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Myra didn’t speak. Hearing her father had passed, her blue eyes held mine for about a minute and then she lay her head back down on the pillow. On her side, she stared at the backs of the books dividing the two rooms, blinking slowly.
Adjusting to get closer to her on the warm mattress, I crooked my leg on my knee and ran my hand over her bare arm beside it. I hadn’t lost a parent, not like she had, and she’d lost both of hers. Her mother years ago and her father now.
Blank.
That was her reaction, and I wasn’t sure what to do. It was still early in the morning and she’d awoken to the... devastating news? Was she devastated? Traumatized?
Day by day, I’d learned when Myra was unsure or overwhelmed, she’d revert to silent thought and work things out in her own time. It wasn’t avoidance or her ignoring issues, it was the way she navigated them. How she coped.
When she wanted to talk, I trusted she would. If she had questions, she would ask them when the time was right.
It was my duty to be there for her, comfort her, in whatever form or fashion that helped the most.
Her breathing was calm and easy, and she didn’t appear upset or distressed—not in the ways you’d expect of a daughter who’d just lost a father. No tears. No sobbing. No pained expression.
Grief was a strange creature by itself, but coupled with the confusion and resentment she’d recently expressed about Lancaster, I wasn’t sure what she’d want to do. Regardless, whatever she chose would be right for her, and I’d support my girl one hundred percent. No questions asked.
Tucking one of her golden locks behind her ear, I pressed my lips to her temple. “I love you, Myra.”
Her skin still smelled as sweet and floral as the night before, but the air in the room differed completely from the desire and need that had floated in it only hours earlier. Now it was solemn and cool.
I wasn’t about to underestimate her though. She was strong. Bright. Brave. Myra had the ability to face anything with poise and grace, head on. This would be no different.
Leaving her there, I wandered to the kitchen. No longer tired, I was hungry and since I wasn’t going to leave her alone to go to church that morning, I assembled ingredients to make a big breakfast.
Not that I was some world-class chef, but from watching her, I’d gotten better.
We’d both been learning.
Most of my new skills had spurred from having someone there to cook for. Someone to please besides myself. When I lived alone, I didn’t think too much about how well things tasted or even having a variety. It was mostly egg sandwiches, burgers on the weekends, and the occasional frozen pizza, but watching and enjoying my time in the kitchen with Myra had changed my attitude toward cooking.
When she’d first come to stay with me after Jacob died, the last thing I’d wanted was for her to think she was there to cater to my every whim. So I’d relied on the basics, the few I knew, and did my best to make it equal. Admittedly, I’d also downloaded the Pinterest app and had been finding and saving ideas for when it was my turn to prepare meals.
I didn’t mind.
Before I knew it that morning, I had a hot, buttered griddle and a growing stack of pancakes. It wasn’t until I turned off the burners and refilled my cup of coffee that Myra tiptoed her way out of the bedroom.
She smiled as she rounded the island, but I felt like I was standing on every eggshell I’d thrown away. Uncomfortable, because without the ability to hear her thoughts or read her expression, I was unsure of how to behave. I didn’t want her to be upset or feel any amount of pain, but that wasn’t something I could control.
It wasn’t about me.
Whatever and however she felt, she was entitled to those emotions.
Honestly, when it came to me, she was entitled to anything she wanted. Whatever I could do to help, I would. Whatever she needed from me, I’d give her.
That’s what my love for her did to me. It made her the most important. Made her happiness more necessary than my own. She was my highest priority.
Myra had given me a second chance—or maybe just a legit first chance since we were more on the same page than we’d been when she’d first arrived. Things were mutual and not obligatory. Feelings were real. I wanted us to be together because she made my life infinitely better, and I hoped that was why she’d chosen to be with me too.
I prayed that now and from here on out I’d be someone who only added to her world.
She’d shared her body with me the night before. Something precious and satisfying and of her own free will. We’d had sex for the first time, without the blanket of shame or obligations to God or anyone else. We’d been a man and woman making a physical commitment to one another.
It had been our first time, and it wasn’t perfect, but I don’t think it was supposed to be. It hadn’t been something out of a fantasy, but it was vivid enough that I’d remember it my whole life through.
Although, I would have loved to have given her more. Who wouldn’t?
But it had been real. Raw and honest.
To me that meant a lot. Meant everything.
There were no false pretenses. No guises.
Just us.
There’d be time for all the bells and whistles. Time for the playful discoveries lovers gain with experience. Time to use the delicate keys she gave me to unlock places neither of us had ever been. Time to identify every trigger on her body and galvanize each one with delicate wonder of what it might do.
We had time.
We had love.
Truthfully, I hadn’t been a whole man without it, because since hearing her tell me she loved me I’d never felt stronger. More committed. More protective. More capable.
I couldn’t fix all her problems, and she wasn’t asking me to. But I wanted to be a worthy, solid partner. Someone she could rely on. Prepared and steadfast.
I was at her beck and call, whether or not she wanted me there. Neither of us had a choice in that matter. It was what it was, and I wasn’t going anywhere.
That morning it meant a good breakfast. She needed food and maybe a little company while she sorted her thoughts. My girl was facing a painfully uncomfortable situation, and the least I could do was fill her belly and tend to her.
Offer comfort. Companionship. Solidarity.
I was on her side.
My fork pointed at the variety of options I’d made as I listed them.
“Biscuits. Gravy. Pancakes. Sausage. Bacon. Scrambled eggs. Toast. Um, there’s juice.” I scanned the island, making sure I left nothing out. “Oh, and coffee, but you don’t want that.”
“Coffee.” She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands and twisted her hair over her shoulder. When she sat on the wooden stool she winced, and then reached out for my cup.
She’d not been a fan of coffee and, as a rule, didn’t drink it, but I couldn’t deny her. Still her sudden change of heart was surprising.
I passed it to her. “Are you all right?”
“Just tender,” she said and wrinkled her nose.
Was I distracted? Was I missing her grief? Because all I saw in her flaming blue eyes was flirtation and possibly desire.
No.
I ran the thoughts off. She was sore. I needed to reign in my selfishness.
We’d waited a long time to be together by a lot of standards. We were a husband and wife, legally married for months. Living with one another nearly as long, except for the time she spent at the Griers. And, had we been a couple in Lancaster, save for any complications, we’d be expecting our first child already.
So although I couldn’t wait to be with her again, we were waiting until she wasn’t tender. Wasn’t sore.
Also, there was another reason it didn’t feel right to think about what we’d done and how badly I wanted to do it again. The elephant in the room.
Maybe she’d still been mostly asleep when I told her about her dad earlier. That would explain why she didn’t seem bothered, upset, or even sad.
“The call earlier—”
“Yeah, who was that?” she interrupted and then emptied my mug, passing it back.
I lifted the decanter, she nodded, and so I filled it back up.
“It was Robbie Carter.”
Her slender fingers wrapped around the cup and she stared into it.
Surely it was only a matter of time until her family or mine called to give us the news. I hadn’t talked long with Robbie, and therefore didn’t have much information. He’d only called to offer his condolences. I doubt he even realized he’d been the one who told us first.
It was then I remembered he’d sent me a text a while back and I’d left it unanswered. Hopefully, that hadn’t been related.
Myra didn’t eat much. Or, rather, what she had eaten was considerably less than normal. Then again, maybe I was reading into it too much because I was looking for clues anywhere they might be.
After breakfast, she looked through her phone and sat on the couch with one of her study guides.
I hung around the cabin, poking at this and that, aimlessly. Working in the shop didn’t feel right. Going to church and running errands didn’t either. I wanted to be there if she wanted to talk and support her when her family called. But all of it made me somewhat stir-crazy.
Hours went by, in silence. Our phones didn’t ring.
#
IT WAS A COOL NIGHT, and the air was crisp, telling me summer was really gone and autumn was settling into the hills. Soon the leaves would change, and frost would replace dew in the valley each morning.
I leaned against the wooden rail off the bedroom side of the porch as I looked out into the darkness and lit my pipe. I couldn’t claim to be a huge fan of smoking all that much, but I loved the ritual and scent of the burning tobacco.
Before long, the door behind me opened and Myra joined me on the deck. After taking another sip of bourbon, I placed the glass on the rail hoping she might be ready to talk about things. Tell me what she was thinking. Feeling. Guide me to the best way to help her.
“I don’t know why no one has called me. Or called you. I mean, aside from Robbie.”
My arm wrapped around her shoulder, and I pulled her into my side.
I didn’t want to make excuses for her selfish family. A family that she’d been completely devoted to until a few months ago. They were all she’d ever known, and the sting she felt inside must have been painful.
Most of them hadn’t even called to check on her since she’d left Lancaster earlier that summer. Now, with their only surviving parent gone, you’d think they’d cling to one another. Maybe they were, but they had forgotten to include Myra.
It wasn’t for their benefit that I answered, “They’re probably busy with arrangements.” It was for her.
I saw no point in adding insult to her injury.
“I should be sadder.” Her dry eyes looked up at me and I placed a kiss between them on her warm skin.
“Whatever you feel is how you should feel. What do you want to do?”
She lifted the glass in front of us, examined it in the porch light, gave it a smell, and then sampled it. Wincing from the bite of the whiskey, she answered, “We have to go back. I just don’t want to.”
Although I was sure of it before, that she realized how Lancaster really was and saw the people there differently after being away, it was a relief to hear her say it out loud.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Ever.”
She lifted onto her toes and pressed her lips to mine. “Thank you, Abe. But I need to see my father. Tell him goodbye. I loved him.” Her voice quivered as she said the last few words and my heart went out to her.
“Of course you did.”
Myra was smart, brighter than anyone ever gave her credit for. She’d been thinking all day, sorting through things, and I had no doubt that she’d cautiously weighed her options.
My thumb rubbed her arm.
“I’m dreading it,” she said.
She took another sip from my glass, which surprised me. She didn’t much like coffee—up until that morning—and now she was slugging back aged liquor like she’d been doing it for years.
“Listen to me. You don’t have to be like them. Dress like them. Act like them. You are finding your identity, and that doesn’t have to stop just because we have to go back there.” I tapped the end of the pipe against the rail to empty the extinguished tobacco. Then I turned and leaned against the wood to face her head on, meeting her eye to eye in the dim light filtering through the windows on the back of the cabin. “It doesn’t have to change anything.”
Her voice was soft, but her tone was sure. “I don’t want to pretend.”
I’d do my best to make sure no one hurt her, but I wasn’t naïve enough to deny that they’d try. They were the worst when it came to accepting others, differences, or inclusion.