Not Looking For Love: Episode 2 Read online

  I don't feel like walking today, I just want to watch the sea and know there's still a whole world out there.

  Once we're sitting in the sand, Scott wraps his arm around me, and I lean against his chest, my hand resting on his thigh. Time has no meaning now, and I can finally breathe again, tears are no longer choking me.

  "We can go, if you have to go back to work," I say after awhile.

  Scott moves his hand so it's resting over the side of my stomach. "No, it's fine. We can stay a little longer."

  A fish jumps from the sea in the distance, sparkling in the sun.

  "You like your job then?" I ask to keep the conversation going.

  "Sure, I like working outdoors," he says. "Been working as a gardener since I was sixteen."

  "And you'd be happy doing it for the rest of your life." I say it as a statement, already picturing a peaceful life like that, somewhere in the country or in the mountains, where time passes differently.

  "I could, maybe. I don't know," he answers anyway. "I still might go back to school, eventually."

  "Back?" I ask. I'd assumed he never went to college.

  "Yeah, Parson's, I dropped out in my junior year," he elaborates.

  "Wow, that's a hard school to get into. Why'd you leave?" I sound a little like my dad as I say it, so I stop talking.

  "I don't know, stuff," he says, "and you, when are you going back to school?"

  Tears threaten to ball up again in my throat. "I'm taking the semester off, for now."

  He nods and doesn't say anything more as though he knows I can't talk much right now. I struggle to chase the tears away, and just sit here in the now. I shouldn't feel so comfortable and light, not with the pain of Mom's looming death eating away at my heart. But I do and can't fight it, don't really see the point.

  I run my fingers up his thigh, and slide my hand along his stomach, so my thumb is touching his bare skin. He shudders a little, likely because my hands are so cold.

  "You could kiss me first one of these days, you know?" I say and crane my neck so I'm looking into his eyes. They're light blue today, like the calmest ocean.

  "Is that what you want?" he asks, his voice low and hoarse.

  I bite my lip. "I do."

  He cups the back of my head, his fingers getting tangled up in my bun, and leans in until our lips are almost touching, but not quite. My whole body is tingling in anticipation.

  "But people are watching, Gail," he says, his breath hot on my lips.

  I take his shirt in my fist. "I don't care as long as I don't see them watching."

  He kisses me, firmly and urgently. Warmth erupts between my legs, and I'd probably collapse back if he weren't holding me. My fingers dig into his stomach as his tongue finds mine inside my mouth. It's like the whole world whooshes away, until it's just us in a void where time and place has no meaning and it is forever sunset. I don't even need to breathe.

  His free hand slides under my shirt and I gasp as his cool fingers touch my burning skin. He breaks away from the kiss and licks my neck. I lean my head back, giving him better access. His lips are cool and rough against the tender flesh of my neck, but his kisses are so soft I could just stay doing this forever. His fingers find my erect nipple under the mesh fabric of my bra, and he squeezes it gently but firmly, rolling it between his fingers. I moan loudly, wanting his hand to travel down, and help relieve the burning strain between my legs.

  He's kissing me again, his tongue deep in my mouth, his lips firm against mine. I open my legs wider in anticipation as his hand travels back down my stomach. It slides down between the fabric of my yoga pants and my panties, and I buck into his hand, the rough mesh of my panties pressing into the sensitive area. His tongue is still in my mouth and I try to wrap mine around his. Then his finger finds the edge of my panties, and his cold fingers feel huge against my tender, burning flesh.

  My thigh is resting against his erection now, and I move my leg slightly to brush against it. His fingers slide along my clit, slowly at first, then faster, the friction making me moan into his mouth. I run my hand down his stomach and grab his cock through his pants. What I want to do is unbuckle his belt and straddle him, but it's broad daylight and we're already doing too much.

  I shudder as his finger slides into me, and all other thoughts disappear. I graze his tongue with my teeth, sucking it further into my mouth, as his finger pushes deeper into me, retreats, and enters again, coaxing the ball of heat inside me to burst. He adds a second finger, and I forget who I am and where. He keeps his fingers in, lets me ride the explosion out.

  I don't even know when we stopped kissing, but I'm leaning against his chest again, my heart racing in my chest, my breaths fast and deep.

  "I want to do that for you too," I whisper, running my fingers over his cock again.

  He chuckles. "Not right here. We'll get arrested. As it is, people are gawking."

  I peel away from him, craning my neck back to see all around.

  "Relax, Gail. I was just kidding. No one's looking."

  He's not entirely right though. Brandon is leaning against the walkway fence, glaring at me like I just killed his cat or something.

  I turn back to Scott. "Maybe we should leave."

  There's panic in my voice and I cover it with a small smile. "We can finish this later."

  "You promise?" he asks, his eyes gleaming from more than just the sunlight.

  "Yes," I say, but I'm not sure suddenly, like maybe I won't be able to hold that promise.

  Fear grips me like a vice, and I feel like a giant hand has gripped my skin and is pulling it together, tearing it away.

  I stand up and brush the sand from my legs. Brandon is gone from his perch by the fence and I can't see him anywhere now. Maybe I just imagined him standing there in the first place.

  The wind brings the sound of a woman's laugh, and when I look up, my mom is strolling along the beach barefoot, a flowery sun dress whipping around her legs in the breeze.

  I take Scott's hand firmly and pull him back to his truck. The woman I saw is someone else. My mom will never stroll along the beach again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  They're all eating sandwiches at the dining table when I get back, and I blush as they turn to look at me when I enter. My dad offers me a sandwich, but I shake my head and run up the stairs to Mom. She's still breathing, rasping, and she's asleep. I take off my jacket and shoes and slide in bed beside her, cradling her head.

  When I wake up it's dark outside, and my neck is stiff as a board from sleeping sitting up. My mom is looking at me, tears gleaming in her eyes.

  "Did you dream something nice?" she whispers.

  I find her hand and squeeze. "Yes." Though I don't remember dreaming anything at all.

  A terrible coughing fit makes her chest rise off the bed. She's squeezing my hand so hard my bones are grating together. Spittle is hitting me, and I don't know what to do.

  But the fit passes, and she lies back, heaving. I feel the world go fuzzy, and I'm floating on the softest cloud. Time melts away and I'm six years old. Mommy is reading me a bedtime story, maybe Snow White, it was always my favorite, and now I'm struggling not to fall asleep so I won't miss the ending.

  Dad is standing in the doorway, the hall light casting a halo around him.

  Mom's breathing changes pitch again, the rasps sharp as a knife. She extends her free hand toward my dad and he rushes forward grasping it in both of his.

  The world is as soft as a feather blanket now. Longing and homesickness form a river that flows through my heart, engulfing me whole.

  "Promise me you will be there for each other," my mom whispers. "I love you both so much."

  No tears come this time, and my heart is overflowing with all the love I ever felt for my mom. It spreads through my body, into my stomach and through my arms, my legs.

  "I love you too, Mom." I hear my voice, but don't know I'm speaking.

  Mom's gasps come more frequently now, no longer raspy, just u
rgent. My heart is hammering in my chest and I still feel like I'm floating. I feel no need to cry, all is well. Then a gasp ends and another doesn't follow.

  "Kathryn!" my dad screams.

  Mom's chest is no longer moving and her hand is limp in mine. Her eyes are glistening, staring up at the ceiling, a single tear running down her cheek.

  I slam back into reality, all the weight of the world pushing me down.

  "Mom!" I shake her, tears blinding me. I lean over and breathe into her mouth, pushing down on her chest to get her heart beating again. Nothing happens. I try again. Edna is just standing there by the door. She should be rushing over, helping my mom. She's in her dressing gown, her hair loose around her shoulders, which are shaking as though she's crying. This is no time to cry. "Help her, Edna!"

  My dad takes me firmly by the shoulders and pulls me back, hugging me tightly. "Gail, sweetie, it's too late. She's dead."

  I beat at him to let me go, but he just holds me tighter. "No, we can still bring her back!"

  "We can't, baby, we can't."

  I know what he's saying is true, but I don't believe it. Only he's not letting me go and his tears are wetting my hair.

  I have no tears left. My whole body is empty, the terrible dark abyss pressing in at the edges. I stop struggling and he let's me go.

  I climb back into bed and kiss my mom's cheek, then sit back holding her hand. Dad does the same on the other side of the bed.

  She's still warm; she's not yet gone. But she is dead, and there is darkness all around me as I tumble into the abyss, cold raging waters frothing in the wind, and there is nothing to hold on to, no way to fight the fall.

  Grey dawn covers the sky outside and Mom's hand is cold now.

  "Gail, we should call the ambulance," my dad says, his fingers digging into my shoulders.

  I release Mom's hand and stand up. Everything looks as though I'm seeing it on a page in a book, and not in real life. I follow my dad to the window where he dials the hospital and makes all the arrangements.

  Edna comes in wearing her uniform, her hair once again in a neat bun on the back of her head. She pulls the sheet over my mom, and I want to scream at her, tell her to stop, to leave, to get away from my mom. The anger rattles through me, but it's as though someone else is feeling it.

  "Very well, we'll wait," my dad says into the phone and hangs up.

  I'm still staring at my mom's outline under the sheet, expecting her to rise at any moment.

  Dad places his arm around my shoulders and pushes me towards the door. "Come, let's have some tea."

  I don't want tea, or coffee, or anything really.

  The grandfather clock chimes six just as we reach the hall. The gongs echo in the silence of the house, like a final farewell.

  The kettle hisses and then Dad's pushing a cup of hot liquid into my hands. The sweet aroma makes me retch.

  After what feels like a whole day an ambulance parks in front of the house, with no flashing lights, no sirens. There's no one to save here. My dad leads the paramedics upstairs and I get up to dump the cold tea in the sink.

  Scott's truck pulls into Kate's driveway. The clank of breaking china echoes in the silent kitchen behind me, because I'm already running to the door, sprinting really. I need to catch Scott before he disappears behind the fence.

  He's waiting by his truck though, staring at the ambulance. I run into him with such force we stumble back.

  He smells of soap and water and softener, and he's holding me so tightly I just might melt right into him. I'm shaking like it's zero degrees out. "My mom's dead," I blurt out into his chest. And then the prickly ball of tears explodes, and tears come so fast and so hard I feel like I'm swallowed in an avalanche. My mom will never walk along the beach again, never smile at me, never hold my hand. Never hug me, never comfort me, never yell at me, never.

  Scott is patting my back and holding me tight with his other arm, but it's not enough to chase away the abyss, the darkness of my future, the cold world without my mom.

  I pull away from him and wipe the tears on my sleeve.

  "I think your dad is looking for you," he says.

  I turn around, and dad is standing in the doorway, looking at me like he doesn't really see me.

  Scott's still holding me loosely, but I break away and run back home, stand beside my dad as the ambulance drives away. A hearse will come to collect her body soon; the ambulance is needed to transport those who still hope to survive.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The rest of the day is a blur. Brandon and Kate come and offer their condolences. Kate stays for awhile, sitting next to me on the patio, but I don't notice it when she leaves.

  Suddenly it's dark out, and Dad is guiding me to my room, pulling the covers over me.

  I wake up just before dawn, the day only a band of light on the horizon. I bolt from my bed and run to my mom's room, terrified because I don't hear her breathing. Then I remember she's gone, taken by the sad black car yesterday afternoon.

  Now she's lying in some cold room somewhere, with no blanket, because she doesn't need it anymore. The image of my mom in a morgue sends burning bile up my throat, but I can't chase the thought away from my mind for the rest of the day, the image burned into my eyes.

  My aunt and cousins come at four to pick out a dress for my mom. The air is thick with my aunt's perfume, and full of their bickering. I snatch the blue dress my aunt picked out from her hands and throw it back into the closet. "Mom didn't like that one."

  They're all looking at me with tears in their eyes, and my aunt tries to hug me but I push her away.

  If they hadn't come yesterday to spill their grief all over the house my mom would have made it through a few more days. She was strong; she could live for another month. But they came and they made her sad, made her aware she was dying and then she did. And there's nothing I could do. Nothing I can do to bring her back.

  "I'll bring her a dress," I say and rummage through her closet, looking for the scarlet dress she wore to my high school graduation. That dress made her look so young, so alive, and she should be buried in it.

  "I don't think you should drive today, sweetie," my aunt says, and places her arm around my shoulders. "I'll take you."

  I remember none of the drive. The lady at the funeral home takes the dress and disappears through a back door. Then I'm sitting on the patio again, stars shimmering above my head, and cold darkness all around.

  "You should eat something, Gail," my dad says, sounding very far away.

  But I tried that earlier and nearly choked on a piece of bread.

  On the morning of the funeral, I have ten unanswered calls and a few texts, but I check none of them. The world beyond my mom's grave is a blur, has no substance. I have to get through today on my own, or never emerge on the other side. There's a Gail who knows this, maybe even has that kind of strength, but it's not the Gail pulling on her black skirt and turtleneck, fastening the buttons of her black coat because it looks like it will rain soon.

  "Good morning, Gail," Gran says to me as I slide into the car beside her.

  "Good morning," I echo.

  Her voice is firm and strong and I wish mine was too. But it's shaky and weak. I clutch the paper on which I wrote out all the things I want to say to my mom before they put her in the ground. I doubt I will be able to speak them. But she knows, I'm sure she does, even though I don't feel her anywhere near me.

  It's only us in the church. My mom wanted a private funeral, so I wouldn't have to face all the people she knew. She told me so, a month before she died, when today was still just a terrible thought.

  The pastor is speaking of the pain of letting go, the joys of entering Heaven, the everlasting peace finally granted. I believe not a single word. They put too much makeup on my mom's face at the funeral home, she never wore so much in life and I want to yell at someone to wipe it off, because now she will spend eternity looking that way.

  My dad's voice cracks as he's saying goodby
e to her, and he pauses for a few minutes, his sobs echoing in the silent church. Then it's my turn, and all I'm thinking is how the bright red of my mom's lipstick clashes with her scarlet dress, and how the blue on her eyelids looks too much like her skin as she lay dying.

  But none of that matters now, because she will never look in the mirror again, never smile, never hold me.

  "I love you, Mom, and I do hope you're in a better place now," I hear myself saying. "I will miss you until the day I die."

  The speech I prepared is crumpled in my fist, most of the words illegible now from my sweaty palm. But it doesn't matter. The words I just spoke are all I really want to say. Everything else is encompassed in those words, wedged into my heart.

  I'm walking behind the casket, holding my dad's hand. The light is pure white, blinding, as though it's reflecting off snow, and I can see nothing beyond the casket and the pastor's back.

  He speaks more words at the gravesite and then the casket is lowered into the ground, the rope creaking against the wood. Thunder echoes in the distance as the first clump of dirt hits the coffin.

  But my mom is not in that box in the ground. She's waiting for me on the beach, walking barefoot and laughing in the wind.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It's been five days since my mom's funeral and the first day I wake up knowing she's dead. The knowledge comes to me while my eyes are still closed and I'm still holding onto the peaceful world of dreams where all is well. Today I will go back to school and pick up my life, such as it is. Nothing will be well again for a long time, maybe forever. And perhaps that's how it should be.

  I peek into Dad's room and find him packing his own suitcase. "Where are you going?"

  "Geneva," he says while rolling up a belt. "The Special Rapporteur on Syria has called an emergency hearing. I'm leaving tonight."

  "Tonight?" I echo. Suddenly I don't want him to go, can't face the thought of him going on with his life as though Mom didn't just die.