The Final Piece (22 page)

“You’re an ass.” My voice is muffled from beneath my hands.

“Maybe, but this ass will miss you every day. Every day, Beth.” He peels my hands back, pinning them outstretched and my breath catches in panic. Before it can bloom, he runs his nose along my jaw, peppering kisses as he makes his way to my mouth. I am lost to the sensations, my panic forgotten as his lips trace mine, memorizing every curve.

***

Ryan sits in the armchair by the window, staring out at nothing. Forlorn, he sits bent at the waist with his forearms resting on his knees. The pain etched on his face is a reminder of why we’re here and who isn’t here with us. Tommy’s vacancy looms in the living room as I walk near Ryan. His head swings toward me and the desolation becomes wistful as the corner of his mouth tips up. If I had any hope of keeping him at arms length, it’s gone into hiding. My heart cries for the years wasted on pushing everyone away, for never coming back to the boy I could never forget. What stings the most is how easily I believed that living that way was living at all. If Gran is right, I’m not the only one who’s been pining.

Ryan’s eyes don’t leave mine as he crosses the room. The intensity of his stare strips me bare. He wraps his arms tightly around my waist and kisses my forehead.

“Pretty.” That word and the smile stretching across his face remind me of the boy I used to play with on the lake. It takes me back to the last time Tommy, Ryan and I were together there on my fifteenth birthday. The first time I confessed the depths of the abuse I suffered. The first kiss I took back from Drew—I was so certain that it would be a struggle to separate the two. What I couldn’t possibly understand until it happened was how kissing Ryan would make me feel. There was never a question after his lips touched mine for the first time. Kissing Ryan stirred an array of emotions in me from desire to contentment.

“Whenever I hear that word I can’t help but think of you.” I smile up at him.

“Well, it
is
a pretty common word, Ms. Bradshaw,” his voice is a deep rumble that sends chills over my skin. ”How often did you think of me, exactly?” His mouth is so close to mine, I can’t tear my eyes away from it.

“All the time,” my voice is barely a whisper as the confession pours out of me. “More than I want to admit.” There, now it’s all out there. I hold my breath never taking my eyes from his perfect lips, and hope I haven’t just laid myself out for slaughter.

“What would happen if you admit it?” He tips my chin up, demanding me to face him. “I
always
thought about you. I
always
wondered what it could’ve been like if our timing had been different.”

I close my eyes as tears tumble silently from the corners of my eyes as bittersweet relief washes over me. He never forgot me, but he never really knew me either.

“I tried so hard to let you go, but I never could. You were always with me, Ryan.” Shame colors my cheeks as I weep. “There are so many things that you don’t know that you could never accept about me. If you really knew me, you wouldn’t have wanted me at all.” I try to pull away from Ryan but he only holds onto me tighter.

“Beth, look at me,” Ryan pleads. I peer at him through wet eyelashes. He locks his emerald gaze with mine as our lips meet in a feather light kiss that marks my heart as his forever. My eyes flutter closed as the sensation overtakes me. His breath tickles my face with his next words, ”Losing Tommy the way we did is a wake up call, Beth. He wouldn’t want us to waste time on things we can’t change. He would want us to have each other.”

Fear and sorrow ignite a desire in me that threatens to burn us both to the ground. The sweet smell of cedar engulfs my senses, as I run my fingers through Ryan’s hair and pull his bottom lip into my mouth. A growl rumbles through Ryan’s chest as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. His touch stokes a flame that reduces my grief to ashes. He splays a possessive hand across my lower back and presses me against him. My hands are skimming down the sinewy muscles of his back when I hear someone clear their throat.

I gasp in horror at being caught making out in Gran and Pops’ living room. My back is to the intruder but the look on Ryan’s face isn’t guilty, it’s irritated. I spin away from Ryan to face whomever has trespassed on our private moment. I stare in shock at Lori from across the street and stumble as Ryan pulls me to his side.

“I saw your car, Ry.” She gives me a critical once over. “I was hoping to get a ride to the church.” She completely ignores me to bat her eyelashes at Ryan. A surge of protectiveness comes out of nowhere.

“We have obligations with our family so I wouldn’t be the best person to ride with.” Ryan’s tone is cool and dismissive. I almost feel sorry for the poor girl. Her long black curls frame her lovely face as her hazel eyes dart back and forth between Ryan and me.

“That’s not what I hear,” she purrs and raises a challenging eyebrow. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle at her tone. I’m not so stupid to allow myself to be baited by her
,
but it pisses me off, nonetheless.

“Get over yourself, Lori. This isn’t the time or place for your bullshit.” Ryan spits. I’m taken aback by his lack of patience with her.

“Oh and tonguing Beth in the living room on your way to Tommy’s funeral is more appropriate?” She sneers at us. “Whatever, I’ll see you there.” As she storms off, I have a vision of her bending the ear of anyone who’ll listen about how she caught us making out like teenagers.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Ryan murmurs. He cups my face in his hands and gives me a tender, chaste kiss. “Don’t you let her jealousy get under your skin. She’s been pouting ever since I wouldn’t go to Brutal Strength with her.” I chuckle as he repeats Gran’s story back to me.

“There aren’t going to be any more scorned women waiting to kick my ass in the parking lot at church, are there?” I tease but Ryan knows I am fishing and his smile is devilish as he tugs my braid.

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking,” he laughs, “but I can’t help it if the ladies pine after me.”

“You smug ass.” I scoff, disentangling myself from Ryan.

If we are late, we will never hear the end of it. When I pause to open the front door, Ryan’s hand slips around my waist and pulls me back against his chest. He sweeps my braid over my shoulder and plants a tender kiss at the base of my neck.

“You were the only one I wanted pining after me, pretty girl,” he whispers.

Chapter 37

The parking lot is full at St. Louis Catholic Church. The community has come out in droves to mourn the loss of one of its sons. Ryan pulls his truck into the parking area marked off for family members. I don’t feel like I deserve to be considered as such—I abandoned my relationship with Tommy when I should have cherished it. Ryan opens my door and holds out his hand, pulling me into a hug when I climb down from the truck’s cab. Sensing my remorse, he cradles my head against his chest.

“Stop beating yourself up, sweetheart, he knew how much you loved him. Everyone grows up and moves away, it’s a part of life. He never held it against you,” he murmurs. Heartache rips my chest open as I cling to Ryan. I didn’t deserve Tommy’s adoration and I certainly don’t deserve Ryan’s understanding.

Ryan shuttles me through the front doors into the vestibule where people are slowly gathering in the sanctuary. Keeping a protective arm around me, he braces me against the crowd. I am so grateful for the steadiness of his strength because my own is fleeting. My gaze stays transfixed on the floor, unable to meet the faces of our friends and family members. We pause at the holy water font and I watch Ryan dip his finger and make the sign of the holy Trinity. His head is bowed in reverence and I envy the look of peace that washes over his face. Stepping aside, he makes room for me to move closer. I shake my head, keeping my feet cemented in place.

“I’m not a real Catholic, Ryan. I was never baptized,” I whisper frantically, not wanting to make a scene.

“That’s not true.” He has the nerve to smile. I scowl in return. “Your baptism is
legendary
,” he whispers.

“Stop it
, Ryan.” I gasp when Ryan dips his hand into the font and blesses me. To my surprise, the earth doesn’t shake in protest. ”I have never taken communion or been confirmed. That’s not funny,” I hiss.

“It’s a blessing, Beth,” he kisses the top of my head, “no confirmation required.” He chuckles and I want to kick him; I feel like an idiot. “Tommy loved to tell the story of your baptism,” Ryan sighs. “I could always picture Gran’s ashen face when your parents told her and Pops that they weren’t going to have you christened. Of course, the best part was when Gran took it upon herself to baptize you in the kitchen sink when she was babysitting.” The memory of Tommy’s face lit up with laughter flashes in my mind. His arms are thrown wide in an animated gesture while he tells his story. I would give anything to hear one more story.

“Beth,” Ryan’s voice carries a heaviness that has me reaching to touch his cheek. ”My grandfather wanted me to ask if you would do the placement of the pall with me.” My throat seals shut, preventing me from answering; Grandpa Cantwell’s thoughtfulness skewers me. “It’s the white linen cloth that symbolizes baptism...”

“I know what it is,” I cut him off, “I am just...” A sob keeps me from finishing my words.

“I should’ve told you sooner, I just didn’t want you to stress over it,” Ryan sighs, “I’m sorry.”

I nod my head weakly as I wipe my tears. “Of course, I will,” I whisper. Being gifted the honor of a part in Tommy’s mass is humbling and heartbreaking.

The sanctuary is eerily silent, considering the number of people that line the pews. Tommy’s casket sits at the front, and knowing his lifeless body is inside rips a hole open in my soul. My body shakes with a violence that threatens to bring me to my knees but Ryan’s steady hands hold me up until we reach our families. I place my purse on the pew next to my mom and dad. In the pew ahead of us, Aunt Melissa gently caresses the hair at the nape of Uncle Rob’s neck, while he rubs his hands over his face. We walk across the aisle to Tommy’s father, who is flanked by his living children.

“Beth,” he croaks as his gnarled hand takes mine. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, baby girl.” He stands and wraps me in a fierce hug.

“Grandpa Cantwell, I’m so sorry,” I squeak. So sorry that Tommy is gone, so sorry that I never came back, so sorry that I acted so selfishly for so long.

“Oh, darlin’,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry, too. His loss is as much yours as it is mine. You’re a good girl for doing this for our family. Tommy wouldn’t want it any other way.” I look to Ryan who
nods and shrugs his shoulders.
Banking on me to do the right thing is a risky business and his faith in me incites my shame. The anguish surrounding us is palpable; I close my eyes and pray for it to be over soon. My heart can only shatter so many times before the pieces become nothing more than dust. Ryan takes my hand and leads me to the sacristy where we retrieve the pall.

Father Paul begins mass by blessing the casket with holy water while the cantor’s angelic voice fills the air with Ave Maria. Ryan stands next to me, stoic; the only evidence of his pain is the ferocity in which he grips my hand. The priest gives us the signal to step forward and together we cover the black casket with snowy white linen. My hand shakes as I place it on the cloth where my tears have left wet spots, and I lay a
gentle kiss where Tommy lays.
I close my eyes and gather every ounce of strength I can muster to prepare myself to walk away, leaving him one last time. When I open my eyes, I don’t see a church full of people watching me with rapt interest, I only see the unshed tears pooling in Ryan’s eyes and the tortured crease in his brow. My feet carry me around the casket to where he stands frozen. Tears spill down his face as he watches me approach but his face stays rigid in its mask of pain. Refusing to leave him in any way, I keep my eyes focused on his when I place his arm around my neck and guide him to our seats. Aunt Melissa turns in the pew in front of us to pass me a tissue. It’s only then that I realize I am weeping. Clutching the tissue, my hand falls limp in my lap until Ryan takes it from me and tenderly blots my face. While Father Paul gives the liturgy, I lean my cheek into Ryan’s chest while he rests his chin on my head. The sounds of the mass continue around me, but my focus stays on the steady beat of Ryan’s heart. 

At the graveyard, the ceremony is restricted to only those closest to Tommy when they commit his body to the ground. Father Paul leads us in prayer before explaining the symbolism of tossing dirt into the open grave. One by one, people shovel loose earth across Tommy’s casket, marking a final goodbye. When my turn comes, I kneel and dig my hands into the fresh dirt. My breath hitches deep from my diaphragm as I watch the black soil trickle through my fingers. The pain in my heart is so excruciating, I swear I will die from it. Ryan kneels and wraps his arms around me, I wail when he urges me away. Somewhere, the logical part in me is aware that I am making a fool of myself, but my heart demands the release of this lament. I pull against Ryan, begging him to leave me to mourn.

***

“I don’t want you to go, Tommy.” I cry as I throw my arms around his neck. Time passes so quickly when he visits and it never feels like he is here long enough. Hot tears splash my cheeks and I squeeze Tommy as tight as I can.