Stay With Me (28 page)

So, this was the dilemma that had been brewing for
months. So far it sounded like Father John had done everything right.

“Instead of meeting with her and encouraging her to
see a professional counselor as well, because of my attraction to her, I cut
her loose. I told her I couldn’t help her and refused to schedule another
appointment with her.

“Chris, the look on her face. I may as well have
slapped her myself. I didn’t even think of how that kind of rejection might
harm her relationship with the Church. I tried to soothe my conscience by
telling myself I fled temptation, but in truth I was selfish. I wasn’t going to
act on what I felt. Not in a million years. Nor was it some kind of mutual
thing. She came to me for guidance, but because of my discomfort, she went back
home to her husband with no more support than she had come in here with.”

“What happened? What was the call about?”

“Her mother found Kimberly this morning beaten so
badly that she’s in a coma.”

Chris let out a breath and shook his head. He’d
never understand how a man could do that to a woman he supposedly loved. “I’m so
sorry. I get how you feel like it’s your fault. I really do. But you can’t do
that. Maybe you could have handled it better, but the only one responsible for
her condition is the man who hit her.”

Father John nodded, but Chris doubted he agreed.

“Listen, I want to go to the hospital. At least
maybe I can offer some comfort to her mother. Before I go, let me get my stole,
and I’ll hear your confession.”

“No, that’s okay. Go. I’ve got to get to work
anyhow. I’ll come by tomorrow morning during the scheduled hours.”

“Thanks. And I appreciate you listening. Father
Richard’s a good enough guy, but I don’t have much of a connection with him
like I do with you or some of my other brother priests.”

“No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. And
I’ll pray for Kimberly.”

For her sake and for Father John’s, he hoped she’d
make it. Because if she didn’t, he had a feeling Father John would blame
himself.

23

Lover Lay Down

With less than a month to go before the wedding,
Chris’s stress level ratcheted through the roof. He pulled up outside the neat
split-level home with white siding and brown shutters and rubbed his hand over
his forehead. He could use a beer. Because of a tank problem, he had been
called in to work, and it had thrown off his whole day. He missed confession,
and there hadn’t been time to clean his apartment or stop at the tuxedo shop
like he’d planned.

He looked again at the house and didn’t see any
movement. It belonged to Craig, a childhood friend of both his and Alan’s. He
and his wife bought the home three months ago, and this was the first he’d seen
it. He noticed Alan’s car in the driveway, along with three others, two of
which he recognized. He hoped Alan hadn’t overdone it or gone against his
wishes. While Chris would have preferred something small, low key, and
memorable like camping, a rafting trip or even a night out at a couple of bars,
Alan insisted he had to have a bachelor party, so he relented.

A month before Alan’s wedding, Chris had spoken to
him about what he’d like to do to celebrate, and Jamie had given him a list of
the local men invited to the wedding. Chris rented a room at a restaurant and
bar. It was simple, but it served its purpose.

Three hours into the festivities, when everyone was
feeling good, a blond girl appeared at the entrance to the room asking for the
Reynolds party. They summoned Chris since he was the best man.  The young—
very
young
—woman identified herself as the hired entertainment for the evening
and asked him to point out the groom. It caught Chris completely off guard. He
didn’t know who had enlisted her or what exactly she would do, but apparently
it had been prearranged and paid for by someone, so he let her proceed.

She looked like she might be pretty if she hadn’t
had on so much makeup. Instead she looked a little skanky, but that didn’t
prevent her from getting the men’s attention when she removed her coat and
revealed a skimpy black teddy with black fishnet stockings. Chris hung around
for half of her “performance,” but when she proceeded to give his brother a lap
dance, he left the room.

Chris didn’t go for that kind of thing.
Nothing
says “I’m about to make a lifelong commitment to love and honor” like letting a
nearly-naked, possibly underage girl that you’ve never met before rub herself
all over your genitals, right?
Then there was the fact that when Jamie
found out and everything hit the fan, he didn’t want to be held responsible.
The more he could do to distance himself from the debacle, the better. Or so he
thought.

The kicker had come the next day when he sat at
Alan and Jamie’s kitchen table and learned that Jamie had hired the girl as her
wedding gift. And Alan had sure enjoyed it. Chris didn’t know if their mother
ever got wind of it, but if she had, she would’ve given Alan the tongue-lashing
of his life.

The whole thing struck him as supremely messed up,
and tonight it made him nervous. He had been clear with Alan that he didn’t
want anything like that. Just the guys and some drinks. A pool table or a dart
board would be good, too.

Chris saw no sign of Craig, but a sign next to the
door said, “Party downstairs.” He let himself into the split entry, and
laughter and heavy metal music billowed up from below. The place already reeked
of beer and cigars. Craig’s wife was going to love this. At the bottom of the
stairs he crossed the hall to a wide-open family room with a humongous flat
screen TV, a couple of couches and an entertainment center on his right. On the
opposite side of the room stood a bar.

From the first call of “Get the groom a beer,” Chris
never saw the bottom of his cup. Once the party was in full swing, about twenty
guys were evenly split between a Stanley Cup playoff game on the TV and the keg
next to the bar. Chris gave them a hard time about not having any Gateway beer,
but even aside from the keg, someone had purchased a nice selection of bottled
beers, not to mention hard liquor.

As he tilted the first full SOLO cup to his lips,
Chris thought of Rebecca. He remembered how uncomfortable she’d seemed about
the alcohol consumed at Alan and Jamie’s wedding. She had loosened up a lot
since then, and they would be serving alcohol at their own wedding reception in
a few weeks, but he thought she would still feel tense if she were with him.

In the beginning, even his drinking a couple of beers
made her uneasy, but she needn’t have worried. Chris didn’t get drunk.

Twice in his life he drank enough to be considered
inebriated. He celebrated his twenty-first birthday by consuming so much
alcohol he vowed to never drink near that much again. Only two weeks later,
Jamie drove him home from a party at Alan’s apartment while he vomited into a
bag on his lap. He had no intention of overindulging that night, but every time
he refused a drink or said he’d had enough, his “friends” doubled their efforts
to get him to drink.

After that he got smart. He liked being in control
of himself and not having to worry about saying or doing something stupid or
dangerous while under the influence. His strategy included never turning down a
drink. Instead he held onto a cup. No one noticed if he nursed two or three
beers or a couple of ginger ales the entire night. As long as he imbibed they
were happy, and they left him alone. That had served him well in the past, but
not tonight.

They were all adults now, and no one really cared
what or how much he drank, with one exception: Megan’s brother, Tim. Chris knew
he was not on the wedding guest list, but Alan must have invited him to the
bachelor party anyway. It seemed that neither he nor Megan could pass up free
booze.

Chris didn’t know if Alan had tipped him off, but
Tim actually looked in Chris’s cup and sniffed it to see how much and what he
drank. If beer didn’t fill the cup to the brim, he topped it off. The one time
Chris had covered his cup with his hand, Tim poured a beer right over it,
letting it splash over his fingers and onto the carpet. The guy was so intent
on seeing him sloshed, he wondered if it had something to do with Megan and the
fact that despite her interest, she and Chris had never gotten together.

To make matters worse, if someone made a toast, he
foisted a shot on Chris. He found it difficult to say no when the toast honored
him. Even so, a few hours into the party Chris had sipped so slowly, filled
enough glasses with ginger ale, and thrown enough shots into houseplants that
he was by no means drunk. Still, enough alcohol had passed his lips that he
knew he shouldn’t drive home. He could stay longer while the alcohol wore off,
but Tim would be there forcing more on him. Around midnight, he called Rebecca
and asked her to come get him. Given the hour, he hated to ask her, but she
didn’t live far away. Besides, he hadn’t seen her in three days, and he missed
her.

A half hour later her car pulled up outside. He had
already said his thanks and goodbyes even though only about half the guys had
left. It had been a good chance to catch up with some friends that he probably
wouldn’t have time to talk to at the wedding, and at least no stripper or lap
dancer had shown up. He was grateful Alan had honored his wishes.

Chris rushed out the door to meet Rebecca so she
wouldn’t have to come in. He had told her it was smoky, and she wouldn’t like
it, but he also didn’t want his fiancée in a room of drunken men. They were
decent guys, but why invite trouble?

She stood outside of her car under the diffused
light of the street lamp. He could see only her silhouette. Every last curve
looked like it was carved in relief. From across the yard he couldn’t make out
what she was wearing, but whatever it was, it looked tight and clingy and
unlike anything he had ever seen her in before. Before his imagination had a
chance to take over where his eyes had left off, she reached into the open
window of her back seat and pulled out a long, sleeveless shirt, which she
stretched over her head and then pulled down over her hips.
Drat
.

“Hey, there,” she said. “How bad off are you?”

At that point, he had come under the soft light of
the street lamp, too, and could see she wore some kind of stretchy black
exercise clothes under the shirt. He thought she must be cold, given the cool
spring night.

“Not so bad. I just don’t want to take any chances
by driving.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “You look like you’ve been
exercising.” Maybe that’s why she didn’t appear to be cold.

She looked down at her clothes and her long
ponytail bobbed up and down. “Oh, yeah.”

“Isn’t it kind of late?”

“It’s never too late to exercise when you’re having
your wedding dress altered the next day.”

He shook his head. What was she worried about? She
was perfect, and the dress would look perfect, too.

“I stayed late at work trying to get things
organized for when we’re on our honeymoon, which made my dinner really late. I
wanted to let my food digest, and so, I was exercising at midnight. At least
until you called.”

“Sorry I interrupted you.” He moved in close to
her, bent his head and kissed her. Wow. Maybe it was the buzz he had going or
maybe it was the feel of the slippery spandex pants his hands grazed on the way
to her waist, but only one word described that kiss: hot.

She pulled away and laughed. At him? “Let’s go. You
can hang out at my apartment until this stuff wears off. You smell like a
distillery, by the way.”

“Does it turn you on?” He was joking. Sort of.

She let out a sharp laugh. “Hardly. I call first dibs
on the shower because it’s mine, and I’m sweaty, but you’re up next.”

She opened her apartment door with her key, and
they stepped into the dark entryway. Rebecca kicked off her shoes, and turned
on a lamp. Her apartment smelled fresh and clean, and he sniffed the cheap
cigar smoke clinging to his clothes and skin. He still couldn’t keep his eyes
off her and wished she had never thrown that shirt on over those slinky
clothes. The loose-fitting shirt had arm holes so large that when she sat in
the car, the insubstantial fabric couldn’t hide the sports tank she had on
underneath. He bet it felt as smooth as her pants. He tried to shove his hands
in his pockets to keep them out of trouble, but they were full.

He lifted a small sample bottle of liquor out of
each pocket. “I almost forgot. Alan gave me these. He said Jamie promised them
to you.”

She took one of the small dark bottles from his
hand and read the label. Then she laughed. “I forgot all about these. Jamie
promised me I would love chocolate liqueur.” She screwed the top off one and
sniffed it. “Do I drink it straight?”

“You can. Or you can mix it.”

“I’ll try it straight.” She lifted the little
bottle to her lips and winced as if she were anticipating an awful taste. A
couple seconds later, she lowered the bottle and said, “That’s not bad. It’s
smooth and yummy.”

Chris grinned.

“Do you want a sip?”

“No thanks, I’ve had enough, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” She finished off the small bottle
herself. “I’ll save the other one.” She set it on the counter.

She undid her ponytail and ran her hand through her
hair as she sauntered toward the bathroom.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes.” She gave him a
devastating smile.

Maybe it was the racing of his heart interacting
with the depressant quality of the alcohol, but he felt almost woozy.

The water in the bathroom ran and the door shut. He
walked over to her small computer desk and shook the mouse. Selecting the music
playback app, he logged himself in and selected one of his favorite playlists.
Some soft rock music played. He took a seat on the couch, leaned his head back,
and closed his eyes. Three weeks from tonight, he would be a married man. The
wedding and the reception would be over, and they’d be on their way.

He started to drift off when she called to him from
the shower.

“Chris, could you put out a towel for me? I
forgot.”

“Sure.” His voice sounded a little groggy and
raspy. Darn cheap cigars. He entered the bathroom, the steam hitting him in the
face, and retrieved a towel from the cabinet beneath the sink.

“So, do you sing in the shower?”

She hesitated and then said, “I guess that’s for me
to know and you to find out.”

He grinned. Coy. He liked it, and it was the
closest he’d gotten so far to getting her to sing. He looked down and noticed
Rebecca’s clothes laid on the floor—a pile of spandex pants, athletic socks,
and a sports tank topped with discarded lace and satin strung together with
bits of red fabric. He’d bet those panties were the product of this morning’s
lingerie shopping with Abby. He had a hard time not envisioning Rebecca
modeling it all for him.

He flung a clean towel over the rail outside the
shower.

“Thanks.” Her voice was muffled by the running
water.

Inches away from him on the other side of the
curtain, Rebecca was naked. He imagined her pulling her fingers through her wet
hair as she rinsed it, water running down her …he cleared his throat and gave
his head a little shake. He should leave. He had put out the towel like she’d
asked. He should leave, but he didn’t have the will to do it.