Forbidden (12 page)

“Hey, it's okay,” she whispered, and Emma nodded, but didn't sit up. A breeze stirred the leaves, like the essence of a spirit, and it ruffled through both girls' hair in a way that made Bryce's spine tingle slightly. Erica and Wilder were standing now, and others were drifting away, back toward their cars. Bryce suddenly noticed a woman approach Matthew from the left, and all of her warning bells clanged. She was tall and lovely in a summer dress of lavender-blue, which clung delicately to her considerable curves. Caramel-blond hair,
magazine hair,
Trish would call it, waved around her face. She bent down and slipped her right arm across his shoulders in a possessive way that made Bryce's neck prickle. Obviously her hands had been there before.

“Matty, I'm so sorry,” the woman murmured to him.

Bryce felt a fireball burst in her stomach. She stumbled as unobtrusively as possible to her feet, pulling Emma with her, as he replied, “Thanks, Angie,” in a low voice, and was simultaneously enveloped in a hug.

Blindly, Bryce turned away and said to her little cousin, “Let's go find your mom,” and in her deep desire to get away from the sight of Matthew in another woman's arms, she moved swiftly through the crowd and blundered directly into the path of a small woman in a butter-yellow sundress, whose eyes widened with surprise, and then softened into something like recognition.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” Bryce said, shaking her head, her stomach cramping. She was certain she sounded and appeared ridiculous, but the woman touched her arm lightly.

“My brother said he'd met you,” she said then, her voice low and pleasant. “And you do, you look exactly like her.”

Bryce looked into the woman's eyes, thinking this must be another of her mother's old friends, and how strange that people kept saying that to her today, when no one back home ever seemed to make the observation.

“Rae Taylor,” the woman added, her hazel eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled with fondness. Genuine fondness. “You mom and I used to be best friends.” So many things hovered in the air between them, questions Rae was dying to ask; in fact, she was forcibly restraning herself from dragging Bryce to a chair and demanding some answers.

Shit, the poor girl probably doesn't have them anyway
, she thought, shaking her head again at the sight of Shelly's face peering out so plainly, her wide and mobile mouth with its full lower lip the exact same contour, her nose with its sifting of tiny freckles, the pixie chin. This girl's eyes were different though, certainly not Shelly's, large and coffee-brown, staring at Rae with a mixture of exhaustion and deep-seated agony. Rae drew a slow breath, struck by the irony of life, by the fact that Michelle's eyes had held the exact combination of emotions the very last time Rae had ever seen her, 22 years ago.
Oh Michelle, Michelle; what I wouldn't give to go back to that night, stop you from driving away, find out the goddamn truth…

“I would love to talk to you before you head home,” Rae said then, and in her voice was a sincerity, almost a plaintiveness, that made Bryce's heart catch for a moment. She felt herself nodding, and Emma, still clinging to her hand, squinted up at the woman in yellow.

Rae bent her knees and addressed the little one. “Hi, Emma. I grew up here in Rose Lake. I just moved home last night actually. I'm sorry about your grandpa. I knew him pretty well when I was a kid.”

Emma hooked a finger into her mouth and didn't reply, but Rae was undaunted. To Bryce she said, “I would love to talk again soon. Will you be staying in town for awhile this summer?” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “I hope you will.”

Bryce, trapped, could only nod. The woman smiled, touched her arm again. “Good. Until then!”

Emma tugged at Bryce's hand, catching sight of her parents up ahead. Bryce turned to watch her mother's old friend walk away and was struck in the face with the sight of Matthew and the blond woman, who was clinging to his arm. The pain that accompanied seeing them was like a physical blow to her, and she turned away, bit her bottom lip hard. Evelyn suddenly appeared then and offered inadvertant rescue, asking, “Bryce, can we walk over to Grandma's grave?”

“Of course,” Bryce said, and she and Emma followed Evelyn, whose beautiful red-gold hair was gathered high on her head. The three of them left the remaining mourners behind and walked solemnly to the ancient weeping willow, whose branches skimmed like loving fingers over their shoulders.

Margaret Sternhagen's plot was quiet and somehow lonely on this sunny day. The flowers Erica had left yesterday were still in the same spot, nestled at the bottom edge of the stone. Bryce thought about Wilder wanting his father buried here, by his mother instead of Matthew's. Evelyn tipped her chin and seemed to be praying, and Bryce watched the shifting rays of sunlight on her cousin's hair, flashing over it in ruby streaks. Emma, too, remained silent and still, caught in the spell. Bryce continued to hold the little one's hand in the peaceful stillness, and after a moment the rolling in her gut subsided a little, and she reminded herself that she would be leaving soon. She would not acknowledge how terribly her heart ached at the thought.
It will get better over time…I know it…haven't I lived with worse things?

“Hey, you guys,” he suddenly said from behind them, and Bryce felt her heart contract all over again. She turned to face the eyes that were killing her.

“Hey,” she whispered back, and his eyes poured into hers from 10 feet away. He was alone, to her relief, and the top buttons of his dress shirt were undone beneath a loosened tie, his suit coat slung over his right arm. The sunlight skimmed over his shoulders, glinted in his dark hair, and Bryce felt tricked, betrayed by some malevolent fortune that had made him so incredibly attractive, that had created this ferocious agony of desire between them. He moved forward and her heart slammed against her; he stopped no more than 12 inches from her right shoulder, not taking his eyes away.

Matthew wanted to put his hand on her shoulder, her elbow, anything just to feel her warm skin. He said, “You three ready to head over to the Lodge?” in a voice he hardly recognized. Evelyn was still standing with her head bent, and Emma had dropped to a crouch to examine a ladybug. It was the first time all day that Bryce had faced him without people directly between, and she thought,
It's allowed…I can hug him right now…the girls won't think it's strange…

“Matthew,” she said, and she didn't know her own voice either. “I'm sorry.”

He shook his head, his lips pressing together for an instant. She could still see the evidence of his tears, and it made her insides convulse with sorrow. Matthew saw her shift slightly and had the presence of mind to move slowly and not crush her against himself, but joy ravaged his aching heart as she moved into his embrace and wrapped her arms hard around his midsection.

Seconds, we only have seconds
. He clung for as long as he dared. Bryce drew back slowly, and her gaze pierced him to the heart as she left the circle of his arms. Her wide eyes were the shade of coffee without cream, luminous and dark, and he saw in them a well of sadness that he longed to ease.

“Bryce?” Emma was staring at them, her chin hooked on one bent knee. “Is this your grandma and my grandma's grave?”

Bryce nodded, pulled herself together as best she could. With both hands she scooped loose hair behind her ears in a gesture Matthew had come to anticipate.

“This is Daddy and Aunt Michelle's mom,” Evelyn added, and she reached to caress the headstone for a moment, reminiscent of her mother. “She died way before we were even born.”

“Aunt Michelle should be here,” Emma observed stubbornly. “Didn't she want to see her daddy get buried?”

Bryce closed her eyes for a moment, dragged out a response. “You're right, she should be here. I wish I could tell you why she isn't.”

Evelyn said, “We better go,” giving Bryce a look of apology. She grabbed for her little sister's hand, but Emma darted away, releasing her energy as she ran back the way they'd come, and Evelyn, despite her fancy shoes with heels, gave chase. “Emma, don't step there!” she yelled. Despite everything, Bryce giggled a little, and Matthew rolled his eyes at his nieces' backs.

“Those two,” he said affectionately. He offered his arm to Bryce, and she smiled at him in a way that made his insides radiate: it was a sweet and wistful smile, and it killed him all over again to realize how much he wanted that smile near him all the time. She slipped her right hand around his left elbow, accepting this as a gift, and both their bodies burned with the contact. Matthew said, “Hey, I hope you know that no one blames you for Michelle not being here.”

They started walking, by unspoken agreement at a slow pace to prolong the excuse to touch. She tipped her chin for a moment. “I know, but it's easier said than believed, you know?”

“Wilder really wants to talk to you about everything,” Matthew went on. “He hasn't had a chance yet, though.”

“I know, I can see it in his eyes,” she told him. “But—” and she spoke quietly, her face hot. “I'll be leaving soon.”

Matthew stopped walking and turned to face her. Her hands fluttered to her sides, unable now to continue touching him. He wanted to grip her shoulders and force her to look up at him as his insides crumbled at this inevitable news. “How soon?” he asked her, and she gave in to the tremendous pull and met his eyes, finding them dark and tortured.

She said, speaking past a sudden ball of agony in her throat, “Tomorrow. I think it's best.”

“No.”

She broke their gaze, afraid that someone would appear; she could hear voices not too far away, and surely even a blind person would see the air vibrating between them. Matthew said, low, “Please don't go yet, Bryce.”

Her heart was throbbing so hard she could barely hear her own response. “I have to.” And a flash of sudden anger gave her the fortitude to hiss, “I can't stay here and be this near you when I can't have you!”

He breathed hard through his nose, angry suddenly, too, but only on the surface; beneath that was a chasm of swirling panic at the thought of her exiting his life for good. She looked up at him, her own eyes just as tortured, and whispered, “I just can't.”

And then she turned and forced herself to walk away.

Cody ended up saving her that afternoon; they were supposed to have lunch at the Rose Lake Lodge, an event which Bryce was dreading with white-hot intensity, but in the car on the way Cody said, “Mommy, I think I have to throw up!”

Erica made it to the shoulder just in time; she hopped deftly out and got him bent over the ditch as Bryce, unable to remain sitting, joined them and put her hand on Cody's back beneath Erica's. He heaved and heaved as his sisters watched out the car window, Evelyn in sympathy, Emma offering commentary. “Yuck, Code. I told you not to eat all that syrup this morning. Eeeewww, now it's all
chunky!
”

“Shut-UP, Em—” he swung around to say, but another wave of nausea hit him and Erica said firmly, “This way, buddy.”

All in all, it was the perfect excuse not to go; Bryce heard herself volunteering to drop Erica and the girls at the Lodge and then take Cody home.

“Oh, honey, are you sure?” Erica looked exhausted, back in the hot car again, her hands dangling limply from the steering wheel. Cody, who'd been given the passenger seat, tilted his pale face at the open window and Emma said, “Ug, you smell!”

“I'm sure,” Bryce said. “I don't feel all that well, either, if you want the truth.”

Coward
, she berated herself.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Erica said.

Cody was tucked into bed 30 minutes later, a glass of cola on the nighttable. His eyelids fluttered, and Bryce asked softly, “Do you need anything else, kiddo?”

He shook his head weakly.

“I'll be on the porch, okay?”

Outside the day had drifted into afternoon, and Bryce, after changing into a pair of jeans, curled herself on the swing and smoked, keeping her ears perked for any sounds of Cody approaching; she felt reasonably sure he was asleep, but still. For whatever reason, she didn't want the kids knowing she smoked. She gave in and lit a fourth with the tail end of the third, wanting to punish herself, seeking refuge in the familiar bad habit, determined not to think about the look in Matthew's eyes as she told him she must go.

Oh, God, the way he looked at her
. She drew her knees to her belly, drew deeply on her cig, her hand trembling. The force of it made her feel limp and helpless. Her heart pounded and suddenly she couldn't be sitting here with just her thoughts for company. She rose and ground out her smoke in the soil of a nearby planter, one full of purple petunias, which gave off a fragrance nearly as sweet as the lilacs. She pit-stopped in the downstairs bathroom to flush the butts, and then wandered into the living room, her eyes catching sight of a wooden bookshelf jammed with photo albums.

Like a pirate plunging both arms into a chest of gold, she stacked five under her chin, reclaimed her seat on the swing and proceeded to torture herself further. Greedy for any picture of him, she turned pages and pages.

Imagine someone cataloguing life like this
, she thought intermittently.
Someone who cared enough to capture these moments, get them printed out and then slip them in albums to be preserved for years. God, do they know how fucking lucky they are? Do they?

Matthew's mother had been gorgeous. Though most of the albums were relatively recent, jammed with photos of Erica, Wilder, and their kids, one, a white book with gold embossing, was obviously much older. Bryce held it close to examine the woman and Daniel, Matthew's father and her grandfather. Most of the pictures were black and whites, but some were in color, and Bryce studied these minutely. Lydia had the face of a china doll: high forehead, arching eyebrows, satin cheeks and delicate pink lips. Her hair was the glistening shade of honey-blond that women spend years attempting to achieve with dye, which only made her dark, long-lashed eyes more vivid. Matthew had her eyes exactly. Daniel was much older than Lydia, and Bryce searched his face for traces of his youngest son, finding that she could see Wilder and her mother much more clearly in his eyes like a cloudless sky and the shape of his face. Something about his smile suggested Matthew, though, and he was certainly a tall, broad-shouldered man, towering over his young wife in one shot, perhaps at Easter, in which she was holding a tiny Matthew. Michelle and Wilder posed in front of them, the entire family dressed in a pastel rainbow of formal clothing.