chapter thirty-five

When Crystal entered the living room, Dave was sitting on the couch reading one of the books he’d picked up off the coffee table. Gracie sat at his side watching cartoons on the TV. Crystal did a double take. His clothes were clean, his hair was brushed back, and the beginning of a beard still cloaking his face was now neatly trimmed. It had been difficult to study his features the night before. Now she found herself not wanting to look away. He noticed the prolonged stare and stood.

“Good morning. I hope it’s okay, I took a quick shower and . . .”

“Yes, I can see that. You clean up nicely, Dave Riley.”

“Morning, Mommy!” Gracie beamed, proud to be the one at the side of their visitor.

“You’re up early, kiddo. Are your brothers still asleep?”

“Guess so,” she answered with a shrug.

Crystal turned back to Dave. “If you’ve already made breakfast, then I’ll have to hurt you.”

“I haven’t. Thank goodness.”

“Well, give me ten minutes to shower and then I’ll come back and see what we have. Gracie, would you get your brothers up? We have church in an hour.”

Dave had attended church with his family regularly. Since the accident, he’d been back just twice.

“You’re certainly welcome to come with us, Dave. The service lasts a little over an hour.”

“I thought you said people would talk if they knew that you had let a stranger stay.”

“That’s true; I did say that, didn’t I? Of course, on the other hand, it would be a shame to waste a good shower and beard trim on just us.”

“I appreciate the invitation, really, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I didn’t bring any clothes for church. All I have are jeans and T-shirts.”

She rolled in her lips but said nothing.

“What is it?” he finally asked.

“It’s completely up to you if you come or not, but I was just wondering, will God really care what you wear?”

Then she walked out of the room to get ready.

• • •

They arrived at church late, and Dave was grateful. The only open benches were in either the very front or the very back. They opted for the back and slipped in through a rear door. Halfway to their seats, Gracie dropped her bundle of colored markers that she’d brought along to keep herself busy. The noise caused several heads to turn.

Dave expected a look of embarrassment from Crystal—instead, her mouth turned up slightly. She bent down as best she could in her skirt and helped Gracie retrieve them. Dave pointed the two boys toward the open bench and ushered them in to sit down. When Crystal arrived, she let Gracie enter the pew first to sit next to Dave.

The pastor was an older gentleman, but certainly none the worse for wear. He delivered his words with a balance of experience and passion, as if his own conviction would leech out to those listening. For some, it appeared to.

Even in such a small town, the place was full—surprising to Dave, who had come from a city many times the size but where filling only half the Sunday benches was the norm. There were drawbacks, however. Dave couldn’t help but notice at least three ladies, all seated in separate benches, cast Crystal wondering glances. Small-town curiosity. It was only at the last minute that he’d grabbed his jacket—a futile attempt to dress up. From the expressions on the women’s faces, it may not have worked.

Will God really care what you wear? He considered Crystal’s earlier question—or was it an admonition? Either way, it was advice that could have come from Megan.

Meg. If she could see him now: sitting in a small-town church somewhere in Colorado, wearing his Harley jacket. He wasn’t sure if she’d laugh hysterically or be appalled. It was a ridiculous question to even pose—she was gone and she wasn’t coming back.

Since the accident, he’d found that by staying busy, by keeping his mind going, he could drive away thoughts of Megan and the children—trick himself into thinking about better times—forget the pain. It was hard to do, however, during quiet times, times of solitude, like last night in the living room, for example, or when riding on long stretches of open road. Sitting in church reflecting on his own existence, it became almost impossible.

He missed his wife—missed her desperately.

Gracie’s touch interrupted his thoughts. She’d drawn a picture of his motorcycle and was presenting it to him. “I drew it green ’cause my black marker didn’t work,” she whispered up to him. Crystal watched with a grin.

“Thank you,” Dave replied. He studied the image. Indeed the bike was green, and she’d drawn stick figures of a man and a little girl standing beside it. She grabbed another sheet of paper while Dave carefully folded the masterpiece and placed it in his front jacket pocket. Dave understood she’d drawn a picture of herself and him by the bike. How could she know the picture would remind him of his own daughter, Angel?

By now the pastor was in full swing. He was talking about giving our hearts to God, about living our lives according to God’s will. Dave found himself wondering what the message meant for him, asking silent questions. What should I do now that God has taken away my wife and family? While he had the urge to stand and pose the question out loud, he didn’t.

The sermon ended with no answers. Dave hadn’t come expecting any.

On their way to the door, Crystal introduced him to half a dozen women who had meandered over. Dave couldn’t remember their names. He didn’t try. He offered a quick nod, a simple, “Nice to meet you, too.” Soon they were in her car.

After a quick drive around to show him the town, they headed back to her place for lunch. Then, at the coaxing of the children, everyone walked over to the park.

“Show us some more batting stuff,” Jared begged.

Dave was happy to help. They were younger than the kids he was used to coaching, but the basics remained the same. Dave added to the simple techniques he’d shown them the day before. He taught them how to grip the bat properly, how to make their swing level and consistent. He showed them how they could direct their power, increase their distance, by working on form and follow-through. It was baseball, and all three were in heaven. After an hour, the boys would have followed Dave to the ends of the earth.

Crystal watched with curiosity while Gracie played on the bleachers. Despite the intent direction he was giving Jared and Glen, he found himself casting glances back in Crystal’s direction.

Once the boys were hitting consistently, Dave yelled over to the two spectators, “Okay, it’s time for a game. Let’s go!”

At first Crystal glanced behind her, as if he were speaking to someone else.

He clarified. “Yes, you. I’m talking to the two blondes.”

“I’m not very good,” Crystal responded.

“Well, practice can’t hurt then, can it?”

Crystal grabbed Gracie’s hand, and they walked out onto the field. Dave surveyed the talent. “Okay, it’ll be me and Gracie against you three.”

Both Glen and Jared protested that the teams were not fair.

“What? You want Gracie as well?” Dave inquired. They weighed the offer but clearly realized any trade negotiations at this point would be in vain. The teams were divided and the game began.

Crystal and the boys took first ups. Dave pitched; Gracie stood near first base; Glen batted. The batting lessons had apparently helped. On the first pitch he smacked the ball past Gracie and out into right field. Gracie watched the ball soar by, then gave Dave an I’m-not-gonna-go-get-it look. Everyone laughed as Dave ran to the outfield to retrieve the ball. By the time he returned to the pitcher’s mound, Glen was firmly planted on third base.

Jared was next. He missed the first pitch, but on the second he hit a solid grounder past third. Glen ran home to Crystal’s cheers while Jared slid into second.

Next up was Crystal. When she stood up to the plate and took the bat, Dave couldn’t help but grin.

“Okay, what’s so funny?” she asked.

“Nothing, really. Except for the fact that you bat like, well . . .”

“Don’t you dare say girl,” she threatened.

“Okay, how about rookie?”

“I don’t believe that’s meant as a compliment.”

Dave pitched the ball as gingerly as possible over the plate. Crystal swung late. Jared called the play from behind.

“Strike one.”

She pulled the bat back into position, ready to try again. Dave’s brow furrowed. Her batting form was hideous, painful to watch. He thought about giving her some pointers, but instead pitched the ball.

She swung soon enough this time, but several inches high.

“Strike two,” Jared called.

“Whose team are you on?” Crystal mumbled over her shoulder.

When she pulled the bat back for her third try, it was more than Dave could handle.

“Time-out! We have a training time-out on the field.” He stepped toward Crystal, who lowered her bat and waited.

Dave continued, “Okay, I realize this is helping the opposing team—but, quite frankly, you’re killing me.” He took the bat from out of her hands and began to give pointers.

“Am I that bad?” Crystal asked.

Dave hesitated, then confirmed. “Yeah, that bad. You need to follow through with a full swing, not swat at the ball.” He gave Crystal a quick demonstration, then handed her the bat to try again. She looked as if she were fighting off an attacking mugger—and it wasn’t pretty. Dave’s wince let anyone watching know: she just wasn’t getting it.

“No,” Dave replied, “not like that at all.” Crystal began to laugh. Dave grabbed the ball and tossed it to Jared. “Go about halfway to the mound and then toss a few easy ones over the plate. Glen, you play catcher.” He moved with Crystal to home plate. “This will have to do for now, but really, you need a smaller bat.”

“That’s what the boys said. Is this a conspiracy?”

“Get them a size twenty-eight, perhaps even a twenty-nine, but nothing bigger. When they grow out of it, you can use it to keep stray bikers away.”

“Good idea, I’ll do that.”

“Look, take the bat in your hands—grip it like this.” After letting her watch him grip the bat, he handed it to her and then stepped behind. He reached an arm around each side to help her grip it as well.

“Okay, now feel the motion as I swing through.” Dave swung the bat, showing her the path it should follow. “Can you feel the difference?”

She exhaled, letting her body relax and drop slightly back against his. “Do it once more,” she said.

He swung the bat again, more slowly this time. With the slower swing, his tone hushed as well—somehow an innocent situation was becoming something more.

“How was that?” he asked.

When she answered, her voice had softened. “That was better,” she replied.

He turned to look in her eyes, to see if the moment was imagined, but her face was too close, their cheeks almost touching. Her words now were almost a whisper.

“Yes, that was definitely much better.”

He could feel her breath against his neck; his arms stayed wrapped around her body. It was innocent, unplanned, but when Dave recognized what was happening, he wasn’t sure if he should pull away or pull her closer. The feeling was warm, yet awkward, pleasant, yet painful.

When he did finally let go, confusion edged in between them. With both at a loss for words, neither he nor Crystal spoke.

Jared came to the rescue. “Are you gonna stand there all day, Mom, or bat?”

“Yeah,” Dave added, his sarcasm masking a still flooding river of emotion. “Are you gonna stand there all day, or bat?”

Crystal smiled contently as she pulled the bat back into position. Dave took over for Jared, who moved behind home plate. Gracie, her interest long since gone, was picking dandelions on the far side of first base.

Dave pitched. Crystal swung. Jared called it from behind the plate.

“Strike three—you’re out!”

• • •

The game was a massacre. Though Crystal struck out more than she hit, the boys made up the difference. Dave could smack the ball far into the outfield, but Jared and Glen quickly developed a system for getting the ball back to home plate before Dave could run the bases. With Gracie to follow, they were usually able to force Dave out at home and still manage to tag their sister out as well.

After an hour Crystal called the game, and everyone headed home.

It was one of the most pleasant Sundays Dave had spent in months.

After dinner, while the children were getting ready for bed, Crystal stepped to the couch where Dave was calculating routes on his phone and then checking them against his printed maps.

Crystal stepped close and whispered almost covertly, “The shop for your bike opens tomorrow. Tonight’s our last chance to talk. I’ll meet you for coffee at the kitchen table in fifteen minutes.”

Dave nodded his agreement, then watched her slip into Gracie’s room to help her get ready for bed. He couldn’t deny he was enjoying his time here—despite feeling uneasy about getting sidetracked. He finished a few more calculations, folded up his map, then started the coffee. When Crystal entered, he’d already poured the cups.

“Are you okay?” she asked, sitting beside him. “You seem a little tense.”

“I didn’t sleep much last night, and I guess I’m worried about fixing my bike.”

“I had a hard time sleeping as well. We should’ve stayed up to talk.”

He smiled at her humor. It was familiar. “Yeah, we should have.”

“Listen,” she said, “these kitchen chairs make my butt sore. Let’s sit on the couch.”

He agreed, and soon they were seated next to each other in the family room. Tonight they skipped the small talk.

“Why are you so worried about the motorcycle?” Crystal asked. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“In a hurry?”

“Well, you seem a bit apprehensive—as if we’re keeping you from something.”

“You’re perceptive.”

“It’s a woman thing.”

She waited for his answer. He paused, deciding how best to explain.

“This probably won’t make sense, and I’m sure afterwards you’ll think I’m unstable, but the truth is that I’m going to the Golden Gate Bridge to look for answers.”

It was a thoughtful pause. “I can understand that.” Her voice was calm, sincere. He waited a moment for her next question, the follow-up question. It didn’t come.

“Don’t you want to know what answers?” Dave finally asked. “I mean, that’s the next thing everyone asks.”

“I know exactly what answers.”

“Really? That’s surprising, because even I’m not sure myself most of the time.”

“Yes, you are—you just don’t realize it. You’re looking for the same answers that everyone looks for in their life. Let me take a guess—questions like, why me? Why not me? How do I make the pain go away? Will I ever find love again? How do I get up and survive tomorrow after everything that I’ve been through today?” She paused. “So, how am I doing?”

“How do you know these things?”

“Because they’re the same questions I asked myself when I packed up the children and moved here—some of the same questions I still ask myself. I am curious about one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did you choose the bridge?”

“I think it chose me. I’ve been told that my grandfather considered it a special place. I figured if the bridge worked for him, it might work for me.”

He watched her lips press together, her head nod forward, her eyes narrow, as she seemed to agree. He had never met anyone, except perhaps Megan, with such empathy. And Crystal was not only perceptive, she was charming—and beautiful, in a girl-next-door sort of way. As he studied her, he realized that she returned his gaze, that she was looking directly into his eyes, yet not saying a word. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t—or didn’t.

Like an actor on stage, on perfect cue, she leaned over in the dim light of the night and kissed him. He kissed her back.

You have your whole life ahead of you, Ponytail Man. I’m just happy that I’m the one you’ve picked to share it with.

The feeling was strange—exhilarating, yet profoundly confusing. His pounding heart was being stabbed by tiny pins, and yet he couldn’t discern if the emotion was excitement, guilt, or sorrow. Either way, she was the first woman he had kissed—truly kissed—since Megan.

I love you, honey. Have a wonderful birthday! And, remember, no matter what, I’ll always be younger.

In the past, when he couldn’t take the pain of memory any longer, he would force the thoughts away, compel himself to think of other things. In an instant, as Crystal kissed him and he kissed her back, he realized that he was consciously forcing thoughts of Megan from his head. When he recognized what he was doing, the whole notion made him nauseous. He pulled away and looked down.

She followed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay.” The shakiness of his words betrayed the ache now swelling in his chest.

“It’s not okay. I’m so sorry.”

He wished that he could retract the moment, change the past—but he knew that such hopes were wasted. Experience had been a meticulous tutor.

“I have to leave early tomorrow. I need to get some rest,” he said as he stood, trying to not act cold but knowing he was failing miserably.

“I understand. I’ll see you in the morning.” She excused herself and headed to her own room.

Dave readied himself for bed and climbed into his sleeping bag. For the second consecutive night, he lay on the couch with his eyes wide open. The walls in the house were thin, and as he contemplated his departure in the morning, he wondered if the muffled sound coming from the back bedroom was that of someone crying.

• • •

In the morning he was gone. She was sure he didn’t realize it, but leaving the way that he had, without saying good-bye, caused a flood of familiar and painful memories to surface.

She fixed breakfast for the children in silence and then readied them for the day. With school out for the summer, Crystal worked three days a week at the district office while the kids played at a day-care center across the street.

Today, instead of going in to work, she dropped the children off and then drove back home. She’d hoped to see his bike parked out front. Nothing. She walked around the outside of the house and glanced past the field and over toward the park. No trace—nobody there. It was as if he’d been a dream, as if she had imagined the whole encounter. She also knew from painful experience that hoping would never change reality.

She reached for her keys, considered driving to Darin’s RV to find him. She wanted to tell him again that she was sorry. She stepped to her car and kicked the tire in frustration before looking heavenward.

I had to go and kiss him. What was I thinking?

She weighed heading back to work. They would wonder why she was so late. Instead, she walked inside, called in sick, and then dropped onto the couch. By eleven-thirty, she still hadn’t moved. She couldn’t.

At the sound of the approaching bike, she jerked upright, bolted to the door, took a breath to collect herself, then stepped quietly onto the porch. She watched him pull into the driveway, drive up onto the walk, and stop just short of the steps. He turned off his bike and removed his black helmet.

“I see you got your bike fixed,” she said.

“It was the carburetor.”

“I would have driven you down to the shop. You didn’t have to walk.”

“That’s okay. I had to push the bike down anyway—and I was up early.”

“Well, I’m glad they could help—glad you could get it fixed.”

He nodded. “I’m relieved that I caught you. I was afraid you would have already gone.”

“I called in sick today.” She hesitated, then added, “I need to tell you again, Dave, that I’m sorry about last night.”

He held his finger to his lips. “Please, not another word. I think last night I may have sorely overreacted.”

She waited, didn’t answer, let him continue.

“I didn’t mean to run out so quickly this morning. It’s just that if I don’t go now, I won’t make the bridge in time. I need to make it by the Fourth of July.”

She didn’t understand his urgency, why the date should matter, but she accepted that it did. “Be careful.”

“Crystal, if this was another place or another time . . .” He paused, taking obvious care to choose his words. “But the thing is—I just don’t have anything that I can offer you right now. I’m not sure that I ever will. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“I understand,” she replied, even though she didn’t.

“I’m sorry.”

“Gracie missed saying good-bye. I wasn’t sure what to tell her.”

Dave cringed. “It was early and she was asleep.” Even now his excuse sounded hollow. “Please tell her that I’m sorry.”

“Okay, if that’s what you’d like.”

Then silence let each know that it was time. He had mounted the Harley and started to put on his helmet when she spoke. “I hope you find your answers, Dave Riley.”

He stayed on the bike but reached out his hand toward her. She took it, held it. A quick hug followed—a brief embrace—the kind you might give a friend or a relative. It would have to be enough.

“Thanks, Crystal. I won’t forget you.”

“Nor I you.”

Two days earlier, when Gracie had asked if she could keep Dave Riley as a pet, Crystal had had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Standing in the driveway saying good-bye, she bit her lip again, for a different reason.

She watched as he buckled down his helmet, started the bike, and rumbled out of the driveway. As he passed out of sight, she dropped onto the porch, leaned her head against her folded knees, and wiped at her watery eyes.