Midnight Lily (Signs of Love) (22 page)

"He and I are just beginning something very special. I suppose he feels some attachment to you being that you were there during a very rough time in his life, and I suppose he feels as if he can't turn you away now. He must feel very sorry for you." She shook her head as if the thought was one that made her sad. "So, do the right thing—do him the favor of not having him make a choice that will cause him guilt. He doesn't need one more thing weighing on his mind."

"I'd like you to leave my home now."

"Happily. I'm done here." She stood. "Think on what I've said. I'm sure you'll realize I'm right."

"Goodbye, Gemma."

She narrowed her eyes at me again. "Goodbye, Lily. Be well." But the look on her face belied her words. If a person could be assassinated with a final glance, I'd be lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

I didn't stand up. My hands were shaking with anger but also with humiliation. It was almost as if Jenna was the very embodiment of all my deepest insecurities. She walked out of the room, and a moment later I heard the front door close quietly behind her. I heard the soft sound of my grandmother's shoes moving back toward the kitchen and let out a long exhale. A moment later I heard a clatter from the kitchen and my grandmother say, "Oh dear, what a
mess
."

Ryan

My legs didn't want to cross the threshold, but I knew in my heart it was time. Holden's house. Taking a breath, I stepped inside.
I'm here, buddy. I'm finally ready.
Everything looked exactly the same, and yet a still emptiness filled the space, a sense of loneliness that had never been here before.
God, I’ve missed you.
Holden's housekeeping staff had been kept on, so everything was neat and clean—no dust, and fresh vacuum lines were visible on the living room carpet. I wanted to flee this place, flee the feelings it was bringing alive inside me, flee the despair bubbling up my throat, but I didn't. With a heavy heart, I climbed the grand double staircase in the foyer to what had been Holden's bedroom. I'd do a little bit today, and then I'd save the rest for another day, as it didn't need to happen all at once. This house was paid for, and even if it wasn't, I had plenty of money to keep making whatever payments needed to ensure its upkeep. I went directly to Holden's massive, walk-in closet and took a couple suitcases off the shelves. Jenna had been right—people would probably fall all over themselves to bid on Holden's underwear, but that didn't feel right. I'd quietly drop this stuff off at a homeless shelter—or one of those charities that helped provide interview attire for indigent people—luggage included, and I wouldn't say a word about who had owned it. That's what Holden would have wanted, and no one knew that better than I did. He’d been generous to a fault but not showy. Never showy. And everything he had done for charity, he’d done anonymously.

Shoes were dumped unceremoniously in the suitcases, then jeans and T-shirts. I'd bring a garbage bag up here next time and throw away his personal clothing items. I was still so fucking pissed off, so maybe I really would auction them off on eBay. I just wasn't sure whom exactly I was so angry with—him, myself, maybe both. I sighed. "Sorry, man, but I am. I'm so damn mad. I fucking am. You should be here." I sat down on the small bench in the middle of the room and just stared around, letting a few tears fall. This was okay; this was normal. This was the way
normal
people grieved. And why had I come here today when I had planned to come weeks ago and decided I wasn't ready? And I was here
now
—the day after Lily had rejected me? Why? To prove I was strong enough to handle this? To prove I wasn't the damaged goods I'd been made to feel like? To
prove
I could grieve normally? "Christ," I muttered.

I carried the suitcases into the hall and took one last look around his room. Eventually, I'd have to do something with the furniture. Either that, or I could sell the house furnished. I walked downstairs, lugging the overstuffed suitcases and set them down at the front door. I looked back up the vast staircase.
The office.
It was the only other place I could think of that I'd need to clear personally, the only other place he might have personal items, personal correspondence, etcetera.

Inside the room, there were a couple bookshelves, but the only books in it were ones I could tell had been placed there for show by a decorator. Holden had never read or been interested in reading War and Peace in his life. I had to chuckle at that. Holden had been many things, but a bookworm had not been one of them.

We so rarely hung out in his office, I didn't recognize most of the items, but a box on the bottom shelf looked vaguely familiar. Picking it up, I placed it on the desk. What I saw when I opened it caused my breath to catch.
Oh shit.
Photos of us as kids. As I flipped through them, memories skated through my mind: how we would use BB guns to shoot at cans in Holden's backyard for hours after school when we were supposed to be doing homework. How Holden would get model car kits for his birthday and Christmas, and his dad would build them with us. How Holden would grow impatient and I'd end up finishing them while he chattered relentlessly about anything and everything, just there, keeping me company. The time a kid at school tripped me in the hallway and laughed as I wiped out, and later Holden spent his allowance money on shaving foam and squirted about fifteen cans of it through the vents in his locker. Watching R-rated horror movies when I spent the night at his house, even though we weren't allowed, and then being too scared to go to sleep. Tears were streaking down my cheeks, even after I closed the box. In some strange way, now that Holden was gone, I felt like I'd done all those things alone. It felt like I kept losing Holden in little pieces: first in his physical presence, then in the things I could no longer remember—the sound of his voice, the unique phrases he liked to use. Once his house was cleaned out, I would lose proof of him in the items he owned. And then I'd be truly alone. No family. No best friend. No one.

You never really lost him. He'll always be a part of you. Always,
Lily had said.

Lily.
And suddenly peace broke through one of the cracks in my broken heart, just like those small flowers that somehow—impossibly—grew out of fissures in the rocks at the edge of the forest stream. Holden had changed me; he had saved me, in so many life-altering ways, whether he was here now or not, whether I got to keep him forever, or whether I didn't. I clenched my eyes shut, holding back another flood of tears. Despite the peace that flowed through my heart, an aching sadness settled inside, too. I recognized this moment for what it was: I was saying goodbye. I was finally strong enough to let him go. I tilted my head back and held my fingers up in the shape of a V. "Thank you," I choked out. "Thank you so much, buddy."

On my way out of his house, I stopped in the downstairs bathroom. After I'd washed my hands, I opened the medicine cabinet. Inside were two prescription bottles—pain pills prescribed to Holden. I hesitated only briefly before I shut the cabinet and left the bathroom. I didn't even bother flushing them down the toilet—I felt no desire whatsoever to take them. As I closed the door behind me, despite the lingering sadness, my heart felt full of all the things Holden had given me in this life: peace, love, and strength. And I'd carry those healing gifts with me forever.

**********

The doorbell rang just as I had sat down to a solitary dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup. Wiping my hands, I got up to answer it to find Jenna standing there, biting nervously at her lip. My shoulders drooped. "Hey Jenna," I said, feeling the guilt of seeing her hurt face right in front of me. I held the door open so she could enter and led her over to my couch. "How are you? Do you want something to drink?"

She gave me a hesitant smile. "I'd love some wine if you have it."

"I'm sorry, I don't keep any alcohol in my apartment. I have soda . . ."

"Soda's good. Thanks."

I went to the kitchen and filled a glass and brought it back to her. She took a sip. I sat down next to her.

She put the glass on the coffee table and turned to me. "I'm sorry to drop by without calling—"

"It's okay." I shook my head. "I haven't called you back, and you deserve an explanation." I ran my hand through my hair. "I'm sorry, Jenna. I'm so sorry for what happened at the charity event. I can only imagine how you felt. If I had had any idea . . ."

She reached out and put a hand on my leg, squeezing it gently. "It's okay, it was a surprise. To run into someone from your past, it's such a confusing feeling."

I remembered the first night I'd met her at the bar—she'd said her ex-boyfriend had shown up with his fiancée. Still, she hadn't thought her ex was a ghost . . .

"Yeah, it was a shock."

She looked down. "Have you spoken to her? Lily, right?"

I paused. "I have. She doesn't want anything to do with me."

It looked as if Jenna's shoulders relaxed slightly. "And you?"

I sighed. "That's more difficult to answer, Jenna. And I'm sorry about that. I really am." She shifted, crossing her legs and removing her hand from my thigh.

"You're still in love with her?"

I bent my head forward, massaging the back of my neck, stalling because I felt terrible about this whole situation. After a moment, I looked back up at Jenna. "Yes, I'm still in love with her."

Her face crumpled a little. "And yet, she doesn't want you."

"No, she doesn't want me."

Jenna took a deep breath, sitting taller. "Listen, Ryan, we just started dating. I understand you have lingering feelings for someone else. And that sucks for me. But, why not see where this can go between us? I'm willing to stay and see what happens. I really feel like, given the time, we can have something special together."

I blinked at her. "Jenna . . ." I let out a breath, shaking my head from side to side slowly. "Lily doesn't want to be with me, but it doesn't change how I feel about her. It
won't
change how I feel about her—at least, not for a while. And Jenna, it wouldn't be fair for me not to end things with you when my heart is still wrapped up in someone else. That would be wrong."

"But you like me," she said, hurt evident in her voice.

I closed my eyes for a moment. "I do like you. I like you a lot. That's why this is so hard."

"But you're dumping me for a girl who doesn't want you? You won't even give us a chance?" Her face was a mixture of disappointment and confusion.

"I . . . no. I'm sorry." I shook my head. "I thought I'd moved on enough, but I haven't." God, this fucking sucked. But I owed it to both of us to be honest. There was no way I could continue dating Jenna, no way I could dredge up any interest in kissing her, touching her, when I knew Lily was on the other side of town. Just . . . no way. And I knew it made me a fool. I
knew
it made me pitiful and probably stupid. No, no probably about it—it definitely made me stupid. But I wasn't going to drag Jenna into my idiocy. Then I'd be stupid and immoral.

Jenna let out a long breath. "Well, then I guess that's that," she said sadly.

I almost apologized again, but there were only so many times I could say sorry before it would start getting plain annoying and possibly conceited. Jenna was a nice, beautiful, intelligent girl. She wouldn't have any trouble finding someone else, someone with far more to offer. I pressed my lips together and gave her a look I hoped conveyed the extent of my regret over this whole situation. She stood and I did, too. Her eyes looked misty. I stepped in to hug her, but she held up her hand and shook her head and so I stepped back. I almost said something else, something about hoping she found someone who wasn't an idiot hung up on someone else, how she deserved more, how awful I felt right then, but none of it seemed right. Everything that flitted through my mind sounded like a line or a platitude. In the end, I decided it was best not to say anything.

"Goodbye, Ryan. I wish you the best. I really do." Her expression was sad, but her voice was clipped. She wasn't going to drag this out. I felt guilty, but relieved.

I nodded. "Thank you, Jenna. I feel the same way."

She turned and left, closing the door quietly behind her. I sunk back down on the couch, resting my head against the back and groaning in frustration.
God, Lily, what are you doing to me?

Lily

I took a deep breath and knocked on the door in front of me. Ryan's door. He wouldn't be home, of course. It was a weekday, and he'd be at work, but I figured I'd try anyway, before putting the note with my phone number asking him to call me in his mailbox. So when the door swung open, I sucked in a startled breath and stepped back. Ryan stood there, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, his expression one of immediate surprise. "Lily," he said, staring at me.

I opened my mouth to speak and then shut it, unprepared, not knowing exactly what to say. "I didn't expect you to be home," I finally managed.

He leaned his hip against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest, his expression slightly wary, as if he was waiting for me to hurt him.
Again.
The way I'd done at the charity event and then at the aquarium. "So why'd you come here if you didn't think I'd be home?"

I bit at my lip for a moment. "I was going to leave you a note, with my number on it. I was hoping you might call me."

He paused, his eyes running over me quickly. After another moment he said, "Two days ago you told me never to contact you again."

"I know. I know I did."

He simply watched me for a moment, making me feel even more uncomfortable than I already was. All right, so he wasn't going to make this easy for me now. Maybe I didn't blame him—he was in self-preservation mode. "Well, now you can say what you were going to say on the phone, in person," he said, but not unkindly. He was perfectly still as if every muscle was tensed.

"I wasn't sure what I was going to say, honestly. I thought I'd have a little bit of time to think on it."

"Ah."

"So, um, why
are
you home?"

"I called in sick."

"Oh. Are you? Sick, I mean?"

"No."

I paused, waiting for him to continue, but he just stared at me. He still had that slightly startled look in his eyes that he'd had at the charity event, as if he still couldn't quite believe I was real. I
felt
real now though. I felt very real. My heart—filled with pain and uncertainty—was reminding me with every heavy beat. "Oh, okay, well that's good." I took the note I'd written out of my pocket and handed it to him. He took it and put it in his pocket and then sucked his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment.

"Will you come in?"

"I . . . yes. I mean, if that's okay."
Gather your courage, Lily. You didn't expect him to be home, but he is. Roll with it.
He stepped back and to the side as I walked into his apartment, my eyes moving over the furniture, taking in the classic, simple design, noting that he was obviously a very tidy housekeeper. Although it looked like he'd been parked on his couch. His laptop was open and there was a bottle of water and what looked like the remainder of a sandwich sitting on a plate, a few books with papers sitting on top so I couldn't see the titles.

He waved his hand at a chair next to the couch and I sat down. He took a seat on the couch. "So what was the gist of what you were going to say when I called you? Which I would have. I would have called you right away." There was something moving behind his eyes—nervousness perhaps—but his expression remained neutral.

My fingers twisted in my lap, and I stared down at them before finally raising my eyes back up to his. "I owe you an explanation."

He was quiet for a moment. "Is that the only reason you're here? To explain things to me?"
And then leave again
was implied.

I blinked at him. "Well that, and to let you know that your girlfriend came to see me."

"My girlfriend?" He frowned. "You mean Jenna? Why?"

I nodded. "Oh, she didn't mention it? She was very clear that I should stay far away. That I was bad for you."

His lips thinned and he looked briefly surprised, but then his expression went blank. "So you two agree then."

"Yes. No!" Anger and indignation spiked through me. "God, Ryan. I understand why you want to make this hard on me. I understand why you're angry. But no, I don't agree with her. The way she put it . . . hearing it from someone else, made me realize . . ." I threw my hands up in the air. "I don't even know what it made me realize, but when she said it, it just sounded—"

"Wrong," he supplied.

I let out a frustrated breath. "Yes. Wrong. It sounded wrong."

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he leaned his elbows on his knees, bringing himself just a little bit closer to me. "It is wrong. And Jenna isn't my girlfriend. Truthfully, we only went on a couple dates. I broke it off completely yesterday."

That surprised me after seeing the depth of her possessiveness. "Oh . . . I . . . I mean, why?"

"Because it's not fair to date one person when you're in love with another, that's why." His voice was suddenly filled with intensity as if he had been barely holding it back and with those words, could no longer contain it.

I let out a breath.
He still loves me.
"Ryan . . ."

"Come sit next to me, Lily. Explain what happened. Tell me about your life. I want to know about you. I want to know every little thing. Please don't be scared. Please know that there's nothing you can tell me that will cause me to feel any differently about you." When I stood up and sat back down next to him, he turned toward me and took my hands in his. I gave him a smile and felt my lips waver slightly.
This. This is where I've longed to be.
It felt so good to be touched by him. He smiled back, so gently, and then he pulled me toward him, wrapping his arms around me. I relaxed into his embrace. It felt so good to be held. I hadn't been held by anyone in the year we'd been separated. I'd missed him so much. I burrowed into his warm, solid chest as tears slid down my cheeks. When I leaned away from him, he used his thumbs to wipe them away. "Lily, Lily of the Night," he murmured. "You've been all alone, too. You've been lonely just like me."

I nodded. "Yes," I whispered. "But not just lonely, Ryan. Lonely for you. Only for you."

He planted his lips on my forehead for several moments before he said, "I missed you, too, Lily. I can't even express how much I’ve missed you. I’ve ached for you. I still do. I still do." His voice sounded hoarse and filled with pain. I wanted to raise my mouth to his. I was trembling from holding back, but we had so much to discuss. So many things that might cause him to run . . .

"Ryan," I murmured. He seemed to read my thoughts because he pulled back and took my hands in his again.

"Can I get you a glass of water? Some coffee?"

I nodded, the tension releasing from my body. It was as if he'd read my mind and knew I needed a moment. He seemed to know my needs so well, though we'd spent so little time together. "Sure, water would be great."

Ryan stood up and headed to the kitchen and I stood, too, walking to the window and taking a deep breath, readying myself. I'd never talked about my illness with anyone other than Nyala and my doctors. I'd never been afraid like this.

I stared out of Ryan's window, overlooking the vastness of Golden Gate Park. From here,
I could almost imagine it was our forest. It made me feel . . .
homesick
. Although I supposed that was the wrong word since it hadn't actually been my home. Still, the feeling lingered. I'd been
happy
there, though at the time, I'd been the mere ghost of myself.

I turned when I heard Ryan enter the room and walked back over to the couch. He set a bottle of water on the coffee table and I took a long drink once I'd sat back down.

"Do you need a minute?" he asked.

I set the water back down and shook my head. "No, I just need to start. I need to tell you."

"Then tell me," he said gently.

I took a deep breath and dove right in. "The winter I was ten, my mother took me to see The Nutcracker in downtown Telluride. It was an icy night and we almost stayed home, but in the end, my mother decided to brave the weather. It wasn't far and the roads had been salted." I paused, remembering how beautiful it had been that night, the way the tree branches had been encased in ice, making them sparkle in the moonlight. It had looked like a land from a fairy tale. The whole night had felt magical. I had been enchanted by the ballet, swept away by the music the orchestra played. The hot chocolate my mother bought me during intermission had been thick and sweet, topped by swirls of whipped cream with a candy cane stirrer. My mother had been particularly beautiful in her white winter coat and red scarf, her blonde hair long and lustrous, her green eyes shining with happiness. When we left, I told her it was the most wonderful night of my life.

"We had parked in a lot several blocks from the theater, and because we were talking and reminiscing about the performance, we got turned around and ended up on a side street that only had one dim street light. That's when the man stepped out from the doorway of a building." Ryan took my hand in his, squeezing it to let me know he was there. "At first I was just confused, but I could tell my mother was scared, and so I became scared, too. We tried to turn around and walk the other way, but he immediately caught up to us. He put a knife to my mother's throat and demanded money."

"God, Lily," Ryan said. I paused as I picked up the water and took a long drink, needing the moment.

"My mother handed him her purse and he poured everything out and took what he wanted. But he wasn't done with us. He dragged my mom into a doorway and started ripping at her clothes—" I drew in a large, shuddery breath, even now reliving the confused dread that had gripped me back then. "I was crying, of course, and he kept telling me to shut up or he'd kill my mother. I . . ." I'd begun shaking and Ryan pulled me in to his chest, making soft sounds of comfort.

"You don't have to do this, Lily, not if you don't want to."

"I do," I insisted. "I do want to." And truthfully, I didn't know if I could stop now that I'd started. Telling this story was like a runaway train. I had to see it to its completion—it felt like I didn't have a choice in the matter. Still, it felt good to soak in the warmth of Ryan's body as I told it.

Without leaning back up, I said, "He raped her. He raped her in front of me and I couldn't do a thing. I didn't even fully understand what was happening, just that he was hurting her so brutally." I felt Ryan's body tense, but he kept stroking my hair. He never stopped. "He pushed her aside and he . . . he grabbed for me. His eyes were glazed like he was on something. He started ripping at my clothes, just as he'd done to her." Ryan's arms hugged me tightly again and I could feel him trembling now, too.
Ryan, my sweet love.
"My mother hadn't fought, not until then. It was like the minute he reached for me, she came back to life. She started screaming and clawing at him. I was screaming, too. It was . . ." My words faded as I wiped at the tears that had begun to fall. "It was as if we'd walked right into hell from that warm, wonderful theater." I paused again, breathing deeply, attempting to gather myself. "The man brought his knife to my mother's face, and he started slashing her, again and again and—"

"Lily, Lily," Ryan crooned. "Sweet Lily, I'm so sorry." I buried my face in his chest, my heart rate increasing, my breath coming out in short bursts as the scene played out behind my eyes.

"There was so much blood," I gasped against his T-shirt. "I'd never seen so much blood. That was the first time I just . . . went away. I just—" I sucked in a deep pull of air.

"I know," Ryan said. "I know." Yes, he did know. Yes, he did. I burrowed deeper into his chest, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heart, the comforting, masculine scent of him. He rubbed my back, murmuring calming words in my ear, soothing me as if he knew just what to do, as if he'd done it a hundred times before. My heart rate lowered, becoming steady and even again. I finally leaned back up and gazed into his face. His expression was filled with so much gentleness and understanding and a raw pain I'd never seen there before, not even when he'd told me about Holden.

"I didn't know my father. Truly, my mother hadn't known him either. She met him one weekend when she was on a girls’ trip in New York City. She’d spent the night with him and then the next morning she found the wedding ring he'd hidden in the nightstand drawer. She found out a month later she was pregnant with me. The doctors say that sometimes these things run in families, but I'll never know as far as that side goes."

Ryan smoothed a piece of hair back that had fallen across my cheek. "Would knowing help, though? I think about that sometimes, too. My mother died when I was just a baby, and I don't know a lot about her side of the family either. Truthfully, I don't know a lot about my father's side of the family, other than most of them are drunks or wastrels." He sighed. "I just don't know what difference it would make."

I gave him a slight smile. "It might feel better to be able to blame someone."

Ryan let out a small laugh on a breath. "Let's blame them, then. They can't do anything about it."

I laughed a small laugh. "Okay."

Ryan's gaze moved over my face. "She didn't die that day, though. She survived."

"My mother? Yes, she survived. Sometimes I wondered if she wished she hadn't. But, . . . yes. She'd been beautiful before and then suddenly, one side of her face was so terribly scarred, ravaged really. Before . . . she'd loved to go out—she was always planning things for us, vacations, day trips, plays, shopping. After that, she never went out anymore. We went to live with my grandparents on their estate, and she became a shut-in. And she didn't want me to go out either. She became afraid of the world, afraid something awful would happen to me. I was put into the hospital for a while." I shook my head. "I wouldn't accept that we'd been attacked, was living in one of my dream worlds." I bit at my lip for a moment. "After that, I was more than happy to stay inside with her where it was safe. I was afraid of the world, too. She took me out of school, hired private tutors. For years, we just . . . clung to each other."