Magnolia Road

by J. Lynn Bailey

  Ethan

  It has to be the end. And, if I tell her why, she won’t give me a litany of excuses. Reasons this should work. Because she knows, too.

  I have to right myself.

  I want to tell her so many things.

  I want to tell her what she does to my heart when I see her across a room. I want to tell her what she does to me when she smiles and tucks her hair behind her ears. Or the smirk that she gets right before she says something witty. I want to tell her that the broken pieces of me now live in a not-so-dark place and that life has somehow become brighter with her in it.

  But I don’t say anything. I just give her what I can in this moment, and that’s my attention.

  With the fear, anxiety, anger I had before we came to this bed, knowing that we’d right our wounds, I was full of hatred for myself, for addiction, for war.

  Why Robby had to make the choice to enlist instead of going on to community college. Why Robby’s ex-wife will have to explain to their daughter what happened and how war and suffering are what robbed her of her dad. All this heartbreak could have been avoided.

  I don’t want this for Bryce. I don’t want to be Bryce’s Robby.

  I want to tell Bryce she deserves more than I can give her, so instead, I say, “You’ll find someone who can treat you well.” I stroke her arm with my fingertips, our naked bodies beneath the sheet of lies I’ve tried to tell myself.

  Nakedness with Bryce is like feeling like the whole world is right. That every single thing has its purpose. Every moment. Every situation.

  Twenty-Five

  Bryce

  “You’ll find someone who can treat you well.”

  My mother gave me some sound advice when I was seventeen when I thought Nathan Evans had broken my heart. She said, “Your heart will break, Bryce. Just make sure you pick up the pieces, so the evidence is gone.”

  That moment pales in comparison to the ache I feel now.

  These words from Ethan make my heart break into a million tiny pieces. It’s not because he doesn’t care about me or love me. It’s because he can’t see what he’s capable of, and no one can make him see that except himself. You can’t force it.

  The heartbreak is because nothing was done wrong. To love and not fall is rare, I know. To love and fall is almost always evident. Heartbreak is the consequence of love.

  I can’t convince Ethan that we will work. It’s like waiting on my brother to get sober. He’s not going to get sober until he’s ready. He can’t get sober for me, Mom, or even Dad. Because, when push comes to shove and life gets hard, he’ll drink or use because it’s what he knows. It’s easier. It’s easier than dealing with the awful situations of life. Like Robby. He tried to live with his own demons for a little while. He tried to cope. Tried to be good. But reality, it seems, slipped away and got stuck at the jumping-off place—where life is better lived either loaded or not loaded, and death is a very real alternative to that either of those options.

  His fingertips trail across my back in an I love you sort of way, not in a way that says I need to go, and this hurts even more.

  He pushes his lips to the top of my head.

  Please don’t do that, I beg as the tears sting my eyes. But I can’t bear to bring the words to my lips.

  After what he’s lived through, he can kiss my head. I’ll survive and not have long-term effects from it. Though my heart might not be the same, I’ll survive.

  What we tell ourselves, will ourselves to believe, the circumstances we create, the decisions we make, are indicative, I believe, of our hearts. What we’re taught as children matters. What we’re given in this life is a beginning and an end. That’s it. There are no guarantees. No promises of a fruitful start, middle, and exit. How I choose to live my life today matters in the end. And, if it’s lying here, naked, with a broken man who’s fighting so hard to live without commitments, strings attached, promises of a future, I’ll do it. I’ll do it for Ethan.

  “Biggest fear?” he whispers.

  Ethan’s big hand reaches the small of my back, and I feel the calluses of his palm against my skin.

  Losing you. “Losing my brother,” I lie. I’ve lost my brother already.

  Ethan breathes in and out, my head following the rise and the fall.

  “Yours?” I ask.

  “Living.”

  There’s an emptiness in the room, one that wasn’t here before he said it. It’s dark and heavy, and it resides on top of us like an elephant.

  “Living?” I repeat, turning my head upward to look at him.

  Ethan’s staring straight ahead, and his hand still remains on my lower back. He’s still. And then he says, “I don’t want to end up like Robby, Bryce.”

  What I want to do is sit up, stare him straight in the eyes, and say, You’re not Robby. You’re Ethan. And you won’t, so stop talking like that right now. That’s what fear wants me to do.

  But, instead, I remain still. Ponder in the quiet seconds that pass. The truth is, I don’t know if he’ll end up like Robby. I don’t know the extent of his trauma. “Here’s what I know about you.” I bring my head down, so I’m staring at the same blank wall he is. “You’d rather break my heart than give me any less of a man you think I deserve. You traveled three hours to be there for Robby’s mom while he lies in a hospital bed. You’d rather deal with your problems than run from them.”

  Ethan’s head jerks back to me with a look like, How’d you know?

  “Saw James’s card on your floor in your house the other night. Must have fallen out of your wallet or something.” I take in a breath, my lungs expanding against his side.

  The truth is, I can’t speak from experience when it comes to what Ethan and Robby went through. What they had to do. But what I can do is speak truth. Tell him what I know about him. Because, when we’re stuck in our heads, we can make ourselves into people we’re not. Both good and bad.

  My phone vibrates in my purse. I try to move, but Ethan’s grip tightens. I look at him, and he meets my gaze. Except it isn’t Ethan. It’s a man who needs his soul to heal. It’s a man whose look has changed to reflect his insides.

  And then he says something that makes me see him for the vulnerable man he’s becoming, “Have sex with me again? Please, Bryce.”

  He doesn’t ask to make love. He doesn’t ask for anything else but my body. Not my heart. Not to have my toothbrush at his house. Doesn’t give me a million reasons why I should. It’s a simple question. I have a simple answer. I crawl on top of him, and we have sex one more time before we go back to the hospital.

  “He’s getting better,” Maria says, a small tinge of hope in her eyes.

  We’re in the hallway light. This time, it’s dark outside. A few of Maria’s brothers have dropped in, but other than that, the rest of the family is distant. I get that. Understand it.

  Everyone has left Maria here at the hospital, I think to myself, and yet she remains vigilant. Standing by her son’s side.

  A true test of a mother’s love. A man who steals from you to feed his disease, yet you still stand for him. A curse and also a blessing. A blessing knowing you’re still taking care of your son, so your heart can rest in ease.

  I remember, when I went to an Al-Anon meeting, a man whose brother was addicted said that his brother finally got sober when their mother died.

  He said, “Finally, our mother wasn’t there to pick up the pieces anymore, and he was able to find his bottom.”

  The blessing part of this is, I’ve never seen a stronger love than a mother has for her child.

  “He’s going to be okay, Ethan. Go home. Take care of yourselves, your lives, Each other. I’ll call you if anything changes.” Maria smiles, touching my arm. “Besides, my brothers are here, so I’m not alone; I know that’s what you’re thinking, Ethan. Don’t worry. I’m all right.”

  “You’ll call me if anything changes?” he asks, but more as a reminder.

  “Promise.”

  Ethan looks to me
. “I’m going to go say good-bye to Robby.”

  I nod and smile. “I’ll be here.”

  Ethan walks back into Robby’s hospital room.

  Maria’s eyes fill with tears. “Thank you for coming here with Ethan. I prayed that he’d find a nice girl. Watch over him, Bryce, will you?” she sighs. “Ethan is such a good man. There aren’t very many differences between Ethan and Robby, but the one thing I can see between the two of them is, Ethan has the ability to love with his whole heart. Robby did at one point, and maybe that’s the moment when he started turning to drugs because it hurt too much.”

  “I will, Maria. I promise.”

  She wraps her arms around me, and I feel the tension leave my shoulders. Or maybe it’s acceptance of the situation. I’m not sure. There’s nothing awkward or stiff about this hug; it’s warm and genuine. Robby grew up his entire life receiving these kinds of hugs from his mother. It also makes me think that, alcoholism or drug addiction, they don’t care what kind of parents you have, what kind of car you drive, the profession you live. It doesn’t matter. The disease doesn’t care whose heart you break even if it is your mother’s. It wants you dead.

  Maria’s phone rings. “Excuse me, Bryce. I need to take this.” Maria puts her cell phone to her ear. “Hola, Jesus.”

  I walk down the hallway to the elevator and take the journey down to the ground floor. Ethan will figure out where I am. I’d hate to interrupt his time with Robby.

  The elevator doors swoosh open, and I’m met with a sterile scent and the smell of rain. I look outside and notice the ground is wet from fresh rainfall. I pull my hood over my head and exit the hospital, making my way to Ethan’s truck.

  As soon as I slide into the truck, the rain starts again, bringing its fury. It’s the calmness of the mood. The rain brings my tears maybe. Or the realization I’ve just discovered. My brother could very well die from this disease. I pitied my mother for wanting so badly to save her son. Looked down upon her. Gave her excuses why her help wouldn’t work, only for those excuses to be thrown back in my face when I saw Maria’s tired, sad eyes. Really what my mother has is hope. A hope she clings to every night before she goes to bed. Prays to God that he’ll save her son. I shamed her. Gave her my wrath and a litany of reasons she should walk away. And all I was running on was fear. Trying to protect my own heart. Maybe hers, too, in some weird way.

  I’m an awful daughter.

  All my father wanted was for me to call my mom once in a while. Give her a reason to keep moving forward, and all I could do was give her hell.

  My hands start to shake. Grow damp with nerves. Regret. Guilt.

  The raindrops ting off the truck like bullets of vengeance.

  How could I have been so selfish? How come I didn’t see this before?

  I pull out my phone. For the first time in a long time, I need to hear my mother’s voice. I try to dial her number, but my hands are too shaky. Instead, I drop my phone to my lap, rub my eyes, and then slide my hands through my hair.

  Fear is the root of anger.

  “Regrets are for those who refuse change.” Ethan’s words sting my thoughts.

  Regrets.

  Are.

  For.

  Those.

  Who.

  Refuse.

  Change.

  Ethan’s body pours into the driver’s side, just like the rain. He fits next to me just like we’ve been doing this for years. He looks at me.

  The rain falls, and yet the silence between us calls loudly.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  Twenty-Six

  Ethan

  Our drive back to Granite Harbor in the rain creates some peace in me. One I haven’t felt in a long damn time.

  I look over at Bryce, who’s staring out the window.

  “Maine in the fall is better in the rain,” she says.

  “Why?”

  “It gives me a sense of ease.” She turns her head from the window to me. “Because it makes me feel like I’m home. Like there’s no place else I’d rather be. Los Angeles is a commitment. You commit to the 405 Freeway every morning for stop-and-go traffic. You commit to trendy restaurants and size zero jeans. You commit to the fast pace. Convenience, which, also has its perks, by the way. But you commit to a lifestyle you’ve grown accustomed to. You try to convince yourself you’re better suited for the convenience, pace, traffic, and the waistlines you’ll never fit into. You try to convince yourself you’re groomed for a life on the fast track.”

  She pauses and looks back out the window to the beauty I’ve seen for most of my life. Beauty that is somehow unappreciated or unnoticed now on my end, maybe because my perspective is tainted.

  “I like how Granite Harbor has only one grocery store. I like how Lyn from Level Grounds remembers my name. How you have the Fall Festival and everyone comes together. I like how you’re the reigning champ at the hot dog eating contest, and everybody knows it. I like how you still spend time with the people you grew up with, Ethan. And I also love how Granite Harbor begins to grow on you, even when you least expect it. I like all that.”

  “You know that living in a small town also has its disadvantages, right? Gossip spreads like wildfire. And you can’t catch a break when you’re eleven years old, and you’re riding your bike down Main Street when you told your mom you’d be at a friend’s house. Someone will inevitably rat you out.” I smile.

  “At eleven years old, Ryker and I would ride our bikes down Sunset Boulevard, trying to ditch our security team that Dad demanded we have.”

  “Did you succeed?”

  She laughs a soft laugh. “No. Little did we know, they put tracking devices on our bikes after our first attempt to outrun them.”

  We pull into Granite Harbor. It’s past eleven as the relentless rain pours down. We’ve had a long day, and I can tell Bryce is tired just by the way she’s quiet. We pull up to her place, but something is off. Something isn’t quite right. Maybe it’s my military training. My instincts.

  “Wait here.” I undo my seat belt, hop out of the truck, and grab my gun from underneath the seat.

  “What the hell is that for?”

  “Stay put. And lock the doors once I shut mine.”

  “Ethan? What is it?”

  “I’m not sure, but something isn’t right.”

  Quietly, I let the door close on its own as the drops of rain meet my hair, face, neck, and clothes. I walk around to the other side of the truck.

  I sigh when I hear breathing behind me. “Thought I told you to stay in the truck,” I say through the rain that surrounds us.

  “Guess I didn’t hear that part.”

  “Liar. Stick close behind me, do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  We creep onto the porch, and the front door is ajar. Right now, I hate the rain because I can’t hear a damn thing.

  “Put your hand on my left hip and keep it there. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes.”

  She puts her hand right where I asked her. This is reassurance for me that she’s with me at all times, and I don’t have to look down or behind me to know she’s there.

  I push the door open to a dark house and flip on the living room light.

  My gun drawn, I survey the living room, which has been ransacked. The coffee table is overturned. Drawers in the entertainment system have been rifled through.

  We quietly make our way to the kitchen and dining room where drawers have been pulled out, and cupboards have been gone through.

  “He knows I’m here, Ethan.” I hear the fear in her voice.

  “Call 911.”

  After Granite Harbor Police are through, I shut the door behind the last officer.

  “You’re staying at my house tonight.”

  She smiles from the couch that she sits on. “I thought this was your house.” She uses her wit in moments of fear.

  “My other house.” I sit down next to her. The rain has ceased
somewhat.

  “Nothing’s been stolen. It’s him, Ethan. I know it. He knows I’m here. Besides, when’s the last time there was a break-in in Granite Harbor?”

  “I’m sure it’s documented in the newspaper somewhere.” I try to smile.

  She doesn’t laugh. “I have to call Ryker to warn him.”

  “They dusted for prints, Bryce. Don’t worry; they’ll find him.”

  She shakes her head and bites her thumbnail. “No, you don’t understand. Luke doesn’t do his own dirty work, Ethan. He probably sent the mob or some crazy parolee looking for a quick job. Probably had him search for an address or something.”

  There’s a knock at the door, and she jumps.

  “Don’t say anything about Luke to the police, please. Let them find him on their own,” she whispers. “It’s too much to risk.”

  “I got it,” I say, placing a hand on her lower back as I stand.

  I walk to the door, and it’s Officer Lent.

  He’s pointing to the back of the house. “Were you—or did you, uh, drink coffee and smoke cigarettes in the area behind the house?”

  “No. Why?” I say.

  “You’re going to want to come see this, Warden Casey.”

  I turn back to look at Bryce and motion my head toward the door, thinking there’s no way in hell I’ll leave her to sit by herself in this house. “Come on.”

  She takes in a big breath and lets it out as she stands.

  In the dark and the drizzle falling from the sky now, with flashlights, we make our way to the back of the house that opens up to a wall of tall trees. We give space around the chair where the beam of light hits, so we don’t destroy any evidence.

  Officer Lent stands behind the chair and shines the beam straight into the bedroom Bryce sleeps in.

  All of the air leaves me. I want to breathe, but I can’t. I want to fucking punch something, but I can’t. My stomach lurches forward. All the nights Bryce has changed in this room. Slept in this room.

  “I take it, this is news to you both?”

  “Yes,” we reply in unison.