Butterfly Dreams (22 page)

Zoe gave us both a look. “Isn't that cute? I love listening to inside jokes.” She made a face.

Corin leaned down to ogle Zoe's feet. “Those are seriously the most awesome shoes I have ever seen.” She pointed to the knee-high purple and black Doc Martens my sister was wearing.

My sister literally glowed. “These are my favorites!” she shrieked. Zoe turned to me, beaming. “You finally chose a good one, bro. Took you long enough.”

And just like that, my prickly, churlish sister was won over by my equally snappish girlfriend. Who knew an ugly pair of shoes could be such a bridge builder?

Zoe talked Corin's head off for the next ten minutes. She was excited to hear about the pottery studio and promised to bring her sorority in to make Little Sis gifts in the spring.

“Dinner's ready,” my mom called from the kitchen. Dad turned off the TV and we all filed into the dining room. Mom had gone all out, laying out the best china and even using the cloth napkins.

“Wow, Mom. Is Corin royalty and I didn't know it?” Zoe asked, taking her spot at the table.

“I just wanted it to be nice. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?” Mom asked with a smile.

“It looks lovely, Mrs. Kingsley,” Corin said, sitting down in a chair beside me.

Corin's compliment immediately thawed my mother's icy exterior. She gave Corin a full-lipped smile. “Thank you, Corin. But please, call me Meryl.”

Corin nodded and unfolded her napkin onto her lap.

Dad didn't stand on ceremony. He immediately started loading his plate with beef and vegetables.

“Stan, our guest should be served first,” my mom scolded.

“That's okay. I don't mind waiting,” Corin insisted.

“Nonsense. Stan should know better. I do hope Beck has better manners than his father,” Mom muttered, rolling her eyes heavenward.

Corin chuckled. “I have to remind him to eat with his mouth closed and to not eat food from the floor. But other than that, he's fine.”

My mother looked horrified. I poked Corin in the side.

“She's teasing, Mom. I don't do any of that stuff. I promise,” I placated.

Corin tried to hide her smile. “I'm sorry, I was just joking, Meryl. I didn't mean it.”

Mom relaxed. “Oh good. You scared me there for a minute, Corin.”

“At least I didn't mention the boob grabbing,” Corin said under her breath.

I reached over and squeezed her thigh, letting my hand linger. “I warned you about mentioning that,” I said in a low growl.

Corin's eyes sparkled and my chest felt tight. My heart was ready to burst with relief. Things were going…
well.

After my dad was finished the rest of us served ourselves, and I noticed that Corin piled food on her plate as though she hadn't eaten in a year.

“Wow, Mom's going to think you never eat,” I joked.

“I love pot roast. I haven't had one in a long time,” she commented wistfully with faraway eyes.

“How do you like it, Corin?” Mom asked, noticing the way Corin shoveled food into her mouth.

“It's delicious. Unbelievable, really,” she responded, holding up her full fork before putting the food in her mouth.

Mom beamed and just like that Corin won over the last member of my family.

“How did you meet Beck?” Zoe asked after filling her plate up with more potatoes.

Corin and I glanced at each other. “We, uh, we met at church.”

Zoe laughed. “Church? You don't go to church!”

“I go there twice a week for group,” I admitted.

“That heart-attack-survivors support group?” Mom asked.

I nodded. “That's the one.”

“And you met there?” Dad asked.

“Yeah. That's what I said.” I didn't want Corin to feel put on the spot. Feeling like she had to explain her condition, which I realized she had yet to really explain to me.

I could tell my mother wanted to ask what was wrong with Corin but politeness wouldn't let her. “So, you go to support group with Beck?” she asked, tiptoeing in that way of hers that had driven me crazy since my heart attack. Why was it so hard to come out and ask the questions that you wanted to ask?

Corin nodded. “Yes. That's where we met. He always makes sure I have plenty of tea and cookies.” She smirked at me and I grinned back, enjoying our private joke.

“So, you met in a group for people who have almost died. That's pretty weird, guys,” Zoe piped up.

If my sister were closer, I would have kicked her.

“Don't be so rude, Zoe,” my mom chided.

“I don't go to the group anymore,” Corin said finally with a shrug. As if it were no big deal. But it was. It was the first I had heard that.

“You don't? Since when?” I demanded, dropping my fork on my plate.

“Since my doctor told me that I don't have a heart problem,” she said quietly, her mood changing instantly. She seemed worried. Serious. Not happy like she should have been.

I grabbed her hand and kissed it. “That's wonderful, Corin! Why didn't you tell me?”

Corin pulled her hand out of my grasp and continued eating. “This is the best pot roast I've ever had. Maybe even better than my mom's,” she said, ignoring my question completely.

What was going on with her?

My mother smiled brightly. For all of Corin's social awkwardness, she was effectively winning over my family.

“Thank you so much, Corin. How is your mom's pot roast different?”

I hadn't had a chance to tell my mother that Corin's parents were deceased. It hadn't come up. I opened my mouth to politely explain but Corin beat me to the punch.

“She's dead. So I can't really ask her.”

Corin closed her eyes in mortification.

“I didn't mean to say it like that. I'm sorry,” she said softly, looking as though she wanted to crawl under the table.

My mother's smile faded. The room went completely silent.

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” my mother blustered.

“My dad's dead too. So I haven't had a family dinner in years. It's nice. Really.” Corin's cheeks were turning red and I knew she was embarrassed. I hadn't warned my parents about Corin's blunt-to-the-point-of-awkward honesty.

“Crap. I told you I'd say something stupid,” Corin muttered quietly, twisting her hands in her lap.

No one said a thing. Not even Zoe, who could always be counted on to say something smart-assy.

“Well, that's too bad,” my dad stated, coughing.

“Yeah, it is. Thanks,” Corin said, trying to smile but failing completely.

“Well, we're glad to have you here,” my mom said, salvaging what was left of the dinner conversation.

“I'm really glad to be here. Honestly. It's a wonderful meal,” Corin said a little desperately, and I knew she was trying to claw her way out of the hole she had dug.

“It's okay, Corin,” I whispered, squeezing her hands.

My mom was looking at my girlfriend in sympathy and my dad seemed uncomfortable. But they didn't appear completely put off by her outburst.

I knew Corin's parents were dead but I didn't know the particulars. It hadn't come up. She had never volunteered the information.

But seeing her sitting at my parents' table, looking sadder than I could ever remember seeing her, I realized how horrible it was for me to not find out something so important.

And why in the hell wouldn't she tell me that her doctor cleared her of having a heart condition? That was huge!

Sitting at the table with my family for the remainder of our meal was beyond difficult. Especially when I wanted to take Corin home, grill her some, and then celebrate her good news.

Corin's mood never really recovered after that, no matter how hard she tried. It seemed almost painful for her to laugh and talk to my family.

I was glad when it was time for us to leave. The entire experience had been exhausting.

Corin thanked my parents after helping Zoe clear the table.

“It was wonderful meeting you,” my mom told her, and I could tell she meant it.

Corin and Zoe exchanged phone numbers and talked about getting together sometime.

Dad gave Corin another bear hug. “Take care, Corin, and you make sure our son brings you around again soon,” he told her.

“I'd like that a lot,” she remarked, her face still sad but the smile was more genuine.

“Can you go start the car? I'm just going to grab the leftovers,” I said to Corin, handing her the car keys.

“Yeah. That's fine.” Corin waved to my family and headed out to the car. I followed Mom into the kitchen.

“Thanks for the invite, Mom. I know Corin was a little shy, but she really did enjoy herself.”

“She's lovely, Beckett. I can see why you care about her so much.” I let out a sigh of relief. My mom's approval meant a lot to me.

“I'm glad you think that, Mom—”

“But she seems to have a lot of baggage, Beck. Are you sure you can deal with that?”

Uh, excuse me?

“I thought you just said you liked her,” I said sharply, frowning and instantly defensive.

Mom put her hand on my arm. “I
do,
sweetheart. I really do. She's very sweet. But it's obvious she has experienced a lot of trauma in her life. I'm just not sure she's the best person to share your life with when you have so much going on yourself.”

“
I
have baggage, Mom. A damn truckload,” I protested, annoyed.

Mom's eyes clouded with concern. “Not like that, Beck. With her, there's something
more
going on.”

I shook my head, not wanting to admit out loud how right Mom really was. Because I knew there was something more going on with Corin. I just didn't know what.

“My heart hurts for her. It really does. To have lost both of the people she loved most in the world. That sort of grief breaks a person.” She handed me a plastic bag filled with Tupperware containers. “But you're going through your own battles. I just don't want hers to pull you down when you're trying so hard to climb back up.”

I squeezed Mom's hand, knowing she just meant well.

I knew going into this thing with Corin that it wouldn't be easy. She was neurotic. Skittish. Scared and terrified.

But she was also loving and caring. She listened and she understood how I was feeling without my having to say a word.

She picked up on my unique frequency.

“Do I seem happy, Mom?” I asked.

My mother ran her hand through my hair in a way she had done since I was a little boy. She went up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Yes, honey, you do.”

I hugged my well-meaning mom tightly. “That's because of
her.
”

Mom pulled back, tears in her eyes. “Then that makes
me
happy.” And when she smiled, she meant it.

Corin was waiting in the car when I walked out of my parents' house. I could see her messing with the radio.

I took a minute to watch her without her realizing it. Mom's words echoed in my head.

“That sort of grief breaks a person.”

Was my mother right? Was Corin broken? There were times I'd agree with Mom. I could see the heartbreak there, just below the surface.

But there were other times, like when it was just the two of us together, that she seemed happy. Hopeful even. Not broken at all.

I knew one thing for sure; I needed to find out more about Corin's past. Whether she wanted to talk about it or not.

I got in the car and put the bag my mother had given me on the back seat.

“You okay?” I asked her. Corin continued to fiddle with the radio dials and gave me a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

“Sure.”

Sure.

It was such a weighted word. With Corin it could mean a million different things. It could mean nothing at all.

“Sure,” I repeated.

Corin nodded. “Sure.”

“So you liked the pot roast,” I remarked lamely.

“It was a good pot roast,” Corin agreed, giving me a strange look.

“Well, that's great.”

Way to dig for information, Beckett,
I silently chided myself.

I drove back to my apartment not really knowing what to say. I had a lot of questions, but I wasn't sure Corin would answer them. She was so evasive. She avoided certain subjects like the plague.

I pulled into my normal parking space and turned off the car. “You want to come inside for a bit?” I asked. Corin had driven over after work and I could see her car parked beneath the elm tree.

“If you want me to,” she answered.

“Sure,” I said and was finally rewarded with a sincere upward curve of her lips.

We walked slowly inside my building. We waited for the elevator. We stood side by side. Not speaking.

Waiting.

Once inside my apartment, I turned on the lights.

“I should put this stuff in the fridge. Do you want anything to drink?” I asked, holding up the bag my mom had given me.

I was feeling suddenly awkward. Antsy. Restless.

“A cup of tea would be great.”

“Okay, well, make yourself comfortable. I'll only be a minute.”

I hurried to make the tea and when I came back out to the living room, I found Corin looking at my framed photographs on the mantelpiece.

“You look so young in some of these,” she said, pointing to a few of me playing soccer and running track in high school. She took the cup of tea I held out for her.

“I should. That was over ten years ago.”

She moved down the row to look at the ones I had taken.

“I really love this one,” she murmured, indicating the black and white of the Ash Street bridge in the moonlight. “It's beautiful.”

I picked up the framed photograph and handed it to her. “Then you should have it.”

“I can't take it, Beck, it's your picture.”

“And I can take another. But I want you to have it if you like it so much.”

Corin tucked the framed picture into her chest, hugging it to her. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

She looked back at the photographs. “Why didn't you tell me about your doctor's appointment? About your heart?” I asked.

“What did it feel like when you had your heart attack?” she asked, not answering me.

I frowned. “I'm not sure what that has to do with anything—”

Corin looked up at me and I was surprised to see that her eyes were damp. Tears clung to her eyelashes but wouldn't fall. Corin rarely cried. I knew it was something she tried not to do. Ever.

“Can you tell me? Please,” she begged. I knew this was important to her. I just didn't know why.

I took her hand and pulled her to the couch. We sat down beside each other but not touching. I wanted to wrap my arms around her. I wanted to hold her and figure out why she was crying. I hated those tears. The pain that caused them.

“I was out jogging one morning. I wasn't pushing myself particularly hard. I was running the same route I went every single day.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I was going along the river, listening to my music, not thinking about anything in particular when I felt a sharp pain in my right side. I tried to ignore it at first, thinking it was a stitch or something.”

I remembered back to that day. How I had tried so hard to disregard the signals my body had been sending. I ignored each and every one. Until it was too late.

“Then I felt a pressure in my chest. Like a giant boulder sat right here.” I rubbed the middle of my sternum. “I stopped running and bent over, trying to get my breath.”

I ran my hands through my hair. I hated this memory. More than any other. “I couldn't breathe. And the pressure was too much. I felt sick. Like I was going to throw up. Then I collapsed.”

Corin was staring at me with an intense look in her eyes. It unnerved me a bit. “I was told that my heart stopped beating for almost two minutes. That if it weren't for a pair of women out walking their dogs, I wouldn't be here now.”

“You died,” she whispered.

I nodded. “I died.”

“Does that scare you?”

“Dying?” I asked, and she nodded.

“No, it doesn't.” And it was the truth. Dying wasn't what scared me.

It was
not living.

Corin looked away, her hair falling over her shoulder and I wanted to touch it. I wanted to touch
her.

“Why are you asking me all of this?”

“Because I
am
scared of dying.”

“But you're fine, Corin. You said your doctor told you that your heart is fine—”

“If it's not my heart, then it's something else. I know it.”

I didn't understand what she was saying. How could she know something was wrong when her doctor said she was healthy?

“I don't think I get what you're telling me. Is there something else going on with you? Are you sick?”

“When I was fourteen years old, my mother was diagnosed with melanoma. She died within the year.” The tears started falling then and I couldn't stand not holding her any longer.

I pulled her toward me, pressing her into my side. I burrowed my nose into her hair, breathing in the scent that was entirely
Corin.

“I had no idea. I'm so sorry, Corin.” I couldn't imagine that kind of pain. What she went through.

“Then a year later, my dad was diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease. He didn't die right away. He fought for a long time. I was eighteen when he finally passed away. I had been taking care of him for the last year. When he died, I didn't know what to do with myself. I was completely lost.”

My god, she had lost both of her parents in such a short amount of time. How in the hell had she survived that?

“Tamsin, my sister, wasn't around for any of it. Not really. She was off at college and I was home. Watching my parents die one at a time.” She sounded monotone. As though she had switched off the emotion. Or she was bottling it up. I didn't want her to bottle it up. I wanted her to know she could let it loose with me.

“Corin, fuck. That's horrible.” What completely insufficient words.

“After that I knew that I was going to end up the same way. Dead too early. Wasting away from disease. I just knew that I didn't have much time left. So I've never bothered to do much. I didn't go to college. I've never had a serious relationship. Sure, I have my pottery studio, and that's something that has brought me some joy. But that's it.”

She had to have been so lonely. I felt angry at the thought of her cutting herself off, hiding herself away. From people. From relationships. From the world.

“But you're not sick?”

I was still so confused. Was she sick or wasn't she?

“You could die at any time, Beckett. Your heart could just give out. And that will be it. I didn't want to take a chance on you. Because I couldn't watch someone else I cared about die. Because I didn't want to leave someone behind the way my parents left me.”

Mom was right. Corin had baggage.

Major baggage.

“But you're not going to die, Corin,” I argued, feeling like I was missing something vital. Something important.

“Of course I am, Beck. I feel it in my bones. I know it's the truth.”

“Well, shit, Cor, everyone dies at some point. But that doesn't mean you have to go around waiting for it to happen.” I was feeling myself get frustrated with her defeatist attitude.

She was telling me that she was healthy. That she was
fine.
But that she had convinced herself that she wasn't.

That in her head she was dying and there was nothing I, or any doctor, could say to change that.

“I waited for my dad to die. I watched it happen. Do you understand what that's like?” she yelled, finally looking at me.

“No!” I yelled back. “No, I don't. I can't imagine how horrible that was for you!”

Corin started sobbing. Tears fell hard. They fell fast. They coated her skin with a misery she had kept dammed up inside of her for too long.

“You died, Beckett. Your heart is kept beating by a fucking
machine
in your chest!” She was getting hysterical.

I grabbed her hand and placed it over my chest. Right over my thumping, beating heart.

“Do you feel that, Corin?” I demanded. She tried to look away, but I grabbed her chin and forced her to meet my eyes. “Do you? The steady beat? It's not stopping. I won't let it.”

Corin rolled her red puffy eyes. “You have no control over it, Beck. Don't you get that? Nothing you do will change what could happen.”

I pressed her palm flat over my skin. “What
could
happen.
Could.
Possible. Maybe. Not
definitely
.”

“You are so damn optimistic. It's irritating,” she muttered, wiping away the tears.

“And you're a neurotic mess with a boatload of issues.”

Corin's eyes heated and snapped. I was glad to see it. I had missed her fire.

“Well, tell me how you really feel,” she quipped sarcastically.

I pulled her onto my lap. I wrapped my arms around her waist and ran my nose along her collarbone, kissing the delicate skin. Loving the feel of her against my lips.

Loving
her.

“Okay, I will. I love you, Corin Thompson.”

I was pretty sure she stopped breathing. She went rigid. So unbelievably still.

The words had tumbled out. I hadn't meant to say them but the truth wouldn't be locked away.

I loved her.

More than I ever thought it possible to love another human being.

She made me laugh.

She made me want to scream.

She made me so incredibly happy.

And so damn sad.

She made me embrace life and live it.

And I wanted to do the same for her.

I kissed her neck. “I don't think there's anything wrong with you,” I murmured against her skin. Corin instantly stiffened.

“You don't know anything—”

“Shh. Stop it,” I urged her, kissing the underside of her jaw. “What I'm saying is that you've been through more than most people. Grief like that scars a person. It changes them. It changed
you.
”

I twisted her around so that she was straddling me. Her hands were on my chest. Still pressed over my heart.

My constant, beating heart.

“I think that you're so scared of dying that you've forgotten what it's like to live. You won't let yourself. But, Cor, I won't let you do that to yourself. Take it from a man who almost lost everything—you can't focus on the end. You have to concentrate on what's right in front of you.”

“I'm not sure that makes any sense,” Corin huffed. I was pushing her. I probably shouldn't. She was the running sort. There was a chance she'd take off and I'd never be able to catch her.

But it broke my heart to see her self-destruct.

Not when I would do everything in my power to stop her.

I reached up and gently brought her face down to mine. I kissed her. Deep and true. I kissed her with everything I felt for her. For this sad, lonely, sort-of-crazy woman.

“Stop thinking about what could happen
later
and focus on what's happening
here
.
Now
. With me.” I ran my thumbs along the curves of her cheeks.

“
Laugh
with me.” I kissed the side of her neck.

“
Dance
with me.” I pulled her shirt aside and kissed her shoulder.

“
Smile
with me.” I kissed her temple.

“
Love
with me.” I ran my hands down her arms and laced my fingers through hers. I leaned in and kissed her mouth. Her lips parted and she let out a little sigh as my tongue found hers. I gripped her hands tightly, holding her. I wanted her to hear me. To listen. And I swallowed her tears. One at a time.

“
Live
with me,” I pleaded.

“Beck.” She said my name on a sob. She was crying in earnest. Completely undone.

She ran her fingers down the side of my neck, skimming along my collarbone until they found the scar. The slightly raised spot under my skin.

With tears on her lips, she kissed my incision. She lingered. Not long.

But enough.

Making her peace.

When her mouth found mine again, I knew that she was surrendering that last part of herself over to me.

And I would take care of Corin Thompson.

As long as I was able to.

Without another word, I lifted her up, her legs wrapped around my waist, and I carried her down the hallway and into my bedroom.

We never stopped kissing as I laid her down on the bed and I slowly peeled off her shirt. Our mouths only disconnected for the length of time it took to get naked.