Let Him Cry Pt. 02

"Oh."

"Was that your side of the bed originally?"

I nodded.

"I thought so." She leaned in and kissed me gently. "Hanging on doesn't work after a while. Life needs to be what it is." I'm sure she could see that bothered me, because she said tenderly, "It's just a suggestion, but I've been down this road myself, and I've been down it again with several of the women."

She nodded at the picture on the wall. "Of the two, I'd keep that one. It's nice. Put it somewhere you can see it when you want, but where it doesn't catch your eye all the time. Maybe in your room where you can say, 'Night, Liv'—"

My breath sucked in and I went stiff.

She read the expression on my face, accurately it turned out. "I'm sorry, that was presumptuous. You can say, 'Night, Olivia' when you go to sleep. Then hang something that makes you happy out here." I relaxed.

I wasn't exactly upset, but I was somber. Caitlyn let me be that way, leaning against my shoulder as we sipped the wine and listened to some music. When our glasses emptied for the second time, she took mine and got up off the couch.

"I'll get us one more. Meet you in the bedroom?" she asked.

She wore me out, then woke me from my drowsing and had me lead her down that path again with mouth and fingers. "Just because you need a break doesn't mean I do," she'd laughed.

Long after midnight, I found myself sitting up against the headboard sipping on the glass of wine that had been forgotten on the nightstand. Caitlyn was against my side, half-drowsing in turn. I felt warm and cozy, drugged on the opiate of wine, full breasts and willing hips.

As I turned to set the glass down, she stirred. "Let me have some." I held the glass to her mouth, and she sipped. Holding my wrist so I didn't move it away, she tipped the glass for a second mouthful. She smiled and I set the glass down on the nightstand.

As I turned back, she took my hair and drew me down, rising to meet my lips. She hadn't swallowed. Holding me from a startled jerk, she kissed me, sharing the wine between us.

A small bit escaped and ran down my chin to drop on my chest. Giggling, she leaned over and licked it. Then her lips caught a small rivulet that had run lower. She didn't stop when she ran out of drips, moving half under the covers to kiss my belly button, then lower still for my abdomen, before placing a kiss at the base of my cock and running a trail of tiny pecks along its length.

"Just lie back and enjoy," she instructed.

I did. I let my head fall back against the wall and reveled in the velvety sensation of lips and tongue and hand wrapped around me. I closed my eyes to the sight of a bobbing sheet and tuned out the faint noises of the outside world. I spread my legs wide to avoid the rhythmic pressure of her forearm, and my arms fell limp to my sides. My mind fell into a state where there was only the sensation in my groin.

Time passed. I felt the pressure building and neither encouraged it nor fought it. Then the tipping point, the familiar scant seconds of notice that it was about to become inevitable before my conscious brain shut off and dopamine flooded into me.

I felt Caitlyn pull her mouth away and the pace of her hand grew frantic on me. Finally, I came back to awareness.

"Bleh," she said, her expression simultaneously amused and sour, "you didn't warn me." Making little spitting noises, she picked up the glass of wine and swished her mouth as I laughed out loud. She wasn't mad. "When you get one, you give one," she parroted, smiling.

I spent most of the week in a Groundhog Day existence: take Terrell and Nia to school; stop at Grano for coffee; check progress with John; spar with Ruth; play mentor or babysitter at the site, depending on who was there; spar with Ruth some more; meet Caitlyn for food; drag her or be dragged by her into the bedroom; home.

Repeat.

Except Friday evening had a hiccup. I was growing tetchy the last couple of days when my mind wasn't occupied. I knew why, but there was nothing I could do about it, so I did my best not to take it out on anyone else, especially her. And the best way to do that was to stay distracted.

My suggestion of a film festival in the city was met with, "That'll run late, and I have to work tomorrow." That was okay. I knew her hours were occasionally brutal, especially because she didn't always get a full night's sleep. "Dinner and check out a band? We can leave whenever."

That met with approval so, after trying out a Turkish place, we found ourselves in our regular haunt, Maxwell's, listening to a new band.

Caitlyn's taste in music was several decades later than mine, and she was enjoying the '90s sound they were rocking. It didn't cause me to want to run screaming the way some music did, and they mixed in an updated version of something older once in a while. So, I was willing to just let it flow around me and enjoy my bourbon and look at her.

Then a one-two combination landed.

The left jab to the face was a cover of "Wherever You Will Go." Despite being '90s music, it was a song that I liked, and I tuned in to listen. As it ended, I was feeling slightly melancholy, almost hearing a quiet voice talking to me as I contemplated the lyrics:

Who will be there to take my place?
When I'm gone, you'll need love
To light the shadows on your face.

"That song is—" I started to say. The right cross to the chin came out of nowhere — no Astaire chords hinting at the melody, no Sinatra syncopated horns to clue me in, just a single lead note and then:

Some day, when I'm awfully low,
When the world—

It took a second because the tempo was different, faster, but it got no farther than that before I felt the shockwave course through me. Our song, our first dance as man and wife.

Liv had played Frank's version during that car ride down Route 1, blasting it out through the car speakers, her feet up on the dash. When it ended, she heaved a melodramatic sigh. "It's too bad he's dead. He'd be on my Free Pass list," she'd lamented. "Those eyes, that voice ..."

"You don't get a Free Pass list."

"Everybody knows you get one. It's the law," she'd giggled. "Right now, it's David Beckham and Jake Gyllenhaal."

"Then I get Adriana Lima and Jessica Alba. Oh, and Elisha Cuthbert."

"Three? Greedy boy. Deal!"

Six years later, she'd whispered in my ear as we twirled across the floor in front of family and friends, "I tore up my list. No one but you."

Now, Caitlyn's hand landed on my arm and I flinched back automatically, muscles tensing, turning to meet her eyes staring at my face. She studied me for a second.

"Let's go," she said.

I started to protest. She shook her head and rose, taking my arm again and pulling me up. I was quiet most of the ride and the walk up to her place.

"Come on," she said, drawing me toward the back, "I'll help you until you forget until that song is nothing but a memory."

Hours later, I was on my side up on one elbow, looking down at the sleeping woman next to me. Lifting the covers slightly, I studied the gorgeous form: the full breasts, slender waist, and flaring hips of a true hourglass figure. I focused on the patch of red curls at the center.

Suddenly, I wanted to forget again.

Not forget the song, that reaction would have passed in a minute or two even if we'd stayed. But fighting Caitlyn took effort and I hadn't cared about the music enough to spend it. And, on the flip side, I did care about getting laid, so arguing seemed ill-advised.

It was the rest of the evening. The upset about Liv kept alive by Caitlyn's comment. A little frustration that a rare night out was cut short. It seemed that all Caitlyn and I did was eat, drink, and have sex.

It was also impatience with the reassurances Caitlyn whispered ... reassurances I finally cut short by letting her know what I wanted. She'd obliged, raising back up when I warned her, to kiss me hard.

Now, I wanted not to dwell on those feelings again, and I could think of one good way to distract myself. I pulled the covers back, causing her to stir. Sliding down, I planted a kiss on those curls and then pushed between her legs to plant one farther down as she roused.

Forty-eight hours later I lay in bed again, contemplating a day that I'd refused to contemplate for months, wishing I could fall back asleep.

I was surprised at about eight o'clock by a knock on the bedroom door.

"Matt, please get up," Taty said through the wood.

I was puzzled. She didn't work on Mondays. "Did you get called in?" I called. "If—"

"Please get up and come out," she repeated. I heard her move away.

Pulling on gym shorts and a T-shirt I walked out to ask, "What's the matter?"

She nodded toward the far end of the living area. Turning, I saw Caitlyn and Ruth sitting on my couch.

"It's an Abode day," Caitlyn said. As I started to point out that it was Monday, she insisted, "Today of all days. I called John, and he says he'll show up and do nothing." She smiled.

I looked back and forth between the three of them.

"It's not hard to google 'Olivia Brennan' and find out the date, Matt," Caitlyn said quietly. "We've known for a while."

Ruth's face had one of its rare softer expressions. "Distraction, like I said."

My thoughts were in a jumble. I was angry at the interference, relieved at the diversion, dumbfounded that they'd sought out the date of Liv's death, scared of breaking down again in front of them.

"Hey!" Ruth got up from the couch and walked over, saying, "Put on some clothes unless you want us girls trying to sneak a peek up the leg of those shorts. And brush your teeth. You've got morning breath." Leaning in, she whispered, "Don't fight her on this one."

Taty said, "There was a suggestion that we might have some folks over for potluck later. Angela and Matt, some others from the building. Caitlyn said some from Abode would come ..." She trailed off, waiting to see how I reacted to this further managing of my day.

When I didn't respond immediately, she nodded her head as if that settled things. "Okay, don't stress. Go back to bed and—"

At the same time, Caitlyn started in, "Matt, just listen, this will help—"

"Fine!" I cut them both off abruptly and turned back to the bedroom.

I pulled off my shorts and tee and brushed my teeth. My mind was still roiling between upset and relief. I jerked on a pair of jeans to cover my nakedness and opened the bedroom door. "Taty, can you come here for a second?"

Her eyebrows went up at me standing there bare-chested. I ignored that. "Who else have you told?" A few nights ago, the significance of today had slipped out in our evening chat, and I felt betrayed.

"I didn't tell anyone, including them. Caitlyn was the one who looked it up and spread the word. But, from the way that Angela and Matt talk, I'm pretty sure most of the building knows that it's around this time. They all knew her and remember."

"Have you already invited everyone?"

"Do I strike you as the type to invite people without asking you first?"

After a moment's reflection, I shook my head, my upset with her fading away.

"I'm talking to you now before saying, 'Yes, ma'am,' to Caitlyn's instructions. And if you say no, then it's no."

She waited to see if I would say no. When I didn't, she started to back out of the room, smirking. "Hey, Matt?"

"What?"

"I told you I don't mind white boys, so maybe have mercy on a woman who hasn't been on a date with a man in over a year ... and zip up."

I glanced down and flushed. As she meant me to — I had learned the hard way that gentle mockery was her way of defusing things.

As I followed the other two out of the front door, I said, "Okay," quietly to Taty.

"Okay," Caitlyn said when we arrived. She looked at the other women who had shown up. "I see John's car here, so let's get busy."

"Okay?" asked Ruth when we had a moment alone.

"I guess. How long have you been discussing this?"

She shook her head. "I didn't. I was informed last week that it was in the works. I thought it might be a good idea but only if you were on board. It's why I came along this morning: in case you weren't."

"To twist my arm?"

For the first time ever, Ruth looked offended. "No, you asshat, hers."

I felt bad. "Sorry."

She punched me in the arm. Then she shocked the hell out of me by giving me a quick hug.

Bela arrived not long after. "Malibu Ken's got it," she said in response to my questioning look. She took in the mood of the room. It was pretty clear I was in charge of construction; John was still hurting. It was even clearer that Caitlyn was really in charge of the day.

"This dinner thing, do you want us all there?" Bela asked.

"I guess."

"Are you sure? You don't particularly sound like it."

"I'm feeling pushed at by everyone. I know people are trying to help, but today ..." I trailed off.

"If it gets to be too much, take a break and walk away for a while." The smile wasn't her usual puckish tease. This one was warmer, something that commiserated without pitying.

"Hey," she bumped my shoulder, "some of us realize that, under that occasionally grouchy exterior, there's a guy trying to figure out life again. And sometimes" — her eyes shifted away from mine, inward — "a body just needs to get away for a bit."

As we finished lunch, I told everyone, "Just keep at what you're doing. I'll be back in an hour or so. Ask Ruth if you get stuck. Let John nap."

Bela smiled and gave me a quick nod.

Caitlyn followed me as I walked toward my car. "Where are you going?"

"Cemetery."

She put her hand on my arm to stop me. I didn't bother to suppress the reaction and pulled my arm free. Not rudely, but I didn't want to be touched.

"Matt, listen. Maybe go when you can just be there. Pick some other day when you can remember the good and not be consumed by the bad."

That did it. I saw the glances our way at my raised voice. "I'll be damned if I'm going to reduce a decade of loving someone to 'some other day.' Okay? Good!" I stomped to my car.

I hadn't visited Liv's grave in a long while. Most of her ashes were scattered in the woods as she'd wanted, but I'd had a few buried in my family's plot so that there would be a marker. That first month or so, I had come by every day. Then, something had switched off in me, and I couldn't bear to come at all.

Now, I added the flowers I'd bought on the way to those already there, probably left by her sister. I sat on the grass for a long time. My anger at Caitlyn had faded in the face of sad memories and flashes of upset at what life had dealt out. Eventually, I talked to Liv for the first time since those initial rants of a year ago about her leaving me. After telling her that I still loved her, I admitted:

"I'm still angry at you. I wish you had let me be with you to the end. But I don't want to fight with you. I just miss you. I'm feeling lonely right now.

"I don't know what's going on in my life, Liv. I've tried to move on. I've made a little progress. Not a huge amount."

After a while, "I slept with someone. I didn't think you'd be upset."

Some part of my mind, way back in the dim recesses, wondered if there'd be one of those storybook moments where the departed gave some sign of their blessing. Of course not. This was reality. Then again, I noted with a certain grim humor, neither would there be a sign that they objected.

Driving back to the site, my thoughts were conflicting. I felt better ... as if I had done the right thing. I felt worse ... alone in a way I hadn't felt in a while.

I did something I hadn't done in a long time. I hit the first preset on the car's radio. One to four had been hers, five to eight were mine. Michael Bublé's voice filled the car. Liv's love of jazz songs had been a topic of much of my teasing, paid back by her ribbing of my love of older movies. A back-and-forth that was all banter, real only in the sense that it was one way we said, "I love you."

I could almost see the bare feet tapping time against the windshield, a habit I could never get her to stop. My protests were invariably met with an atrocious Brando accent, "I'm gonna make you an offer you can't you refuse," a smooch that landed somewhere between lips and cheek as I tried not to lose sight of the road, a giggle, "There you go!" and the beat would resume.

It took a while, but Frank came on. It wasn't "The Way You Look Tonight," but it carried me back to the other evening. I contemplated what had gone on, the undercurrents of the conversations.

No, I thought, I'm not giving Liv up. Yes, I'm still angry at her. Yes, I hurt. But I won't forget her.

The potluck dinner was not horrible. A lot of my neighbors came, those who had lived there long enough to have known Liv. From the construction crew, everyone who'd been there that morning showed. John was driven by his very-pregnant Madison. She gave me a hug and a sincere, "Thank you." I tried to accept both with good grace; the second was easier than the first.

Caitlyn maneuvered me alone in a corner. "I'm sorry."

"So am I." In my mind, that was ambiguous enough; she could read whatever she wanted into it. Evidently, she didn't read it as conciliatory.

"Matt, I'm trying to help."

"I get that."

"What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice sharpening.

"What do you want from me?"

Glancing at the others in the room, she pulled me toward the balcony, even though it was chilly evening outside. "What I want from you is a companion," she said quite succinctly. "Someone to share my life."

"And I'm not one?"

"I don't know. That's why I asked you what you want from me. Am I just sex to you?"

"No! I don't know how you can say that." I was getting a little heated. "I'm the one who's always suggesting we go out and do things together. Have a life. You're the one who always says no."

She nodded at that, but she didn't say anything.

Frustration mounted, and my tongue started running away from me. "Just because I like sex doesn't mean I'm in it only for the sex. You seem to like the sex. Are you just in it for that? Or are you faking it?" Yeah, there was a little hurt pride in that last jab.

She shook her head, not taking offense at the suggestion. "No, I'm not faking it. Whether you like sex doesn't have much to do with the question I asked you, if you think about it."

It was my turn to remain silent. How do you convince someone of a negative?

Eventually, she tried again. "Matt, I understand how it can help you forget. After ..." She paused for a second and, for one brief moment, I think she took the lid off that box she had put around her past because I thought I saw a flicker of something that looked like distress cross her face. "After Gregg died, I took up with someone. Then, one day, after making love into the wee hours of the night, I woke up and realized that I had no real idea of how he felt about me. It wasn't because I thought he was lying to me. He had done nothing to make me doubt anything.

"It was because our relationship was all about him taking my pain away. I was wrong: I hadn't been making love with him. I had been using him as a stand-in for Gregg. That's when I realized I had to do something. It took a while, but I did, and now I'm happy again."

"And yet I notice that you're not with that guy. Or are you juggling two of us?" Unfair. I knew it as soon as I said it; I didn't need to see the angry expression on her face. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm not still with him. I had to figure things out on my own, and I made a mess of it. But you don't have to figure it out by yourself." She put her hand on my arm and I flinched. I could see it hurt her and felt bad. "You had a horrible period in your life. So did I. So did a quarter of the people in this room. What I want is for you to be able to come to terms with it as we have."