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Rose Lake, Minnesota – Sunday, July 2, 1995

I
t had just inched past
midnight into Sunday and Matthew woke from a restless sleep. He instantly sat up straight, his hands aching, disoriented in the pitch-blackness of his bedroom.

“Shit,” he muttered, cradling his equally aching head. He hadn't meant to sleep, but must have dozed off while sitting in his armchair. The light in the kitchen was on; he could see its glow around the edge of his closed door. He had planned to be on the road by now; had a bag packed and a note scribbled out to his brother and Erica. They would kill him, but they would understand…they had to understand why he must go. Furious at himself for wasting precious hours, Matthew rose and groped along the wall for his light switch. But seconds later he became aware of Erica's voice from the kitchen. She was crying.

Heart thundering, he rounded the corner into the familiar room. What he saw made his insides seize up in fear. Erica was bent over her cupped hands, her shoulders shaking. Wilder was just hanging up the phone, and he turned to face Matthew then, his face drawn into an expression of absolute pain. Matthew was in front of Wilder in the next second though he didn't recall his feet moving. He could barely make himself ask past the jagged knot of fear in this throat, “What is it?”

Wilder met his younger brother's terrified eyes and whispered one word, “Shelly.”

Matthew wanted to shake him. He demanded, his voice low with fear, “What about her? Who were you talking to?” The thought that it might have been Bryce, that he had been so close to her voice, made his hands shake. He was sick with longing for her.

Wilder said, “She's gone, Matthew. Shelly is gone.”

“What do you mean? Who was on the phone?” Matthew demanded again. Wilder sank to a chair, and Erica lifted her face and drew a breath, continuing for her husband when she sensed he could not.

“Matty,” she said to his stricken face. “That was Raellen Taylor. She's in Middleton right now, with Bryce. They're at a motel together. Rae…” Erica drew another breath and reached for Matthew's left hand, catching him gently above his cast. She said, “Rae found Shelly yesterday morning. She…she took a bottle of sleeping pills.”

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “I have to get to her. Oh God, she must be hurting so much…” Matthew bent to his knees and engulfed Erica in a hug. She hugged him hard, rubbing his back. She smelled like their supper, and tears. Moments later Wilder closed his arms around them both, and they clung for a long moment, until Matthew gently extracted himself and moved to sit on his chair. Wilder remained near his wife, his right arm strong around her shoulders.

“Matty, Erica,” Wilder said then. His face was pale. “There's something else…”

“Wait,” Erica said. “Matty, I gave Bryce a note…”

He looked at her in confusion. “What?”

Erica's eyes were red and troubled, but she drew herself together. “A note. I wrote it as though you had written it…”

He continued staring blankly at her. Erica rushed on, “I made it sound as though her going was what you wanted…I'm so sorry…”

Another wave of despair tried to break over his head, but Matthew resolved to stay calm from here on out. Despite the agony he felt over the hurt Bryce was experiencing right now and the desperation to get to her as fast as he could, he said softly, “Bryce knows better.” A momentary hope filled him and he turned to Wilder. “Can I call her? Do you have the number?”

“Rae said she was sleeping, and didn't want to disturb her,” Wilder said gently. He was staring at his little brother with the strangest expression Matthew had ever seen. “Matty, I have to tell you something. It's about…it's about Dad.”

Two minutes later Matthew was up and running. He pit-stopped in his bedroom, grabbed something, and before Erica or Wilder could say another word he was pounding down the porch steps while they sat staring at one another in their kitchen as his truck fired to life outside. The faintest hint of a smile tipped up one corner of Wilder's full lips. He said, “I guess he doesn't want to join us on the plane, then.”

Erica, still in shock over the knowledge she had just gained, heard herself joke back, “He'll probably beat us there anyway.”

***

Over a
thousand miles away, Bryce drew up her knees to her chest and pressed her lips against them. Her eyes gleamed again with tears; it was early morning and silver-tinted light was just pressing behind the thin curtains of the motel room window. She squeezed herself as tightly as possible, trying to block out the memories of herself and Matthew in this very motel. But they flooded relentlessly anyway, and she struggled to breathe against the pain. She imagined his arms around her, putting her lips against his neck. She was ill with longing.

She felt the edge of her bed sag as someone sat down, but she could barely turn to face Rae. She didn't want to think about anything but Matthew. Couldn't Rae just leave her to the pain?

No, Bryce, no
, she reprimanded herself harshly.

Rae whispered into the dim room, “Bryce, I have one more thing I have to tell you. It's important, sweetheart.” Bryce rolled to her side and studied Rae's face silently. Rae touched her cheek with soft fingertips and said, “Shelly told me something else a long time ago. She told me another secret that she'd kept for someone, and this one has to do with Matthew.” Bryce could not maintain her indifference and swallowed hard as Rae spoke his name. Her agonized expression made Rae's heart clench like a fist. She rushed on, “I saw you two the night of Roger Christianson's birthday, Bryce, I know you're in love, and here's the thing.” Rae drew a breath. “He's not Daniel's son. Matthew's father was John Ryan. John was cheating on his wife all those years ago. Shelly overheard an argument between Lydia and John when she was 15. No one ever knew the truth but your mother and me…and now you.”

Bryce's dark eyebrows drew together. She whispered faintly, “What?”

“I told Wilder everything last night. I hope you understand why I had to,” Rae said softly. She cupped her palm against Bryce's face, tenderness welling within her.

“You mean…” Bryce pulled herself to one elbow and raked her other hand through her tangled hair. “You mean…” She was inarticulate with shock. Again, “You mean…”

“I mean, darling, that you can be with him. At least I can give you that gift, after all of these years of keeping that secret. Bryce, your mother knew that she treated you so terribly because of what happened, even if it wasn't your fault in any way. I wish she could have told you that herself.”

Rae, her face devoid of make-up, her eyes puffy, with bruise-like shadows beneath, looked like an angel to Bryce. Her mind was whirling. She finally choked out, “But I hurt Matthew so much. I lied to him.”

Rae smoothed Bryce's hair back from her stricken face. “He loves you, and he'll be here as soon as he can, just you wait and see.”

Part Three: At Long Last

Monday, July 3, 1995 – Middleton, Oklahoma

R
ae had left to pick
up Wilder and Erica at the airport. Bryce was alone in Trish's house, alternately staring out the window and then at the telephone. She knew Matthew was driving here; she had talked to Wilder and Erica this morning, before they left. And so they knew the truth. And Matthew knew, and she was dying waiting for him to get here. Afternoon slipped quietly into evening; Trish got home and checked on Bryce, then proceeded to the porch to smoke.

And so it was Trish who first saw him coming up the walk, and she rose instantly to her feet. The expression in his ember-dark eyes made her step back, it was so intense. She said meekly, “She's inside.”

He flashed up the steps and then…

From where she was curled on the couch, Bryce heard the front door open. She expected Trish to appear, but it was Matthew, and she whimpered, her heart coming alive again in her chest. He was so tall and achingly beautiful, in dusty jeans, motorcycle boots and a dark blue t-shirt, his dark hair pushed back beneath the blue bandana knotted around his darkly-tanned forehead. He said, “Bryce,” in a ragged voice that made her start as though electrocuted. He was here.

“Oh, Matthew,” she whispered, and before she was even aware that she'd moved she was in his arms, against his huge, strong, solid chest, held so tight her ribs creaked. She choked on her sobs, her hands fisting around his shirt in an attempt to pull him even closer, her entire frame shaking with the joy of the contact.

He rocked her side to side, tears streaming over his own face as he buried it against the side of her neck, one big hand cupping her skull as well as he could with the cast in the way, the other pressed against her lower spine, his heart aching at the sounds she was making. “Bryce, sweetheart, I'm here, I'm here,” he repeated, low and gentle, his mouth on her skin. “I will never let you go again.”

She wept as though still severed from him, unable to gain control for a long time. He carried her gently to the couch, cradled her on his lap and let the sobs subside into quiet shakes that at last settled into stillness. She lifted her face and whispered through a throat that felt lacerated, “You're here.”

His eyes were so dark and luminous on hers, full of love and promise. She lifted her hands and cupped his face, her palms scratched by many days' growth of stubble on his jaw, her fingers smoothing over his cheekbones, his eyebrows; with her right thumb she traced his full lower lip, unable to believe she was touching him again. More tears leaked over her face, her poor raw face, her swollen eyes and trembling lips. Matthew made a sound in his throat, tightened his arms around her.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he said, his own voice hoarse. “I'm so sorry, Bryce. I'm so sorry I didn't get here faster.”

“You're here now,” she whispered, and because she couldn't help herself, she leaned into his neck and breathed his scent, breathed him in like the only drug she needed in the world, both hands pressed against his chest. The last time she had been this close to him was in the parking lot of the Lodge, and she made a choked sound in her throat, hating the time between then and now when they'd been forced apart. “Matthew, Matthew, Matthew. I'm so sorry.” She pulled back, desperate to see his eyes. Cupping his face again she said, low and fervent, “I didn't mean it when I said I wouldn't marry you, you know that, right? I would marry you tonight, this very second.”

He kissed her lips softly and sweetly, then tipped his forehead against hers, whispered, “I know, sweetheart, I know. I knew you didn't mean it that night. I knew.”

She curled her fingers into his hair, cupped the back of his head, peppered his chin and cheeks with little kisses. She said softly, “Your poor hands, baby.”

He laughed once, ruefully, the endearment going straight to his already-besotted heart. Then his eyes were all at once serious, no trace of a smile on his lips. “Bryce, I am so sorry about your mother.”

She drew a deep breath, closed her eyes for a split second, finally whispered, “Rae told you the truth.”

Matthew nodded, not willing to let what was still an extreme shock to him take precedence at the moment. Besides, no one but Daniel would ever be his father, not in his heart, even if John Ryan had actually contributed the sperm once upon a time. He said simply, “Yes.” And then, his arms locking even more protectively around her, he whispered, “It was a lot to absorb.” His eyes steady on her face, he continued, “Bryce, no matter what you are feeling right now, I will be here for you. You take all the time you need. When you're ready, you tell me and we'll find a justice of the peace who will marry us on the spot. I'll wait forever for you, you know that right?”

She felt her heart stretch, like a flower feeling sunlight again after so many days of ash-gray rain. She whispered, “Take me home, please, Matthew. As soon as the funeral is over, I just want to go home with you to Rose Lake. I don't care if we live in your bedroom in Wilder and Erica's house, or even at the Pull Inn. Lot 25 is pretty nice.” She smiled at the joy on his face, the tenderness in his dark eyes.

He said, “31 is way more private.”

***

That night
they curled together in her bed in the motel, alone, naked for the first time without making love first. Tonight both were content to just cling, breathe the same air. Matthew hauled her against his chest, where she snuggled into the huge solid warmth, her spine pressed to his torso, their joined left hands on the mattress beside her belly, fingers interlocked as best they could around his cast. Matthew tipped his face against her, kissed softly and tenderly along a path from her left shoulder to the side of her neck.

She shivered in pleasure, tucked their hands against her body. “It's our first time in a real bed,” she observed in a whisper, felt him smile against her skin. She continued, still whispering, her face hot, “It seems a shame not to…you know…”

“Bryce, don't tempt me,” he warned, low and teasing, moving his left leg and hooking it over her hips. “I wouldn't feel right, under the circumstances.”

“I know,” she agreed. “But you
will
make this up to me.”

He bit her lightly on the same places he'd just kissed, making her squeak. “Oh, you better believe it,” he growled at her ear. “Many millions of times.”

Overcome with emotion again, she curled around to face him, locked her arms about his neck in the dark. “It's our first time knowing the truth, too.”

His casts scratched her back and she squirmed, then giggled a little as he muttered, “These goddamn things.” He cradled her close, kissed her softly on her right eye, closing it. “Sorry, I was going for your mouth,” he added, and this time landed it perfectly before settling his head back on the pillow. Beside him, her face was a soft pale oval in the dimness. He said, “Bryce, it wouldn't have mattered to me. I would move the earth for you, let alone break a few laws.” He sighed a little, suddenly missing his father, wishing Daniel could have met Bryce for real, could have known her and seen how happy she made his youngest child. Not for the first time, he wondered whether Daniel had known the truth. And of course now he'd never know. He confessed this to Bryce, wanted her opinion here in the darkness in Oklahoma.

She considered for a moment, almost relaxed into sleep in the security of his arms, then whispered, “I don't know why, but I think he knew. And he still loved you like his own boy; it didn't matter to him. That's what I think.”

“I'd like to think so. He was a good man,” Matthew whispered, almost ready to drift off himself. “And now he'll be watching over your mom, too.”

Bryce closed her eyes against the tears, let them fall silently as they leaked out. Comforted by the warmth of Matthew's body, his steady breathing and familiar scent, she fell asleep at last, her pillow damp beneath her cheek.

***

Michelle's service
was attended by her daughter, her brother and his wife, Matthew, Bryce's friends, Trish's mother and sisters, Gayle and Rae Taylor. Her body in its coffin would accompany Wilder and Erica home on the return flight, to be buried in the Rose Lake cemetary. The assembled crowd was quiet and still in the small church in Middleton, beneath a sky overhung with cast-iron clouds, which annoyed Bryce as well as gave her a light migraine. At least she attributed that to the heavy, oppressive air which would linger all evening without shedding any rain.

With Matthew's fingers clenched in her own and Trish's elbow linked with hers on the left, Bryce made it through the afternoon and managed to remember most of what was said, despite her resolve to put it behind her as quickly as possible. Part of her wanted to crumple and weep over her mother's coffin, but another part kept her eyes dry, though her throat was tight. When it was over, she asked for a moment alone; Matthew was reluctant to leave her, she knew, his dark eyes worried, fastened on her face. But she reached way up on tiptoe to kiss him gently on the chin, whispered, “I'll be right there, baby. I just need a second.”

He nodded, then walked slowly down the center aisle between Erica and Wilder, like the boy he would in some ways always be to them. Bryce watched them, then turned back to her mother and touched the smooth surface of the coffin, her lips trembling for the first time all day. Finally she whispered, “Michelle.” And then, though she hadn't used the word to describe her in a very long time,“Mom, I finally understand. I forgive you. If you can hear me somehow, please know that. I forgive you.” She buried her face against her palms, overcome, and suddenly arms were around her, clutching her. Small, delicate arms, and a floral scent she recognized: Rae. Her older sister. How incredible.

“Honey, come on, let's go,” Rae whispered. “She knows, sweetie. She knows.” She tipped her face and kissed Bryce's cold cheek, and the younger woman said, “Thank you, Rae,” and they held each other for a moment before following their family to the front of the church, before they made to head for home.