W ith my feet tucked underneath me, I sit at one end of the couch in Mom’s living room while Faith sits at the other end. We've spent most of the night catching up and talking about Mom, Ted, and wedding plans. Maggie and Matthew are fast asleep in sleeping bags on the living room floor, oblivious to our presence .
"I need to go thank Mr. Ryan," I whisper to Faith as I think of all the food that was delivered for dinner. "Melinda told me he sent dinner and Judy mentioned he has been covering Mom's medical bills. How can he afford that ?"
Faith's eyes widen and her face twists in confusion. "That's what we're calling him now? Mr. Ryan ?"
I frown at her. "That's what I've always called him. I've never called him Stephen ."
She shakes her head back and forth. "Jesus Christ, Franny," she whispers loudly, leaning in closer to me. "You really are clueless, aren't you? Mr. Ryan died five years ago. The ‘Mr. Ryan’ that Judy and Melinda are so very fond of is Cole !"
My stomach drops and my heart races, a million thoughts swirling through my mind. "Cole?" I question, not sure if I heard her correctly .
She scoots closer to me. "Yes. Cole. He brought the food by this evening. You were in the shower cleaning up when he stopped by — "
"Judy said Mr. Ryan," I cut her off, "so I assumed it was Mr. Ryan . You know, Cole's dad." My pulse races as the pieces begin to fall together .
She shakes her head again. "He's dead, Franny. He had a massive heart attack one night and died in his sleep." Faith continues to tell me the story. "Mom said for a few weeks leading up to when he passed, he wasn’t looking well. She said he'd stop by the diner and have dinner and speak to everyone in the past tense. It's like he knew he was dying. He told her he’d written a will, leaving the shop and house to Cole." She tilts her head toward the house across the street .
My eyes widen in shock when I think of Cole still living in that house. The house I spent so much time in growing up. The house I lost my virginity in. "I assumed Cole had his own place now," I whisper, taking it all in. Mr. Ryan is dead and Cole could be right across the street at this very moment .
"No.” She shakes her head. “He still lives there. Mom said he fixed up the inside real nice, just hasn't gotten to the outside yet. Are you sure Mom didn't tell you any of this?" she asks, looking confused .
I pick at the blanket laid across my lap and shake my head. "No. I told her I didn't want to hear anything about anyone from Crescent Ridge, especially anything to do with Cole ."
"Jesus, Franny." She shakes her head. "Cole's been taking care of Mom's yard for years. He still stops by and fixes things around the house for her. That garden out back," she points toward the backyard, "he still tills that up every year for her and helps her plant whatever it is she likes to plant in that garden. Maggie started helping them this year." She looks down at her daughter on the floor, her long dark hair splayed across her pillow .
A lump forms in my throat and I'm not sure if it's anger or sadness, or a combination of both. My mom did exactly what I asked her to do—and I'm shocked. The lady is a vault. Apparently a lot has happened around here these last ten years, and I'm oblivious to all of it .
I pull my legs out from underneath me. "I didn't know he died, Faith." Tears fill my eyes. "He was so good to us." Her eyes are filled with sadness. She reaches out and takes my hand in hers. Mom claims she and Stephen Ryan were nothing more than friends, but they relied on each other a lot over the years, and Stephen Ryan was a father figure to Faith and I growing up. I'm sick that I didn't know of his passing .
"God, Faith," I mumble, pushing myself to my feet and walking to the kitchen .
"It was a long time ago, Franny." She follows me into the kitchen. "Don't beat yourself up about it ."
"I'm not beating myself up," I tell her, pulling a mug down from the cabinet. "Hot chocolate?" I ask her and she shakes her head no. Hot chocolate is my go to comfort drink. "It's just that I would’ve liked to have paid my respects. That's all ."
She huffs, "Franny. Be real with yourself for a minute. You would not have come back for his funeral ."
I look at my sister, who stands with her hands on her hips, and I give her a sad smile. She's right, and she knows it .
"You can go pay your respects while you're home,” she reminds me. “He's as dead today as he was five years ago ."
I bust out laughing. "Oh my god, Faith!" I throw a kitchen towel at her and she catches it. I mix my hot chocolate in the large mug and hand it to Faith. "Here, transfer this to that metal travel mug." I point to the mug with a lid on it .
She frowns at me. "You're not going to go pay your respects now, are you? It's almost five in the morning ."
"No." I try to contain my laugh. "I need to go for a walk, get out of here for a bit. I just need some fresh air. All of this is so much to take in ."
She looks at me in understanding. "Just be careful," she says, taking the travel mug off the kitchen counter. She begins transferring my hot chocolate from the coffee mug to the travel mug. "And don't wake me up when you come back ."
* * *
T he sun is barely beginning to rise in the east as my feet hit the old, cracked pavement. A ways down the street, I duck underneath the large but still low-hanging branches from the cedar tree that marks the entrance to the path that will take me to the fault line .
My heart races the closer I get. The trail is overgrown with brush, but I'd know how to find the fault line if I was blind .
The earliest hints of morning sun are hard to see under the shade of large trees. Birds singing fill the quiet, open space around me. Twigs and fallen branches line the trail that was once clear from the endless times Cole and I would visit the fault line .
Dried branches snap under my weight as I do my best to not trip on the now hazardous trail. Another hundred yards and I'll be there—back to the ledge that overlooks the fault line. To the ledge where I'd sit for hours and plan my future. To the ledge where Cole and I would dangle our feet and share our dreams. This place holds so many of my childhood memories, even the memories that hurt. A place I should be avoiding—but it's also the one place in the world where I can find clarity .
At the fault line, I can close my eyes and forget. About my mom's stroke, about being back in the one place that hurts more than I ever imagined it would—this stupid little town where I left my heart and buried my dreams .
Ten years ago, I vowed to never come back here—yet here I am. As I approach the clearing, my heart, my dreams, and my future—everything I buried all those years ago—sits on the ledge of that cliff looking over his shoulder at me .
Cole Ryan .
"Hey, Frankie girl," his deep voice calls to me, and in the blink of an eye my entire world comes to a sudden stop. His bright blue eyes haunt me, still wreaking havoc on my heart .
Momentarily, everything stands frozen in time. Every memory of us at the fault line flashes before my eyes. I can recall the thousands of times I have walked into this clearing and found Cole, legs dangling over the ledge, waiting for me. But never in a million years did I expect to see him here…not today, not at five o'clock in the morning, not ever .
I squeeze the travel mug of warm hot chocolate in my right hand, debating whether to turn and run or chuck the sixteen-ounce mug of piping hot chocolate at his head. The brokenhearted girl says toss the mug, but the voice of reason in me, the lawyer, says turn and run .
My heart races and my knees shake. I’m paralyzed. The sound of his voice plays over and over in my head. The hold Cole still has on me both frightens and upsets me .
Taking a deep breath, I turn on my heel and walk back to the path I just arrived on. I need to leave Cole and my past there…in the past. I'm too fragile to deal with these feelings and emotions, and I need them to stay buried where I left them .
Only sometimes feelings and emotions are a traitorous bitch .
Tears fill my eyes, and I hate that I'm getting emotional, especially with Cole so close by. I refuse to let him see me cry. I don't know if I'm crying because of him, crying for me, or crying because I'm exhausted. All I wanted was a place to think—alone. My feet do double time carrying me back to the brush-covered path .
"Frankie, stop," Cole demands, but I keep moving. The sooner I get back to the trail, the sooner I can get away from Cole. Tears soak my face and I struggle to see through the dusky morning light. I can hear him moving behind me, but I keep my eyes focused on the trail ahead of me .
"Stop!" he says, just as a hand grabs my elbow, halting me .
I keep my face turned down. My entire body shakes as his hand holds onto my elbow, keeping me in place. Those traitorous tears continue to roll down my cheeks, and I do my best to not let him see me cry—only my best isn't good enough. He sees it and he inhales sharply .
I yank my arm free from his grip and turn my back toward him, doing my best to catch my breath and not let him see anymore of my face or my emotions .
"You're always the one running. Stay. I was just leaving," he says, his voice quiet, yet concerned. I remember that voice, the way his tone would become softer when I was upset. I hear him backing away, the sound of his feet on the overgrown brush getting further away. After a few minutes, when I know he's gone, I swipe at my cheeks, drying them with my sleeve. I breathe deeply, trying to clear my lungs and my head .
Trudging back over to the clearing, I sit down in the very spot Cole just vacated, the spot where I've sat a thousand times before. I can almost smell his cologne and feel his arms around me from behind. Memories of all of the times I'd come here to clear my head, or look at the stars hit me like a freight train. The memories are too numerous here, almost overwhelming—to the point where I can still remember vivid details .
"Kiss me, Frankie." He grips my face with both of his hands, firm yet gentle. His blue eyes look into mine, waiting for me to kiss him, only I don't…I'm too afraid to make the first move. He smirks, running his tongue over his lips before he leans in and presses his soft lips to mine. I inhale sharply when I feel how warm they are, and I give in, kissing him back. This feeling is what I want to remember forever. Knees weak, heart racing, warm skin, and heavy breathing .
I meet his slow movements, allowing his lips to tug at mine as he kisses me gently. My hand grips his t-shirt for dear life, and my heart thrums wildly in my chest as he kisses me again and again. This is what love feels like, I tell myself. It's warm, and safe, and standing in front of me with his lips pressed to mine. There is never another kiss that I'll have in this lifetime that will ever beat this kiss. This is the kiss of all kisses .
Breaking our kiss, he pulls back, still holding onto me. "I've been wanting to do that for forever," he says quietly, his lips twisting into a shy smile. "And I'm going to do that a million more times." He chuckles .
And this is the moment I know I'm in love with Cole Ryan .
I shake my head, fighting off the memory. Tears form in my eyes again as I take in the beauty of the fault line that I've come to realize I've missed so very much, along with everything and everyone I've left behind. The tall trees and the beautiful canyon of rock wrap me in a sense of comfort I haven't felt since I left Crescent Ridge, albeit only temporary .
As the sun rises, calm finally settles in. The tears have stopped and my emotions are back in check, my head is clear. I breathe the cool morning air deep into my lungs and close my eyes. Pushing myself up, I decide to head back to the house to grab a couple of hours of sleep before the nurse arrives .
As I make my way back to the trail, I turn and look at the fault line one last time—leaving it and all the memories it holds behind me once again. The trail back seems longer than it did getting here, or maybe I'm moving slower. Either way, it's hard to ignore the pull that the fault line has on me. It was such an important part of my past, and it hurts to leave it behind—but leaving things behind is what we do to move forward .
At least, that’s what I tell myself .