Midnight Lily (Signs of Love) (18 page)

Lily

Are you a dream? Or maybe a . . . ghost?

Maybe. Yes, I think I might be.

I don't feel like my life is . . . real.

The words skittered through my mind as I stood staring at the small portion of the Golden Gate Bridge I could see from the window of the hospital. My eyes moved to a woman walking by, pushing a baby in a stroller on one of the garden paths below. Somewhere nearby, a car horn blared. Did I feel like my life was real now? Maybe. At least more so than it had been. Here, I could people watch, interact with others, walk in the grass . . . even go out now that I'd been given more freedom.

"You've gone to see him again, haven't you?"

I turned my head from the window to glance at my grandmother as she entered the room. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"He didn't see me," I murmured.

My grandmother sighed. "Lily, darling. He's doing well now. It's time to let him go. In fact, we need to talk about returning to Colorado. My lease on the house in Marin is up next month."

I turned from the window and moved quickly to the small sofa where she'd just sat down. I took her hands in mine. Ignoring her comment about the lease, I said, "That's just it, Grandma; he's doing so well. He's back at work. He seems to be . . . himself again."

My grandmother gave a short laugh. "Himself? Lily, you don't even know who that is. You have no idea. And he has no idea who you are either."

I shook my head, denying her words. "That's not true. I know him. I know who he is in here." I pulled one hand away and used it to tap against my chest.
He’s in my heart.
For some reason, the vision of those hands—fingertips just barely brushing—that had been carved into the rock in Colorado raced through my mind. Grasping for each other in the dark.
I'd felt him. I'd known him.

My grandmother shook her head. "We've gone over this and over this. We agreed to move here temporarily while you were treated. We
agreed
to that. But you promised you'd let me be the one to check on him. And that we'd go home once your treatment was complete."

"I haven't broken that promise," I said, pulling my other hand free and leaning back on the sofa.
I'd go home with her. First to the rental house and then to Colorado. But would I stay there? Could I bear it?

My grandma gave me a sympathetic look. "I understand, my love. I know exactly what you're feeling. I know how much it hurts. And that's the reason I won't let you involve yourself with Ryan Ellis again. I won't let you hurt him or hurt yourself. It isn't fair to him. If you love him, you'll let him go." She ran her hand over her short, coiffed hair.
I wanted to cry because I knew in my heart she was right.

I bit at my lip. It was pointless arguing with her. And if I persisted, she'd just cry, and I didn't want to see her cry. I couldn't deal with her sadness—her disappointment—and my own pain. It'd been almost a year and I still felt
desperately
sad. She'd said it would end, and yet it hadn't. Not really. I worked so hard to stop the hurting. I pressed my lips together and stood. "I'm going out to get some coffee."

"You're going out?" she asked.

"Yes, to the coffee shop up the street." That was something I loved about being here in San Francisco. No matter what it was I wanted or needed, it was generally within fifteen minutes walking distance.

My grandmother jumped to her feet. "We could have coffee here. In the cafeteria."

"No, I need to get out." I was tired of being inside, tired of the smell of disinfectant. "And I'd really rather go alone."

She frowned. "Okay. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Sighing, I turned to her. "It's just coffee, Grandma, I'll be fine. And I have to get used to living in the real world again."

"Okay, Lily," she said again. "You're right. Of course you are. I guess I'll get going then, too." I pretended I didn't notice she was clasping her hands as if she was wringing out a rag.

"Oh, Lily," she said, following me as I pulled on my sweater. I thought she was going to try to stop me. "I forgot to tell you. My friend, Cora, from the tennis club, is hosting a charity event in Marin for those Guatemalan kids she's always talking about, and she wants you to attend. I told her it'd be a wonderful way for you to get out. I thought you'd probably love that. It's on your birthday—your twenty-first. We could celebrate there."

I hesitated. "A charity event for Guatemalan kids?" I
would
love that. And it was my grandmother's way of apologizing to me. I offered her a small smile. "That sounds wonderful."

"We can look at dresses online later. Or I could call the personal shopper from Bloomingdales. I'm sure they'd bring some samples here for you to try on."

I grimaced. How embarrassing for a stranger to bring dresses to me here. "Or I could go there," I said. My grandmother nodded, but her smile faltered as if me going to a small coffee shop was tolerable but a big department store crossed the line.

I kissed her cheek, put on my shoes, and left, walking quickly through the grounds and smiling at George as I exited the front gate. "Be careful, Lily," he called as he always did.

"I will, George."

It was a foggy, drizzly morning and I couldn't help but recall that day in the forest under the branches of a tree. My heart clenched.
Ryan.
Sometimes it was still difficult for me to refer to him by that name, even in my mind. I'd met him as Holden. I'd fallen in love with him as Holden. But Shakespeare had been right because what was there in a name? Holden, Ryan . . . I loved the
man.

I loved the man who was intense and quiet, gentle and shy, smart and funny. I loved the man who’d looked at me like he wasn't sure how I'd come to be his and was counting his lucky stars. I closed my eyes against the tears. I'd never be his again, and yet I felt like he'd always be mine. Did he wonder why I'd left? I knew he probably didn't understand, and that was my biggest regret. Maybe I should have left a note . . . something. But my grandmother had agreed to help him in exchange for us leaving that night. She'd agreed to help him as long as I promised I wouldn't have any more contact with him. And once I'd told her about why he was there . . .

And I'd known he needed to get better. I'd
known
that he needed to go back to his life and find a way to reclaim it. I just hadn't anticipated it hurting so much when he did, and I wasn't a part of it, nor could I ever be.

The coffee shop was warm and bustling with activity. I ordered a latté and found a table in the corner. At least I had something to look forward to with the charity event. My grandmother would be comfortable with me attending because it was across the bridge in Marin, where she was staying at a rental home.

I pulled out my phone and quickly googled the 49ers, looking for any recent pictures of Ryan. I knew I should stop. It only brought me pain to see photographs of him. But it also brought me pride and happiness to see him doing well. There were some recent photos from a bar on one of the tabloid pages. I caught a glimpse of Ryan in the background of one of the shots, sitting at a table, looking off to the side. He was smiling. I used my index finger to trace the tiny outline of his face on the phone screen. I thought back to the moment I'd realized he was suffering from some sort of mental disorder.

The moment my heart had dropped into my feet and I'd felt like I might sink to the floor right in front of him. The picture of the man on the cover of the magazine, a stranger I didn't know, but labeled "Holden Scott." I hadn't understood exactly, but I'd known he wasn't lying to me by the look on his face. He believed himself to be Holden Scott. He didn't know who he was. And suddenly his confusion—his sadness—had made some sort of sense. And what was I to do? I had already fallen in love with him. I
still
loved him. "Boy Scout," I murmured, wondering if the smile on his face in the photograph was real, wondering if he was truly happy.

Wondering
if he still thought about me.

Ryan

I threw my jacket on the couch and kicked off my shoes. I'd taken Jenna out to dinner and had a good time. She'd told me all about her trip, making me laugh with funny stories about the co-worker she'd gotten stuck sharing a hotel room with after her room reservation had been mistakenly cancelled and they'd had no other rooms available.

I collapsed into a chair. I liked her and enjoyed spending time with her, but it also felt strange. And the intensity I'd felt when I'd first spent time with Lily wasn't there. But should it be? I'd been half out of my head when I'd fallen for Lily, when I'd kissed her, when I'd made love to her. That whole time seemed almost like a dream now—as if none of it had really happened at all. As if I'd never even flown to Brandon's lodge in Colorado. As if my life had stopped the moment Holden's hand slipped from mine and only just recently resumed. And yet, inside, I still felt half asleep—as if a part of me remained missing, incomplete.

I looked around my apartment. Everything was neat and tidy. Growing up, my house had always been trashed, had always smelled like garbage, rot, and dog shit. I hadn't thought about it too much until I'd started hanging out at Holden's house. I hadn’t known that some homes smelled like baked goods and fresh laundry. I hadn’t known that some parents lit seasonal candles that smelled like vanilla or spiced apple or lavender fields. It'd made me intensely aware of the stench of my own house. It'd made me wonder if
I
smelled as foul as my home to people at school. Even though I tried my best to keep my clothes clean, washing them in the bathtub with bar soap when my dad wasn't home if I had to, surely stink like that soaked into a person's skin after a while.

It was why I was so fastidious now. I vacuumed and dusted regularly, changed my sheets once a week, and made sure dirty dishes weren't left in the sink. I would never live like an animal again. I'd never
smell
like an animal again.

Walking back to my bedroom, I undressed and tossed my dirty clothes in the empty hamper in my closet. My gaze caught on the duffle bag I'd thrown in the corner and still hadn't unpacked. I wasn't sure why I grabbed it now. I set it on my bed and pulled on a T-shirt and boxers and then went and stood in front of it. A strange feeling of loss moved through me. No, that trip had been all too real.

The trip at least . . . Lily, I still . . . I raked my hands through my hair and then unzipped the bag. I rummaged through it, but there was nothing except clothes—dirty clothes that were long overdue for a wash. Gathering them up, I walked to my small laundry room and tossed them in the washing machine. A pair of jeans fell out of my hands onto the floor. Sighing, I picked them up and went to toss them in the machine, too, when I stopped, holding them up and then reaching inside one pocket. Why I did that, I wasn't sure. The pocket was empty. I switched hands and reached inside the other pocket, pausing when my fingers came upon something hard and smooth. I grasped it and pulled it out and stood for several long moments just staring down at it: the white arrowhead Lily had given me.
It looks so delicate, and yet it could take down a large animal or even a man.
Her words echoed through my head and I sucked in a breath. "Lily," I whispered. I held the arrowhead up to the overhead light and then grasped it in my hand. It was solid. It was real. I clenched my eyes shut.
Was she?

Was it possible I'd been running through the forest alone, an entire make-believe scenario going on as I collected actual objects and drew stick figures on rocks to support the fiction of my own life?
Jesus, had I been that fucking nutty?
I cringed. Walking back into my bedroom, I set the arrowhead down on the top of my dresser and took a deep breath.
Crazy people rarely question their own sanity.

I took a quick shower and then, still unable to get that arrowhead off my mind, went into the living room and opened my laptop. I googled Whittington and got the same results as the first time. I scrolled through the site I'd originally looked at. Sitting back, I chewed on my bottom lip, thinking about everything I hadn't considered yet. Lily had told me about two escapes. I searched for any information on either one of the two but didn't find anything. It could be that Lily had actually read the stories in old newspaper articles she'd found inside the hospital and the stories just weren't put online for some reason,
or
it could be that I made the whole thing up. Back to square one.

After a brief pause where I stared at the screen of my laptop, I did a search for the owners of Whittington. I thought I'd remembered reading that it had been a privately owned hospital. It took me about five minutes of clicking to find the information: Whittington and its surrounding property was owned by Augustine Corsella, a real estate mogul from Colorado who had made the purchase in 2008. He was deceased, but it appeared it was still owned by the Corsella family. I scrolled through, looking for more information on him, but there wasn't anything I was interested in. Yawning, I closed the laptop and put it aside, disappointed in my fruitless online search. But what had I really been looking for anyway?
Something. Anything.

I had the arrowhead though.
It
was something, wasn't it?
Wasn't it?

I thought for a moment, remembering the myriad of things Lily had said to me.

I logged on to my iTunes account and did a few searches. Love songs from the forties she'd said. "All of Me" started playing, filling the silence of my living room. I listened to it from beginning to end wondering if this was one of the ones Lily would have liked. As the collection of songs played, "I'll Be Seeing You" and "Tenderly" and "Some Enchanted Evening," I stared vacantly at the ceiling, my head resting on the back of the couch, my hand in my hair. And I wondered if these songs were
supposed
to be so very sad and create the intense ache in my chest.

And what of the lingering sadness that was ever-present in my heart? Could I miss someone who had never existed? Could I pine for a dream? I was back to
myself,
and yet without her, everything just felt . . .
off.
Exhausted by my own thoughts, I climbed into bed, Lily's face the last thing in my mind as I fell into a dreamless sleep.

**********

"Hey there, handsome," Jenna said, standing up from the stair of my building where she had been sitting, waiting for me. She was wearing a slim black skirt and a white blouse, obviously having come straight from work, like I was.

"Hey," I said, smiling. "What are you doing here?"

"I found out earlier today I have to fly to St. Louis tonight—emergency packaging problem." She rolled her eyes and I chuckled.

"Sounds serious."

"It's solvable. Hopefully. Anyway, I can't go to dinner tomorrow night and I'm bummed. I thought maybe we could spend a little time together now before I have to go home and pack." She tilted her head, looking hopeful.

"Oh, uh, yeah, okay."

She grimaced. "You're busy. I should have called. This isn't a good surprise. And I looked up your address and just showed up, which is probably crossing the line. I'm being too forward. God." An embarrassed blush rose in her cheeks, and it was endearing.

I couldn't help but smile as I held up my hand. "No, no. I don't mind. It's a good surprise. I was just going to the gym. But I'd rather spend time with you." I nodded toward my building. "Let me just change and then we can go grab some food?"

Jenna let out a breath. "Yeah, cool." She still looked unsure and so I leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"Nice to see you, by the way."

She grinned. "Nice to see you, too." I took her hand and led her up to my apartment.

Half an hour later we were strolling along a street near the marina headed toward a casual Italian restaurant I hadn't been to for over a year. "Oh, I wanted to ask if you're available two weeks from now? Friday?" Jenna asked, turning to me slightly as she walked.

"I think so," I said, stopping in front of the restaurant and holding the door open as she passed through. "What's going on Friday two weeks from now?"

"One of my biggest clients is helping host a charity thing in Marin. I told her I'd be there."

"What's the charity?"

"Guatemalan whatnot. They're building a school or something like that."

I chuckled and raised one brow. "A cause close to your heart, then?"

She laughed. "Not really, but there'll be free champagne. What do you say? Do you have a tux?"

My mind was momentarily blank as I recalled a very different reaction to people in need.
There's always someone society chooses not to see. There's always someone who is invisible through no fault of their own.
And yet she hadn't existed? Confusion and despair tugged at my heart, but I did my best to push the feelings aside. Refocusing on the woman before me—the real woman—I quickly thought back to what she'd asked me. A tux . . .

"I could get one."

"Awesome."

The hostess led us to our table, and we ordered wine.

"So what are you doing this weekend then?"

I cleared my throat. "Actually, I have to clean out Holden's house. I was considering doing it this weekend. It's been a year and a half, and I still haven't touched anything."

Jenna's mouth opened slightly. "Oh, geez. I didn't realize you were that close to Holden Scott."

I nodded. In truth, Holden had left everything to me—his money, his house, all his things. I'd thought about it and decided I was ready to go through some of it, at least get rid of his clothes, meaningless stuff like that. I'd do a little at a time, take it slow, see how I felt. At least that's what Dr. Katz had advised at my last session. "Yeah. Yeah, I was. We were best friends since childhood. We both grew up in Ohio."

Her eyes grew wide. "Oh God, Ryan. I'm sorry. What are you going to do with his stuff? I bet some of it would go for insane prices if you auctioned it."

"I wouldn't auction Holden's stuff," I said a little too defensively.

She put her hand on top of mine on the table. "I just meant that it could bring in some cash that you could use to help people. Was he a supporter of some charity or another?"

I sighed. "Yeah. I'll think on it." God, even talking about it like this was making me tired. Could I really even do it?

Jenna paused, giving me a small smile. "If you can wait a few days, I can come along and help."

I resisted grimacing. "No. No, thank you, Jenna. This is something I have to do on my own."

Her face fell as she pulled her hand away. "I understand."

"Thanks." Thankfully, the waitress interrupted the ensuing awkward pause with our wine. I fiddled with the silverware sitting on the table in front of me. "Listen, Jenna," I said. She stilled as if waiting for bad news. "I think I should tell you something about me. I mean before this goes any further. I don't want you to feel duped down the road and—"

"You're dating someone else," she said.

"What? No. No, nothing like that. No, it's about
me
."

She appeared to relax. "Okay, what is it?"

I paused, searching for the right words. "When Holden died, I . . . lost it for a while. I," Jesus, this was hard, "went a little crazy."

Jenna tilted her head, looking confused. "Okay. Well, I think that's only natural. I mean, it had to have been a huge blow. Now that I know you were best friends . . . it must have been devastating."

I nodded. "Yes, but . . . I don't think I'm communicating the severity of my breakdown. The truth is, I didn't just go a little crazy, I went a lot crazy." I let out a small laugh containing little humor. "I think you should know. And I won't blame you if you want to run in the opposite direction."

She watched me for a moment, and I shifted in discomfort, looking down. "Ryan, are you trying to tell me you're damaged goods?"

I met her eyes. "Uh, yeah, I guess that’s what I'm trying to tell you. That’s exactly what I'm trying to tell you."

She reached out her hand and put it over mine once again. "I'm sorry you went through such a hard time. And I'm sorry you lost someone you loved. But I think the fact that you took it so hard shows you're someone I want to know better, not someone I want to run away from."

I opened my mouth to say something and then closed it again.
That was really nice.
I wasn't sure I had properly conveyed the extent of my insanity, but I also wasn't sure I owed her all the details either. I felt better just having given her the bare bones.

Jenna raised her glass. "Okay, so, to new beginnings," she said. "To wonder and magic." The candle on the table flickered and for a moment, the light hit her eyes and they appeared almost violet.
Lily.
I blinked just as the light shifted, and they returned to their true hazel color.

I smiled and it felt a little bit wobbly. Holding my glass up and inclining my head, I said, "To Disneyland."

Later, I drove her back to her apartment and walked her to her door. And then, because she was pretty and nice, because she'd made me genuinely laugh for the first time in almost a year, and because she'd made me feel like I might
not
be damaged goods, I kissed her. Her lips were warm and soft and tasted of a new beginning.