get his emotions in check. But a few tears leak from the corners of his eyes anyway.
He stays leaning against the tree, not moving until his breathing slows. Swiping at his eyes, he leans down and picks up his hammer, shoving it roughly back into his tool belt before he climbs into his truck. After several very pissed off attempts, he finally manages to get the truck back on the road.
Dylan drives slowly this time. Not because he almost wrecked, but because his anger has been knocked down a notch. The pent-up rage he had inside of him got taken out on that tree.
He doesn’t want to go home; he doesn’t want to go anywhere. And he sure as hell doesn’t know how to handle the thoughts he has going on in his damn head right now.
Sighing and with nowhere else to go, he slowly pulls into his driveway. Once inside the house, he dumps his tool belt on the floor and heads straight for the fridge, flinging the door open and staring inside. He just wants to disappear for a while and feel nothing. Just fade away into a warm, fuzzy haze. Longingly, he stares at the six-pack of beer sitting on the top shelf. Instead of grabbing one, he slams the door shut as hard as he can and slaps the front of it. “Fuck,” he yells at the top of his lungs.
Dropping his coat, he opens the door to his garage and fires up his electric heater. Shoving ear buds into his ears, he cranks the music up to the maximum setting. A cigarette hangs precariously from his lips as he starts messing about in his workshop, trying like hell to keep his thoughts disciplined.
* * *
“Myra, here’s some soup. Now I know you don’t want any, but I need you to take a few sips, okay?” Porter says as he gently hands her the cup.
She begrudgingly takes several slurps before shaking her head and handing it back to him.
“I’m going to stay here with you until your friend gets here. I called Erika, and she’s working a double shift at the hospital tonight. Do you want to just sleep on the couch, and I’ll sleep on the recliner?” Myra nods in agreement. “I’ll go get some more blankets and pillows.”
Moments later, Porter comes back down the stairs and hands her several blankets and a pillow. After tucking the blankets around her, he settles himself into the recliner tossing a blanket over his legs.
Within minutes, Porter’s asleep and Myra lays quietly on the couch listening to his loud snores. It doesn’t bother her because she knows she won’t be sleeping tonight anyway. For hours, she stares at different objects in the living room. She tries really hard not to think of Jim, but she slips up often. And when she remembers his sweet, wrinkled face, she can’t help but let out another round of fresh tears.
CHAPTER 7
IVORY, COMFORT
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Myra mumbles. She sighs as she hugs Susie tighter.
“Me too, honey, me too. Now tell me exactly what happened,” Susie says as she releases Myra and leans back against the couch, propping her sock-covered feet on the coffee table.
“It was horrible,” Myra says as her eyes begin to fill with tears. “I was in the kitchen and suddenly Dylan was at the back door with Jim in his arms. And his lips were blue.”
Susie gasps. “Oh my God,” she whispers as she grabs Myra’s hand.
Myra nods and wipes her eyes. “You should have seen Dylan. He tried and tried to bring him back. I couldn’t do anything other than just watch. I felt so helpless.”
Susie nods, squeezing her hand.
“Jim’s eyes were so different. Like the light was gone. You know that saying about how ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul’?” Myra asks as Susie nods. “It’s true. His eyes were lifeless because his soul wasn’t there. They were even a different color.” Tears drip down Myra’s cheeks.
“That had to be terrifying,” Susie says before pulling her in for another tight hug. Tears streak down her face as well.
Myra grabs some tissues off of the coffee table and hands one to Susie.
He stays leaning against the tree, not moving until his breathing slows. Swiping at his eyes, he leans down and picks up his hammer, shoving it roughly back into his tool belt before he climbs into his truck. After several very pissed off attempts, he finally manages to get the truck back on the road.
Dylan drives slowly this time. Not because he almost wrecked, but because his anger has been knocked down a notch. The pent-up rage he had inside of him got taken out on that tree.
He doesn’t want to go home; he doesn’t want to go anywhere. And he sure as hell doesn’t know how to handle the thoughts he has going on in his damn head right now.
Sighing and with nowhere else to go, he slowly pulls into his driveway. Once inside the house, he dumps his tool belt on the floor and heads straight for the fridge, flinging the door open and staring inside. He just wants to disappear for a while and feel nothing. Just fade away into a warm, fuzzy haze. Longingly, he stares at the six-pack of beer sitting on the top shelf. Instead of grabbing one, he slams the door shut as hard as he can and slaps the front of it. “Fuck,” he yells at the top of his lungs.
Dropping his coat, he opens the door to his garage and fires up his electric heater. Shoving ear buds into his ears, he cranks the music up to the maximum setting. A cigarette hangs precariously from his lips as he starts messing about in his workshop, trying like hell to keep his thoughts disciplined.
* * *
“Myra, here’s some soup. Now I know you don’t want any, but I need you to take a few sips, okay?” Porter says as he gently hands her the cup.
She begrudgingly takes several slurps before shaking her head and handing it back to him.
“I’m going to stay here with you until your friend gets here. I called Erika, and she’s working a double shift at the hospital tonight. Do you want to just sleep on the couch, and I’ll sleep on the recliner?” Myra nods in agreement. “I’ll go get some more blankets and pillows.”
Moments later, Porter comes back down the stairs and hands her several blankets and a pillow. After tucking the blankets around her, he settles himself into the recliner tossing a blanket over his legs.
Within minutes, Porter’s asleep and Myra lays quietly on the couch listening to his loud snores. It doesn’t bother her because she knows she won’t be sleeping tonight anyway. For hours, she stares at different objects in the living room. She tries really hard not to think of Jim, but she slips up often. And when she remembers his sweet, wrinkled face, she can’t help but let out another round of fresh tears.
CHAPTER 7
IVORY, COMFORT
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Myra mumbles. She sighs as she hugs Susie tighter.
“Me too, honey, me too. Now tell me exactly what happened,” Susie says as she releases Myra and leans back against the couch, propping her sock-covered feet on the coffee table.
“It was horrible,” Myra says as her eyes begin to fill with tears. “I was in the kitchen and suddenly Dylan was at the back door with Jim in his arms. And his lips were blue.”
Susie gasps. “Oh my God,” she whispers as she grabs Myra’s hand.
Myra nods and wipes her eyes. “You should have seen Dylan. He tried and tried to bring him back. I couldn’t do anything other than just watch. I felt so helpless.”
Susie nods, squeezing her hand.
“Jim’s eyes were so different. Like the light was gone. You know that saying about how ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul’?” Myra asks as Susie nods. “It’s true. His eyes were lifeless because his soul wasn’t there. They were even a different color.” Tears drip down Myra’s cheeks.
“That had to be terrifying,” Susie says before pulling her in for another tight hug. Tears streak down her face as well.
Myra grabs some tissues off of the coffee table and hands one to Susie.
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