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This is much nicer. Just the fresh smell of the rain and the feel of the grass underfoot. And the white noise of the water droplets as they land on the umbrella overhead.
I wander the gravestones, traveling deeper into the cemetery where the headstones get older and more ornate. Betsy and Norm Milner, 1879-1957 and 1872-1957. Besides her name, all her gravestone says is, Beloved Wife, and his, Beloved Husband. For being born in the 1800’s, they lived long lives. And then both died the same year. I wonder if it was like those couples you sometimes hear about, where they became so attuned to each other that they died within weeks of each other?
And it’s stupid, so stupid, but standing there staring at Betsy and Norm’s graves, I finally start to cry. I didn’t cry when the lawyer called to tell me Grandpa died or once during the funeral or burial services.
But now, looking at this loving couple, so long gone…
I hunch over as the tears pour out of me. So hard that I’m soon sobbing. Doubled over like I am, I’m barely able to keep the umbrella over my head.
I cry for Grandpa and for what my mother is and what she never was. I cry for the whole last year and I cry about what Paul did to me and I cry over Dominick.
I cry and cry and cry.
And then, when I’m all cried out, I take a huge gulp of breath and stand back up.
The rain is pouring harder than ever.
But I still see him.
I gasp, the hand not holding the umbrella flying to my chest.
Dominick.
Not twenty feet away, only semi-hidden behind one of the huge cemetery oaks, is Dominick. He’s staring straight at me and he takes a step when he sees me notice him. He doesn’t have an umbrella and he’s completely drenched.
I freeze and so does he.
Rain continues to fall, slicking his hair down against his forehead. It’s longer than when I last saw him, almost in his eyes. Even through the thick sheets of rain, I can still see that he looks as heart-stoppingly gorgeous as ever.
But that was never their problem, was it? They used their looks to lure me in.
Without really thinking about it, I retreat a step.
Even from so far away, I see Dominick’s shoulder’s droop at my reaction. He looks down, his rain-soaked hair falling even further in his face. And then he turns around and starts to walk swiftly away.
For a second I watch him go.
His broad back retreats into the rain.
Further away.
Now I can barely see him now through the rain.
And then panic sets me into action.
I start running after him. After a few steps, it’s clear my umbrella is too unwieldly, so I toss it aside. The heavy rain quickly soaks me, but I don’t care. The only thing running in a loop through my brain is: No. Don’t go. Stop him.
“Dominick!” I call out.
The rain is falling too hard for him to hear me, though, because he doesn’t stop. His broad back stays slumped as he steps onto one of the paths that leads out of the cemetery. He’s just walking, though, and I’m running.
I have such momentum built that when I finally catch up to him, I almost knock him over when I throw my arms around him from behind.
He stumbles forward and then swings around. His mouth drops open in shock and then he grabs me up into his arms, squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe for a moment.
I close my eyes and sink against him. I ignore the rain and I ignore all the realities that stand between us.
It’s just Dominick.
Holding me.
Clutching my head to his chest and kissing my forehead, my hair, my face.
It’s when he tries to go for my lips that I yank away, the old pain rearing up.
Because in spite of the spontaneous joy racing through my body at seeing him and feeling his touch, oh God, his touch—
But no, this is still the man that lied to me. Tricked me. Seduced me when I was just an innocent, naïve—
I rear back from him and then swing my palm at his face. It lands with a satisfying smack. And then again, with my other hand, I slap him. I raise my hand a third time and Dominick stands steadfast, like he’s prepared to take it and anything else I might dish out.
It’s too similar to the way he looked when his father took off his belt that time to beat his backside. Like he would just bear it because he felt he deserved it.
I drop my arm and just stare at him. I don’t even know what to do now. I don’t want to be someone who hurts the people I care about. And damn it. Dominick’s not his father. And I do still have feelings for him, even after a year.
