Tails California (Heads and Tails) Page 12

  I climbed onto his lap, facing him. “Any better?”

  With a final tug so I was that much more intimately close to him, he said, “All except for the damn dog.”

  I laughed at both Ryan and Lyric—who seemed to be chasing and barking at something in his own imagination. “I think he’s going to think that is his name,” I teased with a smile. “And you love him.”

  “Still ... Lyric, hush!” Ryan called out to the dog and then with sweetness to me, “I love you, too.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I had been standing there for a good minute or so before Ryan caught my reflection in the extensive master bathroom mirror. He didn’t turn. He just slightly raised the left side of his face, which was still covered with shaving cream.

  “Hey.” When I offered nothing in exchange, he directly questioned my gaze. “Something up?”

  “Neh. I like watching you shave,” I admitted. I rarely had the opportunity, since on weekdays Ryan was only waking as I was heading to work.

  Both sides of his cheeks lifted that time. “Oh, good. Was afraid you were going to complain about counter space or something.”

  As he finished his last few strokes, I pondered what he said and then softly verbalized my feelings on the matter. “There are imprints of her everywhere around here, huh?”

  He stopped rubbing his face and turned to me. To his credit, Ryan didn’t try to deny knowing who I was referring to. “Kari?”

  “I’ve never used more than a few inches of the counter.” And I had seen Kari’s extensive makeup collection spread on the very same space.

  “I wasn’t talking about her specifically. I meant it as a joke.”

  “It’s okay. I know she’s on your mind.” Our conversation seemed to be almost directly picking up from the night before. “She should be. She—”

  “Bethany, really. I feel you here. And ...” He sighed. “I’ve tried to make the house yours.”

  “I know you have. That new bed over there”—I let my eyes shift toward our bed so many feet away—“was the best housewarming gift I could have ever asked for.” And we had christened it well. “I didn’t mean that. I’m—”

  “So, watching me shave is a turn on, then?” He smirked.

  I’m pretty sure every one of his preemptive verbal cut-offs was because he knew I was going to say something about me being concerned about him. But I went with his conversation detour because it was also the sexy truth. “You know I like you clean-shaven.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded before saying, “I draw the line at my legs, though.”

  My body bounced at his humor. “Okay. On that note, I’m leaving. I won’t be long ... just a few things at the grocery store.” I tipped up the tiniest of bits to hold his smooth face with my hands and kiss him. “Good luck with Joel.”

  “Yeah. We’ll be fine. I know he didn’t really mean what he said last night, and I’m sure he’s sorry. We both needed some space and sleep.”

  While that statement was undoubtedly true, I knew Ryan hadn’t really done the latter. Before the two of us had gone to bed the night before, and even once after, Ryan had ventured into his son’s room to make sure Joel was still breathing ... alive ... as if he was a newborn. I wondered how long the trauma of almost losing his son would resonate in Ryan’s psyche. And then I thought of my parents. The answer was crystal clear. That kind of scare never goes away.

  ***

  I hadn’t planned on going there. But it was as if the car was on an autopilot of sorts. After buying the ingredients for Ryan’s welcome home dinner—the same ones I had meant to get the day before prior to our world doing a somersault—I found myself in a parking lot about a block or two from the grocery store. While I had never been inside that particular building, its concept was far from unfamiliar.

  I made my way up the sidewalk, pulled on the wrought-iron door handle, and slowly walked into the church. I didn’t know exactly what to expect. It wasn’t my usual place of worship. It was also midmorning on a Saturday. And because the church was nondenominational, I wasn’t sure if there were services or anything else that might be going on. My regular church wasn’t open on Saturdays, just as my dad’s church wasn’t. He had office hours during the week and, of course, was there on Sunday mornings.

  After a little entryway, I discovered the main chapel. Pews aligned either side of a fairly lengthy aisle, which led to the raised altar area. It reminded me of our church in Carolina. But the one I was standing in was bigger and done in more neutral tones in comparison to ours with stained glass, white wood, and red bricks. There wasn’t anyone in the room itself, although all the lights were on. I did a second glance and decided to do what I had intended to in the first place. I sat in one of the pews off to the very left-hand side. After a moment of looking at the altar, I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and tried to allow my mind the luxury of easing into peace.

  It was only when I heard a muffled sound, that I lifted my head. Looking around, I saw a few women entering from the back. Having been completely focused on recalling the terrifying moments at the hospital, I hadn’t even realized until then that I had been crying. I swiped at my face, knowing in a way I had been doing the same thing I feared Ryan was. I wanted to be strong for the kids and for him because they needed me to be. But I needed a release. The church’s steadfast walls were providing me with that. But what would help Ryan? Because, despite his brief letting go the night before, I knew he was still definitely holding back.

  I didn’t quite make out what the women were saying, but when they spotted me, they stopped. “Sorry.” The younger redhead, who was carrying a basket, nodded in my direction. “We didn’t know anyone was in here.”

  “No. No.” I stood. “My fault. I don’t know what the proper, uh, protocol is here. I wanted a place to think for a couple minutes and saw cars in the parking lot.”

  “You are welcome to, dear,” the older woman told me. “The church isn’t normally open, but we’re setting up for a wedding this evening.”

  And then I laughed. It wasn’t a soft, breathy one-huff. It was a downright, full-blown laugh, and it burst straight out, as if I was a legitimate crazy loon.

  Of course, it was a wedding. And I bet the bride would actually walk up the aisle covered in the crash I saw in the hands of the third woman. And I bet the happy couple would say their vows surrounded by their treasured guests. And most of all, I bet there would be joy and love and forevers.

  “Sorry,” I apologized, picking up my crossbody purse. “I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Really,” the older woman said. “I’m the minister’s wife. You’re welcomed to stay. You are not in the way at all. If you need to—”

  “No. No. Thank you. These few minutes helped. It’s a lovely church. Best wishes to the bride and groom.” And I made my way back out to the natural lighting of the clear California sky.

  The temporary serene setting of the church gave me what I needed in order to release and refocus. It also made me realize that I not only wanted to, but needed to, talk with another minister and his wife. I called my mom and dad via the car speaker once I was on the road. Since I hadn’t had a chance to talk with them for a few days or so, I first recounted the harrowing experience we had with Joel. On their own speaker system, my parents both said they would pray and thank God for providing Joel with the help he needed and for sparing his life. I asked if they could also keep Ryan in their prayers.

  “Of course,” my dad answered. “Is there anything specific, Bethie?”

  “There’s just so much going on with him.” I pulled the car into the garage.

  “It’s a lot for one person to handle,” my mother stated, as I reached up to the visor to hit the remote and shut the garage door. “Goodness, one thing after another.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed my agreeance. “You know, all three of them are grieving but in different ways. And I don’t know if Ryan understands what I’m trying to tell him about letting things out.”

&n
bsp; “Remember, grief is not an event. It is a long, complex process. They have to come to terms with the loss.” My dad’s voice soared across the speaker.

  “I know.” I internally recalled some of the thoughts, feelings, and physical issues the psychologist had told us to look for. “I want to help them and not make things worse.”

  “You cannot make things worse,” he replied. “You are you. And that already makes things better. Ryan may or may not be able to react to everything you are saying. But he knows you’re there. That’s what’s important. God has you all in his hands. You know that.”

  “I do.”

  “But, Bethany, you need to make sure you are looking after yourself, too,” my ever-cautious mom chimed in. “It’s beautiful you are thinking of everyone’s needs. But don’t neglect your own. Be careful. And you know I mean your health—”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Don’t dismiss what I am saying.”

  “I’m not. My own needs. Yeah, I know.”

  “Bethie?”

  “I gotta go. I’m here and need to unpack the groceries. Talking helped. Thanks.”

  It did, and it didn’t. The pep talk revitalized me to keep doing what I needed to in order to help the kids and Ryan. But not knowing exactly what that was seemed to be the challenging part.

  The sudden, unexpected knock on the driver’s car window caused me to jump in my seat. It should have. I had disconnected the call and had been looking at the center dashboard, not seeing anyone approach. When I turned, Ryan was on the other side of the glass pointing for me to open the car door.

  After I did so, he immediately asked, “What are you doing? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bethany, turn the car off.”

  “Wha—”

  “Geez!” He reached across me, pressed the ignition button to turn it off, and then unfastened my seatbelt.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as he took my hand and got me out of the car.

  He walked the few steps to reopen the garage door and then came back to me. “What were you doing?”

  “I was talking with my parents on the phone. What’s wrong?” I know I had to have had the most perplexed look on my face because that was certainly how I felt.

  “Geez, Bethany! My heart practically flipped out of my body. The car was running and you are inside a closed garage,” he noted at the last second. “Carbon monoxide just takes a couple minutes. You take it in ... you don’t even realize it is happening, and you’re gone.”

  Oh, man. I went from talking with a nervous mom on the phone to an overprotective fiancé in the garage! And then Ryan’s words dawned on me. It just takes a couple minutes to die. I got the connection. It was like drowning ... or maybe even an overdose.

  “I was okay,” I tried to reassure. “Ry, really. I right now finished my conversation and was ready to turn the car off. Ryan?” I tried again.

  “Sorry. I may have overreacted. Sorry.” He brought me into his arms.

  “Mmmm,” I murmured after a moment of utter peace. “This hug more than makes up for you showing me you love me.”

  Because that’s what it all came down to—wanting to protect and help and heal ... wanting that person’s hurt to be gone. It’s because you love them. But sometimes it isn’t as easy as putting a bandage on a scraped-up knee. Sometimes it takes a lot more time and patience and understanding.

  ***

  Weekends had always been Kari’s time with the kids, unless she was on tour. On top of that, she was expected to have them for extended times during the summer. But all of that had obviously changed. So, Ryan and I made an extra effort to do special activities with the kids on Saturday or Sunday. It wasn’t so they would forget Kari. It was so they could see there were happy things in the world, too. The week before, Ryan’s parents were in town for pure grandparent fun. But that Sunday, we decided on the zoo.

  Once we were on our way, I turned slightly from the passenger seat of Ryan’s car to face the kids in the back. “What animal do you want to see the most?”

  Sallie started, but Joel hijacked her thought. “I wanna see the wolf!” His little eyes seemed to grow and brighten in anticipation.

  “Oh, no!” his sister shrieked as my face scrunched in disgust, too.

  Ryan did a slight chuckle and peered quickly into the rearview mirror. “Why, Joe?”

  “For Wolverine!” he stated in the “isn’t it obvious” kind of way.

  Ryan shook his head at his predictable son. “What about you, Sallie?” When she didn’t answer immediately, both Ryan and I turned to look at the little girl, who was staring out the window as if in a daydream. “Sals?” Ryan tried again.

  “Mommy liked the giraffes. She said they could almost reach the sky. I want to see those.”

  Ryan looked at me before glancing to the back seat again. “Good choice, Tink. We’ll go there first.”

  Sallie beamed brightly and said, “Then your pick, Daddy.”

  “I choose the fish,” he said confidently.

  I literally tsked at the man and his fondness of fishing. He had even booked us a side fishing excursion during our not-to-be honeymoon in Hawaii. Although, admittedly, I hadn’t complained. After all, the first time I had ever been fishing was with him, and it was one of our most favorite, peaceful, just-Ryan-and-Bethany-alone memories.

  “Why don’t fish drown?”

  Joel’s more subdued than usual voice instantly stopped Ryan’s smirk at me. In fact, the question stopped almost everything in the car. It wasn’t that we didn’t know the biological answer. It was because the question and who asked it, obviously, had a much deeper meaning.

  “Because they don’t run and have shoes on.” Sallie seemed to huff.

  “Sallie ...” Ryan started but must have realized, as I did, that the little girl was only repeating what she surely had heard a couple times. “It was an accident.”

  “Was it scary, Joe?” his sister asked him.

  Thank goodness Sallie hadn’t been directly present at her brother’s pool incident. Riding in the ambulance and being in the hospital was probably traumatic enough for a seven-year-old. But to see her only brother almost die on top of losing her mom? Oh.

  “Nope,” Joel punctuated.

  I looked over at Ryan upon his low grumble. It had been beyond scary for me. And it most certainly had been for Ryan, too. And we hadn’t even been witnesses.

  “It should have been,” Ryan said in a bit of a corrective tone. “You just really don’t understand. You’re going to be much more careful now, right?” That time it was full-on dad-mode.

  “Yeah,” Joel agreed, and I was glad Ryan’s talk with his adventurous son the day before seemed to bring understanding to the seriousness of the situation.

  “Fish have gills,” Ryan reverted back to the original question. “That’s what lets them breathe under water. We don’t have those.”

  “Joel,” I turned around. “You know who a real superhero is? A lifeguard.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, and Ryan reached over and squeezed my hand in appreciation. “I want to be a lifeguard when I grow up.”

  The other three of us laughed. Joel seemed to change his mind on what he wanted to be as often as Willow changed outfits in a fashion show. I took a deep breath. Our day had hardly begun. Who knew a casual conversation about animals could bring up so much?

  “Hey, Joel, let’s sing the zoo song,” Sallie suggested, continuing us on a more positive note.

  “What zoo song?” His little voice sounded perplexed.

  “You know. How’s it go? Zoo tomorrow, zoo tomorrow ...” she sang.

  “But, it’s today! Today!” Joel announced and then they both burst into more of the lyrics. “We’re going to the zoo, zoo, zoo, how about you, you, you?” They were pointing to each other and to Ryan and me as they sang. However, when they didn’t know any of the individual versus, the two siblings just started repeating it over and over again until Ryan had enough ... and, ad
mittedly, so did I.

  “All right. All right,” he called out. “How about if I turn on the radio for a little while? We’re almost there, anyway.”

  Without waiting for a response, Ryan did so. And I silently prayed a Kari Thompson tune wouldn’t happen to play during the remaining time to the zoo. I wasn’t trying to be malicious, and I knew Ryan felt the same way. He purposefully had not been putting the radio on when the kids were in the car because of that fear. It wasn’t that hearing Kari’s admittedly stunning voice wasn’t inevitable and should be heard. It was just because it was too raw yet. We knew Sallie sometimes played her mom’s tunes in her room and neither of us was going to deny her. She was actually lucky to have that remembrance. But our zoo trip really didn’t need one more mental U-turn. At the same account, I think Ryan was willing to risk it to not have to listen to the zoo song one more time. Judge Ryan was giving that song two thumbs down.

  There was some type of commercial on when he first turned on the radio. So, he flipped to another station, and we started listening to a song that was on top of the charts because of its crossover status. It was a unique mix of rap, country, and pop.

  “It’s gonna take someone mighty to kick that one off the throne,” Ryan commented as the song ended and started to fade into the next.

  But then that song? It sounded familiar ... so familiar. It was only the opening notes and not a word was sung yet, but it was very familiar.

  “Ryan!”

  He took his eyes off the road for the tiniest of seconds to beam proudly at me. I moved in my seat in order to turn toward the radio. It was really happening. The words were starting to be sung.

  “Ryan! Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh. It’s—” I was bouncing as I screamed.

  “What’s wrong? Daddy, what’s wrong with Bethany?” Sallie’s concerned voice came from the back seat.

  “Nothing. Shhh! This is Bethany’s song. It’s the first time we’ve heard it on the radio.”

  “It’s a guy. That’s not Bethany!” Joel interjected, as if Ryan had gone crazy.