Unforgiven (35 page)

He sat beside her, and she peered up to him. “Please come to my bed.” Her brow wrinkled, but she didn’t argue. She stood, and he led her silently to his bedroom. He crawled in next to her, and she faced him. He kissed her lips, and she kissed back. It was the most response she’d given him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.” Her voice was lurching, and the tears in her eyes were so desperate it hurt. It was panic. She was just lost, and she didn’t know how to find herself. “What do I do now?”

He wanted to say move in, be with him, let him take care of her, but he had no idea how far to push it with her. “Right now, you rest. You don’t need to figure anything out tonight.”

That seemed to pacify her for the time, and she snuggled into his chest. She fell asleep, and he watched her. He brushed the hair away from her face and kissed her brow. He studied every ounce of soft, pale skin on her face. She moaned quietly in her sleep, and he ran the palm of his hand down the side of her face, feeling the smooth, unblemished skin glide like corn silk under his hand, and then he said it. He meant it, but he was also trying it on for size. “I love you.” She murmured incoherently in her sleep, and he closed his eyes, drifting away with her.

When her eyes opened, he was there beside her, breathing quietly as he slept. It was sunny outside, and Macy was sitting beside the bed staring at her. She reached over Darren’s body and scratched the top of Macy’s head. When she pulled her hand back, his eyes were open.

“Hi.” Her voice was hoarse and her throat scratchy from crying the day before. He kissed her on the lips.

“Hi. How about I start a bath and make us some coffee.” She nodded. He climbed from bed still fully dressed, and she realized she was too. She was a bit foggy on everything that had happened the day before. Her mother had died. That was about all she knew with concrete certainty. He walked to the bathroom, returning moments later as she heard the bathtub faucet start. He left the room, and she sat on the side of the bed for a couple minutes, staring at the floor. She felt like a statue. She felt nothing at all at the moment. She knew it wasn’t true. Her heart was breaking, but at the moment, she just felt numb. She should probably enjoy it while it lasted. She wasn’t stupid enough to think the pain wouldn’t come back.

He returned with a couple cups of coffee, and she followed him into the bathroom. He set them both on the wide rim surrounding the large soaker tub, and when he turned to her, he reached for the top button of her dress. He undid each one and pushed the dress off her shoulders to pool at her feet. As he reached around her to unclasp her bra, she looked up to him. They stared at one another for many long seconds, and it wasn’t until her eyes dropped to the floor between them that he finished unclasping her bra. He finally slid her underwear down her hips before helping her into the bath. She was back to silence.

He undressed quickly and sank in across from her. He watched her as he started kneading the soles of her feet. His touch was so perfectly gentle, and she stared at his chest as her body relaxed into his touch. There was nothing at all sexual about it, though his body was aroused. It wasn’t difficult to see through the still water between them, and when he caught her looking, he cleared his throat. She sipped her coffee, and she stared. She had no idea what else to do with herself.

“My mom would like to take you to Jepson’s this afternoon to meet with Bill. Are you okay with that?” He watched her. He seemed nervous. “Michelle is going to Memphis to pack some clothes for you and to find a burial dress for your mom.” She wasn’t responding, and she knew she should. He looked so uncomfortable, and who wouldn’t be? This couldn’t be an easy conversation to have with anyone. “We were thinking a graveside service, perhaps the day after tomorrow.” Her eyes sank to his enlarged arousal, and he cleared his throat again. She just stared, imagining what it was like to make love to him. She wanted that. Something that felt good. Something that hurt in the right way. “Bailey, please answer me.”

She finally looked up to his eyes, and she nodded. “Thank you.” Her emotions were out of reach, and she couldn’t seem to connect what she was supposed to be feeling with how she was behaving. She pulled her feet from him, and he looked at her hesitantly. He seemed so nervous, and she really didn’t intend to make him feel that way. She crawled into his lap, and when he scooted forward and wrapped her legs around his waist, he sighed and nuzzled his mouth against her neck.

She lost track of time, but when he finally drained the tub, she was a prune and the water was cool. She lifted her head from his shoulder, and he smiled gently at her. It was a small smile, and she tried to return it, but her mouth hurt.

“Tell me what you’re thinking?”

She looked at his mouth as it moved. His lips and the shape of his mouth reminded her so much of Jess. It was a pretty mouth. His teeth were straight and white, and she could barely see them past his lips as he spoke. She touched his mouth, trailing her fingers across his lips. He liked to touch her lips. He’d done it many times since her return, and she thought she knew why. There was something incredibly intimate about a mouth. His lower lip was tugged slightly to the side as her finger passed over it, and she watched. She could feel his arousal flexing and twitching between their bodies. He’d made no move to touch her in that way, and she wasn’t sure what to think about it. Of course, she couldn’t seem to figure out how to feel about much of anything at the moment.

“Bailey?” Her eyes flashed to his. He’d asked her something, but she had no idea what. “Sweetie?” Her brow was wrinkled in confusion. She could feel it pinched up as she tried to remember what he’d asked.

“What?”

“Just talk to me. Please. Tell me what you’re thinking. Anything.”

Her eyes moved back to his lips, but then she forced her attention back up to his eyes. “I don’t know. I should know.” She shook her head. She wasn’t sure what to say.

He didn’t push her any further. He helped her from the bath, dried her body, and helped her dress in one of his T-shirts and nothing else before leading her downstairs. She was starting to feel like an invalid, but she was more grateful than she could express that he was just letting her be. He opened the front door but kept the screen door closed. He also opened the French doors to the back deck, again leaving the screen doors closed. It was raining lightly outside, and it was thundering in the distance. Her skin prickled as a cool breeze moved through the house. This was her favorite weather, and she wished she could enjoy this the way she normally would.

He pulled her down to the corner of the large sectional sofa in the living room, and he settled her between his legs, letting her lean back into his chest. He grabbed the quilt from the back of the sofa and pulled it over her legs. She didn’t move a muscle until that afternoon. She slept some of the time. She simply stared at the high ceiling above other times. She listened to him breathe, feeling the rise and fall of his chest behind her. His hand was under the T-shirt she was wearing, splayed over her stomach, gently massaging her skin. His other hand was flipping through a magazine that was lying next to them on the sofa. This was supposed to be her heaven—him, her, quietness.

Michelle stopped by sometime while she was sleeping and left her a large bag of clothes on the entryway floor. Apparently Darren didn’t even rise for that, and it wasn’t until his mother came at three in the afternoon that either of them really moved much. They were facing the front door and entryway, and the moment Jillian materialized at the door, Bailey sat up. She was suddenly nervous. But Jillian smiled warmly at her as she entered, and Darren sat up behind her, nuzzling into the side of her neck before whispering “Relax” in her ear.

She stood and left the room to dress quickly, and before she knew it and before she was prepared for it, she was standing in a room full of coffins at Jepson’s with Jillian on her arm. Jillian used to drag Jess and her around the streets of Eureka Springs on their shopping excursions. She’d link their elbows with hers and drag them from one shop to another, laughing and chatting the entire way. There was no laughing today, and Jess was long gone, but the feel of Jillian’s arm linked with hers was a bizarre sort of nostalgia that left Bailey fighting the tears.

She spent no more than five minutes looking at the coffins before deciding on a sterling silver-colored one. Every time Bill Jepson started giving her details on the coffin, she walked away. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate just how airtight the coffin would stay for how many years, but she could barely handle knowing her mother’s body was going to be in one of these boxes, let alone that there were actually airtightness ratings for such things.

“How much is it?” Jepson just looked at her.

“Dear, he’s been given explicit instructions not to answer those questions. You don’t need to worry about it, and I think it’s a lovely choice.” Jillian squeezed her elbow. Bailey couldn’t help but shake her head and sigh, and the moment she did, Jillian spoke again. “He wants to do this. Don’t feel bad about that.”

“It’s an odd thing feeling grateful and guilty at the same time.” She spoke as she trailed her fingers over the hard sterling surface.

Jillian stopped in her tracks and turned toward her, smiling. “I’m sure this isn’t the time, but it’s important. I want to tell you thank-you.” The confusion must have been quite obvious on Bailey’s face, because Jillian wasted no time continuing. “Thank you for coming home. You may not realize it, but you’ve given Darren back to us.” Her eyes were filled with tears, and Bailey’s suddenly were too. “There was a time I wasn’t sure I’d see him again, but you found him.” She pulled Bailey into a tight hug, also very familiar from years past, and they cried in the middle of the coffin room while Jepson stood by awkwardly.

The rest of the meeting with Jepson floated by in a haze. Jillian answered many of the questions for her, and what questions Bailey did have to answer usually consisted of a one- or two-word response. Jepson showed them the dress Michelle had chosen. It was a cream-colored, flowing fabric dress with a sterling silver crocheted tunic that went over it. The crochet was loose but structured, and the cream-colored fabric beneath showed through beautifully. It was one of her mother’s favorites, and it was perfect. The perfect dress for her uniquely perfect mother to be laid to rest in. She wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. Her mother was already at rest. She was gone to some better place to be with her father. That was all Bailey could allow herself to think.

Darren met them as Jillian pulled into the driveway, and he helped her from the car. Her large bag of clothing was gone from the entryway floor when they came inside, and it wasn’t until she excused herself to go to bed a few hours later after sitting like a statue on the couch all evening that she found her clothes neatly hanging in his closet. She ran her hand over the fabric of her shirts and right onto his shirts—just as though they belonged there. But this wasn’t her home, and warm as it made her insides feel to imagine a life with him in it, she couldn’t quite believe that was possible yet.

There was a nagging question, a suspicion she wasn’t yet willing to put into words. How much had really changed for him? He felt sorry for her. That wasn’t enough. Under the sympathy, they were still broken.

He caught her touching their clothes, and she jumped when she finally realized he was standing there. He walked up behind her—his favorite place to be, she often thought. He reached around her shoulder, pulling out a robin’s-egg blue summer dress. It was fitted on top, and the skirt was slightly pleated. Her mother had bought it for her no more than three weeks before.

“This would look nice for tomorrow,” he murmured against her ear, and she nodded. He hung the dress on the back of the closet door, and she watched as he hung a light-gray plaid suit with a fitted cut on the hook as well. He pulled out a white well-fitted dress shirt, a blue-knit skinny tie, and a pair of black ankle boots. He was going to look stunning, and again, she wished she was in the right frame of mind to actually appreciate it.

She fell asleep a short while later, curled into his body as he read. The rain continued to fall, and he’d opened the French doors that led onto the balcony. It was still light out, but the sky was gray and dreary. Her mind felt that way—like the light was on, but it was a muddled and dull light that made it hard to focus, feel, and think straight. She needed to get out of this cloud, but she knew from experience it would take time.

He watched her. He watched her shower, shave, and wash her body. He watched her blow-dry her hair and brush some lip gloss on her lips, and when she sat on the side of his bed dressed in only underwear and a bra, he watched as she ran lotion up her legs. Her face hadn’t changed the entire morning. Even when her eyes would fill with tears and they’d start to fall, her expression still remained blank. She was beautiful even through her pain. She ended up back in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror before pulling her hair back in a loose bun at the back of her head. She stared at herself some more before chucking the brush into the sink in frustration.

He walked up behind her, gripping her upper arms and shushing her with his lips to her ear.

“I look stupid.”

“You look beautiful.”

Her eyes met his in the mirror. “My hair is a train wreck, I missed a strip of hair on my leg, and I broke the strap on my sandal.” She was speaking with tears in her eyes like a sullen child, and he smiled gently. At least this he could help with. He grabbed her razor and shaving cream and led her to the side of the bathtub. She pointed out the narrow strip of prickly skin on the back of her calf, and he had the completely unnoticeable patch of skin smooth as a baby’s butt in two seconds flat. He pulled out a pair of silver flat sandals from the floor of his closet, chucking the broken tan sandals in the garbage. He stood her back up in front of the mirror and kissed her neck.