#48 The Empty Shelf - An Folamh

I wanted nothing more than to remain in Lyle's arms for the rest of the day, but knowing Grace I figured it was best to keep Lyle's surprise appearance a secret, especially since I got the vibe that Grace had come to the conclusion I was losing sleep over Lyle. I gave Lyle the key to my cabin told her to help herself to whatever was in the fridge and promised that I would cut out of work as soon as possible.

Turns out as soon as possible was 9pm - twelve hours later. Work was busy thankfully and I did my best to keep my thoughts on dusting the lounge and instructing customers on the best hiking paths, but the whole time I couldn't stop thinking about Lyle.

It was seeing her that struck me the most, just having her in my sight brought back a tsunami of emotions equally good and bad. She hugged me with such tenderness that I could feel her fears, she – like I – was afraid of bitterness of anger.

She feared that I resented her for leaving me while I feared she'd blamed me for what happened to Ivy and Beth. Our embrace had taken that fear away, but like anything that'd been sitting for too long the dust that had gathered around it remained. The shelf where I stored my worries was no longer full, but dirty. The settled dust left an outline where my guilt lived, waiting for it to return to it's rightful place.

Balancing a plate stacked with borrowed Tupperware I turned the door knob. It was odd to come home only to find someone sitting on your couch. I'd never experienced that feeling - of coming home to someone.

Seeing Lyle laying comfortably on my lumpy couch with her long legs outstretched resting on my poor excuse for a coffee table I smiled. The table light was turned on casting shadows on her nose running down the side of her face. She was asleep and I fumbled with the door trying in vain to make as little noise as possible. I made it to the kitchen and turned on an interior light to fish for a clean pan.

"I really think you caught my good side." Lyle said from the other room.

Her voice startled me and I clutched my heart. I peered out of the kitchen nook to catch her watching me with lazy eyes. It took me a second to figure out what she was referring to until I followed her gaze to the taped sheets of paper that hung next to me.

The portraits that I'd worked on when we first met. I blushed, I never intended for her to see them. There were three in total - only one of them finished - while the other two were halves and thirds with no outline of her jaw or hair.

"Try not to let it go to your head." I laughed.

"It is your art then?"

"Some of it, yes."

"Where's the rest?"

I chewed on the inside of my lip in a moment of hesitancy before waving her up and ascending the ladder. My bedroom was small and not exactly perfect room for standing so I flopped onto my mattress and Lyle did the same.

She said nothing as she took in the completely covered walls of scrap papers with profiles scrawled onto them.

"Wow." She finally admitted not taking her eyes away from the portrait overload.

"They're all guests at the B&B." I pointed to a young boy with a mischievous smile and a buzz cut. "He stayed with us for around a week and each day he'd sneak a pancake out of the kitchen. We found out after they left that he was keeping them under the covers of his bed." I shook my head at the child's prank.

"And this man," I indicated to an older man wearing a wrap around scarf and fedora, his eyes were sunken and sullen looking. "He stayed after to help me clean up one day because he told me I reminded him of his daughter. She died the year before and he was up in Maine visiting her college friends."

I went on for several more of the guests I felt I knew so well just from the exercise of mimicking their features onto paper. Lyle listened patiently laughing and nodding with me until my stomach gurgled signaling us to go back downstairs.

While on their shopping run Grace and Tony brought back strawberries and blueberries for breakfast – Grace never could resist fruit. I pinched a box or two adding it to our nutritional meal of pancakes and jam. We sat on my bed with our plates in our laps munching quietly until I spoke.

"How are you?" I knew the phrase was so mundane and inadequate but I couldn't go without asking.

"I think you know the answer to that as well as I do." Lyle gave me a tight smile.

We finished our meal in silence.

We were in the kitchen cleaning our plates when Lyle began to share. "I stayed with Beth and Ivy for a few weeks helping Beth recover mostly. She was hit pretty bad but luckily no permanent damage. Four weeks ago the three of us went back to the house and," She shrugged. "It was a fucking mess just like we left it. So they gathered up what they wanted and are staying with friends until they can find a new place. I offered to clean it up to sell and I swear every day I was there I became more angry." She paused lifting her head and looking into my eyes.

"I lost it. I started following Monroe, learning his schedule, his habits, who he keeps close by." She sucked in a breath. "I wanted to kill him May."

I nodded softly accepting her confession. I'd be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind. In all senses of the words I was here because of Monroe, but I couldn't do it. In Lyle's eyes I saw she came to the same conclusion.

Pain manifests itself into anger. At first you know why, it's easy to point directly to the source but as time goes on the waters get muddied and the strings that once connected events to feelings begin to fray. It's like an identity crisis where suddenly it's difficult to recall any single event, action, or even words that don't tie a knot in your stomach.

I struggled for weeks to remember what normal felt like before I met Monroe. What had it been like to be blissfully ignorant of the man who was my father?

That's when you feel helpless. Without realizing it you've marched into the garden shed grabbed the biggest shovel you could find and started digging in no particular place until you'd gone so far underground that the sun couldn't reach you even on the brightest summer day.

"What made you stop?" I asked in a hushed tone.

A faint smile appeared at Lyle's lips. "You."

Lyle offered to sleep on the couch but I ignored the nicety and grabbed an extra blanket for my bed. We lay inches away staring at the crevice of the ceiling, the window behind our heads washed our pillows with dim moonlight.

"May." Lyle whispered.

I turned to meet her laying on my side I observed her face fully illuminated in the dusty moonlight. "Yea?"

Her eyes opened at my movement and she tilted her head to meet mine. Her soft green eyes greeted me and I felt a slight flutter in my stomach.

"I blame Monroe." She spoke evenly. "Not you – I don't blame you and neither do Beth and Ivy."

The statement caught me off guard and I could do no more than nod simply.

Under the covers her hand touched mine lightly before wrapping it into her palm. I closed my eyes feeling secure and for the first time in a long time I slept through the night.

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