Authors: L.D. Cedergreen
I felt Ryan grip my hand and slowly tug me in his direction.
I turned, breaking eye contact with Will, and followed Ryan into the cabin.
Ryan pulled me into his arms once we were behind the closed door. “What now?” he asked, with his chin resting on the top of my head.
“Let’s go home,” I said, closing my eyes for a moment in the comfort of his arms. “Tomorrow. First, I just want to sleep. I’m so tired.”
Ryan dipped down and pulled my feet off the ground, cradling me in his arms.
“Come on. Let’s get you to bed,” he said as he walked down the short hallway to the bedroom we had slept in the night before. He laid me down and crawled in next to me, pulling the covers over the both of us. I felt him wrap his arms around me and bury his face in my hair. “Sleep,” he mumbled moments before I drifted away, finally surrendering to the darkness.
***
Somewhere between the night and the dawn, I woke to find Ryan watching me intently.
“Hey,” I whispered into the dark. He was lying on his side propped up on one elbow, his face resting in his hand.
His expression was so intense, it took my breath away.
“I love you,” he said, trailing his finger along the curve of my jaw to my lips.
“The thought of losing you . . .” His voice trailed off as he began to choke up.
“Shh, I’m right here,” I assured him.
He kissed my cheek, and I felt his wet tears on my skin.
“The thought of losing you was almost as unbearable as knowing that I had hurt you.
You’re it for me, Gemma, and I’ve known it since the first time I met you.” He held my face in his warm hands and kissed me with the same intensity that he held in his eyes.
I opened up for him
, and he wet my lips with his tongue before entering my mouth. It brought me back to that rainy day in his car, when we had shared our first kiss. When I knew that this boy owned my heart and I was lost to him in every way. After everything that we had been through, he could still make me weak in the knees, still render me speechless. I could feel it now as my emotions swelled under his touch—at his words.
My thoughts shifted to Drew for a moment and what I had felt for him, even if only in my mind.
Drew was my soul mate. He had embedded himself into my very existence from the time I had learned to walk; he was everything to me. My family, my best friend, my first love. And he would always be there, branded on my soul forever. But Ryan was my heart. And I knew that I couldn’t live without my heart.
My mind drifted back to Ryan as I longed to feel all of him, wondering how we
had ever let this passion escape us. It had always been like this, until recent years had changed everything.
His hands left my face and trailed down behind me, pulling me closer to him. I reached over and tugged his T-shirt over his head.
And he reciprocated by slowly peeling my shirt up and over my head. I felt his warm skin against mine, his heart beating strong in his chest, and I kissed him hard as my hands found the waistband of his pants. I began to pull them down, but, taking my lead, Ryan finished the job for me. He took his time with me, trailing his lips over every area of my body, slowly undressing me. Loving me, worshipping me, as if it was the first and last time he would be this close to me.
As he touched me, it was as if each kiss was healing, each caress mending what was broken
, as we found each other again in the darkness. I called out his name as I felt him enter me, slow at first but each thrust became more powerful until he possessed me completely. I fell over the edge, hard, and was overcome with emotion as Ryan held me tight and buried himself deeper inside me, as if that were possible, spilling into me as he had done so many times before. But there was no ulterior motive, no regimented purpose to our connection. Just raw need and longing, feelings of hope and fear of what was to come, a true sense of renewal.
“I love you,” I whispered when I had caught my breath.
Ryan squeezed me tight, burying his face in my bare chest. “God, I love you too, baby,” he whispered before we both fell back asleep, clinging to each other as if our life depended on it.
***
When I stepped outside in the fresh morning air, I noticed an envelope taped to the front door with my name written across the front. I opened it slowly as I looked around to see if anyone was nearby, wondering who had left it for me.
There is something that you need to see with your own eyes. I left the key under the flowerpot. Check out the sunporch–
Will
That was it.
Just a short note from Will. I could hardly contain my curiosity as I stepped back inside and slid my bare feet into my sandals. I heard Ryan start the shower before I slipped outside, closing the door behind me. I started to walk toward Monroe Manor, but, when the anxiety began to set in, my feet started to move with more vigor. I lifted the heavy flowerpot and found the single key that hid beneath it, fitting it into the lock. I turned the knob and stepped inside.
“Hello,” I called out. Will’s family had packed up and left, but I wanted to be sure that the cabin was empty. There was no response.
I took a deep breath as I walked slowly through the great room housed by windows that opened up to the lake. Sorrow held my heart tightly as I fought against my memories of Drew and the scenes from my dream. It was as if I was just here days ago, and yet I was never really here at all. I focused on the stairs, taking one at a time as I ascended to the second floor, proceeding down the hallway that led to the sunporch. The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open slowly.
I was blinded immediately by the morning sunlight that filtered in through the windows.
As my eyes adjusted to the light, I gasped at what I found. I was surrounded by paintings, paintings of me. Me as a young girl sitting on the edge of the dock, me as a teenager jumping off Indian Rock with an amazing sunset cast across the sky, me standing on the shore smiling as if someone had just said the funniest thing that I had ever heard. Me standing on the dock with the mountains behind me lit up by the rising sun, completely broken with tears on my cheeks. The empty, pleading depths of my eyes taking my breath away.
It was as if Drew
had finally seen
m
e
and how broken I was that day. Each of these paintings came from Drew’s memories—through his eyes—the way he saw me back then. And there were so many more—dozens of them—hanging from a wire that stretched across two walls, stacked along the floor, propped up against the wall. They were beautiful, and I was in complete awe of his talent. The vividness and the profundity that each one expressed brought tears to my eyes. And I found myself, once again, feeling the unfairness of it all. That Drew’s life had been cut too short, that we were both robbed of the time that we deserved. He was so young and talented—his whole life stretched out before him—and now he was gone. It was so unfair. If only we had had more time.
I wiped the gushing tears from my face as I continued to take in each painting, one by one.
My emotions were thick, consuming me as so many thoughts whirled around in my head, until it all stopped on a breath. Time seemed to stand still. My eyes, my feet, my breath all paused as I stared down at one painting. Bare skin bathed in moonlight, eyes full of lust—conveying everything that I felt in that moment—so familiar that it brought me to my knees. It was the painting that Drew had done that night in this very room, the night from my dream. Every detail the same. I knew right then, in that moment, that Drew and I had shared something real, that we had loved and touched and healed. That there wasn’t any other explanation.
My heart swelled and ached as I was filled with relief and grief all in the same moment. None of it made any sense
, and the idea of it alone was crazy, and yet there was something so real and beautiful in the truth of the matter. There were so many mysteries in life and even more in death, things that cannot be explained. I didn’t need an explanation, I just needed a sign. A sign that I wasn’t crazy, that what I had felt was real. And it was as if Drew was giving me that sign that I was so desperate to find. I couldn’t deny what I felt any more than I could deny the existence of this painting.
“Thank you,” I whispered into the empty room from where I kne
lt on the rug, feeling grateful for this moment. The moment when I knew that I could finally let go.
Thirty-
Six
One Year Later
. . .
I stand in the lake cabin at the doorway of his room, the pale blue paint, white trim, and tiny sailboat border having its usual calming effect. I find myself mesmerized by the sight of him sleeping, feeling like I will never tire of watching him in this peaceful state, at the mercy of his dreams—whatever they may be. His small chest rises and falls as the sound of his tiny breaths fill the room, trumped only by the “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” lullaby that plays from the mobile overhead—a collection of tiny silver stars that dance in the soft glow of nursery light.
I ha
ve not taken for granted a single moment of motherhood since the instant he was placed in my arms, nearly six months ago. That moment is always present in my mind—the exhaustion from a long and brutal labor mixed with the euphoria of knowing that I had done it, that it was over, and that my little man was healthy and in my arms. Life seemed to really begin from that point on, as if nothing had existed before he did.
My heart
is so full of love and joy that I feel the need to stand here, to make sure that he is real and safe and mine. I resist the urge to go to him and to cradle him against my chest, knowing that he needs his sleep and that a little separation is healthy.
Ryan
is arriving today to spend the week with us. It has only been seven days since I last saw him, yet I soon began to miss him. We have fallen in love all over again after having fallen head-over-heels in love with our son. Knowing that we both created this amazing little guy, together, and that he is ours, forever, can have that effect on a person. What can I say? It took us a while to get here, but, with the help of our sessions with Jude, plus Ryan’s patience with my jealous and untrusting tirades, I have been able to let the past stay in the past and move on.
The accident changed me in many ways.
I never went back to my firm. My career felt so unimportant, meaningless, and small in the grand scheme of things. I resigned for good, and focused on my recovery and my health, preparing for my baby to arrive. Should I ever decide to go back to work, I have an urge to change the type of law I practice, maybe something that would make more of a difference in the lives of others. For now I am happy with my role as a mother.
Ryan and I sold our condo in the city
—I couldn’t really sleep in our bedroom without it conjuring up bad memories. We bought a modest house on the east side. Clyde Hill offered a more family-friendly neighborhood, great schools, and an expansive yard that we imagined filling with a swing set and various sports equipment one day. Our new home boasts four thousand square feet of warmth and charm with a slight view of Lake Washington from all three of the second-level bedrooms, but, even more, it represents our fresh start, our new beginning. I spent hours decorating one of the bedrooms in pale blues and greens, filling it with beautiful furniture and plush teddy bears from my favorite baby boutique, and marveling at how blessed I was to be preparing for the arrival of my baby—finally.
Ryan and I spent long weekends through the spring here at the lake cabin, repainting walls and making small updates
, without changing too many details. We painted the sailboat room that I look at now, knowing that I would spend the summers here with our son while Ryan commuted back and forth as much as possible. It is a compromise of sorts, my need to be here greater than ever before. Ryan is supportive and enjoys his relaxing weekends that he shares here with us, free of his work obligations—yet, much to his dismay, I refuse to install Wi-Fi at the cabin.
I
withdraw from my spot where I have been spying on my son, leaving him until he wakes on his own. I use these quiet moments leading up to dawn to savor a hot cup of coffee before my day of breast-feeding, diaper changing, and sweet cuddling begins.
I look around the cabin
, taking in the things that remain untouched. The river-rock fireplace, the rustic furniture, the round table still surrounded by mismatched chairs. A new addition is my favorite painting from Drew’s private collection that now hangs on the far wall. A whimsical piece of a girl and a boy jumping off the end of the dock, hands locked together, their feet suspended in the air as the sun sets behind the mountains in front of them, casting a fiery glow across the sky and the calm waters of the lake. I can almost feel the joy and exhilaration that they do right before they take the plunge into the cold blue depths. After all, it is a real-life memory captured on canvas, and sometimes I remember it like it was yesterday. This painting is a reminder of the simple joys in life, but, most important, it reminds me to live. And it keeps Drew close to my heart, bringing a new warmth to the cabin.