Forever Yours

Aftermath [28]

28. Aftermath

Maureen

"Life goes on though good men die

Life goes on, I forget just why..."

I was flanked by bodyguards as I slowly trudged down the red carpet. The frantic clicking of cameras filled my ears... flashing lights and newsmen calling out questions. Celebrities surrounded me on all sides, glittering dresses and sparkling diamonds... But it all seemed so far away. I stared down at the ground, feeling hollow.

It'd been three weeks.

And not a moment went by since that terrible night at the university that I didn't think about... him.

"Smile!" Henrietta Wilkes, our media agent, hissed at me, a beatific smile pasted on her own heavily made up face. I raised my head and rearranged the stiff muscles of my face. All around, the cameras clicked madly.

Just ahead, my parents and siblings, all dressed in tuxedoes and exquisite dresses, smiled and waved at the crowd. My father was being interviewed by a series of reporters and news people and my mother stood at his side, silent and calm, as always. She looked beautiful in a long white gown, her dark hair coiled atop her head. Diamonds adorned her ears and throat. She held David's hand with her free one and behind her, my brothers and sisters posed and smiled for the press.

Attending social events had become quite the priority for my family. After my rendezvous with the tabloids, our PR people decided it would be best if we presented a happy and united front, attending charity events, speaking at press conferences and presenting ourselves at auctions for overpriced art and antiques. No one was to talk about what happened.

Of course, there was some small publicity concerning the night we broke up. Pictures were posted on the internet and the press had a field day... but Gary and Henrietta were able to do considerable damage control. Henrietta even arranged for me to be casually "sighted" frolicking on a beach in Beverly Hills, wearing a midriff baring top to show my very much non-pregnant stomach. The rumors were only just beginning to subside.

But amidst all the glamour and glitz of our public life; amidst the fake laughter and prepared statements; amidst the pretend fronts and facades... nobody knew the truth.

Nobody but my family.

I knew that my parents were worried about me. I overheard Mom and Dad talking about me last week when I was walking past the library. The door was open a little bit but I paused when I heard my mother's quiet voice say my name:

"She's young, Will...and she made mistakes. But this is Maureen. She's dependable and trustworthy..."

"Not after what she did," came my father's weary reply. "I expected such with Cara...not Maureen. Never Maureen. I thought...I thought I had actually done something right with her."

"You did, John. You did. She made a mistake... but she's sorry, you know she is, and she learned what she needed to learn."

"Why did she do it? After everything - she should have talked to us first, Rose."

"She's terrified of you, John...how can you expect her to approach you about something so tender and dear to her, at the risk of you putting her down?" was my mother's reproachful response.

"I wouldn't put her down." My father sounded genuinely shocked at the idea.

"Yes, you would."

There was a long moment of silence... and then he sighed. "I don't know, Rose, I don't know... I can't help feeling like I failed as a father...I don't know if I'm doing things right, or if I'm just messing it all up. My father was never around, I had no example...I just... I don't know..." His deep voice trailed off, masking the pain in his tone.

I looked down at my shoes and then walked away, not wanting to hear more, my chest pulsing with a dry, dead ache.

My siblings comforted me as best as they knew how. Justin, especially. Almost every night, he'd come to my room and sit on the floor next to me. We'd watch movies or play boardgames. And very understandingly, whenever I teared up or covered my face to hide the heartbreak swelling in my face, he'd reach over and pat my back, mumbling about how he loved me and how he knew I'd be okay and to please not cry...

But to my surprise, it was Cara that helped me the most. One of the first few nights, she came into my room whilst I lay in bed, sobbing, and sat next to me, asking that I tell her everything. I did. We spent hours talking, and she cried with me when I described what it'd felt like to lose him and how I didn't know how I was ever going to make it after this.

When I said that, she leaned over, opened my bedside table drawer, and pulled out my neglected, though much worn, Bible.

She placed it on my lap.

"You'll make it, Maureen," she promised me and I clutched the Bible to my chest, my heart aching.

"Thanks, Cara," I whispered and she leaned over to hug me.

"It's time you get right with God... and then everything will fall into place."

"I don't know if I can," I confessed, my chest aching with sobs. "God must be so mad at me..."

"Have you said sorry? Truly repented?"

"Yes, so many times... over and over again... I still feel so guilty and horrible... and then I miss Ryan and it makes it all the worse..."

"Maureen," she pulled back, gripped my hand, stared straight into my eyes. "If you repented... then you must know that He forgave you. You know that. You know He loves you... and He's just been waiting for you to come crawling back to Him."

"I know," I cried, regret swelling within me as I thought of the weeks stretched behind me that I ignored my Lord and Savior, and how He'd just been waiting for me all along to come back to Him. "I know... and I miss Him."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Crying, I slid off my bed and got on my knees while Cara stood up and left.

-

Staying on my knees carried me through those weeks. It got to a point where if I wasn't praying, I was thinking about praying... it became all I did or thought about, and it was the only thing that kept me - kept me from a lot. Because when I allowed myself to think about Ryan... I wanted to die.

One of those times was when I found a jacket of his in my closet... one that he'd lent to me once and I'd forgotten to return. I took one look at the thing, inhaled the smallest whiff of his scent - and I was hurtling through time and space, finding myself in a wilderness of pain. Instantly, I was sobbing.

I miss you, I wept into the soft, worn fabric. I missed his laugh, and his smile. The way he'd look at me when I amused him in some way, that tender, sweet look in his eyes. I missed the way he'd hold me, and the way he'd take my hand in his, his fingers entangling in mine. I missed his ideas and his hopes and dreams and his aspirations and conversations... I missed his mind and his intellect... But mostly, I missed the way he said my name. I missed the way he'd over-sweeten his coffee. I missed the way he played with my hair. The little things...the little things that made him Ryan.

Oh, God, how can I teach my heart to forget him?