I can't say that this falls within the scope of what I expected to hear today. It's caught me so off guard that I feel as though I've lost my center. Ben is the most skilled lover I've had. He's been able to read the subtle nuances of my body as I near my release. He's taken control of my pleasure in a way that no man has ever done before. It's remote to hear him mention his first experience.
"I didn't know that," I offer unnecessarily. Of course I didn't know. We've never discussed our sexual pasts.
"I was impatient." A deep chuckle escapes him. "I was practically clawing at her clothes the moment she arrived."
I smile at the recollection. He was a young man with no experience who was presented an opportunity he'd likely been longing for. "I bet she was doing the same."
"I was tall and thin back then. I was very geeky." He adjusts himself next to me, crossing one long leg over another. "It was a wonder she even noticed me at all."
He's not looking for a compliment. It's not that he wants me to dissuade him from feeling that way but I'm tempted to point out that if he looked anything like he does now, it's no wonder she propositioned him. "I'm sure you were cute."
"I was eager, if nothing else," he says softly. "I was too eager."
"You were a bo
y who'd never been with a woman before." I tap my finger against his knee. "No one can fault you for that."
"They did then. They still do." There's a small pause. "Noah always will."
The words carry no surprise at all. I bore witness to the veracity of them the other day when I watched Noah tower over Ben, his pointed finger a spear that was channeling every bit of anger that he'd been carrying within his body for more than a decade. The assault of words was violent, direct and laced with a pain that I never knew existed within Noah.
Talking about Noah isn't going to answer any of my questions. "Can you tell me what happened that day?"
His brow peaks slightly as if he wasn't expecting the question. "That day," he repeats. "The day my mother died?"
I nod. I came here looking for a side of the story that made sense. I want to find the good in Ben because I know it's there. I saw it when he cared for me after my fall. I feel it in his touch. I want to hear him confirm it.
"I mentioned before that we were each responsible for taking care of her at different times." His hand runs over the fabric covering his thigh in a lazy circle. "That day I was taking care of her."
"You said your father had taken Noah to a ball game."
"They left shortly before my friend arrived." His head bows slightly. "My father had a rule that we weren't allowed to have anyone over when we were alone with her."
The weight of the responsibility isn't mine to judge. It's hard to imagine laying a person's fate in the hands of a teenage boy. "Why didn't your mother have a nurse or… why …why wasn't someone with medical training taking care of her?" I stumble through the question.
"She wouldn't hear of it." He shakes his head slightly. "At the time I didn't understand it. I was glad to help, don't get me wrong, but it was a lot for all of us to take on. It was the summer right after we graduated from high school and Noah and I were both given eight hour shifts each day to tend to her every need."
There's no spite within his tone. I can hear the faint hum of regret, but I doubt that he wishes the situation itself were different, only the events of that particular day. He's only spoken of his mother with love in his voice. I hear that now again.
"I had to change the oxygen tank that day." His voice grows raspier and deeper. I can sense all the heavy emotion he's feeling. "I needed to do that right after Noah and my father left."
The oxygen tank was at the core of Noah's insistence that Ben intentionally took their mother's life. He had thrown out accusations about Ben deliberately disconnecting her oxygen supply so she'd die. "Noah talked about her oxygen," I offer, trying to spur on his admission.
"I made a mistake." His voice cracks. "I was in a rush to get to the guesthouse to…" his voice fades with the lost words.
"To spend time with your friend," I offer to keep him moving forward. I don't want pointed details about what took place there. I want to know what happened in the main house when he left his mother.
"Yes." He reaches out to run his fingers over my hand. The touch is intimate, comforting and welcome. "She was in my mother's room with me when I changed the empty tank."
The statement is the first step towards my understanding. He was distracted. He was a virginal teenager in a room with a woman who wanted his body. "You were in a rush to change it?"
"I was." He squeezes my hand within his, his eyes dipping to his lap. "I wanted to get to the guest house. I wasn't thinking clearly."
"What happened?"
Time seems to freeze as he stares at our hands, intermingled together. "I didn’t check the hose when I reconnected the new tank. I just assumed that it was fine but it wasn't fastened properly. It fell out of place and she wasn't getting any oxygen."
It's not a slight oversight by any means. It's a life and death mistake that cost him and his brother dearly. "You forgot to check it?" If the words hold any judgment in them, it's not there in my tone.