Page 25 of Deep Gap

“I don’t think anyone would have faulted you for having a different opinion than Karen.” Not even Karen.

“Neither do I. But after we lost Ellis, my grief made the choice for me to also lose Greer. She was a girl whom I loved as much as a daughter because they’d grown up side-by-side. I began questioning, if she were my daughter, what my reaction would have been to her getting behind that wheel? Anger… hurt… despair… They were all there. But withholding love from my actual child? It wasn’t an option.”

Mac gets misty-eyed. “That happy little girl my son fell in love with while they were growing up was a full-fledged woman the next time I saw her. Greer broke down sobbing when she told me how sorry she was. She’d said the same words to me four years before. I simply wasn’t ready to hear them.”

Mac visited her in prison with Karen and Greer’s mom. He re-established his friendship with Greer’s dad, who had left Brighton when his business failed. He offered her the job here when no one would give Greer a chance. And when she took an interest in his hobby, he’d fostered her enthusiasm.

“I gave her those golden bricks of wax because nothing else made her happy. Cleaning up is not a purpose in life, Byron. And neither is moving into your former best friend’s parents’ house to atone for your guilt.”

“Karen will be devastated. She wants Greer there.”

“Don’t fool yourself. Karen wants Ellis there. She gets a small piece of our boy back with every story Greer shares. Greer’s still alive though, and none of us should be living in the past. Not if we can help it.”

We stand at the same instant.

“Mac, I think I’m—” I’m compelled to confess. I’m probably the last person he should trust to ask to change Greer’s mind or inform her she isn’t welcome on their doorstep.

“No.” He holds up his palms. “No. The woman you care for deserves to hear you love her before you tell anyone else.”

“How did you…”

“Don’t you think after seeing it in my son that I can’t recognize it in another man?”

“This may not be the happiest news to her. She might move in with you, anyway.”

Mac’s head bobs, measuring what I’ve said. “Well, if she does, you’ll have a legitimate reason behind yelling at my vets then, won’t you?”

________________

12

________________

I’ve lived with Byron for five months. He’s held out on having a social life other than an occasional drink with Trig. I’m sure if his friend’s gorgeous wife is the manager at Sweet Caroline’s she has plenty of women she can introduce him to. Being here has allowed me to save my pennies. Maybe my bank account will be flush after the same amount of time staying with Mac and Karen, and I’ll be able to get ahead and afford a studio apartment on this side of Brighton. Maybe that’s a pipe dream. All I do know is Byron has better things to do than babysit me. I’m holding him back.

I packed my bedroom into boxes today and used the ladder to reach the pots and pans stored in the garage rafters. In the kitchen, my hips sway back and forth, the music floating through my earbuds. The playlist had begun melancholy, but as the hour has worn on, it transformed into something upbeat. I mouth a few lines of lyrics, bending to reach into the cabinet where my soap making supplies are, planning to pack them next.

A brush of fingers at my waist gives me pause. If this had happened last fall I would have jumped out of my skin. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about turning and punching or slapping my assailant with a flat open fist. There is a familiarity of tenderness to it; a soothing warmth flowing from my hip down to my toes and back up toward my heart before settling into my core.

It’s gone… And then Byron touches me again in the same spot.

“You’re home early,” I say a little too loud as I stand to put my double boiler on the countertop.

He looks at me. His Adam’s apple bobs and I swallow reflexively as he removes a single bud from my ear and puts it in his own. His grip on my waist is still firm, and Byron tugs me closer, wrapping his arms around me.

He rests his head against mine as we rock to the uptempo music. It’s one of those songs that isn’t quite slow and yet it’s a ballad you can’t exactly cut a rug to. Ellis was my last dance partner and the clumsiness of the ballad makes me feel like I have two left feet.

But if I tripped, Byron wouldn’t let me tumble to the floor. It’s a sensation I’ve sought in the darkness when I skim my hands over my skin. It’s the security I have when I stand under the bright streetlamp at daybreak waiting for the bus and realize I haven’t had a bad dream while I’ve slept. And the reassurance when Byron shows up at work and again here at the end of the day.

I shouldn’t be so tied to him. Dependent on his kindness. Considering making this man feel the way I feel about him is wrong. I don’t know how to love. Just ask Ellis. I’ve never been able to commit to anyone. Just ask Ilona. And here Byron is dancing away with a heart I’m desperate to give him instead of having him steal.

His lips find the shell of my ear. My nipples harden. I pull away out of utter embarrassment before I rub them against his chest, seeking the slightest relief. But Byron’s arms cinch me closer. I want to melt into him the way my body melts into the mattress, imagining his mouth on my breasts and his soft caress between my legs.

“Stay,” he whispers.

My feet still. The remaining earbud falls. I search his face, positive I haven’t heard him correctly.

“I don’t have it in me to beg, Greer.” One hand cups my cheek the way he did when he kissed me. The other laces through mine, squeezing. “Please, just stay. I swear I’ll be a patient man if you do.” He drops his forehead to mine as if his confession is painful.

---