Color of Forgiveness (7 page)

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Hmm... You’re right. That number is a
little off. I’ll do it for three.”

Dylan’s nostrils flare. “Two.”

“Done… I will gladly take your money, Sonny
Boy. But it’ll be a few days before I can get to her because I
wasn’t lying; I am tied up on a job right now.”

Before they hang up, Ray agrees to call
Rhonda to set up an appointment and call Dylan once he’s diagnosed
the problem.

Dylan tucks his phone in his pocket and
starts his truck. He has to run home to get his sledgehammer before
he can start on Myra’s sidewalk. When he pulls back into her
driveway, he gets out of his truck and straps on his tool belt.
With a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he leans against the
side of his truck and stares down at the sledgehammer for a moment,
a tight feeling in his chest. What kind of sick fuck would use a
sledgehammer on a tombstone?

Taking a drag on his cigarette, he finally
picks up the sledgehammer and walks over to the edge of her
sidewalk. Holding it tight in his palms, he frowns down at it and
repositions his hands over and over unable to get a comfortable
grip. Swallowing hard, he finally closes his eyes and lifts the
sledgehammer and slams it against the concrete. Visions of kids
with spray cans and sledgehammers amidst tombstones bombard him as
he breaks the sidewalk into chunks, tossing them to the side.

He heaves the last chunk of concrete into
the pile and sits on top of it, pulling out another smoke. He’ll
have to come back in the morning with his trailer to haul
everything off.

Just as he finishes his cigarette, his phone
rings.

His heart sinks when he reads the caller ID.
It’s Natalie.

“Yeah,” he answers.

“Dylan… Chad told me what happened. I can’t
imagine what you and Sabrina have been going through. My heart just
hurts for you both. That is just… it’s just so vile that I don’t
even have the words to describe it. How could someone do that? How
could someone desecrate something so sacred and precious? It’s
disgusting.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t know what your phone call meant
to Chad. Don’t tell him I told you this, but he got a little
emotional over it. It meant the world to him; he’s really missed
you. And it meant a lot to me too. You know I’ve always thought of
you as a brother. I’ve missed you too. We all have.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dylan says rubbing a hand
over the tense muscles in his neck. “How are you feeling? How’s the
baby?”

“She’s fine. She just tried to make an early
appearance,” she says with a chuckle. “I know I was pushing myself
too hard with work and the boys. Work has been insane lately. We’re
so short-handed so I’ve been working double shifts. I guess it
caught up with me. But I’m feeling great now and no more
contractions so far.”

“Good.”

“So, how is Sabrina doing? I know I probably
shouldn’t be saying this to you since it’s kind of awkward and
everything, but I miss her.”

Dylan sighs. “It’s all right. I know you do.
She’s doing really good… she’s clean, been clean for nine months
now. She seems to finally have it together.”

“Wow. That’s incredible. I’m so glad to hear
that. Why hasn’t she called me? You know how close we were. She
just up and disappeared. She didn’t just lose you in the divorce;
she lost all of us.”

“I don’t know. I guess she just needed to
focus on herself and her sobriety.” Dylan doesn’t want to continue
this line of talking so he changes the subject. “Um… I wanted to
talk to you about something.”

“Sure, anything...”

“Well, uh, you remember how you guessed that
I was seeing someone? Well, I’m kind of seeing her, I guess…” He
closes his eyes and blows out a heavy breath.

Nat laughs lightly. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I royally fu– I mean, messed things
up with her, and I don’t know what to do.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I was at Myra’s house – that’s her
name. Myra. Anyway, I was at her house the morning Sabrina showed
up. When I checked my phone, I had a dozen missed calls from her. I
listened to one of her voicemails and found out she was sitting on
my doorstep and that someone had vandalized the tombstone. I didn’t
know what to do so I just kind of flipped out and hightailed it
outta there…”

“Myra doesn’t know what happened, does
she?”

“No,” Dylan says, sighing. “I was going to
tell her everything that morning. At least I was going to try. But
I couldn’t. I was a mess. I had to go.”

“That’s completely understandable, Dylan. Of
course you were a mess.”

Dylan clears his throat. “But that’s not the
worst of it…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I texted Myra and told her I had to
go to Boise and that I would call her. But I didn’t get a chance
to. Sabrina and I didn’t get back until late and I was a zombie
from all of the stress. I hadn’t eaten a thing all day long because
I was sick to my stomach over everything. We had left Sabrina’s car
at my house, and because I didn’t want her driving back to Boise by
herself after dark, I told her she could stay on the couch and
leave in the morning. Sabrina woke me up the next day telling me
that Myra was at the door, and I was so shocked and upset, I kind
of… yelled at her. And then Sabrina was standing there in one of my
shirts and nothing else, wearing her wedding ring of all
things…”

“She what…?” Natalie asks before snorting.
“That sounds exactly like something Sabrina would do.”

“Yep. Anyway, I couldn’t talk to Myra with
Sabrina there and Myra probably thinks I slept with Sabrina and now
Myra won’t talk to me and everything has just gone to shit. Sorry.
I didn’t mean to say that.”

Natalie snickers. “It’s okay.”

“I told Myra that as soon as Sabrina left,
I’d come over and explain everything, but she disappeared. And I
don’t know where she is. She used to live in Philly and has a
friend out there so I think she might be there. But she won’t take
my calls, and I don’t know what to do.”

“All right, don’t panic. This is fixable. I
can’t wait to meet this girl. All we need to do is get her to
listen to you. And if you can’t get her to talk to you, I’ll have
you wheel me in my bed to her and I’ll talk some sense into her. So
how did you two meet?”

“I was doing some work on her house.”

“Okay… and you said she won’t answer your
calls, right?”

“Right.”

“Hmm... You’ve got to find out where she is.
You said you think she’s in Philly? Do you have an address?”

“No… nothing. I can’t even remember the name
of her friend that lives there.”

“Well, does she have any friends or family
in Nyssa or Boise?”

“She doesn’t have any family left. But her
next door neighbor is a friend and she knows where she is but
refuses to tell me. She doesn’t like me very much. She actually
slammed the door in my face when I tried talking to her.”

Natalie giggles. “Sorry, but that’s funny.
Does she have any other friends?”

“Not that I know of… There’s a policeman who
used to be partners with her dad that she’s close to. But I’ve
already talked to him. He called her for me, but she told him she
didn’t want to talk to me. That’s the only people I know of that
she’s close to.”

“I think you’re just going to have to work
on this next door neighbor friend of hers.”

“I’ve tried. She’s never home. I don’t think
she’d answer the door even if she was home.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to keep
trying. Catch her at home and knock until you drive her crazy and
she has to open the door.”

“Yeah, then she’ll call the cops on me.”

“True. Or you could maybe write her a note
or something explaining the situation and stick it in her
door.”

“Are you serious?”

Natalie snickers. “Hey, I’m trying
here.”

“Can you see me writing a letter?”

“Okay, okay. You’re right. No letter
writing. But when you do get an opportunity to talk to Myra? Tell
her everything. Don’t hold back. I know it’s going to be really
hard for you, but it’s important to not keep secrets from her.”

“Yeah, I know. Trust me, I’ve learned my
lesson.”

“Well, she has to come back at some point.
Where does she work?”

“She’s a writer. She’s writing a book right
now.”

“She’s a writer? Has she written something
I’ve read? What’s the name of her book?”

“I have no idea,” Dylan says with a laugh.
Natalie joins him.

“Well, maybe you’ll get another chance to
talk to her friend. I’m sure something will work out.”

“I hope so,” Dylan says with a sigh. “Thanks
for talking to me. I’ve made such a mess of everything. I didn’t
know what to do and I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it.”

“Dylan, you know how much I care about you.
You can talk to me any time. Keep me updated on how things go. I
really want things to work out for you. I can’t wait to meet
her.”

“Thanks.”

“Call me soon.”

After saying their goodbyes, he slips his
phone back into his pocket. Standing, he groans, his back hurting
like hell. A grimace crosses his features when he picks up the
sledgehammer and puts it into the back of his truck. Almost every
muscle in his damn body aches.

Sitting in his truck, he stares at Myra’s
front door, missing her like hell. He wishes she was inside,
sitting by the fireplace, working on her book or standing in the
kitchen, cooking. He smiles when he pictures himself with her in
the kitchen, his body wrapped around her, his lips against the
soft, warm skin of her neck, making her giggle.

Sighing heavily, he pulls out his phone and
dials her number. It goes straight to voicemail. Clearing his
throat, he leaves her a message. “Hey. I just wanted you to know
that I’m not going to give up. I know I probably don’t deserve a
second chance with you, but I want one anyway. I’ll beg for one. I…
I miss you, Myra. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He follows it up with a text.

4giv me I miss u –D

* * *

The next morning, with his trailer securely
hitched to his truck, Dylan climbs in behind the wheel and takes a
moment to rub his eyes, totally exhausted from a sleepless night.
He takes a drink of his coffee and backs out of his driveway,
headed for Myra’s house.

He wants to get all of the concrete into the
trailer and hauled off to the dump today so he can then start
prepping and leveling the ground for the new concrete. Pulling up
to Myra’s house, he looks over at Jackie’s and lets out a string of
curses when he sees her car is gone. He was hoping to catch her
before she left for work, wherever the hell that might be. But he
figures it doesn’t matter anyway because he has the distinct
feeling she’s never going to give him any information about Myra
anyway since she hates him so much.

Getting out of the truck, he yawns and
stretches and looks up at the sky, his lower back throbbing from
all the work he did yesterday. Even though it’s a cool March day,
the skies are a beautiful bright blue without a cloud in the sky…
couldn’t be a better day to lay some concrete.

Stretching one last time, he pulls on some
gloves and starts moving the heavy pieces of concrete into the
trailer.

A couple of hours later, he slowly walks up
to Myra’s porch and sinks into a chair, completely drained, but
happy with all of the shit he’s gotten done.

Closing his eyes, he leans his head back
against the chair and stretches his long legs out in front of him.
Hearing a car approach, Dylan opens his eyes and sits up straight
in his seat. His heart beats harder as he strains to see the car.
Hoping like hell that it’s Myra. When the mailman comes into view,
he slumps back in his seat and stretches his legs out again. The
small vehicle pulls up to Myra’s mailbox. But instead of just
depositing the mail, the guy opens the door and hops out.

“Hello, there… Lovely day, huh…? It’s nice
to get a taste of spring, isn’t it?”

Dylan reluctantly stands. “Yep.”

“Are you replacing the sidewalk?”

“Yeah,” Dylan says walking down the steps.
“It’s a good day to work on it.”

“It sure is. That sidewalk was a mess. I bet
Myra’s excited about it. Is she around?” he asks, holding up her
mail.

Dylan opens his mouth to respond, casually
glancing at the mail. He freezes, his eyes widening when he catches
a glimpse of the return address on the handwritten letter sitting
on the top. All he caught was
Susie
and
Philadelphia
but that was enough.

“Is Myra around?” the mailman asks
again.

Dylan clears his throat. “No. She’s… out of
town.”

“Oh. She didn’t stop her mail. Have you been
collecting it for her?”

He has to get his hands on that address.
“Yeah… I have.”

“Great,” the mailman says with a grin as he
hands Dylan Myra’s mail. “Good luck with that sidewalk. Have a
great day.”

Dylan swallows hard and stares down at the
mail in his hands, his eyes transfixed on that return address. He
can’t fucking believe it. Still staring at the letter, he slowly
walks over to Myra’s mailbox. Opening it, he frowns as he stares
into the empty box for a moment. Glancing over at Jackie’s house,
he puts two and two together and figures Jackie must be the one
getting Myra’s mail for her. He sets the small stack of mail into
the mailbox and stares at it. Rubbing the back of his neck, he
looks off into the distance for a moment before his eyes dart back
down to the card in the mailbox again. Slowly, and still in shock,
his hand reaches out and closes the lid.

* * *

“Myra, you are a phenomenal cook. This is
seriously delicious,” Jeff says before humming happily.

Myra smiles at him. “Thank you.”

“Myra?”