Color of Loneliness (40 page)

“Do you know how to cook?” Jackie asks.

Myra nods.

“Will you teach me? I have no clue. Honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing. I told you I wanted to go to culinary school but now I don’t know if I would’ve even gotten accepted. I have to learn, or I’m going to starve to death. Or get enormously fat because I’ve been eating out a lot and sometimes just not eating at all.”

Myra smiles and nods at her. “Let me run back to the house and get some things. I’ll show you how to make the easiest and tastiest spaghetti sauce you’ve ever eaten.”

“Really? Thank you so much. You’re such a great friend. I’m so glad we’re neighbors. I just don’t know what to say, I…”

Myra cuts her off. “Just eat a brownie until I get back, okay?”

“Okay. Oh, they look amazing. I’ve never made brownies before. Are they hard to make? I bet they taste so good…”

Myra hears Jackie still talking in the kitchen as she puts her coat on and opens the front door. She grins all the way to her house.

* * *

Dylan steps into the kitchen and his lips tug upwards when he catches sight of his dad with his arms wrapped around his mom, kissing her on the cheek.

Dennis smiles widely when he sees Dylan.

“Son,” he says in a quiet voice as he pulls him into a hug. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

Dylan’s gaze drifts to the floor. “I know.”

“Come on. I’ve got something to show you,” he says as he walks over to the garage door and opens it.

“Whatdya think?” Dennis asks as he nods his head towards the 1964 Pontiac GTO sitting up on blocks in the middle of the garage.

“Holy shit,” Dylan gasps.

“Nice, huh? This is my new project. I’m going to restore her. She needs a lot of work.” Dennis sighs. “I sure wish you were around to help me with it.”

Dylan circles the car, admiring it. “Me too. A lotta work, but it’ll be worth it.”

“Definitely.”

Dennis studies him for a moment. “How you been? You got enough work in Nyssa?”

“Yeah, I’m busy.”

“Good.”

Dennis lifts the hood so Dylan can look under it. “You need to call and come see your mother more often. She worries to death about you.”

Dylan runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know. It’s just hard.”

“I know it is, son. But you can visit more often. For your mother.”

Dylan runs his hand along the gray primer that covers the car. “I’ll try harder. I promise.”

* * *

Myra smiles as she climbs into bed with a book. She can’t believe she actually had a good time with Jackie and enjoyed showing the crazy girl how to make spaghetti. She stretches as her phone buzzes with a text. Picking it up off the bedside table, she glances at it nonchalantly.

U awake? – D

She gasps and sits up quickly, her book falling to the floor. She thought for sure it was going to be Susie.

Yes. Hi. – M

Dont laf at my textin. My thums r big. I nevr txt. – D

Myra giggles as she types.

I feel honored. ;) – M

U r specil. – D

Myra smiles so hard, she feels like every tooth in her head should be showing.

Thank you. – M

Wht r u doin? – D

I was getting ready to read. – M

Wht? – D

A romance. – M

U lik tht? – D

Yes. I’m a hopeless romantic. – M

Gd 2 no. – D

What are you doing? – M

Sit on dek in drk smokin. Misin u. – D

Myra sighs and hugs her phone, continuing to smile.

I miss you too. – M

I wnt 2 kis u agn. Bad. – D

Her heart flutters in her chest
.

I want to kiss you, too. ;) – M

Got 2 go. I cal u tmr. Swet drems. – D

Goodnight. Sweet dreams to you too. ;) – M

Myra stares at her phone, re-reading his texts before hugging it to her chest again. She plants her face in her pillow and kicks her legs, squealing like a little girl.

* * *

Dylan groans as he stares up at the ceiling wishing he could just stay in the damn bed and never get up. He dreads what he has to do today; the anniversary of the day he wishes he could erase from fucking history.

He rubs the center of his achy chest. With a heavy sigh, he finally crawls out of bed. Grabbing his bag, he pulls out a wrinkled but clean pair of jeans and T-shirt and gets dressed.

When he enters the kitchen, he finds his younger brother, Nick, sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee.

“Hey, man, it’s good to see you,” Nick says, smiling, as he stands and gives Dylan a hug.

“You too.”

“There’s coffee,” Nick says.

Dylan nods as he steps up to the counter and pours himself a cup.

“How’s the residency going?” he asks Nick as he sits down across from him.

“Oh, just dandy,” he says with a sarcastic drawl. “I enjoy being completely exhausted all of the time. Sleep is so overrated and all. Some days I wish I’d just followed in dad’s footsteps instead.”

Dylan snorts. “No, you don’t.
Dr. Lawson
has a great fucking ring to it. Just think in a few more years, you’ll be rolling in the damn dough.”

Nick smiles. “I keep trying to tell myself that, but I’m not convinced yet.”

“How long are you stayin’?”

“I have to head out late this afternoon because I have a shift tonight. I talked to mom, and we were thinking we’d try to go around four or so; I’ll leave after that.”

Dylan swallows hard and nods. He half listens to Nick as he talks about his work at the hospital. He tries to nod at the appropriate times because his own thoughts are a million miles away.

His phone rings. “It’s Trish,” he tells Nick.

Nick nods, taking a sip of his coffee.

He flips open his phone. “Hey.”

“Dylan. I haven’t talked to you in forever,” his sister, Trish, says.

“Yeah. How are ya?”

“Good. Busy, but good. I wish I could be there with you guys today.”

Dylan swallows. “That’s not necessary.”

“Well, it may not be necessary, but I still wish I was. It’s hard living so far away. Doug and I were hoping to make a trip out there in June.”

“Good.”

“Well, I just wanted you to know that I was thinking about you today. I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Yeah.”

Dylan flips his phone shut and stares at it as he and Nick sit quietly and finish their coffee.

* * *

Myra pauses to re-read the last few paragraphs she just typed.

“Flint grabbed his leg as his handsome face twisted with agony, and stared down at the dark red color that seeped through his fingertips. His piercing jade gaze slowly moved from his leg to the ugly, good-for-nothing toothless scoundrel standing twenty feet away. With his finely-tuned senses, he tensed when he caught slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Falling as quick as lightnin’ to the ground flat on his back; he yanked a hidden pistol from his boot. Stretching his arm out across the dust-covered ground, he shot the culprit hiding behind a wagon dead between the eyes.

As the body fell with a loud thud, Flint flipped to his stomach in the blink of an eye. Straining his outstretched arm holding the pistol, he aimed it dead-on at the man who stood staring down at his cohort with his eyes wide and his toothless mouth gaping. Flint waited for just a second until those black eyes met his. With a small, wicked curl on his lips, he pulled the trigger, hitting the filth square through the heart.”

Myra takes in a deep breath, excited to be able to get some more writing done. Her phone rings, and she smiles ridiculously big as she answers it.

“Hi.”

“Hey. Whatcha doing?” Dylan asks.

“Not much. I was just doing some writing.”

“What’s your book about?”

“It’s a Western.”

“What? With fucking cowboys and shit?” Dylan asks with a laugh.

“Yes, it has cowboys in it. Why do you think that’s funny?”

“I don’t know. You just don’t seem like you’d write a book about fucking cowboys.”

Myra smiles. “And who exactly do you think should write about cowboys?”

“Fuck. I don’t know. Some damn rancher out in Wyoming?” he says with a laugh.

“It’s all about research and imagination. You have heard of Google, right?”

Dylan chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Can you tell I don’t know jack shit about writing? Will you let me read it?”

“No.”

“Why not? Sorry I teased you.”

“Nope. It’s too late,” Myra says, grinning.

“Come on. I really wanna read it. Please?”

Myra’s brows pull together. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious.”

A grin tugs on her lips. “No one’s ever wanted to read my writing before.”

“Why the fuck not? What’s the story about?”

“A rancher whose family is murdered and he exacts his revenge on them.”

“Damn. I definitely wanna read it now.”

Myra grins from ear to ear. “Okay.”

“Okay? That was damn easy.”

Myra giggles. “Well, you’re easy to forgive.”

Dylan doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Hey, I gotta go but, Myra?”

“Yeah?”

“This…” he says before clearing his throat. “Today is a really shitty day for me. Thanks for making me laugh and making it not so shitty. I really liked talking to you.”

“Sorry about your day, but I’m glad I could make you smile.”

“Can I call you back this evening? I’m not turning into a stalker or anything, am I? Feel free to tell me to fuck off at any time.”

“No,” she says a little too quickly, rolling her eyes at herself. “I mean, please call me. I like talking to you too.”

After saying their goodbyes, Myra smiles happily as her fingers begin to tickle her laptop’s keyboard again.

* * *

Dylan swallows dryly as he pulls his truck behind his parents’ car. They wanted him to ride with them, but he wanted the solitude. His stomach churns as he wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans. Feeling his throat tighten, he clears it roughly. He needs to keep his goddamn emotions in check. Taking in a deep breath, he opens the door.

Stretching, he looks around quickly because he doesn’t want any surprise visitors. He blows out a breath when he sees no one else around except his family. His mom slips her arm through his and pats him reassuringly. Nat steps up to his other side, tucking her arm in his and smiling a soft smile up at him. Chad grumbles at the boys, chasing after them. Nick and Dennis stand off to the side, waiting.

“You ready?” Sherri asks quietly. With a nod, they begin walking through the hard, partially frozen ground until they reach that one particular stone. That stone out of the hundreds of stones in this immense cemetery with the name Lawson on it. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he stares at the simple piece of rock that means so much to him.

He wishes with every damn fiber of his being that it was him underneath that dirt; he’d die a thousand painful deaths to be the one that died that day. But no matter how much he might wish it, he can’t change what happened. It doesn’t matter how much regret he has. It doesn’t matter how much begging he does to a God that never listens. It won’t change a damn thing.

His brow furrows. Releasing Sherri’s and Nat’s arms, he squats down and uses his fingers to try to wipe the dirt he sees on it. It smudges, looking worse. He wipes harder and harder, trying to clean it. It needs to be clean. That dirt can’t be on there. It can’t be dirty. His breathing accelerates the harder he works. He continues rubbing and rubbing until he feels a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Here,” Nat says as she hands him a small package of wet wipes. Not looking at her, he takes them and carefully cleans the tombstone until the beautiful white marble shines. He uses every one of the wipes in the package she gave him.

He stands and someone takes the dirty wipes from his hands. He can’t see a damn thing through his blurry eyes.

A soft sob escapes his mom which causes a sharp pain in his chest. His mom and Natalie are back at his side again, each holding onto his arms. He blinks over and over and clenches his fists together, digging his nails hard into his palms. He can’t break down. He has to keep his shit together. If he breaks down, it’ll just hurt his mom more. She’s been through enough pain to last a fucking lifetime.

He almost loses it when Dennis steps up and lays a small bouquet of flowers on the stone. He didn’t even see him carrying them. His dad kneels and runs his fingers over the name for a second, causing Dylan to flinch.

Chad follows him and places a small stuffed Teddy bear next to the flowers. He hears a small sob escape Nat. He gulps as a lone tear slips down his cheek. He focuses his attention on that one tear, feeling every move it makes on his skin as it slowly slips down his cheek and clings to the tip of his jaw.