I remain motionless in the chair, completely affected and unsure how he can go from the exchange we just had to, well, to him being him. And I’m reminded of his cryptic smile when I offered to run the lines. Wonder if he thought I would find this scene ironic, considering the history between us. And ironic is definitely one way to describe it.
Hitting too close to home is another way.
“I’m glad I could help,” I say when I find my voice again.
“Do you mind if we run through it a few more times so I can tweak a few more things?”
Oh, hell.
And so we do. Each time through, my own emotion becomes more transparent. More vulnerable.
My body more turned on.
The constant repeat of the scene, in the intimacy of the words between two characters longing for each other is almost like foreplay in its own right. The emotion in his voice and reflected in his posture feels so real. So tangible. That with each take I forget he is acting.
But he is acting, Saylor. There is no hidden message he is trying to convey about how he feels about you. And soon he will be running through this scene with another actor. Another woman. Not you. It’s just a role to him. Watch how easily he bounces back when the scene’s over and he steps out of character.
And so when he finally feels satisfied with the delivery of his lines, I need a break from his presence. From the thoughts this entire scene has evoked. From the sexual tension that coats my skin so thick I almost feel it. From the pressure in my chest making it painful to draw in air despite being out in the open.
I opt to go for a walk on the beach to gain some physical distance from him and to quiet the unexpected emotions of the morning.
Funnily enough, the entire time I’m on my walk, I’m thinking of him.
“This place is everything I’d imagined it would be,” I murmur more to myself than to Hayes.
“When you planned your wedding?”
I bristle, but deserve the straightforward question considering we are in the very hotel I had spent hours ruminating over for my wedding plans. I glance over to where he sits beside me at the hotel’s outdoor bar. The drinks are stiff and the food is westernized but it feels good to be out and about in the hotel. Especially because I can enjoy the resort without feeling like I’m being watched since the entire wedding party is supposedly playing golf or at the salon. At least they’re supposed to be according to the handy itinerary on the villa’s kitchen counter.
“Yeah, but there was more to my decision to come here than just wanting a destination wedding. This was one of my mom’s dream vacations. It was always their ‘next trip’ but it never happened. Money got tight. They had Ryder and me. Then came saving for college for us. They just kept putting it off and said they’d go after they retired. . .” My voice fades off, the memories so poignant and real all these years later.
“But they never made it to retirement.” Hayes’s voice is quiet, empathetic as he finishes the phrase for me. He places a hand on top of mine and squeezes it in support. “They were the best. Always fair. So full of love but also strict when they needed to be. Everything I wanted my parents to be like but weren’t. I think of them often.”
“They loved you, too, you know.” It’s important he knows that.
He nods his head as my heart hurts at the thought of them. I miss them every day but something about being here with Hayes—in the place they always wanted to visit—makes it a bit more poignant. And I think of how pleased they’d probably be, knowing I came here with Hayes. Especially since my mom used to always tell me one day I was going to marry that boy. Even after he left when she was nursing my broken heart, she was his biggest cheerleader telling me he was just off growing up but that he’d come back for me someday.
The smile is bittersweet. The memory even more so. The void in my heart from their absence a permanent fixture but feeling a little less empty when I look at Hayes.
I clear the emotion from my throat. “There were so many things they put off doing, waited for, or said they never had the chance to do once they had kids and I . . . shit, I don’t know, Hayes . . . I don’t want to be that way or feel like they did, and never fulfill the things I dream of doing. I don’t want to be in the car on the way to dinner and get hit by a drunk driver and as I die, realize I never knew what those things I wanted to do felt like.”
“I can understand that. Hell, anyone can, Saylor.”
It feels like emotion after emotion is being churned up today and my parents’ death is just the next thing to add to it. The memories hit me like photographs on a reel: the policemen at the door; my screams when I fought Ryder’s arms as he tried to comfort me, when really, he had no comfort to give; the two caskets side by side lowered slowly into the ground. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. The constant cloud of inconsolable grief.