Elizabeth Finn - Unforgiven

They walked slowly through the hospital, and once away from the morgue, the chatter and busy commotion picked up. They were like two people walking in slow motion as the world sped by them. Bailey looked two seconds from collapsing, and he supported her weight with an arm around her. He didn’t want to stop touching her. He’d been deprived of the feel of her skin for six weeks, and he just wasn’t ready to give it up yet, but when he helped her slide into his passenger seat, he finally loosened his hold on her. She looked up at him with her glassy, beautiful eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Bailey.” He meant it. He’d take it all away if he could. He’d endure it for her if it was possible. He hated her pain, and there wasn’t a single ounce of him that thought she deserved this. She nodded, and he leaned to her mouth. He stalled for a second, unsure if this was what she’d want, but then he decided he needed to find out. He kissed her mouth, and when he pulled back, she reached up to his lips, running her thumb across his bottom one. He kissed her again.

“I’m so tired.”

He stroked her cheek, and he pulled her seatbelt across her lap, buckling her in.

“When I said let me take you home, I meant my home.”

Her barely open eyes widened at that, and she forced herself to sit up straighter.

“No! I have to be here. She’s here, and I have to be too.” Her voice was lurching, and she was coming apart in a panic.

“No. Your mom is being transferred to Jepson’s tomorrow afternoon. We’ll discuss the burial with Bill then.”

“No. I was going to have her cremated here. I couldn’t. . .” She broke down into sobs. It was guilt. He didn’t need her to say she couldn’t afford to bury her mom because he already knew that, and he wasn’t going to force her to say it, either.

He shushed her, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s taken care of.” He held her face in his hands again, and he studied her eyes until he was sure she understood him. “She’ll be buried next to your father.” Her sobs started again, but these weren’t guilt. It was relief, and it was the best he could hope for under the circumstances.

She stared out the window for a while before she drifted off to sleep. He’d made the mistake of asking how long she’d been awake, and he nearly yelled at her when she told him. She’d been awake since the morning prior, and it was midafternoon when they left Memphis. He was glad she was finally sleeping, but he understood well it would help nothing when she woke and realized it wasn’t just a bad dream. She’d likely feel that way every time she woke for a good two weeks or more if he remembered correctly. It was going to be a long road to peace and happiness again. He wanted to be part of that journey, but he wasn’t sure he should be so hopeful.

He called Michelle when he neared Savoy. She’d already heard the news; it tended to travel quickly in their parts, and she’d been frantically trying to reach Bailey at the hospital, not knowing how else to get in touch with her. By the time he pulled into his driveway, Michelle was already there waiting for them. He circled to her side, and he brushed his lips across her forehead as he murmured her name to wake her. Michelle eyed him curiously, and when Bailey woke, she looked at him in confusion for a moment before her face went slack.

“Hi, sweetie.” Michelle wrapped her arms around her as she stood from his car, and Bailey instantly started sobbing. Her shoulders hitched and shook as waves of emotional torture hit her. He walked ahead of them and opened the door, and Michelle led her to the sofa. He excused himself and called his parents from the office that sat off the dining room.

“Your father talked to Bill. Where are you?”

“I’m home. She’s here. Michelle’s here too.”

“Okay. What can we do?” His mother sounded as concerned as he felt, and he was relieved. He wasn’t sure what to expect. He already knew they’d far surpassed him in their Christian duty to forgive her, but it didn’t mean they’d support his choice to bring her home.

“I don’t know yet, Mom. She’s pretty . . . I don’t know. Catatonic. Celia’s body is being transferred tomorrow midday to Jepson’s, and we’ll need to set up a time to meet with him.

“Will you let her know that I’d like to go with her to Jepson’s to discuss the arrangements? She shouldn’t be alone—”

“She won’t be alone. I’ll—”

“I’d really like to go with her.” His mother was silent after that. He didn’t quite understand the conviction in her voice, but he supposed he didn’t need to.

“I’ll let her know, but I’m guessing she’ll probably be okay with that. I’ll let you know tomorrow for sure. I’m assuming there won’t be too many people that come to the funeral. Maybe something small at the cemetery itself rather than a visitation and service if she’s okay with that? More personal, intimate. The day after tomorrow will be too soon, but the day after that, perhaps.”

“Yes. I’m on my way to Rotary Club right now, and I’ll spread the word. A lot of the women there have known Celia for years, and they’ll know who should be notified of the funeral arrangements.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Give her our best.” His mother disconnected, and he stared out at the darkening woods beyond the window for a moment before returning to the living.

Bailey stood just as he approached. “I’m going to bed.” Her voice was as catatonic as her expression, and Michelle hugged her before she stumbled away. They watched her climb the stairs, and when she was out of sight, they sat.

“Michelle, I hate to ask, and if there’s someone else that can go, that’s fine. Hell, I’ll go if you tell me where. But we’re going to have to find a burial dress for Celia, and. . .”

“I can go. I’ll leave tomorrow morning. Bailey will need some clothes anyway. I’ll grab her key from her purse.” Michelle stood and turned toward the door, but she stilled and turned back. “What are your intentions with her?”

He thought for a moment before responding. “That’s more up to her than me at this point. I want her here. And not just Savoy here. Here. My home here.”

“What’s changed?”

“What hasn’t?”

“Her mother dying shouldn’t be the reason you want her to stay.” He didn’t even try to respond. It wasn’t something he was even willing to try to wrap his head around at the moment. She grabbed the keys quickly and let herself out. He bounded up the stairs two at a time and entered his bedroom, ready to curl up next to her. He didn’t intend to find his bed empty. He checked the bathroom before he returned to the hallway. He found her curled up in the spare bedroom, staring at the wall. He wasn’t happy she’d chosen to come in here rather than his bed.

He sat beside her, and she peered up to him. “Please come to my bed.” Her brow wrinkled, but she didn’t argue. She stood, and he led her silently to his bedroom. He crawled in next to her, and she faced him. He kissed her lips, and she kissed back. It was the most response she’d given him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.” Her voice was lurching, and the tears in her eyes were so desperate it hurt. It was panic. She was just lost, and she didn’t know how to find herself. “What do I do now?”

He wanted to say move in, be with him, let him take care of her, but he had no idea how far to push it with her. “Right now, you rest. You don’t need to figure anything out tonight.”

That seemed to pacify her for the time, and she snuggled into his chest. She fell asleep, and he watched her. He brushed the hair away from her face and kissed her brow. He studied every ounce of soft, pale skin on her face. She moaned quietly in her sleep, and he ran the palm of his hand down the side of her face, feeling the smooth, unblemished skin glide like corn silk under his hand, and then he said it. He meant it, but he was also trying it on for size. “I love you.” She murmured incoherently in her sleep, and he closed his eyes, drifting away with her.

When her eyes opened, he was there beside her, breathing quietly as he slept. It was sunny outside, and Macy was sitting beside the bed staring at her. She reached over Darren’s body and scratched the top of Macy’s head. When she pulled her hand back, his eyes were open.

“Hi.” Her voice was hoarse and her throat scratchy from crying the day before. He kissed her on the lips.

“Hi. How about I start a bath and make us some coffee.” She nodded. He climbed from bed still fully dressed, and she realized she was too. She was a bit foggy on everything that had happened the day before. Her mother had died. That was about all she knew with concrete certainty. He walked to the bathroom, returning moments later as she heard the bathtub faucet start. He left the room, and she sat on the side of the bed for a couple minutes, staring at the floor. She felt like a statue. She felt nothing at all at the moment. She knew it wasn’t true. Her heart was breaking, but at the moment, she just felt numb. She should probably enjoy it while it lasted. She wasn’t stupid enough to think the pain wouldn’t come back.

He returned with a couple cups of coffee, and she followed him into the bathroom. He set them both on the wide rim surrounding the large soaker tub, and when he turned to her, he reached for the top button of her dress. He undid each one and pushed the dress off her shoulders to pool at her feet. As he reached around her to unclasp her bra, she looked up to him. They stared at one another for many long seconds, and it wasn’t until her eyes dropped to the floor between them that he finished unclasping her bra. He finally slid her underwear down her hips before helping her into the bath. She was back to silence.