Mended Affections (The Affections Series Book 2) (2 page)

Reagan

I'm surprising myself right now by walking away from Dalton's place of rest. The sun beats down on me, causing sweat to bead on my forehead. My black knee length dress is tight and restricting, adding an extra layer of anxiety. I'm not sure I've taken in a deep breath all day. When they began lowering Dalton into the ground, I fought myself not to jump in with him. I feel hollow and empty inside, like a shell of the person I was before. 

"Mom, are you sure you don't want to go to the luncheon Grandmom planned?" Dylan asks.

"No, honey, I don't," I respond, my voice sounding void of any emotion.

We're going fishing at their favorite pond, just the five of us, instead of heading to lunch with all of our family and friends. Sitting around making small talk with people I barely speak with or see, just doesn't feel right. Sitting around a pond, where Dalton spent many weekends, seems more fitting, and I need the peace it will bring. I know a lot a people will have something to say about our absence, but I couldn't care less.

I squeeze Max and Colt's hands as we all walk side by side. "I want to spend the day at the pond, so I can feel close to Daddy."

Striker and Dylan are walking closely behind us, their steps pushing me along. I feel heavy and weighted with every step I take, like there is a string attaching me to Dalton, pulling taut and making it hard to move forward. I guess this will be my life now. I will forever be emotionally tied to someone buried in the ground. Moving forward isn't an option. My only hope is that I can step aside and let my family heal without me.

As we take the last few steps toward the limo, our driver opens the door, and we all solemnly slide into our seats. We are all sitting silently. Striker sits, staring out the window, but his eyes are unfocused as he's lost in thought. Not only do I feel the pain from losing my husband, but I also feel the guilt for becoming a burden to Striker. I know he wants to take care of us, that's just the type of man he is, but he deserves his own life. He deserves to find happiness.

"Striker, are you okay with going to the pond today, too?" I ask.

His eyes stay fixed out the window. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

I start to respond, but Dylan interrupts, "He has to come, Mom. He's part of our family. Dad would want him with us."

"I didn't mean anything by asking, Dyl. I just wanted to make sure he didn't think going to the lunch gathering with everyone was more important," I snap.

His eyes grow wide. "Sorry, Mom. I just want us all together."

"I don't want him to feel obligated to go with us. He may have wanted to go to the gathering with everyone else." I feel a surge of unease spread through me with Dylan's defensive tone over Striker. 

"I'm sitting right here." Striker sits straight up in his seat, turning in my direction, eyes fixed on mine. "Dyl, your mom's just making sure I'm not missing out on anything that’s important to me. Rea, I promise, I want to be with you and the boys today. Stop worrying about me."

"I don't want you to feel obligated." I try not to look away, but his eyes are fixed on mine, making me uncomfortable.

"From the first day I arrived at your house, I have never felt obligated. I want to be here. Please stop putting additional stress on yourself. I need you guys, just as much as you guys need me."

"What does that mean? I'm able to take care of myself and the boys." I can tell by the shift in his demeanor that he meant something different than the way I took it, but I can't help but feel offended.

"No, Reagan, that's not what I meant." He leans across the space that’s separating us to grab my hand.

Immediately I feel bad; tears prick at my eyes. He's been with us through all of this. After finding out that Dalton was sick, Striker changed his plans to move out. He was there for Dalton everyday and he feels connected to us. I can't deny that we feel connected to him too.

"I don't know what my problem is. I'm sorry, it's just that ..."

"Don't apologize." Striker's voice is calm and reassuring.

Looking into his eyes I realize he's right. I do need him. He's keeping me together. Every hug, every snug squeeze of his hand around mine, brings me comfort. I don't feel as alone knowing he's here. He loved Dalton just as much as I do or did. He may not be with us anymore, but my love will never fade. Striker feels the same. Dalton was his best friend. Even though they were born cousins, they thought of each other as brothers. They had a bond that could not be broken, even by me. I'm thankful now that they never stopped speaking with one another.

I have lived most of my life worrying about how people's decisions and behaviors affect me and my life. I was completely selfish and unwilling to see that my inability to focus on others, caused the ones that I love immense pain. Dylan is right, Striker needs to be with us.

I feel a tug on my hand, snapping me from my thoughts. Striker pulls on my hand until I'm seated next to him. I settle into the seat, allowing the comfort of his friendship to blanket over me. He returns to staring out the window but never releases his firm hold on my hand. I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing. Moments later the limo comes to a halt.

"Go ahead and take a few minutes to yourself. I'll have the boys change and we'll get everything ready for fishing," Striker says and slides out of the limo ahead of me.

Once my feet hit the driveway, I force them to carry me into the house. It feels final now. Dalton will never return. I will never greet him at the door after a long day of work. I will never move his muddy boots from the floor in front of the recliner again. My living room will forever hold the presence of a hospital bed in my mind. The haunting reality that my husband took his last breath in that room will never fade. My home now holds the good and the bad of my life with Dalton.

For now, the bad is so fresh. As I pass through the living room, I swear the scent of illness is still present in the air. It feels strange to not spend every waking moment in this room now. The absence of medical equipment makes the space feel empty and lacking in some way. While I'm glad hospice removed everything immediately, their absence also means that Dalton is gone.

I pick up my pace, trying to get behind the safety of my bedroom door before falling apart. My children are doing well thus far, and the last thing I want is to allow them to suffer from my grief. I will keep my tears to myself for now, or while alone with Striker. For the past couple of months, we have secretly been sneaking to the porch, late at night. We sit in silence, our hands gripped in one another's, rocking on the porch swing.

I hate that we found a common bond over Dalton's cancer diagnosis but am glad that I have Striker to lean on. It almost reminds me of our younger years, when we would sneak off into the woods. I had a favorite spot that I would sneak off to alone, but over time Striker became a part of my escape. We would sit on the ground, leaning back onto a fallen tree, holding hands. Some nights we would lie back and say nothing. Other nights we would talk until the birds started to chirp, warning us of the approaching sunrise.

My room is empty and quiet when I reach it, another reality I need to get used to. I shut the door faster than I intend to and startle myself as it slams closed. My hand is pressed against the smooth wood, keeping me locked safely away from the boys. My forehead falls forward until it's resting against the door, and I release every ounce of grief I contained throughout the day.

My body racks from the sobs ripping from my chest. Tears roll freely down my face. As my emotions take over, my legs grow weak, and I crash to the floor. My breaths are ragged and shallow, causing a burning in my chest. I release some of the pain through my tears, but the ache will never fully go away. I will have to live with it for the rest of my life.

I'm not sure what amount of time goes by. My arms are wrapped around my knees, pulled close to my chest, as I lie on my side, when I return to a somewhat calm state. I'm still on the floor in front of the door. I stay here in the silence; tears drying on my cheeks, and try to calm my breathing. After a couple minutes, there’s a faint knock at my door.

"Rea? You okay? Can I come in?" Striker whispers through the wood.

Slowly I pull myself to my feet. I place my hand on the knob and hesitantly turn, letting him in. Striker slowly steps into the room, closing the door behind him. My arms are crossed over my chest, and we stare at each other. Both of us broken, wondering how we will move on. Staring up into his sad eyes, causes my lower lip to tremble, and a single tear slides down my face.

Striker reaches out and pulls me to him, by my elbow. His strong arms wrap around me, and I bury my face in his chest.

"This is so hard," I say.

"I know." Striker's arms grow tighter, and his chin comes down to rest on top of my head.

We stay like this for awhile, wrapped up in the silence of one another.

Striker

The sun is hot against my skin. My shirt is damp and clings to me. It took us longer to leave the house than expected, due to Rea's break down, but that's okay. She can take all the time she needs. Allowing her to grieve will be what helps her heal.

It's late afternoon and the sun's position doesn't allow for many shady spots along the pond's bank. No one seems to mind though. There is a sense of peace here. Neither the boys, nor Rea have spoken a single word since our arrival. With the quiet, I can feel a calm that has settled over everyone. The sound of crickets and cicadas in the background is all I hear, causing my lips to turn up slightly. It's a sound from our past, our woods, and I know this is right where we need to be.

Turning to Reagan, I ask, "You hear that, Rea?"

"I do. I love that sound."

Reagan sits in her chair, holding onto her rod, watching out across the water. Her gaze doesn't falter, so I take a moment to take her in. The slight breeze coming off the water blows her dark hair across her face. She's so lost in thought; she doesn't even move to brush it away. She reminds me of the lost little girl I met, all those years ago. It calls to me, to my soul. I want to reach out and wrap her in my arms again, but know I can't in front of the boys.

She made that very clear one night, months ago, when I found her crying in the kitchen. She believes that our physical contact will confuse the boys, so I respect her wishes. At times, it's more difficult to let her work things out on her own. I have to though. This is not something I can carry for her. I barely know how to feel about it myself.

I may not have lost a spouse, but my heart has been fractured again. I lost so many years with him. He may have been my cousin by blood, but in my heart he was my brother. I needed him almost as badly as I needed Rea. I let my pride get the best of me and ruin two meaningful relationships, based on a misunderstanding.

Sometimes, I hate myself for not being able to live near them, while other times, I'm thankful I left. It gave him the life he always dreamed of. A life with the woman he loved so deeply. Even though I'm in love with the same woman, I'm glad he had his time with her. He deserved happiness in his short time on this earth. He deserved that, and so much more.

Since learning of Dalton's diagnosis, I often wondered, why him? Why a man with a wife and young boys to raise? Why not me? I don't have much in life. Everyone would have moved on easily. How can God be so cruel?

"Striker?" Reagan's soft voice pulls me from my wandering thoughts.

"Anyone need more bait?" I ask, avoiding Rea's questioning look.

"I just put more bait on for Max and Colt. Mom's just kind of sitting with her line in the water. I think her bait has been gone since she threw it out," Dylan says.

Reagan sits up and starts to reel her line in. "No way. I haven't even had a bite."

"Yeah, you did, Mom. Something was tugging on it as soon as you threw it out there." Dylan stands and reaches out for her hook, once she gets the line in.

"No way, Dyl. I've been watching it this whole time," she says, then stands and walks closer to the water's edge.

"Oh, you were looking out there, but you weren't watching a thing," Dylan chuckles.

"Oh, hush, I have a lot on my mind."

"I know, Ma. That's why I left you alone."

I watch as Dylan places more bait on Reagan's hook and casts her line out again. Once he places the rod back in her hand, he grabs a hold her other hand, and stands alongside her, triggering a memory from when he was a small child. I gather my own rod and take a seat on my small stool.

"Hey, Dyl, you remember all those years ago, when we would come fishing, just the three of us? Max was too little to come and Colt wasn't born yet?" I say.

"I can remember some things." Dylan turns slowly to look at me.

"I think you were around five and so excited to see the pond. You took off running, while Dad had his hands full of fishing gear. He panicked, thinking you were going to fall in, so he took off running, trying to drop everything from his arms along the way. The last thing he had was your bag with snacks and toys in it, but it got stuck on his hand and dropped right in front of his feet before he got to you, causing him to trip. He went down hard, his arms reaching, trying to grab for you anyway." I laugh to myself at the memory. "He landed face first in the nasty pond mud. The worst part was you were just running up to the water's edge to look in. You had no clue of what was going on behind you, so when you heard him fall, the look on your face was priceless when you turned around to find your dad face first on the ground."

Dylan smiles. "I can remember him being on the ground. I had no idea what he was doing though."

"He fished the rest of the day covered in mud, but he didn't care, just as long as nothing happened to you," I say.

Dalton loved all the boys with everything he had. I can't recall a moment when he complained about the boys or being a father. He took pride in making them happy.

"One time, when Max was five months old, Dalton was laying back in the recliner, holding Max up above him. He was bouncing him around, making Max giggle. All of a sudden Max spit up, all over Dalt's face. He was covered in it," Rea says, laughing at her memory.

"Eewww. Did it get in his mouth?" Colt asks.

"No, I don't think so. But his mouth was covered; he was panicking, but couldn't call me for help. I walked into the living room to hear him making a strange noise through his pressed lips, trying to get my attention." Reagan turns to look at the two younger boys.

"Dad hated throw up," Colt says, as if he's disgusted himself.

Reagan starts laughing. "I know. His fear of vomit made it all the better. So of course I had to go get the camera and take a few pictures before coming to his rescue. The poor man couldn't see or speak."

We all start to laugh with Rea. It feels good. We haven't been this way in weeks, if not months. Watching Dalton slowly lose his life was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.  I look up at Rea. Her face still shows how much grief she feels, but her smile is genuine. The slight crinkle at the corner of her eyes lightens my heart a little. I'm proud that she can laugh today. I've been so worried about how she will handle Dalton's death, but Dalton promised she would be okay with time. 

Colt stands and walks over, stopping in front of me. "Striker, can I sit with you?"

"Of course, buddy," I respond, and pat my knee.

"I'm gonna miss Dad buying us donuts before we come fishing," Colt says, while turning back to look into my eyes.

"Well, if you like, I can buy them for you." I look over his face, wishing I could take away his sadness. No six-year-old should have to deal with the loss of a parent.

"Yeah, but Dad knew my favorite kind, and always made sure I had chocolate milk." Colt turns in my lap and looks to the ground.

I wrap my arms around Colt and pull him in close to my chest. I want to offer to learn his choice of donut, but that's not really what this is about. I can't imagine how hard it is for him to understand the severity of his father's death. Forever is impossible for him to understand. I was much older than him when my parents passed away, and it was still confusing for me as a child. I'm just glad that these boys won't need to leave their home and still have a loving mother to help them heal.

"I wasn't as young as you, but my parents passed away when I was a kid," I say, hoping to give the boys someone to relate to.

Max turns to me. "Both of your parents?"

"Yeah, both of them. It was tough, so I know what you're feeling, and I'm here if you boys need me." I release my hold on Colt, shifting him from my lap. I stand, and look out over the water, recalling how lost I felt after their funeral. "I moved in with your dad and shortly after met your mom. They were both there for me, and it helped. Don't ever think that you are alone, okay?"

I look over to Rea. Her eyes meet mine and she pulls Dylan in close to her side. Quiet settles over us again, and while I want to lighten the mood, I decide to let them have their peace. My only hope, in all of this, is that I can be what they need, just as Dalton was for me back then.