Color of Forgiveness (5 page)

“
Myra, I don’t know what the hell is
going on, but I’m really fucking worried about you. Where are you?
I know you’re pissed at me and shit but I, well, I thought you were
going to let me explain everything. Call me.”

The hint of annoyance she hears in his
message pleases her because he should be annoyed after what he did
to her.

She quickly saves the message and listens to
the next one.

“
Myra, I, well, I’ve been doing a lot of
thinking and I know that I’ve really fucked things up. I just, I
don’t know what to do except to say I’m sorry. I had it in my head
that I would somehow… I don’t know. I just thought that I would get
to talk to you today and fix everything. I didn’t realize… just
please forgive me. Please, I’m really sorry. I can’t believe this
shit. Nothing happened with Sabrina. I swear. I know it looked
awful and I looked guilty as hell, but please believe me. Please
know that I’d never do something like that to you. I’m sorry I
didn’t talk to you about her. I was going to… I was going to tell
you everything… I… Where are you?”

His voice sounds so desperate at the end
that it creates a painful lump in her throat.

Still clutching her phone in her hand, she
scoots back down under the covers and plays his message over and
over again until exhaustion finally overcomes her and she falls
into a deep and thankfully dreamless, sleep.

* * *

Dylan parks his truck and sits thinking.
It’s been two days since he last saw Myra on his front porch; two
miserable, lousy fucking days. He hasn’t heard a single word from
her and he’s about to go out of his goddamn mind. He runs a hand
through his messy hair, tugging roughly on the ends as he takes in
a deep breath and climbs out of his truck.

Walking across the street, he gets to the
door and stares at it for a moment. Rubbing the back of his neck,
he paces back and forth on the sidewalk a few times before he takes
in another deep breath and somehow manages to suck up enough
courage to open the damn thing. He walks up to the desk and an
older woman looks up at him over the edge of her black-rimmed
glasses. “May I help you?” she asks.

“Um, yeah, is Porter around?” he asks,
shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“And your name is?”

“Dylan… Dylan Lawson.”

“Have a seat and I’ll see if he’s
available,” she says.

Dylan nods and walks over to some cheap
folding chairs which happens to be the waiting area of the small
police station and sits down. A few minutes later, Porter walks
out.

“Dylan. How are you?” Porter asks, smiling
brightly as he reaches his hand out to him.

“Good,” Dylan replies with a nod as he
grasps his hand.

“Come on back to my office.” Porter motions
to Dylan as he starts walking down the hallway.

Dylan follows him to a small office with a
large cluttered desk in the center. Two filing cabinets sit in the
corner and a couple of chairs are arranged in front of the desk. As
Porter makes his way around to his chair, he mutters, “Have a
seat,” with a wave of his hand.

As Dylan sits down, Porter starts talking.
“Want some coffee? How about some apple fritters? They’re
homemade,” he says, opening a plastic container sitting on the
corner of his desk.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Porter nods and puts the lid back on. “How’s
everything been going with you?” he asks. “You got Myra’s house
done yet?”

“Um, no, I still have quite a bit to do on
it.”

“I can imagine. So, what can I do for you
today?”

“Well…” Dylan says, stalling. He clears his
throat, trying to search for the right words. “Um, it’s about
Myra.”

“Okay…” Porter says with slightly furrowed
brows and a small smile on his lips.

“Have you talked to her recently? Because
we… well, she’s not talking to me right now and she’s not been home
for the last couple of days, and I’m really worried about her. Do
you know where she is? Did she tell you where she was going?”

The smile disappears and the wrinkles in
Porter’s forehead deepen. “She’s not home? What happened? You two
get into a fight or something?”

“Kind of… I…” Dylan says before running a
hand through his hair. “I messed things up. And she won’t answer my
calls now. But I
really
need to talk to her.”

Porter pulls out his cell phone. “Well, let
me give her a call,” he says.

Dylan leans forward. “Could you maybe see if
you could get her to talk to me? She doesn’t have to see me or
anything if she doesn’t want to, but I just… it’s really important
that I talk to her.”

With the phone attached to his ear, Porter
studies him for a moment. “I’ll do what I can.”

Dylan’s heart rate picks up when Porter
turns his attention to his phone. “Myra? Hey, it’s Porter. I was
just calling to check up on you.” Porter stares down at his desk.
He smiles, humming a few times before his expression changes. Dylan
scoots forward until his ass barely hangs on the edge of his chair,
carefully watching Porter’s frowning face. He strains, trying his
best to hear Myra’s voice, but his efforts are worthless because he
can’t hear a damn thing.

Porter’s eyes meet Dylan’s for a second
before he goes back to staring at his desk again. “Oh, goodness,
I’m so sorry about that. Mmhm… okay…” Porter picks up a pen off of
his desk and starts chewing on the end of it. He looks up and
stares at Dylan. “Well, he just so happens to be sitting here in my
office right now...” Dylan’s heart pumps with adrenaline fearful of
what Myra could be saying about him. He watches Porter’s face
intently for his reaction. “Hmm… I see. Well, he says that he needs
to talk to you…” Porter trails off again for a moment. “You’re
sure? All right, I’ll tell him...” Dylan’s heart plummets to his
feet. “When are you coming back?” Porter nods and hums. “Okay,
well, if you need anything, you let me know right away, okay? Keep
me updated on everything. Okay… bye.”

Dylan grasps the edge of Porter’s desk. “Is
she all right? Where is she? She doesn’t want to talk to me, does
she?”

Porter chuckles. “Calm down, son,” he says,
setting his phone down. “She’s fine. And, no, she doesn’t want to
talk to you right now. You want to tell me what happened?”

Dylan sighs, his mouth twisting up at the
corner as he stares at the papers on Porter’s desk. “It’s
complicated.” He can’t tell Porter what he did. Especially when the
man has a gun strapped to his hip.

Porter snorts. “All relationships are
complicated. Look, I barely know you, Dylan, but I like you. I have
good instincts when it comes to people; I have to in my line of
work. But I love Myra. I never had any children so she’s like a
daughter to me especially after she lost her father. So I’ll always
support her and her wishes. She’s been through a lot losing her
family the way she did.”

Dylan scoots back in his seat and nods.

Porter leans forward and rests his elbows on
his desk. “Myra never told me what happened with that boyfriend of
hers she had out in Philly, but she didn’t have to. I’m smart
enough to figure it out. She got hurt and I know that’s why she
moved here.

“Now listen up. I don’t want Myra getting
hurt again, do you get my drift?” Porter asks, raising a bushy gray
eyebrow at him.

Dylan nods, guilt gnawing at his insides
over the fact that he’s already done just that.

“Good to see we understand each other,”
Porter says. “Now Myra gave me explicit instructions to not tell
you what she’s doing or where she’s at. But because I like you,
I’ll tell you what I can without betraying her trust. She’s going
to be gone for a while; she’s not sure how long.”

“Is she in Philly?”

Porter smirks, shaking his head. “I just
told you I can’t tell you where she’s at.”

“Can you at least tell me what her friend’s
name is that lives there? Sarah? Sharon? God, I can’t remember her
name…” Dylan drops his head in his hands and groans in
frustration.

Porter sighs and leans back in his chair,
causing it to creak noisily. “I wish I could help you, I really
do.”

“It’s all right,” Dylan says in a dejected
voice, staring down at his boots.

“You care a lot for her, don’t you?” Porter
asks in a quiet voice. Dylan looks up at him and nods. “Well, I’ve
been married for twenty-eight years so I hope I’ve gained a bit of
relationship knowledge along the way.” He smiles and winks at
Dylan. “Myra will be back. And if you really care about her like I
think you do then you’re going to have to put in some work. I don’t
know what you two fought about or whose fault it was, but it
doesn’t matter. Accept the blame no matter how innocent you are;
that’s the man’s job. And then beg for forgiveness on your hands
and knees if you have to. Then go out of your way to try to make it
up to her. She’s worth it, you know.”

“I know,” Dylan agrees quietly as he stands
up. “Thanks for checking on her.”

“Not a problem,” Porter says. He stands and
reaches his hand out to shake Dylan’s. “Don’t forget that flowers
and gifts never hurt either,” he adds with a chuckle. “I hope you
two work things out.”

“Thanks,” Dylan says with another nod before
he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks out of Porter’s office
with his shoulders slumped and his head down.

* * *

Myra stands in the corner of the packed
funeral home making small talk with Susie’s older brother when her
eye catches the back of familiar broad shoulders and dark brown
hair. She knew there was a good chance he would be here. She was
just hoping that a miracle would happen and he wouldn’t show. Never
in her life did she think she’d ever have to face Trent again so
soon after her last encounter with him in Nyssa. She was truly
hoping that she’d never see him again. But who knew Susie would
lose her dad so suddenly?

A wave of nausea hits her when she sees
Julia on his arm. Quickly glancing at her watch, she decides to go
hide out in the restroom until the service starts because no way
can she handle facing either of them right now. She politely
excuses herself from Susie’s brother and quietly slips away.

Standing in the restroom stall, she closes
her eyes and takes in some deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves.
Even though she has absolutely no feelings for Trent other than
disgust and loathing, seeing him with Julia still hurts. It’ll
always hurt.

Pulling out her phone, she checks it as the
voices of women coming in and out of the restroom fill the small
room. There are two more missed calls from Dylan, but no more
messages.

With five minutes to spare, she decides it’s
safe to go back in and find her seat. Opening the stall door, she
freezes, a gasp escaping her lips when she sees Julia standing in
front of her, leaning up against the sink with her arms crossed
over her chest and a nasty smirk on her face.

“Well, well, well,” Julia says. “I knew I
would see you again.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Julia eyes Myra from head to toe with one of
her red-stained lips curled up in disgust. “I just don’t get it. I
never could figure out what Trent saw in you; what the appeal was.
You’re just so plain and unattractive.”

Myra’s eyes narrow. Never in her life has
she ever wanted to hit someone… until this moment.

“At first I couldn’t understand why you up
and left town the way you did. But then it all started to make
sense.” She steps closer to Myra, towering over her. Myra
straightens her shoulders and doesn’t flinch a muscle. “You had a
plan. You knew Trent liked the chase so that’s exactly what you
did. You set it up so he’d have to chase you. I always knew you
were a manipulative bitch.”

“What?” Myra shouts. “You think I moved two
thousand miles away to try to get him back? Are you crazy? That
doesn’t even make sense! You’re completely and totally delusional!”
Myra yells before poking Julia in the chest, causing her to take a
step back. “And you know what else? You have a lot of nerve calling
me manipulative when you were the one that fed Trent bold-faced
lies about me and Craig.”

With clenched fists and breathing heavily,
Myra takes another step towards Julia backing her against the sink.
“I think you and Trent are perfect for each other because he’s just
as delusional and crazy as you are. I never want to see you or
Trent’s face ever again in my lifetime, do you hear me? So stay
away from me, you… you crazy person!” Myra points her finger
sharply into Julia’s chest one more time for good measure and
stomps out of the bathroom. She collapses against the wall for a
moment, taking in quick, deep breaths to get her composure.
Somehow, she manages to slip into her seat next to Susie just
before the service starts.

“Where were you?” Susie hisses at her.

“Bathroom.”

“Took you long enough,” she whispers in a
ticked-off voice.

“Sorry.” Myra gives her an apologetic smile
before grabbing Susie’s hand in hers and squeezing it gently.

As the service begins and the eulogy is
read, Myra finds she’s unable to focus because she can’t stop
thinking about what just went down in the bathroom. She can’t
believe she stood up to Julia like that. But most of all, she can’t
believe how good it felt to finally get to tell that tramp off.

Susie leans over to her. “Dad would have
hated this funeral,” she whispers in her ear. “It’s so boring. I
can’t believe mom wouldn’t let us add anything funny. Dad would
have wanted the funny.”

“You tried,” Myra whispers back. “He
understands.”

“It still sucks,” Susie whispers angrily
before proceeding to blow her nose.

Myra wraps her arm around Susie’s shoulder
and squeezes. She pulls her arm back and moves her eyes to the
minister who has just made his way to the slender podium. He’s a
portly older man with an enormous belly and completely bald on the
top with just a few small tufts of white hair on the sides. Large,
thick glasses adorn his round face. When he begins speaking, Myra,
unfortunately, has to agree with Susie on the boring part. The poor
man has such a monotone voice that it could put a large
congregation to sleep.
“Let us read from the scriptures. John
14:1-3. “Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God,
believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it
were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare…”