The Loss Between Us

by Brooke McBride

"On a good day, three to four hours. Even though it’s March, you’ll heat up, so we may need to rest here and there."

  The trail starts to climb, and I feel a slight burn in my shins. I’m out of shape. I try to focus on the soft breeze and the chirp of the birds in the distance. Spring blossoms perfume the air, and dew sparkles on the leaves of the trees.

  We climb for several minutes before Nash breaks the silence. "So, you mentioned your parents?"

  "What?"

  "That night I was at your house. Do they live here?"

  "Oh, yeah. In fact, they live about four blocks from you, over on 15th street."

  "Is that where you grew up?"

  "I’m not originally from here. I grew up in Springfield, Missouri. Once Jeff and I decided to stay here after law school, they moved here to be closer to us. My mom had been a stay-at-home mom, and by then my dad was retired and they wanted to be closer, even though Kansas City is only a few hours away." I hesitate and take a deep breath. “They wanted to be closer to their grandkids.”

  I feel the blood drain from my face. I don’t look at Nash. I keep my head down and focused on where I’m walking, and he doesn’t respond. I’m not sure he heard me until I feel the tension radiating between us. I’m used to it. People don’t know what to say when I say things like that. I don’t mean to make people uncomfortable; it’s just the uncomfortableness of my life. It’s amazing how talking about mundane, everyday life can detour into sad, uncomfortable, can-we-please-talk-about-anything-else things.

  We climb for a few more minutes, and then he changes the subject. "Did you build your house?"

  I internally thank him. "No, it was in the process of being built, so we got to pick out the finishes and colors and do some upgrades we wanted, which was nice. But it was stressful."

  "Stressful?"

  "Very. Every decision you make feels so permanent, and you can't see it all put together until everything is done. It was overwhelmingly stressful."

  "I can see that."

  As we proceed on our hike, we go back to our comfortable silence and enjoy the scenery around us. That is, until we continue to climb and the trail turns narrower. I realize I’ve started to inch closer to Nash as the edge of the cliff has become more visible.

  Nash starts to shift to my other side. "Here, why don't you switch sides with me, so I can be closer to the edge?"

  "No!" Where did that come from?

  "You sure?"

  I move my hand to my mouth and smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

  He chuckles. "That's okay. But you don't look comfortable over there. In fact, you look pretty terrified."

  I stop to catch my breath and look over the cliff. “I kind of like it."

  He walks up behind me. Heat radiates from his body. Nash isn’t as sweaty as me but I still smell a hint of it. His ragged breathing brushes against my neck and a shiver runs down my spine. Then I feel him take a step back, and I wish he wouldn’t.

  "Why?" he asks.

  I place my hands on my waist and try to figure it out. "I don't know. I guess it's a different kind of scared.” I turn back to him. “And a nice reprieve from what I usually feel. Maybe that was the intervention I needed as opposed to the one my family and friends gave me."

  “Intervention?”

  “Oh, sorry.” I wave my hand and begin to walk again. “Yeah it’s a long story. Basically, my family and friends thought they needed to step in and help me. Needless to say, it backfired.”

  “Well… I, um…I’m sorry to hear that.” He breaks eye contact with me and shifts his weight before clearing his throat and for the first time on our hike, he walks ahead of me. I’m a little jarred by the distance he’s placed between us. But I shrug it off and try to catch up.

  After a few minutes, he stops and looks over his shoulder before saying, "Hope I don't turn you into an adrenaline junkie like me."

  "Well, I see the fascination now. Nice distraction."

  He strides toward me closing the gap. "So I might just get you on Shirley Jr. after all."

  He’s determined to get me on that bike. I tell myself to take a step back and put some distance between us. But my thoughts and feelings aren’t on the same page, not even the same book. The fascination is growing on me, but he doesn’t need to know that. I lean in and whisper into his ear, “Never happening.” Then I take off in a sprint up the hill.

  “Yeah, yeah, run away because you know I’m right.” He yells.

  I giggle and hear him sprinting up behind me getting closer and closer.

  Thirty seconds later we’re both winded and tired so we ease into our normal pace and we continue to climb. I kept my spot on the outside, and I’m enjoying the view. It’s breathtaking. I can’t believe I’ve never seen this before. I try to focus on those views as the sweat drips down my neck and back. With my sleeve, I wipe the sweat that has also formed on my brow. "Man, it's getting hot."

  "We're almost there." Nash took the lead about thirty minutes ago. He was probably afraid if I continued to be in the lead we would never get there.

  "How come we haven't seen anyone else out here?"

  He glances at me. "I think this path is a lot less traveled than the others because of how close to the edge it is."

  "How often do you come up here?" My shins are now officially on fire, but I’m trying to focus on his deep voice as opposed to how much I would like to lie down and die right now.

  "Couple times a month.”

  The climb is growing steeper, and my steps have slowed considerably. “I’m sure I’m the slowest friend you’ve ever brought up here.” I try to say it without being winded, but I fail.

  He switches directions and closes the distance between us. Perspiration runs down the side of his face and disappears under his chin. “I told you, I usually do this alone.”

  I stop. I need a breather. I tell myself it’s from the climb and not the proximity of his body to mine. "So you’ve never brought anyone else up here?”

  “Nope.” He rummages in his bag and pulls out a bottle of water. His Adam’s apple moves up and down after each gulp.

  “Why am I the first?”

  He hands the bottle to me. “I thought it might help."

  I take a sip. "Why?"

  "Because it helped me once…” He’s also breathing hard. “Like an old friend who gave me comfort when I didn't know where to turn. It's peaceful. Gets your blood pumping, and then you see the view.” He shrugs. “I don't know. It helped me see things differently…clearer, so it was just a little bit easier to face the day."

  His description was simple. Nothing special about it, except to me. I feel like he described a salvation I’ve been searching for. I run past him, almost knocking him over. If I thought my legs and lungs were burning before, I was sorely mistaken. I hear my heart pumping. I feel as though my mouth has never tasted water, and everything burns from my thighs to my shins to even my feet. But I don’t focus on that. I focus on the part that could help me. Something that could help me face the day.

  My legs pump, my breath struggles, but I push and push and finally see the crest of the hill. Nash’s boots thump behind me, and I can feel him right there with me. I see the sky line, but I want to see more, so I take off in a sprint. And then it’s before me and I stop, chest heaving. My body tingles as Nash stops at my side, and I get a slight whiff of the scent I associate with him: an earthy cedar combination that brings a sense of peace.

  "Jen, meet my friend. A friend who doesn't talk, doesn't judge, doesn’t offer advice, doesn't even show pity. Just gives you the most breathtaking view and calming feeling you could ever imagine."

  "Wow, this is amazing." Did he just call me Jen? I like that he’s comfortable enough in our friendship to give me a nickname.

  He faces me. "You're right…it is."

  I don’t turn toward him—I can’t. Something in his voice changed, and I don’t have the courage to look into his eyes. Our normal ease no longer feels comfortable, so I walk close
r to the edge. "You can see the whole city from up here."

  He follows me. "You can."

  It no longer looks like the city where I met Jeff. Or the city where we fell in love. Or the city where I planned to raise a family. My mind drifts to the land of I Wish. I wish he was still here. I wish we didn’t fight that night. I wish I didn’t hate him for dying. I wish I didn’t hate myself. I wish I hadn’t lost our child before he or she ever got an opportunity to take a breath in this world. But those wishes won’t come true because what’s done is done. Nash’s knuckles lightly skim my arm and my hair stands straight up in response. I sigh. I must have been in the land of wishes too long, because it feels like he’s attempting to pull me out of it. But let’s be honest, no one is strong enough to do that. Maybe temporarily, but I always end up back there. In my daydreams, in my nightmares. It’s now where I call home.

  "I've always wanted to come up here at night," Nash says with a gleam in his eye. The same gleam he had when he was at the motorcycle show.

  He’s baiting me with a distraction, and I take it. "That we have to do.” I wonder what it would feel like and look like and smell like at night. How different just a few hours could be. I inch a little closer to the edge.

  Nash grabs my arm. “Hey, not too close."

  He’s protecting me again. It feels good to be protected. And not in the way my family and friends are trying to protect me since Jeff died. It’s almost as if they don’t want me to feel the pain. They never talk about what happened. They never talk about him. They never talk about how I lost him. And then our baby. He was already gone, so I can’t blame him for that. The second worst thing that ever happened to me, and the lucky bastard had already left me behind. I reach down and put my hand over Nash’s on my arm. "Thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For bringing me here. For reminding me of a world bigger than the four walls of my house." I glance back over the edge. “A world from this vantage point that I don’t hate.”

  He squeezes my hand, and I feel it all the way to my heart. "You’re welcome."

  I appreciate that Nash knows when to stand in the stillness. He doesn’t know much about me, but in a way it feels like he knows everything there is to know. The only thing about my old life he doesn’t know about is the loss of my child. And there isn’t much to know about my new life. What there is to know, he’s already seen. He’s lived it with me.

  There should be another category in there somewhere. A future category. But how does one even start to think about a future when the only future they ever dreamed of, ever worked for, was taken from them before it even started?

  Chapter 18

  Nash’s posture is relaxed, and his eyes sparkle with a weightless gaze. It’s a look I rarely see him wear. He seems at peace here. "How did you ever find this place?"

  "A buddy of mine.” A little bit of that easiness drifts away as he sits. “A friend of his in juvie told him that they found weed growing up here once, so he came to check it out. He told me about the view and...the steep cliff." He closes his eyes, and now there is nothing but tension. Between us, in the air, in his muscles, in his jaw. He finally takes a deep breath and turns toward me as his eyes drift down. I don’t even realize what I’ve done until his eyes shoot back up to mine. I have scooted closer to him so there is no longer any space between us.

  I should be embarrassed, maybe ashamed, but I’m not. The contact feels good. "Are you okay?" I ask. He swallows hard and then gives me a curt nod. I should pull away, but don’t. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  One thing I love about Nash is he always looks me in the eyes. Yet right now, he’s looking anywhere but. His head bows as his shoulders curl over his chest. "I…don’t know. I…Jen, I...I've never told anyone."

  He called me Jen again. I like it. "It's okay, take your time."

  "I...when I hiked this cliff for the first time, I was on a mission. So desperate. Desperate for the pain to stop, for something, anything to change. I wasn't strong enough to live with what had happened, so I came up here to end it.” The last few words come out in such a hurry that I barely understand him. It’s almost as if he never wanted them to reach me.

  “At the time, I didn't think about it as ending my life. Just ending the pain and the guilt. I couldn't take one more day of having to face it. I felt out of control all the time. On a good day, I tried to live with it. On a bad day, I saw myself as a pathetic loser whose one wish in life was to have died that night too. I was in a constant battle with myself because I survived."

  His story comes to a grinding halt. I remain quiet, hoping he’s going to say more. I hug my legs to my chest and rest my chin on top. I feel the need to shield my heart from whatever else he’s about to say because he was obviously hurt by it. But I’m smarter than that. There is nothing you can truly do to protect your heart. It beats on its own, whether you tell it to or not. It can also speed up, crack, and even fully break without being told. He makes eye contact with me, and I smile to reassure him that I’m here. His shoulders relax, like he’s relieved to have finally told someone one of his darkest secrets. I envy him, because I wish I could do the same.

  "What stopped you that day?" I say it calmly, making sure my voice is even. No judgment or pity, just curiosity.

  He grimaces while looking down the trail we climbed. "Couldn't believe it. I actually still can't. I brought up a piece of paper and pen to write a letter to my family. I didn't have the guts to do it until the bottom of the cliff was staring me in the face. But as I sat down to write it, I only got four words into it when I heard a child screaming, followed by a woman screaming for help. My instincts kicked in, and I dropped the pen and paper and ran toward the screaming."

  "What happened?"

  He points and says, "I ran down that hill and rounded a corner when I saw a woman trying to get her son’s leg free. He’d tripped on a fallen tree and got his foot wedged underneath it. To this day, I don't know how he fell in that position. She told me he was running up the cliff when he tripped and tumbled backward. He was unconscious when I reached them. He had a huge gash on his head and there was a lot of blood. I came to her side, and it took both of us to free his leg. Once we did, we both knew we needed to get him down the cliff and call for help. She had forgotten her phone in her car, and I hadn’t brought mine.” He looks over at me and shrugs. “I didn't think I would need it. I told her to run ahead and get help and that I would carry her son down. The ambulance was arriving as I came down with him. I handed him to the EMT, and the mom threw herself into my arms crying and thanking me for saving her son’s life. And in that moment, I knew. I knew that if I had thrown myself over that cliff, it would have been another waste of a life, and that wasn't the answer. It felt so good to help someone. Almost like I might be able to save myself by doing so. I realized that was the adrenaline rush I wanted every day. The next day I went to Crown William University and talked to an advisor about being a paramedic, and that focus stayed with me until I graduated. It stays with me every day I go into the field. It gives me something to hold on to, knowing that I can save a person or at least make a difference in their life. Even if I hold a kid’s hand while someone checks him over after falling off his bike, I know it made a difference to that kid."

  I regret not pressuring him to tell me what led him to the cliff in the first place. But I won’t break our mutual understanding, and I won’t push him to open up to me. Even though I can’t fathom how someone like Nash could ever think about killing himself.

  "Can I tell you something?" I ask.

  "Yeah."

  "I think you're pretty amazing, and I’m glad that you didn't do it. And you don't only help people in life or death situations, Nash. You’ve helped me just by being my friend."

  He smiles at me, a fascinating smile to match a fascinating soul. "Thanks.”

  The comfortable silence returns, and we both move our eyes to the view in front of us.

  “I was pregnant.” I say it quietly, but i
t’s out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop it. I don’t want to hear it; I don’t want him to hear it. But I want him to know. It’s important to me that he knows. “You don’t have to say anything.” I focus everything I have on the view. The unbelievable view I’m supposed to be finding some sense of joy or comfort in. Yet I no longer feel it.

  “I lost the baby a few days after Jeff died. The doctors tell me it could have happened without the stress. That we would never exactly know why…” I talk about it with no emotion. This part of my life feels detached from me. I can grieve Jeff. That I understand. We had memories that I can lean on. I knew what I loved about him, and even the things I didn’t but still accepted. I wonder if it would have been the same as a mother. That there are things you love about your children and things that you wish you could change. Or is it really unconditional, no matter what, because they’re your flesh and blood? I don’t know, nor do I think I ever will. When our baby died, those feelings and the sense of wonder died with them. I no longer wish to be a mother. If I lost another child, I wouldn’t need a cliff to jump over. I would already be dead.

  I don’t notice him stand up. I don’t notice him step in front of me. But I do notice when his hands grab my arms and pulls me up to his chest. I lean in and hug him back. He tenses at first, but then he inhales and moves his face into my hair. And I hate the fact that there is something so right about being in his arms that I slowly run my hands down his back, and return them to my side where they should be. He pulls back and looks down at me, and then he gives me a tight smile as we walk down the cliff in silence.

  Chapter 19

  We finally reach the truck. Nash walks around to the bed, takes his pack off, and then grabs mine. He reaches into a cooler to hand me a water. "Here, nice and cold."

  "Thanks."

  He pulls one out for himself, and then climbs into the truck as I follow.

  "Man, I’m looking forward to a shower. Good thing I got my water fixed," I say.