Page 110 of Summer Reading

I left them to it and grabbed the keys and banged out the door. I considered driving all the way to Moira’s but thought better of it. Who knew how long they would talk, if they even talked at all.

Instead, I drove over to Ben’s house. Judging by the lack of a motorcycle, he wasn’t home. I wondered how it was going with his mother, and I felt my anxiety spike. Did she know about Steve’s passing, and would she tell him?

I climbed out of the car and stepped up onto the small porch on the front of the house. There was one cushioned love seat under the window and I sat down. I could smell the heady fragrance of the pink roses thick on the night air as they arched over his porch. I debated calling him, but no. Not now. This was between him and Moira.

Instead, I reached into my shoulder bag and pulled out the digital recorder he had given me and hit play. His deep voice started our book right where we’d left off and I let it comfort me as he drew me into thestory. I missed having him beside me, his warmth and strength. I drew my knees up to my chest and wedged myself into the corner of the seat. I closed my eyes, entering the story fully.

I’d listened to two chapters before the sound of a motorcycle’s engine broke through his narration. I stopped the recorder just as he drove up the driveway, parking beside my car. I stuffed the recorder back into my bag.

His body language told me nothing. I watched as he cut the engine and put down the kickstand. His movements were the smooth, practiced motions of a person who has done something so many times it’s accomplished without thought. He swung his leg over the seat and took off his helmet, setting it on the back of the bike.

He stood for a moment, contemplating his motorcycle. His shoulders were slumped and his head hung down. And that’s when I knew that she’d told him. He knew.

“Ben.” His name came out of my mouth on a breath. He turned to face me and then he was striding toward the porch to me. The look on his face, the grief in his eyes, was an expression of such pure devastation, I felt it all the way down in the bottom of my soul.

I rose from my seat and crossed the porch, meeting him at the top of the steps. I wrapped my arms around his neck, trying to ease his pain.

Ben stiffened. His hands grabbed my waist and he tried to pull me off him, but I clung like barnacle.

“Samantha, I can’t... I don’t...”

“Shh,” I said. “Just let me hold you, just for a moment.”

He dropped his hands, giving in, and I hugged him hard, running my hands through his hair and across his shoulders. While we’d been searching, I had listened to him talk about meeting his father a hundred times. He had to be gutted.

When he started to tremble, I knew he was coming undone and it was my job to hold him together. He clutched me close and buried his face in the curve of my neck. I ran my hands down his back, trying to soothe the raw pain. I felt my eyes burn when I heard a muted sob and felt his hot tears against my skin.

“In all the years I dreamed of finding him, I never even considered that he could be... gone.” His voice cracked with emotion.

I kissed his hair and tightened my hold. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He set me back on my feet and cupped my face. “I need you,” he said.

“I’m here,” I said. “For you, for whatever, I’m here.”

He nodded. He held my hand, lacing our fingers together. He unlocked the door and I grabbed my bag with my free hand. We went inside but didn’t speak.There was nothing I could say to take away his suffering.

Instead, I kissed him again and again. He pulled my tank top over my head and I did the same with his T-shirt. The rest of our clothes followed swiftly after that. We were pressed together, skin to skin, but it wasn’t enough.

I took his hand and led him up to the bedroom. I shoved back the covers and pulled him onto the mattress. He hesitated, but I didn’t. I could feel a chasm form between us, as if he felt his burden was too heavy and he was releasing me. I rejected that. I wanted the distance between us gone. I wanted my Ben back, the kind, loving man who made me feel good about myself because he accepted me exactly as I was.

Parting my legs, I pulled him on top of me. Barely taking the time to use protection, I guided him into me. I needed to look into his eyes and know that he was mine. When I felt him thrust deep, I thought I could bring him back and wipe away the grief struck expression from his face. But Ben didn’t meet my gaze.

He made love to me as if he was trying to outrun his feelings, but I wouldn’t let him leave me behind. I cupped his face in my hands when I knew I was getting close, and I stared into his eyes. I wanted to tell him how I felt, that I loved him, that I wouldn’t leave him, that he was welcome to take whatever solace he couldin me, but the words were stuck, lodged somewhere in my chest by a heart that was afraid to be broken.

Instead, I kissed him. I told him it would be all right, and when I felt him climax, I followed, hoping that I could keep him with me somehow. We were sweaty and panting for breath. My heart was thumping hard in my chest in the aftermath.

Instead of the usual postcoital snuggle, he stared at the ceiling. He looked as if he were lost. It broke my heart. I nudged him off the bed and into the shower and I washed us both. He stood with his head bowed, letting the water sluice the soap off his skin. When the hot water started to run cool, I shut off the tap and led him out. I dried him with a towel and then quickly patted my own damp skin.

“Thank you,” he said. He kissed me and pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

“Don’t apologize. Come on,” I said. “Let’s get some rest.”

We climbed back into bed and I wrapped myself around him, hoping I could be a lifeline for him as the grief of realizing he would never know his father pulled him into an abyss of regret and sorrow that swallowed him whole.

•••

“She knew he’d died,” he said. “She’s known for years.”

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