Stages of Grace - By Carey Heywood Page 0,41

feel to them, considering I've only known them for such a short time.

I am already feeling sad that my trip is almost half over. When I leave, Ryan will continue his evening dinners and friendship with my grandmother and where will I be? In Ohio, carefully walking up slippery steps to avoid breaking my neck, sleeping in the same bed with someone I used to love. I ponder if the spark of attraction I feel for Ryan might in some way have turned my senses back on to that feeling. That maybe when I get home to Jon, things will be like they had in the beginning when we could barely keep our hands off each other. Everywhere we went, Jon found a patch of exposed skin to caress, the back of my neck, the top of my knee, the inside of my wrist. I had been just as bad, especially with kisses, never being able to stop with just one.

There is something about being at my grandmother's house that makes me want to stomp my feet and throw a childlike tantrum and yell at the top of my lungs, “I don’t want to go home! I want my grandmother.” I keep those urges within, but after a piece of chocolate cake, I sit next to Kate as she knits on her little wicker loveseat and lean into her. Since Ryan also drank wine with us that evening, the bottle had not lasted long. He opens another bottle and fills both of our glasses. I have never been much of a drinker and have drank almost nothing in the past year. This being my third glass of the evening, I'm feeling the effects.

My eyes feel heavy, and I giggle frequently. Ryan studies me as I try to regain composure then asks me out of the blue why marriage isn’t for me. I blurt out, “I don’t love him.” Realizing what I said I clap my hand over my mouth, eyes wide. I giggle as if it's the funniest thing I have ever said, not noticing when my laughs turn into tears. Kate stashes her knitting and pulls me into a hug. Ryan goes inside to fetch some tissues. I shyly take the box from him, wishing to dissolve into the cushion instead of answering the question in his eyes.

Kate, never one to hold back, delicately, asks. "Why are you still with him?"

"I forgot how to be without him."

"Grace, that's no reason to stay with someone."

I'm now hiccupping as I speak. "I couldn't leave him when he didn’t have a job."

"So you were supporting him?"

I nod, dabbing my nose.

"Is he working now?"

"Mm hmm."

"Are you happy?"

My face crumples, and I am too embarrassed to respond so I get up to go to my room. Before I can make it into the house, Ryan is there, pulling me into a hug. I bury my face into his chest as he wraps his arms around me, his mouth by my ear gently murmuring, “Shhh, shhh.” After a moment, self awareness hits me. I feel foolish and stiffen in his arms. Sensing my discomfort, Ryan opens his arms and places his hands on my arms, rubbing up and down as if trying to warm me.

I pull both my top and lower lip into my mouth and bite them, closing my eyes, head tilted to the ceiling. I release my lips. "I'm just going to head to bed."

"Are you sure, dear?" Kate looks at me and then Ryan, then back at me.

Ryan pulls his hands back, putting them in his back pockets, taking a step back to unblock the doorway to the kitchen. I nod and flee. Once in my room, I pull on my pajamas and lie across my bed to finish crying without an audience. Maybe twenty minutes later, there is a soft knock at my door.

I wipe my eyes before saying, "Come in."

Ryan peeks his head in the doorway. "I brought ice."

I scoot back against my pillows, straightening out my leg as Ryan sits on the edge of my bed.

"We might want to take the bandages off and let it breathe."

I nod, reaching to do it myself, but Ryan brushes my hands away so I smirk at him and fold them on my lap. He slowly rolls the leg of my scrubs up to uncover my knee. He's careful as he eases the bandages off. It doesn’t hurt at all until the final bit of adhesive pulls some skin from the sensitive area