Sunrise Fires (23 page)

“Do you miss it?”

He shrugged again. “Maybe sometimes. Or maybe I just feel nostalgic about it. Like you feel about high school prom once it’s over. I don’t try to figure shit out the way you do. It just is.”

I leaned into his chest and wrapped my arms around him. “I don’t know how to make it better or how to take back anything that has happened. But I do know that I love and appreciate you, and I want to try again.” Though he placed his hands on my back and held me, he was silent and unmoving. I sat upright again. “Do you?”

“I want to have what we used to have. And I know that’s bullshit. So, really I just wait and watch to see what happens, each day, each time I see you. See how I feel. See how we are together. See what this becomes.” There was a dull heavy ache in my throat and swallowing wasn’t helping clear it. “I love you, Jen. Probably always will. But we’ve got some heavy shit to deal with. Mark is just one thing. And really, he is my cross to bear.”

“Not alone,” I rasped. I cleared my throat and started over. “Not alone. You don’t have to deal with it alone. Not anymore. And we can work through…”
Through what?
I thought.
Through a year and a half of pain and resentment? Through anger and hate?
“Our stuff,” I ended lamely.

The evening wound down in a somber mood. There was an awkward distance between us, and dinner seemed an afterthought, simply out of necessity and habit more than need or desire. We slept in the same bed, though it felt like I was back in Germany again.

When we woke, I kissed him, and we held each other, but each of us was staring off into some other place we’d rather be. For me, that place was one where we were comfortable again, where joy, sensuality, and love coalesced into a beautiful happy life together. I went back to the summer before my departure to Europe, and, lying beside him again here and now, imagined that we felt today as we had back then.

“I should get back to San Diego,” I said later over my coffee cup. We’d barely said three words to one another since last night, and it seemed that it would not get any better before dinner tonight at his mother’s house. I didn’t want to face her like this. And really, what would be the point?

“And dinner? What do you want me to tell my mother?”

“I’ll tell her. It’s the least I can do.”

Dialing her number a moment later as I sat on the balcony, my stomach felt tense. I feared her rejection and anger.

“Hello?” My heart jumped. I was actually surprised that she answered.

“Ummm, hi, Mrs. Riverton. It’s Jen.”

“Mmmhmm. Hi.”

“I’m calling because I wanted to reschedule our dinner from this evening. I need to get back to San Diego earlier than I anticipated.”

“I see.” She wasn’t making this any easier.

“I am so sorry for this.” Silence hung in the air. “Maybe we can meet for a cup of coffee or something before I head out this morning.” I surprised myself with this invitation and suddenly became nervous.

“Why? Why would we meet for a cup of coffee, Jen?”

What was I thinking? Of course, she won’t meet me. I felt like she sat in judgment of me, expecting me to prove something to her, needing me to say the right thing. And I had no clue what that was. I didn’t have the energy to try for anything other than the truth. “Mrs. Riverton, I would love to see you personally, privately, to talk, to apologize, to lay eyes on you after so long, and to hopefully begin again.” Silence. “I understand if you don’t have the time. Or,” I paused, recognizing the heavier reality, “or the desire. But I wanted to try, to at least make an effort. And I was hoping that you would be willing…”

“What time did you plan on leaving town this morning?”

“Probably ten or eleven.”

“There is a French patisserie on the south side of town, on your way down the interstate.”

“I know of it, though I’ve never been there.”

“I’ll meet you there at eleven.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Riverton. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“I‘m not sure I feel the same.”

As I hung up the phone, I wasn’t sure if I dreaded seeing her again, or if I was elated at the possibility of seeing her and beginning to make peace. Whether Ryan and I ever worked out or not, his mother was an amazing woman, and I respected and appreciated her immensely. On a personal level, I needed to feel like I had done all I could to show her that and to make up for not having been there for her and her family as her husband had passed. We were close, probably closer than many true mothers and daughters-in-law, and then suddenly we were nothing. There had to be a reckoning. It hadn’t originally been my intent when I called her, but it seemed like today, reckoning would begin.

I packed my weekend bag and gathered my toiletries as Ryan showered and got dressed. “Get everything settled with my mother?” he asked as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Likely not, and I apologize in advance for anything negative that comes to you this evening over dinner on my account.” I didn’t bother telling him about our coffee date; I didn’t want to risk his intervention or judgment. I zipped my bag and stepped over to him. “Ryan, I love you and your family. And I loved you when I was in Germany, too.” He looked past me out the window. “I missed you then….” I stroked his unshaved cheek, “and I miss you now.” He didn’t look at me. I kissed him just beside his lips, unable to meet his face square-on, and unwilling to force the issue.

As I pulled away, his face turned, eyes closed, and his hand snaked up the front of my body, his fingers hooked around my neck, his thumb taking its place at the front of my ear. He guided me into a tender kiss, gently pressing his lips into mine, moving them together and drawing me into him. I felt like I was falling into an abyss—one of love and of feeling wanted. His free hand moved to my hip and he kissed me again, dragging his lips away from mine and onto my cheek. He laid a trail of kisses from my lips to my neck, allowing his hand to fall away from my ear and trace the full round rise of my breast before sliding it under my arm and drawing me into a hug. He held me for a long time, his breath warm my neck where his kisses had just been. “I love you, too,” he whispered into my ear. Intermittently, he kissed or nuzzled my neck. I matched his slow tender affection, breathing him in, loving the feel of his pulse against my lips as I kissed his neck. Finally, he broke the magic. Pulling away from the hug, he said, “You should go. San Diego awaits.”

I cleared my throat and looked at my watch. I had fifteen minutes to be at coffee with his mother, so I didn’t argue despite the fact that tearing away from this moment actually caused me a sense of anguish and fear that I’d not get it again. “Okay. You’re right. I should.” I gathered my purse and my bag and headed toward the door. He walked me out, and we kissed one last time before I drove away. I cried a bit on the way to the patisserie, though I really had no idea why. Fear about facing his mother? Sadness about the time with Ryan? Nostalgia? Happiness about the beautiful tender moment we just shared? Thoughts of where that might’ve led made me smile. Even in that nonsexual, awkward moment, my body had responded to him. My panties were damp from the way his lips pressed mine, the way his tongue and mouth teased my neck, and the way his hands felt around me. They brought back memories, physical ones, the kind when the body was all on its own and separate from the mind, and those memories flooded back every time he touched me like that. I took a deep breath and reminded myself to be optimistic and positive. He loved me still. I smiled as I pulled into the parking space and locked the car.

*   *   *

I sat at the front of the bakeshop for ten minutes, waiting on Ryan’s mother, thinking, wondering if she was going to show up. I reveled in the smell of fresh baked bread and pastries of all kinds. The front of the place was a bakeshop with a display case where you could buy pastries of all types. They were beautiful and colorful—jelly and fruit-filled confections, alongside coffee cakes and cinnamon rolls. I watched customers come in and buy pastries. Others came to the counter on their way out after dining, intending to take a box of fresh pastries home with them, and still others came in pairs with loved ones, asking for a table in the back. It was a wonderful place and one that calmed me; a perfect choice on his mother’s part. It represented Caroline Riverton perfectly, warm and calming in an unspoken indescribable way.

The minutes ticked away, and I had just decided that I’d give her another five minutes before leaving when she opened the door into the foyer. I stood up and smiled. She nodded and continued walking toward me. I held my arms out to hug her. She offered me a lean, accepting my hug but not reciprocating it. The hostess led us to a table, handed us menus, and stepped away.

I took a deep breath, urging myself to sit upright and be strong. “Mrs. Riverton, I am so glad you decided to come.”

“I’ll only be having a coffee. I don’t have much time.” Her tone was noncommittal—not angry, not warm, just plainly stated. I had no idea what to expect.

“Me, too. Just coffee.” I set my menu at the edge of the table, unfolded my cloth napkin, and placed it on my lap. Smoothing it onto my thighs felt good and reassuring as I considered how to begin. She sat across from me in the booth, her slate blue eyes somehow seemed more dull than when I had last seen her and her hair more grey, too. She must’ve been nearing sixty though when I left for Germany, I don’t remember ever actually thinking about it. Now, she looked like a senior citizen, frail and weary, skin more wrinkled and shoulders sagging. Still, she sat there proudly, indomitably across from me; the strength that I had always admired about her seemed to radiate from her still.

“I am so sorry to hear about,” I paused searching for the appropriate reference. ‘Jim’ was likely too familiar and ‘your husband’ likely too impersonal. “Mr. Riverton.” I finally said. She tore her eyes away from the window and looked at me. “I am also sorry that I wasn’t there for you. That I didn’t know. That Ryan and I weren’t talking then.”

“As I recall, it was you who weren’t talking…” She pursued her lips and raised an eyebrow.

All my muscles tensed, reflexively defensive. I swallowed and breathed through the desire to defend myself and point out that Ryan never called me back or contacted me in any way. Instead I nodded. The waitress came back with coffee and asked if we’d like to order. It was a relief to know that she’d not be back anytime soon.

“I regret that Ryan and I weren’t talking. I regret my side of that. And I take responsibility for it. You were important to me. You are important to me still. I admired you and loved you and missed you. When I came home from Germany, I wanted to come see you but…” I tapered off, somehow feeling like my thought process back then might come into question. She tilted her head slightly forward, urging me on. “But I thought that it might be weird or awkward. What if Ryan was there when I came by? Or what if it was no longer okay? What if I was being stupid to even consider it? I second guessed myself and I chickened out. I had no idea that if I had come by, I would not find you living happily here with Jim right by your side as it has always been.”

“You hurt Ryan.” Her tone was sharp. “He was devastated by so much in his life at that time, and you literally couldn’t finish one difficult conversation with him before you quit the relationship.” I opened my mouth to say something, anything, to stop her, but she raised a hand. “No. Let me finish. I don’t want to hear your reasons or excuses. Your side may matter someday but not now.” I closed my mouth and looked at my silverware. My coffee begged for creamer, and maybe sugar, too. The spoon wanted to be held, the cup needed to be raised to my lips. My legs wanted to move, to get up, and run. My jaw begged to be unclenched and set free to defend myself against her accusations. My stomach churned. And I just sat, listening, understanding that this was the reckoning that I had expected.

“I thought I knew you before you left. And certainly, I knew how much my son loved and needed you. I told you that and asked you to hold onto his love and remember it. Do you remember that conversation?”

My eyes stung with tears at the shame of having disappointed her. I remembered the moments she held me and spoke to me so lovingly, the wink she gave me as we left her house that day. When she had said, ‘He loves you like I’ve never seen him. Remember that when you’re missing him in Germany,’ and she had called me her unofficial daughter-in-law, it made me feel like she was my own mother who had warned me of something and even told me how to avoid it. And then, after I had disappointed her, she was now asking me why I hadn’t listened to her. I was six years old again, sitting here in front of this woman whom I respected so much. “I remember.”

“And yet you couldn’t be there for him. You couldn’t hold onto his love for even three months.” She shook her head and took a sip of her coffee. “I know he is seeing you again. And I cannot stop him. But I am not as open to the prospect.” I silently cried as she spoke. “I loved you, as I would any daughter-in-law, sometimes even as the daughter I never had.” She paused and shook her head. “I loved and trusted you with my son. I blessed the relationship and encouraged him. He found such joy in you, and I wanted him to have that.” She paused and pointed a finger at me from across the table. “And you abandoned that. You left him standing alone at a time when your love should have been his leaning post.” She took a deep breath and continued through gritted teeth, “In the time since you have been gone, I have guided my family through some of the most…grief…the worst…” her eyes were bloodshot and I thought they glistened with tears, but none fell, “the worst events of our lives.” She finished her thought, barely audible. Looking into her mug, she sipped and swallowed slowly as if the coffee were mud.

She sniffed and began again more firmly, “We are different now. All of us. Even you, dear. Ryan is not the same man you knew before Germany. Find a new relationship with a new man, even if the new man is Ryan, but do not try to rebuild what was lost. It is gone, and so is that man.” I finally stirred cream and sugar into my coffee and gulped a huge swig of it, sucking up my tears and sitting more upright again. Was she accepting that Ryan and I were dating again, giving her blessing, giving me advice? Or was I still being chastised? I couldn’t tell. I just listened and nodded intermittently.