, too,” Ruby whispers as she links arms with me. She walks Ryan and me down the hallway to the gymnasium.
There are about seventy eager kids with about six camp leaders. And, when Ruby Red whistles with her fingers, the entire gym freezes into their favorite animal pose.
“Granite Harbor scientists! We have a special guest this morning. Take your seats on your dots, and we’ll get started.”
Several kids, about eight and nine, rush to Ryan.
“Warden Taylor, what happened? Why do you have that black thing on?” one kid with no front teeth asks, glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. His eyes appear larger than they actually are.
Carefully, Ryan gets down on one knee to talk to him. “I had a run-in with a bear.”
If the kid’s eyes could grow any bigger, they would. They’re huge now. The children’s mouths are open as they stare at Ryan.
“You fought a bear?” one asks.
“Not really. I hit one with my truck on accident. He was a pretty big bear.” Ryan shows the height and width of the moose with his hands. “Unfortunately, the moose didn’t make it.”
“My name is Blake. What do you mean, he didn’t make it?” the smallest of the crowd of kids asks.
“He passed away, Blake.”
“He went to sleep?” Blake blinks.
“No, he died.”
“The moose died?” he repeats.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t die.” Blake reaches out and touches Ryan’s good arm to confirm. “You’re still warm.” He stares at Ryan. “My uncle Lee died in Megunticook Lake.” He’s matter-of-fact. “His body was co-old. I got to touch it.”
Ryan nods. “I remember.”
“My mom says he was an asshole.”
“Okay, campers”—Ruby walks up behind us—“time to get started.”