Page 28 of Smoky Mountain Dreams
Most of all, he wanted to remember the tears in her eyes asthey realized they’d found something bigger than a stupid, dangerous dare.
An alarm on Marcy’s hospital bed went off. He glanced at theoxygen levels, and heard the machine dispense a push of medicine, one of themany that kept her alive. The beeping immediately stopped, her oxygen levelsrising with her blood pressure again.
“How did I start thinking about this? Do you remember?”Of course she doesn’t.“Ah— right. I told you I have adate, and, well…he’s a guy. He’s good looking. Blond. I guess I’ve got a thingfor blonds.”
Marcy’s eyes closed. He waited to see if they’d open again,but they didn’t. It must have been time for her to sleep according to herstill-functioning hypothalamus.
“He’s a singer. Performer, really, at Smoky Mountain Dreams.His voice gives me shivers. It always has.”
He didn’t know why he was telling her these things. Marcywas dead. He didn’t feel guilty, or need her permission. He’d had sex with guysin the years since her accident and he’d never told her about them. He didn’tknow why having dinner with Christopher would be any different, even if theyended up going home together. It wasn’t like he’d fallen in love. He’d onlydone that once.
“I guess you were the girl for me,” he murmured.
Jesse remembered in a sick flash the only time he’d sleptwith a woman since Marcy’s car had careened into the mountainside on I-40. Atthe time, he’d wanted something tenderer than what he usually got with men.And, if he was honest, some part of him had hoped that he might strike goldtwice.
He’d met Hope at Will’s parent-teacher conference a coupleof years after the accident, when he’d accepted that Marcy was gone and nomiracles were coming. There’d been sparks, but he hadn’t acted on them untilsummer came and Will was no longer in Hope’s class. There was no doubt in hismind that his money and the tragedy of his history had helped grease the way toher acceptance when he asked her out.
Jesse took her on a picnic to Cades Cove, and she’d beenincredibly willing. A glass of wine and a kiss was all it took, and then he’dpushed her skirt up and slipped her panties off. In his hurry, he’d shoved hisown pants down just far enough to get his cock free and slide on the condom.She’d been tighter than Marcy after the kids were born, and her thighs werestrong against his sides. The fuck itself had felt sweet—until he’d burst intotears at orgasm. It’d been similar enough and yet nothing like being withMarcy.
“I’m so sorry,” he’d said, his throat tight and tearsrunning down his face as his cock thudded inside her.
“Shh, it’s okay.” She’d soothed him and rubbed his back. “Iknow. It’s all right. I know.”
She’d been Will’s teacher, so of course she knew. But itwasn’t just that—everyone knew about Marcy. Her tragedy had been big news inGatlinburg. He’d been unable to escape the sad eyes and mentions of being ineveryone’s prayers for so long that he couldn’t even say just when thoseendless sympathies had finally faded away.
If he was going to confess anything to Marcy’s unconsciousbody, he should confess about Hope. But he had a feeling Marcy wouldn’t mind.If anything, she’d have probably been there in Cades Cove that day, strokinghis hair with a spirit-hand and shushing him while he cried and shot his loadin a kind woman’s body. She’d never been the jealous type.
He’d never gone out with Hope again. He felt a little guiltyabout that. But not about this thing with Christopher. He didn’t know why hewas even telling Marcy about it.
“It’s just a date,” he said, taking her hand and moving itaway from her face. The physical therapy was supposed to help the “clawing” effectof shortened muscles, but sometimes her hands clenched up anyway. He’d have toask the nurse about extra potassium. He’d read it could be beneficial in thesecases.
He got the vase from the cabinet, put the flowers in water,and sat it where the nurses could enjoy them from the hallway. He turned theblinds to let a little sunlight in, marveling as always at his compulsion toperform these little rituals even though he knew Marcy couldn’t enjoy them.
Sometimes at night he thought of her in this bed, andimagined the stars visible from her window. He thought of her distant, browneyes that would never see them, and he wished he could forget everything abouthow she was now and only remember everything about the way she’d been—bright,vivacious, smart, witty, bratty, funny, sometimes fragile, and always so alive.
Jesse bent and pressed his lips to her forehead. Her eyeswere still closed. “See you next week, Mar-mar.”
Unless something changes. Unless you canfinally be free.
Jesse was about to leave when he stopped. He turned backaround and looked at the woman he’d once thought he’d grow old with, and feltthat too-familiar heaviness in his chest.
“His name’s Christopher,” Jesse said from the doorway. Andhe lingered, surprised when he added, “He kind of reminds me of you.”
On his way out he absently at the nurses who called outtheir hellos, eager to go pick up Brigid and Will from Nova and Tim. He hopedhis in-laws wouldn’t mind if he stayed to share a meal and wash the taste ofsadness from his mouth.
Chapter Seven
CHRISTOPHERARRIVED AT THE RESTAURANTa little early, still singing something he wasworking on under his breath. He hadn’t written a song of his own since he’dleft Nashville, but after he’d watched Jesse walk away in the parking lot ofSmoky Mountain Dreams, he’d gone home and picked up his guitar, intending tonoodle around until he’d calmed down enough to go to sleep.
Instead, he’d found himself plucking out a new song, humminga tune under his breath, and trying to think of a word that rhymed with “sunrise.”He’d never found just the right lyric, and for some reason it hadn’t occurredto him until he was walking down to meet Jesse for dinner that he could changethe word to “dawn,” which opened up a new range of options.
Deciding that getting his favorite table on the roof wouldmake up for possibly appearing desperate, he ordered a margarita, and sangunder his breath.
“The sky outside my window
is blooming up with dawn
and you’re the one I’m breathing in
