Page 46 of Second Chance

21

Not So Squeaky Clean

[Mati]

I should have rushed after Cora being carried over Denton’s shoulder fireman style, but I didn’t. Instead, I took my time to swipe leaves from inside my sweater and feel the tingle of my breast from where he squeezed me. I swiped at the bits and pieces of foliage under my clothing and then fluffed my hair to find more crumbs. Finally, taking a deep breath, I slowly pace toward the house, feet heavy, like a dead woman walking.

A dying woman spoke to me upstairs, and my eyes still sting from all she said to me…

“He’s come home.” Her chopping voice startled me like she was the smoker all those years instead of Kip.

“Yes, he has, ma’am.” I didn’t know what to say. Her fingers twitched against the coverlet, and the sensitive thing would have been to reach out and cover her hand, but I didn’t. I offered words instead. “He came to see you.”

Mrs. Chance rolled her head on the pillow, her once velvety black hair faded to a dull charcoal color. Her cheeks are hollow, and her lips blend with her skin. I’m not good with death like this, and I send up a silent prayer of gratitude Chris went quickly, without long-lasting suffering.

“He’s here for you, too.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, so for a moment, I thought I misunderstood.

“Pardon me?” I lean closer, certain I didn’t hear her correctly.

“Take care of him like you always did. Don’t let him leave without you this time.” Two things race through my mind. She knew. She knew he came to my house, to my room, to my drive after each and every time her husband touched him. She knew! And she did nothing about it. The second thing was her nerve to think I let him leave or had a choice in not going with him. I had no say. I never knew he didn’t plan to attend college, and then he dumped me from the road trip for Kristy.

“I…” My mouth opened and shut. How could I argue with a dying woman? “Yes, ma’am.” I cringe as I acquiesce, but I’m not about to fight with her, even if I am stubborn.

“He loved you so much.”

Her words pushed me over the edge, and a tear leaked. I thought she meant Chris for a moment, but she rolled her head on the pillow before looking at me, her piercing blue eyes the same as her daughter’s. “Denton loved you fiercely.”

She had to be wrong. He loved me like a friend, like I loved him because I denied my feelings for him. He kissed me and then had sex with another girl. He was just a horny teen.

“Protect his heart more than anything this time,” she said, and then her eyes closed.

For a moment, I feared I was witnessing the end, and it shouldn’t have been me sitting with her. Denton or Dolores or even Magnolia, anyone but me. Thankfully, a nurse entered, checked Caroline’s vitals, and excused me as it was obvious she wanted to rest.

I came downstairs to another bee’s nest of confusion, all puns intended. Cora and Denton looked like they were flirting. Their laughter mingling in the warm afternoon. Her eyes admiring him. How could she not? I’ve never seen so many ripples on a man, so up close, and he looked…hot. Literally, sweaty and glistening, and it just turned me on in all the wrong ways. My tongue was three sizes too big and thickening, eager to lick him everywhere.

Then he had to act like a child with leaves in my face.

Then act like a man grabbing my breast and nipping at my neck.

And I liked it. I liked it too much.

I shiver as I climb the stairs, recalling his bite.

Don’t be a tease. Twice he said that today, but I wasn’t teasing him. I didn’t know how to tease. I didn’t even know how to flirt, but it was obvious Cora does. Her hand on his forearm. Her subtle coquettish giggle. My legs feel sluggish as I climb the stairs to the second floor. My heart sinks to my belly, as I hear laughter and whispers down the hall. I near the bathroom door, perched open a sliver, and knock.

“Cora?” Silence abruptly comes from the other side of the wood. Silence, other than the roar of the running water. I lean forward, my ear tipped toward the door. Is that the shower?

“Was that Mati?” Denton asks, and I hold my breath, waiting for an answer.

“Cora,” I call out again.

“Don’t come in.” The deep male voice warns me, while a female giggle follows, and like having the wind knocked out of me, I’m hit with my mistake. I turn tail and race for the stairs. A million images cross my mind, including Denton and Cora in a variety of positions in a shower. I realize I’ve read too many romance novels and continue to flee without looking back.

+ + +

I can’t go home. I don’t want to be alone yet. Instead, I detour outside of town, seeking an all too familiar place. It’s Sunday, a day many visit for the peace and serenity of the surroundings. The woods are quiet here, and I’m reminded of a Robert Frost poem. My wilder side wanted the path less traveled, but that was years ago. I took the one prominent and worn, and I followed it to this point.

I easily find the plot I’m looking for and stand over the granite stone.

Christopher John Rathstone

I’ve been here often, but retreated the past few months, knowing Chris isn’t really in this place. He’s above me and around me and in my heart, but not here. Not really. Still, I stand over his grave, my mind filled with a million things and nothing. I don’t know what to say to him, how to ask his advice. He shouldn’t be the one to give me guidance about dating, relationships, or other men. I fight the urge to question his death for the hundredth time. An accident. Something no one could prevent.

I loved my husband. He was my best friend. Yet, I’ve accepted he’s no longer with me and the rare moments I’ve laughed lately with Denton remind me how lonely I’ve been without Chris. It’s felt good to laugh. It’s felt good to even smile. I don’t want to lose those feelings. They’ve been gone for too long.

I gaze down at the grass over Chris’s grave. The cemetery takes care of the land, but a bottle of whiskey sits on the edge of his tombstone, and I curse the kids hanging out here to drink. Lifting the bottle to my chest, intending to throw it in the trash, I aimlessly stare at Chris’s name.

What am I doing here? I wonder to myself. A chill runs up my legs as if someone touches the bare skin behind my knees and I shiver.

Chris? My brain teases, but I know it’s not possible. For the longest time, I thought I heard his voice or felt his presence in our home, like the ghost limb of an amputee. A grieving support group online told me this was normal. The sensation would pass. Some people didn’t care for that answer, wishing to hang on forever. I found relief in the concept. I felt like I was going crazy, and the longer I clung to the hope of hearing him, the harder it was to accept he was truly gone.

“I found Denton,” I say aloud, speaking to the grass. “I don’t know what to do with him, though.” Then I remember the letter, the whole purpose for reaching out to him. I haven’t given it to him, and he hasn’t asked about it, but I need to take care of business. After the events of today between him and Cora, I need to give him his letter and move on.

I suppose I should thank Denton for the kisses he’s given me. It’s proven I’m ready to kiss again. Maybe not someone random, but someone. Someone who would make me feel desired, wanted, happy like Denton did in those moments. Denton isn’t like Chris. He’s more wild, carefree, spontaneous—all the things I’ve missed in myself, and the things I’d like to regain.

Taking a deep breath, I glance around the space void of other physical beings. My thoughts empty and I decide I need food along with the comfort of the living—my children.