Page 19 of Rescuing Ryder

“Sure.”

They made their way up, and she pointed out the detailing on the staircase. The first room at the top of the stairs appeared large and spacious. The second, located at the front of the house, held a picture window and a seat along the bottom. The third room, at the back of the house, contained another set of French doors leading to a balcony.

“What do you plan to do with these rooms?” he asked, peering over the balcony’s edge.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll turn one into a guest room. I haven’t decided on the other two. One day, I hope to have a family, maybe a nursery and another bedroom. I’ll work on them one step at a time.”

He turned to watch the expression change from happiness and excitement to sadness or loneliness.

“You did good, Claire. It’s beautiful,” he complimented her.

She grinned at him and something happened to his chest. He felt his heart skip a beat as he returned her smile.

The moving truck pulled into the driveway, and she practically skipped down the stairs to meet them. The men exited the truck and began unloading. Ryder headed toward the kitchen, where he noticed the lopsided cart sitting in the corner. He fished inside the box she carried in with the lamp, pulled out the screwdriver, and shook his head as he tore it apart and rebuilt it. If only he could rebuild his life as easily.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The next day, he met her on the inside track of the therapy room. They stretched together before starting the laps. As they ran, people flitted in and out of the room, but he stayed focused on the sound of his feet hitting the ground in tune with his heart. Claire seemed more subdued today than the day before. When they finished, they headed toward the showers and met at her office. Two boxes sat waiting for him.

“I have two more in the car if you finish these,” Claire said as she pulled files from behind her desk.

“How did the move go yesterday? Did they put up your bed? Or did you spend the night sleeping on an angle?” he asked as he pulled the contents out of the first box and placed it beside his chair.

She glanced at him and narrowed her eyes. “It went fine. I managed to unpack a few boxes. After living on the mountain, it’ll take me time to get used to the different noises.”

“Is your house full of ghosts? Offer them stomach medication and they’ll stop moaning and leave you alone. With the color of your house, it’s a shining beacon for any within a fifty-mile radius to visit you. It’ll save you a ton of money over holding a séance.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious. Do you believe in ghosts? I find it comforting to think my grandmother watches me from above,” she stated thoughtfully as she flipped through the pages.

“I live with them. I don’t find it comforting. It’s a reminder of all your mistakes, the last time you saw someone and didn’t say what you wanted.”

“What about the good times? Those special moments you shared with someone, and you won’t ever experience them again,” Claire asked wistfully. “They can feel painful because you know you’ll never feel the same again, but they remind us to live daily with a purpose.”

She walked to the filing cabinet.

“You think my purpose includes sitting in your office putting together shelves and fixtures? It’s almost hell after you’ve gotten a hold of them. Didn’t you participate in a shop class or help your father while growing up? Memories mean nothing. They remind you of how much you fucked up, and the person you remember isn’t here anymore.”

Claire set the papers on her desk and walked around to where he sat with the items lined up by number.

“Did you make a mistake? Why do you feel it makes you a terrible person? We all make them. It’s a part of life and learning.” She leaned over in the chair, resting her elbows on her knees.

“Hand me items number four and number six. If you insist on psychoanalyzing me, you can at least be useful,” Ryder demanded gruffly.

Claire searched for the pieces and handed them over. “We don’t have to discuss it. I promised you no therapy.”

He concentrated on building the shelf, refusing to acknowledge her words. “I won’t have time to finish the other box. It’ll have to wait,” Ryder informed her curtly.

“It’s okay. I’m not planning to use it right away. Tonight, I’m fixing the fireplace. I want it ready to use before it gets cooler.” She rose, returning to her seat. Claire didn’t glance his way for the rest of the session. When he finished, he set it aside and placed the tools on her desk.

Ryder walked to the door and hesitated a moment before leaving. “I can’t think of them as ghosts because then I have to remember they don’t get a chance to live the life they should’ve. I’m here and they aren’t. No words can make me forget that.” He closed the door behind him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ryder sat on the deck of the cabin. The air began to cool in the evening, and he wondered if Claire attempted to fix the fireplace herself. He winced at the thought of her near fire and shook his head, envisioning fire trucks surrounding the ghastly house. Taking a long draw from the beer in his hand, he thought about the day of the attack.

Gunner sat across from him in the Humvee. Oreo showed a picture of his daughter, all dressed up for her senior photos. Slater taped an ultrasound picture his wife sent inside his helmet. In another month, they’d discover the sex of their first child. Gunner laughed and told him about Patty’s last package he received the night before. He promised to share the oatmeal raisin cookies she sent when they returned.

He never received letters or packages. His parents died a long time ago. Gunner always shared. The blast hit, and they flipped to the side. Another rocket exploded and Slater kicked open the side and hauled Oreo out by the vest. Gunner pulled at him, shouting something.

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