by McLean, Jay
“It’s okay,” I cut in, surprisingly calm. I take my first breath since “grandpa” left his mouth, then offer him a weak smile. I try to joke, “Hundreds of hours of therapy have prepared me for this.”
Leo doesn’t find it funny. He frowns, his eyes filled with sadness. “What happened?”
I’ve thought about this moment, this exact situation, like the many other situations I might face when it comes to Leo, and I know that I have a choice to make. I can either give him the vague just-enough-to-satisfy answer, or I can give him the truth. Every heartbreaking ounce of it. “We should talk.”
Leo
Mia walks me toward a little courtyard right near the spot where Laney was shot because we’re at the same hotel that held the senior prom all those years ago. I don’t tell her this, though, and I don’t tell her that this place brings back some of my darkest memories. I let her sit on a bench, and I sit down beside her. And I don’t say anything, because I know what it’s like to have a million thoughts running through your head, and picking out the one you want to start with takes enough effort.
For minutes, we just sit there, silent, looking at the fountain ahead of us. I can tell she’s crying; the tears are there, but the sounds are not. I want to hold her. I’d give anything to be able to. Or just take her hand in mine. I won’t do either. I’m not deserving of her touch. “It was a heart attack,” she says, her voice so quiet I barely hear her. I don’t turn to her, because the devastation in her voice is hard enough to accept; seeing it would destroy me. Somehow, she manages to keep talking. She tells me that the RV road trip with her grandpa’s friend Philip was actually a trip to Tennessee where Tammy, Holden’s mom, lived. He chose to go there so she could care for him after his quadruple bypass heart surgery that was recommended to him after his first heart attack only months prior. Mia had no idea about any of it. According to Tammy, that was John’s wish, and as much as Tammy didn’t agree with him, she respected that. It made sense now, Mia says, how he was acting when he got back. It had only been four weeks since the surgery.
“I was outside with you when he collapsed,” she says, and my mind is still playing catch-up to all the other information she’s given me that it takes a moment for her last words to sink in. It happened the day I left. While I was telling her that I couldn’t be around her anymore because it was too hard, her grandpa was dying, and she was too busy letting me destroy her.
“The last thing I remember was him yelling at my dad about me, and how to take care of me, and the whole time he was the one who needed taking care of, and I…”
I know I should console her. Say something to let her know that it isn’t her fault, but I just stare at the fucking fountain, and I don’t look away.
It’s the silence that kills me, the moments between her words.
“For a long time, I was convinced that I literally broke his heart.”
My throat closes in, catching a gasp, and I realize my knees are bouncing, my legs shaking. My hands, too. I look down at them, will them to stop, because now is not the time to lose it. When my mind finally kicks in, reminds my body that it needs air to live, I choke on the oxygen filling my lungs as if they reject it, yell that it doesn’t belong there, inside me. Guilt is the most painful emotion because it carries with it a life sentence of what-ifs. And what ifs are the most critical questions imaginable. Like a ripple effect of torture. What if I’d said something on the lake back when we were kids? She wouldn’t have an eating disorder, and then she wouldn’t—
“I thought that him finding out that I was bulimic…” she says, cutting through my thoughts. “I thought it made him feel like he’d failed me somehow, and that was so far from the truth.” Because it wasn’t him who failed her. It was me.
I need to say something. All the words are there, but they’re trapped, and fuck my brain, fuck my inability to speak when I need to. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.
“The church choir sang ‘Lean on Me’ at his funeral,” she cries. “The whole town was there. Every single person. It was beautiful, Leo. How many people he touched in his life.”
I’m still shaking, every part of me, and then a pained sound erupts from somewhere, and I don’t realize until her hand takes mine that it came from me.
“He left you some land,” she says.
Jesus Christ. I grasp her hand tighter.
“It’s not a lot. Just a few acres. I think it was his way of telling you that you were important to him.” She pauses a beat. “I’d like to buy it off you.”
I shake my head, manage to mutter, “I don’t want your money, Mia. You can have it.” Then I press the heels of my palms to my eyes, ease the heat building there, and I don’t feel like guilt caused the tears. It’s something else. Something harder.
It’s mourning.
“I tried calling you,” she whispers, and my eyes drift shut because I know where this is going. “That night, after they, um, they said there was nothing more they could do…”
I find the courage to face her now, and I wonder if I look as much of a mess as she does. Her entire face is wet with tears, eyes red.
“I’m pretty sure you blocked my number and Holden’s… and Papa’s, and I just figured…”
“I thought I was doing the right thing.” It’s such a pathetic fucking thing to say, to admit, and what if…
She sniffs once, nodding, and says, her voice filled with clarity, “You were.”
“Mia, I—” She cuts me off with a kiss. On the lips. And it steals my breath and holds it hostage. When she pulls away, she smiles, and it’s such a contrast to everything I’m feeling, but I want it. I want that smile and that kiss because I’ve never stopped wanting it, but just like that night on her swing seat, I know what this means. And when she stands, I look down at my feet and be the first to actually say it. “Goodbye, Mia.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Mia
When I leave for the airport the next day, the receptionist behind the desk catches me just before I hit the exit. “Sorry, Miss Kovács. Someone dropped this off for you early this morning.” She’s holding out an envelope, and so I take it and thank her. I wait until I’m in the car before tearing it open. Inside is a sheet of paper ripped from a notebook, folded in thirds. Held on by sticky tape is a single pale-yellow flower.
My mom’s up there with him. She spends her days hugging him and fussing over him and loving on him just like you would. I know...
because I have faith.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Leo
I’d spent many, many hours discussing what to expect at the academy with Misty, so when it actually came time to being there, I was prepared. The first week flew by, and before I knew it, it was Friday afternoon. Even though the academy offered housing, I knew from my time living in the dorms at NC State that I’d rather put my head through a brick wall than go through that again. So, it was an easy decision to rent a one-bedroom apartment at one of those long-term places nearby. Luckily, I’d been working with Dad the past year and a half and had enough money saved that I didn’t have to rely on him to make it happen.
The plan is for me to go home every weekend. Leave Friday night and come back Sunday. I wanted to be there as much as possible. For Logan, mainly, but everyone else, too. It’s true what they say—tragedy really does bring people closer.
I’d done okay with the first week’s work. I’d love to say well, but the truth is, I was distracted. And how could I not be? The day before I left to settle in at the apartment, I went to see Mia, and it went about as well as slicing off my own balls. Painful and irreversible. I assume. I haven’t done it. Yet. So yeah, she’s been on my mind—a lot. And so has John and even Holden. The strange thing is that even though things ended so fucking horribly with my time there, when I think of them, I can only see the good times and hear the laughter we shared. And there was a lot of it. The first summer, after Mia left, John took Holden and me to one of his poker nights with a bunch of his friends. The
y were all old, like John. It was at Philip’s house, his friend who took him to Tennessee, and man, Philip was something else. He told Holden and me about his days in the military and all the women he’d “nailed” from his uniform alone. Swear, Holden considered enlisting just on that fact alone. The best, or maybe worst, part was John had bought homemade grappa. Fifty percent alcohol. He made me promise I wouldn’t tell my dad and made Holden do the same. It didn’t end well. Poor Philip probably still has remnants of my puke, as well as Holden’s, in his bathroom. I don’t think I ever saw a deck of cards once.
As I get into my truck in the underground garage and press my keycard to the gate access panel, memories of John invade my mind, causing my heart to fill with the heaviness of grief. I get out onto the road, and the afternoon sun blazes through my irises. I drop the visor, and that’s when I see it, the picture of the water tower Mia had given me. It’s my reminder, my reason. If I turn right, I’ll be home.
I flick on the blinker.
And I turn left.
It takes an hour and a half to see the Welcome sign, the population now 208. This time, I don’t make up stories of births or immigrants finding a new home. I feel like a stranger here, and I don’t think I have the right. I pass green pasture after pasture until I pass Holden’s dad’s driveway and keep going. When the familiar, aged wooden fence comes into view, I smile. I can’t help it. I slow when I see the house, my grin getting wider when I realize nothing has changed. Mia didn’t mention who lives here now, and I know she flew in from New York, so I know she doesn’t. The house and the surroundings are kept, so I assume someone is either occupying it, or Mia’s dad is paying for someone to keep it this way. I don’t know what I’d prefer. Not that it matters. There are no trucks in the driveway, and all the curtains are drawn, so I risk pulling in, just to… I don’t know… look around? The first thing I notice is the porch, of course, and it’s exactly how I left it, how I made it.
I climb out of the truck and stretch my back, noticing the tire swing that has Mia and Holden’s names etched into the rubber. Then I make my way to the porch and climb the steps, light on my feet. I check out the carved letters on the railings. Everything is the same, even the air that fills my lungs, expanding them for what feels like the first time since Mia showed up at my house. The porch swing is still here, but the rocking chairs aren’t. On the railing, there are a bunch of rocks, all different shapes and sizes, and I wonder why and how they got there. I don’t have a lot of time to consider this before a flash of blue floats through my vision—a woman’s walking around the side of the house in a long, light blue dress. A straw hat covers her head, gardening gloves on her hands. I grimace because I didn’t think anyone would be here, and now I have to explain why I’m standing on the porch, practically looking through the windows. “Can I help you?” she asks, and she has gardening shears in her hand. She doesn’t look scared, though. Not even worried. She’s smiling. Weird. She stops at the bottom of the porch, looking up at me. At my silence, she stands a little taller and looks around. “Are you lost?”
I shake my head, find my voice. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I, uh…” What the hell do I say? “I used to know the man who lived here, and I—”
“You knew John?” Her eyes twinkle at the mention of his name.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her gaze drops then, and then moves back up as she sets the shears on the bottom step of the porch. She removes her gloves and sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, but John’s no longer with us.”
“Oh.” She thinks I’m here to see him. “No, I know. I just…” I shrug, then shove my hands in my pockets. “Sorry to disturb you. I’ll go.”
I start down the steps, but she places her hand on my forearm lightly, and when I look at her, she’s smiling again. But it’s sad. So sad. “Sometimes, when we remember people, we just like to be around them. Is this… is this your way of doing that?” She’s scanning my face, as if she sees something there she recognizes but can’t pinpoint. I do the same with her; only I know what I see. She dresses like my mom, talks like her, too. Or at least the parts of her I remember. She’s probably close to the same age as my mom when she passed.
I offer another shrug because it seems like the only thing I can do. “I guess so, yeah.”
She nods at that. “Why don’t you come in?”
“It’s okay. I don’t want to put you out.”
She lets out a small giggle as she makes her way up the steps. “Any friend of John’s is a friend of mine.” I don’t even realize that I’ve followed her up the steps until she turns to me with her hand on the doorknob. “I’m Tammy, by the way.”
The name jolts a memory, and it takes me a moment to figure it out. “Your Holden’s mom?”
Her eyes widen, just a tad. Then she checks herself, starts opening the door. “I am. So you’re a friend of my son’s, too?”
I shrug. Again. “I’m more a friend of Mia’s.”
She freezes one step inside the house and turns to me. She looks at me, really looks at me, and does that face-scanning thing again. After a few seconds, she steps to the side, letting me into the house.
I step one foot in, and there’s no blast of nostalgia because, unlike the outside, the inside has changed dramatically. All the furniture is new, just like the kitchen. It’s what Laney would call “farmhouse chic.” But we’re in a farmhouse, and all this stuff is manufactured to look rustic, and I don’t know how I feel about it. Not that I have a say.
“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?” Tammy asks, and I trail my eyes to hers.
“I didn’t.”
Her smile is flat.
“It’s Leo.” I offer her my hand, and she shakes it.
I’m well aware that she won’t stop looking at me, waiting for some form of recognition to hit. Mia’s told me they were close, and maybe she knows more about me than she’s letting on. So I add, “Preston,” and gauge her reaction to see if that hits home.
Nothing.
“How do you know Mia?” she asks, making her way toward the fridge. She motions for me to sit at the island, and so I do.
I say, watching as she pulls out a jug of what I assume is lemonade, “She spent a couple of summers with my family. Her mom was our nanny.”
She slams the jug down on the counter harder than necessary and cocks one eyebrow. “Virginia?”
I nod.
“Hmm,” is all she says. “So, how do you know John?”
“I spent a couple of summers here, just helping fix up the house.”
She nods, her eyes distant, slowly piecing the puzzle together. “And that’s how you met Holden?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I sit taller as she pours two glasses to the brim. “How is he, by the way?”
“He’s good,” she says, and I can hear the pride in her voice. “He’s in Boston. He’ll be graduating this year, and then God knows what he’ll do after.”
I crack a smile.
“What about you, Leo?” she asks, carefully pushing the glass toward me. “What do you do?”
I take a sip, and before I get a chance to answer, the front door opens. I spin around, just in time to see Mia drop a bag full of groceries by her feet. “Dang it!” she whispers, crouching down to collect her shopping. There are cracked eggs splattered out of the bag, oranges rolling everywhere, and flour scattered all over the place.
I hop off the stool to help, bending down in front of her. My heart thumps harshly against my ribcage because I was not expecting to see her.
Or maybe I was.
Maybe she’s the reason I’m here.
“What are you doing here?” she whispers in a hiss, her teeth clamped, jaw tense.
When I chance a peek over at her, her face is red, eyes wet. “Sorry,” I say, getting to my feet. “I didn’t know…” Didn’t know what? That she’d be here? That she’d be pissed that I’m here?
Mia stands to full height now, while Tammy takes over cleaning the mess on the floor. She moves
to the other side of the island with whatever products she managed to salvage and dumps them in the sink. She runs the tap before turning to me, her arms crossed, eyes everywhere, all at once.
“Mama, mama, look!” I hear from behind me and spin around to see a little boy, around four or five, running up the porch steps. Behind him is a man I recognize as Mia’s dad. He looks different from the last time I saw him. Maybe it’s the lack of a suit, or perhaps it’s his smile. It all clicks then. Mia’s dad, Holden’s mom… the need for the divorce papers. He’s getting remarried.
The little boy swings the screen door open, and I notice the bucket in his hand. He lifts it with both hands and yells, “Mama, look!”
I stare down at Tammy, waiting for her response.
But the response doesn’t come from her. It comes from behind me. “What have you got there, buddy?” Mia asks, voice soft, sweet.
Like her.
I feel her move, stepping around me, but I can’t stop looking at the boy.
“I got rocks,” he tells her, his light brown eyes bright when she stoops down to his level. “Papa and me went to the creek.”
“I can see that,” she laughs quietly, shifting his dark hair out of his eyes. “Papa let you get all dirty, huh?”
“Sorry,” says Mia’s dad, stepping into the house. He quickly glances at me but doesn’t seem to care that there’s a stranger in the room. And that stranger is in the middle of a panic attack and it’s taking everything in me to just… be.
“I got this one for Uncle Holden,” the boy says, taking a rock from the pocket of his denim overalls. “Can we send it to him tomorrow?”
“We sure can. I bet he’ll love this one,” Mia says, inspecting it closer. Then she seems to look at everyone, all at once, before going back to her son. She rubs her hands up and down his forearms, then looks over at me. “Benny, this is Mama’s friend, Leo. Say hi.”