The Outsider

 The Outsider

by

Silver James

     Megan Carter stared at the blank window open on her laptop screen. She’d returned to Valentine, Colorado to be inspired, so this was supposed to be easy. She sucked hard on a chocolate Tootsie Pop, the white paper stick jammed in the corner of her mouth like a skinny cigarette.

     “What was I thinking? Oh, wait. I wasn’t thinking. Idiot. It’s February. In the Rockies. I hate snow.” She pushed back from the desk and rose to pace the confines of her luxury cabin at the SweetHart Lodge.

     The cell phone on the desk buzzed, dancing across the polished surface like water on a hot griddle. Megan didn’t bother to answer. The caller was either her editor or her agent. Both were panicked about her deadline.

     “Which is why I freaking came up here!” Her frustrated shout echoed through the empty room.

     This trip was supposed to be all about inspiration. She’d lived in Valentine for a couple of years in high school. Until her mother got wanderlust, picked up everything they owned, and moved to San Diego. It doesn’t snow in San Diego. But it snows in Megan’s unfinished romance novel. Hence her trip back to Valentine for inspiration. Her hero was a hunky ski patrol member and her heroine a reckless downhill skier. The whole idea was ludicrous. She knew nothing about skiing. What had she been thinking? Oh, yeah. Back to that again. 

     She poured a cup of coffee, lacing it liberally with cream and sugar before moving to stand in front of the picture window. Fat snowflakes drifted down and she experienced a moment of vertigo like she’d been caught in a snow globe, held upside down and shaken, not stirred. She’d have to bundle up soon and trudge over to the main lodge. Maybe that whole après ski thing would soak in as guests schmoozed around the fire. She could eavesdrop to get her Muse into high gear—and get an Irish coffee at the bar.

****

     Jesse Travers ducked his chin to his chest and hunched his right shoulder as he turned away from the couple strolling along the sidewalk he’d just shoveled. Holding hands and making goo-goo eyes at each other, they passed him like he was invisible. Just as well. He’d hate to give the woman nightmares.

     Wiping the sweat off his brow, he knocked his hood back. If it kept snowing, he’d have to get out the snow blower to keep up. He hated the noise and oily stink of the engine fumes when it was running. The sound and smell reminded him of things that gave him nightmares.

     Seemed he hated a lot of things these days. This place. The people who vacationed here. Life. He’d ended up back in Valentine by default after his discharge from Walter Reed Hospital in D.C. His old man had finally died and Jesse had to return to pay off the bastard’s debts. Val Hart offered Jesse a job and a place to stay in one of the old cabins on the back of the property. He hid out, doing odd jobs and repairs around the place. Come spring though, he and Sarge were leaving.

     A woman’s terrified scream raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Without a second thought, Jesse dashed toward the sound. He rounded the corner of one of the cabins and slid to a halt. Sarge had someone cornered on the ground. The woman was curled into a tight ball, still screaming even as she tried to fend off her furry attacker. Jesse waded into the fray, wrapped his fingers in Sarge’s collar, and yanked the big idiot back.

     “Stop screamin’, ma’am. He won’t hurt you.” The dog lunged at the woman’s face and she screamed again, right before the damned dog licked her face.

     “Jeez, Sarge. Release.” Jesse barked the order and the dog, with one final lick which dislodged something from the woman’s mouth, obeyed.

     She stared into amazing blue eyes—as hard and bright as aquamarine glinting under the summer sun—the same blue eyes she saw whenever she dreamed up a new hero. She recognized those eyes. Megan gasped.

     Jesse flinched at the sound she made. He flipped up his hood and shifted his face into the shadows. Only then did she realize he thought she was upset by his scars. She wasn’t. This man—who’d once been a boy as furtive in the shadows as he was now—had both rescued and humiliated her. She remembered the boy Jesse Travers had once been—the son of the town drunk—and a brutal man. She’d seen the bruises and cuts the boy tried so hard to hide. He’d been proud, even then, wearing his lost-and-found clothes like they came from an upscale store at the mall. He’d had a lean and hungry look in those days, much like his current expression.

     Megan peered around her. The dog had knocked off her glasses and now that both man and animal had backed away, she couldn’t see them as plainly. She patted the snow and rolled to her knees to check underneath her. Jesse just watched, silent and sullen. The dog—wolf—ravenous monster—decided she was playing a game. He jumped on her back, knocking her face first in the snow. She whimpered and tried to fend off the crazed animal.

     “Sarge, fuss.” Jesse’s voice crackled with command. The word sounded like “fooss,” German for “heel.” The dog seemed reluctant to leave her alone but he responded, dutifully returning to his master’s side. “Platz, Sarge.”

     A moment later, Sarge was belly down in the snow but his shining eyes tracked every move Megan made as she searched the snow again.

     “Lose something?”

     “Yes. My glasses.”

     Jesse kicked at the snow around his feet then bent from the waist and retrieved her heavy black frames. He hesitated then pulled out the tail of his flannel shirt and dried them off before handing them to Megan.

     She took them, settled them on her face, and gazed up at him. “I know you.” He shook his head and backed away. “Wait. Please? Jesse, right? Jesse Travers. You…I…we…” She inhaled and blinked a few times. “You saved me in high school. Down under the bleachers at the football field.” She held out her hand and offered a smile. “I think you just saved me again.” Megan wasn’t about to mention what else they’d done, or how he’d broken her heart.

     Jesse stared at her face before his gaze traveled to her outstretched hand. He wiped his palm down the side of his thigh before taking hers and pulling her to her feet. He didn’t say anything but his shadowed eyes glinted like gemstones under the soft streetlamps lining the pathway. Once she was on her feet, he jerked his hand away, like contact with her skin burned.

     “I’m Me—”

     “I remember. Megan Carter.” He turned on his heel and slapped his thigh for the dog to follow him. They left her standing there.

     If it hadn’t been so cold, Megan would have butt-planted in the snow. As it was, her knees barely held her upright. “Well, damn.” She exhaled on the oath, softening the sound of it.

     Jesse Travers. The boy of her dreams. The slayer of her dragons. And the man who’d broken her heart.

****

     His heart pounded in his chest and he fought the adrenaline surging through his body setting his fingers and toes on fire. He wanted to hit something. Or run. Megan Carter. She hadn’t changed a bit. Big doe eyes blinking behind the veil of her thick glasses. Full lips begging to be kissed. And he had. Despite everything, he had. Kissed her lips and more back then.

     Sarge whined at his side and Jesse automatically dropped his hand to the big dog’s head. He’d dreamed about her, hunkered down in a dozen different war zones. He’d pretended she was still his, that she’d be waiting for him when—if—he returned. He didn’t deserve her, but he’d wanted her. What the hell was she doing here? Especially now.

     The dog whined again as Jesse gripped his ruff so tight he was pulling fur. He relaxed his hand and breathed. In. Out. Thinking about the action until the pressure in his chest eased.

     Another couple approached, arms wrapped around each other. Jesse turned away, burying his face against the rough wool of his coat. He was still the invisible man. Just as well. He couldn’t stand to look in the mirror so how could he expect anyone else to look at him. Except Megan. She’d watched him. Even though she gasped—he knew he’d frightened her—but she didn’t turn away. She didn’t hide from the scars on his ruined face.

     Sarge crunched something in his teeth. Jesse bent to take whatever it was away, only to pull out a sticky mess wrapped around a wad of paper. He laughed. Sarge’s penchant for sweets was legendary. That’s why the dog went after Megan. She’d been sucking on a chocolate Tootsie Pop. The muscles of his face stretched and felt odd. Then he realized he was smiling. He hadn’t smiled in…he couldn’t remember.

****

     Megan cupped both hands around her Irish coffee and stared at the flames leaping in the massive fireplace. Her view was blocked momentarily as Tina Hart, one of the owners of the SweetHart Lodge plopped into the chair next to her.

     The grandmotherly woman didn’t waste time with small talk. “Val and I saw you talking to Jesse.”

     Blinking a few times, Megan considered what to say. Her jaw finally loosened so she could speak. “Is there a problem with that? Is he not allowed to speak to guests?” She snarled the questions.

     Tina arched one brow. “Jesse can speak to whomever he pleases. I just—”

     “You just what? If he’s allowed to speak to guests then there is no problem with me talking to him, is there?” Megan clenched the glass coffee mug so tightly the whipped cream on top threatened to slosh over the edges. What had gotten into her? She inhaled, relaxed her hands, took a sip, and then exhaled. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hart. That was rude of me. I just…Jesse and I were in high school together. Things were… Well… His life back then…I mean…” She inhaled deeply. “I just want things to be okay for him.”

     The woman leaned closer and patted her knee. “My grandson went to school with Jesse, too. It’s okay, hon. I understand. And I’m glad to see he has a champion. Afghanistan was…”

     Megan winced. “Is that how he was injured?” She was relieved, though, as she’d worried his father had scarred Jesse’s face with one of his beatings.

     Tina nodded and spent a few minutes explaining about the IED explosion, Jesse’s injuries, what Sarge meant to him, and why he was back in Valentine. The longer the innkeeper spoke, the more Megan’s heart broke.

     That night in bed, she tossed and turned. Every time she closed her eyes in an attempt to sleep Jesse’s eyes pierced the darkness. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and he was the most handsome man she’d ever known. Even with the scar. She wanted to kiss it, kiss him. Hold him. Her body ached with the memory of their one time together. It had hurt and been uncomfortable and she’d cried but Jesse held her and kissed her and told her everything would be okay. Only it wasn’t. He disappeared the next morning and a week later, her mother was packing them up to move.

     Megan knew what she wanted. She’d always loved Jesse and she was positive her feelings were more than the lingering effects of a schoolgirl crush. No other boy had ever affected her like he did. And now he was a man—a man still confined to the shadows. Her stomach lurched at the thought. He must be so lonely. She wanted to bring him out into the light, to prove he didn’t have to be on the outside looking in. Never again.

     With her mind made up, she rolled over and drifted off to sleep.

****

     Jesse greeted the dawn without ever seeing his bed. He’d been too restless, but he’d come to a decision. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t face Megan, or the pity he knew would be in her expression whenever she looked at him.

     Sarge was curled on the rug, his muzzle resting on his front paws, eyes never leaving his master. He occasionally whined and offered a gentle thump of his tail on the worn wooden floor of the cabin.

     “We can’t stay, Sarge.”

     The dog’s gentle woof sounded chastising. Ignoring the dog’s censure and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Jesse got ready for his day. A couple of the snowmobiles needed maintenance. He’d take care of those and then tell Val Hart that he was moving on.

     Chores came hard and fast and before Jesse realized it, the sun dipped behind Valentine Mountain. Lights blinked on in the gathering shadows even though the sky looked like someone had painted it with pastel pinks and purples. Mr. Hart would be in the office. It was time to say goodbye. As he turned the corner of the building, he found the parking lot full of vehicles, including the sheriff’s SUV. A crowd gathered near the front doors to the Lodge.

     “There he is, Sheriff Landers!” Brian Benjamin, the Lodge’s ski instructor, pointed toward Jesse.

     He slowed and hunched lower under his hood.

     Val Hart waved him over, calling, “Jesse, we need you! We have a missing guest.”

He relaxed a little but kept his chin down. There were a lot of people and lights and he wasn’t comfortable with either.

     “We don’t know when she went missing,” Mr. Hart explained to the sheriff. “One of the maids saw her headed toward Cupid’s Creek Trail. Nobody saw her come back, her room is empty, and with weather moving in, we’re worried.”

     The old man gave a quick description but when he said the guest’s name, Jesse stopped breathing. Megan was missing? Sarge quivered at his side, picking up on the tension in the group.

     The sheriff split the searchers into groups and gave terse orders. Sarge did his best to pick up the scent but the area was muddled with tracks, people, and too many odors for the dog to winnow out the right one. Hard dark and a fast-moving winter storm had the sheriff calling off the search around ten p.m. Disheartened people tramped into the Lodge looking for food, drink, and warmth.

     Jesse wasn’t ready to give up. He’d run away from her in high school. He wouldn’t abandon her now. “We’ll find her.” He turned on his heel and gave Sarge a sharp command. “Fuss. Heel.” They started up Cupid’s Creek Trail and Jesse issued another order. “Such, Sarge.” The word sounded like tsuuk and meant track. “Such Megan.”

     The dog raised his muzzle, lifted one front foot then he lowered his nose to the snow and took off. Jesse followed close behind, his breath catching in his chest as his heart hammered. Within minutes, a curtain of snow cut off view of the lodge. Jesse didn’t stop. Megan was out there, lost and alone, and she wouldn’t survive the night if he didn’t find her.

     Midnight arrived. And left. The military watch on Jesse’s wrist glowed. Two a.m. The sharp wind abated but still swirled and drifted snow so that he had to struggle forward. He was so cold. And so afraid. Then Sarge’s bark echoed through the night. And he heard a faint shout.

     “Help!”

     Megan! He pushed through the snow, running hard now, no longer exhausted. Sarge’s excited barking guided him and he found her halfway submerged in a pond at the bottom of a short slope. The ice had broken, dowsing her legs. The dog had her coat sleeve in his mouth and was tugging even as Jesse slid down the slope.

     After dragging her up onto the bank, he noticed her blue lips. Her teeth chattered so much she couldn’t talk. He didn’t have a radio. Staring around him, wild-eyed and panicked, he realized they were trapped in white-out conditions. Even if he had a radio, no one could find them. It was up to him to get Megan to safety. He wouldn’t fail her again. He’d die first. He pushed away the very real possibility that neither of them would make it.

     “Megan? Megan, you have to hang on, baby. I’m going to get you out of here. I’ll get you home and safe.”

     She nodded mutely.

     “Sarge! Home, boy. Take us home.” With a happy bark, the big dog followed an overflow trough below the pond. Jesse wanted to carry Megan but she’d be better off moving, getting the blood to flowing.

     After what seemed like hours, the area around them looked familiar. A few minutes later, Sarge led them straight to Jesse’s cabin. Inside, Megan collapsed on his ratty old sofa while Jesse stoked the fire.

     “I’ll start the shower. We need to get you out of those wet clothes, Megan. I have to get you warm, baby. Okay?”

     Once in his bathroom, Jesse discovered Megan didn’t have the strength to stand on her own. He stripped her and then, after a moment’s hesitation, he stripped as well. Taking her in his arms, he stepped into the shower, under water as hot as Megan could stand it. The small room filled with steam but he knew she could see his scars—every last ugly one of them.

     Megan gazed up at him, her eyes tracing the scar that ran from his forehead and down around his left eye to slash across his cheekbone. The tip of her finger followed the same path a moment later. Her touch felt almost reverent. Her teeth had stopped chattering and color flooded her cheeks.

     “You’re always saving me, Jesse.”

     He shook his head, denying where the conversation was headed. “I’m no hero, Megan.”

     “You are to me.” She rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. “You always have been,” she murmured against his mouth.

     With a groan, he wrapped her tighter in his arms and kissed her back, his tongue tracing her lips before they parted and let him in to taste the sweetness of her mouth. The bands constricting his chest and heart eased.

     Later, after he’d called the sheriff to let everyone know Megan was safe, they lay curled together under a pile of blankets in front of the fire. He told her about his life. About what had happened the night after he’d pledged his love to her and she to him. About the Army. About Afghanistan. About Walter Reed. Sarge lay beside Megan, adding his warmth.

     “I loved you, you know,” she whispered when he finished his story. “I still do.” He opened his mouth to protest but she stopped him with a gentle finger laid across his lips. “Shh. All I want is the chance to get to know you again.”

     Jesse closed his eyes. “There’s not much to know. Not much worth knowing.” He mumbled the words and moved to roll away from her. She’d have none of it.

     “I love you, Jesse Travers. Period. Just the way you are. I have since that day under the bleachers when you scared those bullies away.” She snuggled into his arms and within a few minutes, her misadventures caught up with her and she drifted off.

     When Megan awoke, she was alone. The fire radiated heat and looked liked it had been stoked not too long before. She found a neatly-folded stack of her clothes—jeans, sweater, socks, and dry boots. She dressed in front of the fire, still chilled to the bone from her ordeal. She’d been terrified but never once doubted that Jesse would find her. She knew all she had to do was hang on until he came. He didn’t disappoint.

     Something scratched at the door. Curious, Megan opened it. Sarge sat on the porch, the handles of a bag from Serendipity Bakery in his mouth. She retrieved it and peeked inside—chocolate, flowers, and… She glanced up at the man who stood in the shadows of the porch. He’d always been an outsider. She refused to let him remain one.

     “Are these for me, Sarge?”

     The dog woofed and she rubbed his ears as he nosed the bag. Megan smiled at Jesse and stretched out her hand. He took it and moved into a small patch of sunlight. He wasn’t wearing his hood. Her eyes glistened with tears as she twined her arms around his neck.

     “I love you.”

     “Yeah…I…I love you, too.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Be sure to return tomorrow for the next story, CHOCOLATE, FLOWERS, AND...CHAMPAGNE by Anna Kittrell. If you missed a story, you can use the Older Post button below or the archive list on the right to go back and catch up. Happy Valentine's Day!

The Golden Band

The Golden Band
by
Callie Hutton

Aileen Kramer glanced out the car window and her breath caught at the magnificence of Valentine, Colorado spread out before them like a picture post card. The soft glow from the cabins and snug homes radiated against the glistening snow, serving up a magical backdrop for the SweetHart Lodge, where she and Spencer headed.

Magic. That’s what they needed, and what Spencer hoped to find here. At least that’s what he’d told her when he proposed this trip. Their last getaway before the divorce became final. She slanted a glance at her almost ex-husband. Eight years of marriage hadn’t taken a toll on him as it had her.

At twenty-eight he was still handsome, the lines in his face only adding to his appeal. He’d maintained his muscular build with years on oil rigs. He could easily grace the cover of GQ with thick black hair falling over his forehead, and riveting blue eyes surrounded by eyelashes a woman would kill for.

She, on the other hand, looked every bit of her twenty-seven years, plus many more. Despair and depression did that to a person. She’d stopped paying attention to herself somewhere along the line while she cared for Becky. Then the numbness following her death brought every part of living to a grinding halt. She sighed and returned her notice to the lodge growing closer.

Built on a small rise, with several populated well-lit ski runs behind it, a welcoming sign with two hearts, entwined with the names Val and Tina Hart underneath, teased her lips with a rare smile.

“I’ll drop you off in front and park the car.” Spencer threw the car into park and hopped out. In his usual energetic manner, he strode around the car and opened the door before she could even do it.

She cringed at the hopeful look on his face. Why didn’t he understand there was nothing left in her to give? That everything she was, and would ever be, she’d buried with their three year old daughter?

Please, Spence, don’t make this weekend harder than it already is.

Aileen had been flabbergasted when Spence had stopped by her apartment to suggest a Valentine’s Day weekend fling. ‘One last trip’ he’d called it. When she’d pushed him to tell her why after all this time, he merely asked her to give them one more chance.

Valentine’s Day weekend. They’d had sex for the first time on Valentine’s Day. Two teenagers, fumbling in the backseat of the Kramer family Volvo. She was his first, and he was hers. First and only. For her, anyway. She really didn’t know what Spence had done to relieve the strong appetite he’d always had. Didn’t want to know, either.

“Come on, honey. I understand the owners are a real hoot.”

“Sir, I’ll be happy to park your car.” A young man dressed in black slacks and a hooded jacket with the SweetHart Lodge twinning hearts embroidered on the chest walked up to them, snow crunching under his feet.

“Hey, that’s great, thanks man.” Spence reached in for Aileen’s hand and pulled her out, almost as if he thought she’d rather spend the trip sitting in the car.

He retrieved their two suitcases from the back seat and started toward the door. Aileen glanced back at the car, not anxious to leave the sanctity of the dark interior. Now that they headed into the light, she felt stripped, vulnerable. She would have to spend the next forty-eight hours trying hard to act normal, feel normal.

An older woman dressed in ski pants, furry boots and a white sweater with a huge heart on the front greeted them at the front door. “Howdy, folks. I’m Tina Hart, and welcome to SweetHart lodge.” Had she been dressed in a red and white fur suit she could easily have passed the most cynical child’s scrutiny as Mrs. Santa Claus. Round and red cheeked, her smile took up most of her face. Despite Aileen’s mood, she smiled back at the woman, her spirits lifting.

“We have a reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Kramer.” Spence followed Mrs. Hart to the front desk and dropped the luggage at his feet.

“Spence?” Aileen’s heart sped up, and she tugged on his sleeve, pulling him aside. “I thought you said we would have separate rooms?” she whispered, darting  a glance at Mrs. Hart.

“Honey, there’s no point in coming here,” he waved his hand around, “and staying in separate rooms.”

“But you promised.” Her already thumping heart sped up even more. She couldn’t stay in the same room with Spence. No, no. This would never work. She licked her lips and approached the counter. “Is it possible for us to have separate rooms?”

Mrs. Hart glanced briefly at Spence and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kramer, but we’re booked solid for the entire weekend. Valentine’s Day, you know.”

Aileen chewed on her lip. Could she break her promise and insist he take her home, since he’d broken his promise for separate rooms?

Spence rested his palm against her cheek. “Please, honey. Two days. That’s all I’m asking for.”

She gave him a curt nod, rubbing sweaty palms against her thighs. Somehow she’d get through this. Then she’d never have to deal with him again. All the breath left her body as she pondered that thought. Never was a long time.

*

Spencer grabbed their bags and followed the directions Mrs. Hart had given them to their room, leaving Aileen to reluctantly trail behind. He’d known it was a dirty trick to tell her they would have separate rooms when he’d had no intention of doing that. There didn’t seem to be a point to them coming here if they were to be separated. Especially at night. He’d made sure their room had only one bed, too. Although, Mrs. Hart laughed when he’d asked, and assured him SweetHart Lodge would never have rooms with more than one bed. He could almost see her giving him a conspiring wink at the other end of the line.

He slid the plastic card into the reader and pushed the door open. Yes! Perfect. A huge bed sat smack in the middle of the room, covered by a white satin quilt with several pink and red hearts embroidered in the center. Rose petals had been strewn over the generous pillows. The bottle of champagne he’d ordered rested in a silver bucket, beads of condensation running down its sides. The confirmation he’d received from the Lodge assured an unforgettable weekend of Chocolate, Flowers and . . . He knew how he wanted that promise to end.

To the right, he spied the bathroom with a heart shaped tub, big enough for two. Or more, depending on your inclinations. Not his. All he wanted to do was get Aileen in that tub with a glass of champagne in her hand.

All the sorrow of the last two years marked her face. Although he’d loved running his fingers through her long blond hair, her new cut with the springy curls surrounding her cherub face, softened the tense lines. She’d lost weight, and he guessed she barely broke a hundred pounds on the scale. But since she was a tiny woman anyway, she didn’t have the scarecrow look of a fashion model.

But the saddest thing about his wife was her huge brown eyes, that one time sparkled with mischief and humor, and now looked vacant and dead. Like their Becky.

He shook his head, pushing the dark thoughts to the back of his mind. He loved Aileen, and wanted her back. But not the shell of a woman he’d known since Becky’s death. He wanted the woman he’d fallen in love with, who lay in bed beside him at night, whispering, sharing dreams and hopes for the future. The wife who surprised him with special dinners when he returned from work, who loved him with a passion he knew he’d not find anywhere else. Hadn’t tried to find, either.

“Let’s get some dinner.” Spencer shrugged out of his ski jacket and tossed it on the bed.

“All right.” Aileen slowly unzipped her coat, the entire time nervously glancing at the bed.

*

The Lodge teemed with people, couples with their arms wrapped around each other, clutching coffee cups and wine glasses. The lobby stayed cold with guests entering, checking in, and heading to their rooms. They passed the packed cocktail lounge, two bartenders racing from one end of the highly polished bar to the other, pouring beer and mixing drinks. The laughter and shouting rubbed her raw.

Now that she’d seen their room, Aileen knew this entire idea was a huge mistake. Better they should have just parted friends and gone on with their lives.

Spence rested his warm palm on her lower back and bent toward her ear. “Did you want a drink before dinner?”

She shook her head, no point in trying to answer him with all the noise.

He slid his hand up to her shoulder, leaving a trail of fire against her skin, and moved her forward, toward the hostess seating guests. The familiar smell of Spence’s favorite cologne, Giorgio Armani, mixed with the unique scent that was all him, wafted to her nostrils, bringing unwanted memories. Tears sprang to her eyes. Eyes that until now had remained dry for what seemed like forever.

Despite the bustling crowd, they were seated right away, in front of a large bay window with a breathtaking view of the mountain, lit up with red and white lights. A few well bundled skiers rode the lift, skis dangling from their feet and poles clutched firmly in their hands.

“You do know I don’t ski.” Aileen fumbled with the pink cloth napkin, snapping it and placing it on her lap.
            “I know. I thought maybe we could give it a go tomorrow. They have lessons at ten o’clock for beginners.”

“And do they have first aid lessons for the beginners in the afternoon?” She smirked, then her brows drew together. She’d actually said something humorous. It felt odd, actually. Strange. Like she’d crawled out of the rabbit hole to view the real world where she no longer belonged.

Spence grinned. “I’ll have to check the schedule for tomorrow. They have a lot of activities. If we don’t want to ski, we can ice skate, snow tube, take a dance lesson.”

“A dance lesson?”

“Yes. I understand there’s a real hot couple who teach the Salsa.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and she grinned. Then his eyes grew heated and her stomach fluttered. Spence could still turn her knees to jelly. But it had been so long since she’d paid attention to those feelings. She flashed back to their room with the one bed. And the sunken bathtub. No. She didn’t want to go there.

The waiter approached them and took their orders, leaving them with a basket of warm rolls. Spence reached for one, and broke it apart. “You look like you’ve lost weight.” He glanced at her as he buttered his roll.

Aileen shrugged. “A little.”

He chewed and swallowed, then wiped his mouth. “How’s the new job?”

“All right. I still can’t believe they hired me as assistant manager.”

Spence leaned back. “Why not? Before Bec… Well, before, when we were first married, you worked as a front end manager in that supermarket.”

“I know, but I’ve only worked as a sales clerk since Bec…” She stopped and dropped her hands in her lap, her shoulders slumped.

“Aileen, we can’t continue to avoid saying her name.” Spence lowered his voice and leaned forward. “She was our daughter. We made her together, we loved her together, and we lost her together.”

She shook her head. “I can’t do this. I have to go home.” She placed her hands on the table to rise, but Spence reached over and stopped her.

“Don’t go. Please.”

“This was not a good idea.” She tugged her hand free, tossed her napkin down, then fled the room, just as the waiter arrived with two plates.

*

“Can you box those up? I’ll take them with me.” Spence spoke to the waiter and watched Aileen retreat, his gut clenched with anger. They had to have this out, and she wasn’t going to run this time, if he had to tie her to a chair with his belt.

The waiter returned to the kitchen, and as Spencer finished signing for their meal at the hostess’s desk, the manager arrived with the boxes. Spencer took them from him and strode toward room 717.

When he entered, Aileen sat on the bed, her arms wrapped around her middle, staring off into space.

“Honey?” When she didn’t acknowledge him, he set the boxes next to the TV and joined her on the bed. “Can we talk?”

She took a shuddering breath, but remained silent.

Spence rose, running his fingers through his hair. He stood in front of her, his hands on his hips. “Talk to me.”

She shook her head, a low keening sound coming from her stiff body as she rocked back and forth.

Spence sat again, unclenched her arms and took her ice cold hands in his. “Honey, it’s time. Talk to me.”

“I can’t.” Her soft whisper tortured him.

“Yes, you can. Try.”

He remained silent gripped by the pain in her face. Eventually, she seemed to draw strength from somewhere deep inside her.

She started off soft, slow. Then like a wave engulfing the shoreline, the words tumbled out. “All the months of Becky’s illness, the trips back and forth to the hospital, the hopes that a new treatment for her leukemia would surface before it killed her, I was alone. You never talked to me, never told me how you felt.” Her bleak eyes pinned him.

“How do you think I felt?” His voice rose, bouncing off the walls of the room. He took a deep breath and spoke softer. “I couldn’t tell you. Don’t you see? You pushed me away. I tried. God did I try, but you never wanted me, never cared that I was suffering, too. You closed me out when I needed you the most.”

“Becky needed me!”

“And so did I.”

Aileen’s throat worked, misery on her face. “You never told me. You went to work, came home and ate, and went to bed. The only time you spoke out loud was when you talked to Becky.”

“God, honey, don’t you remember? You were like delicate glass, so fragile, ready to shatter. What was I to do, add the burden of my grief to yours? Watch you crumble like dust, and leave me forever?” He whispered, almost to himself. “Like Becky did.”

“Don’t do this, Spence. Don’t dredge all this up again. This was a mistake, coming here. I’m leaving.” She attempted to stand, but he grasped her shoulders.

“No! You’re dying inside, Aileen. You’re fading, disappearing. And I can’t let you go.” He kneaded her arms. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I need you. You’re the only person in the world who feels like I do, who’s suffered like I have.”

She closed her eyes, but didn’t move away. “You’re wrong. I’m not dying, I’m already dead.”

“No, you’re not.” He shook her slightly as her mouth worked, fighting back tears. “Cry, dammit. You never cried even one single tear while Becky was sick, at her funeral, or after. You have to get it out. Cry, honey, cry, please.”

“I can’t”

“Why not?”

Her voice grew thick. “Because if I start, I’ll never stop. Don’t you understand? As long as it’s bottled up inside me, I can stand it. If I let go…”

“Let it go, baby, please,” he pulled her to his chest and whispered in her hair, his lips leaving a scattering of kisses along her forehead

She shook her head frantically, taking great gulps of air. Then her shoulders started to shake before racking sobs burst forth from her body. Spencer drew her onto his lap, nestling her in his arms. He rubbed her back as her body trembled, losing her breath at times as her grief erupted in a torrent of weeping.

Time stood still, their combined grief the only presence in room 717 at the SweetHart Lodge, as they clung to each other like they should have two years before.

Soon Spence’s tears mixed with Aileen’s, and they hung on, so tightly he knew there would be marks on her thin arms tomorrow. She burrowed into his chest as if she wanted to enter his body, lose herself, become part of him.

After about a half hour, when Aileen’s sobs had turned into soft hiccups, he kicked off his shoes and removed hers. He left her long enough to pull down the quilt and slide her under it. She rolled to him as he climbed in alongside her.

Spence settled her on his shoulder. “Sleep, baby. Right here in my arms where you belong.”

*

Bright sunshine poured through the immense wall of windows as Val Hart took his usual stroll through the dining room, happy to see a full house again. Even though The SweetHart Lodge always did a good year round business, he always liked Valentine’s Day weekend the best. The place was crammed full with lovers. It brought a glow to his old heart. Made him appreciate his Tina even more.

He stopped and chatted with a few diners enjoying their breakfast. He spied a couple in the corner, eyes for no one else but each other. “Howdy, folks. Glad you joined us.”

The man stood and shook hands. “Spencer Kramer, sir. And this is my wife, Aileen.”

“And I’m Val Hart.” He studied their hands clasped together like they would never let go. “Let me guess. Y’all are newlyweds, right?”

They glanced at each other and smiled. “Yeah. Newlyweds I guess you could say that,” the man said as he moved his wife’s hand to his lips and kissed the golden band on the third finger of her left hand. “Newlyweds.”

Val grinned and moved away. He could always pick ‘em out.

The End