“What are you doing?” Harper half yells, half whines.
I look down at the car. Her exasperated face looms over the passenger seat.
“Nothing.” I get in.
Harper puts the car in drive and complains about the dust on her dress, but I’m not listening. We are one of only a few cars left in the cemetery.
Ethan’s memorial is over.
But I know the truth.
This isn’t over.
For me, this has just begun.
13
Nick
“Home sweet home,” Mrs. Shepherd announces as we pull into the driveway. She gestures to the two story house as she glances at me through the rearview mirror.
Everything about her seems tired. Her voice, the expression on her face, even her arm gestures heavily.
Mr. Shepherd turns in his seat to look back at me. His eyes are bloodshot. “We’re happy you’re here, Nick. You can stay as long as you like.”
I nod tersely, trying to get ahold of my grief long enough to thank them appropriately.
“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd,” I manage. “It’s generous of you to offer your house.”
Mrs. Shepherd shakes her head. “Call us Evie and James. After all, we’re practically family. And we’re happy to have you here. We have plenty of space…” She trails off, glancing up at the house again.
Oh no. I can’t stay here. I’d just assumed they had another room in addition to Ethan’s. Staying in Ethan’s room? That’s not going to work.
I hate to bring it up, but I’m a direct person, and it will be better for everyone if they know right away how I feel.
Evie and James are already climbing from the car, so I follow them out and around to the popped trunk.
James reaches for my bag, and I reach out a hand to stop him, partly because he doesn’t need to carry my bag, and partly because I’m not entirely certain I’ll be staying here after all.
“I’ve got it, James. Thank you.” Pausing with my hand wrapped around the handles of the duffel, I look at Ethan’s parents.
Today might have been the first time I met them, but it wasn’t the first time I’ve seen them. Ethan had their picture tacked up on the wall in his room in Germany. Right next to all those pictures of Kate.
Beautiful, broken-hearted Kate. She was another person I met today, but feel like I already know.
She’s also the reason I went through with the plan to move here. When Ethan died, that plan almost derailed. If it wasn’t for the agreement we made, I would have gone home after exiting the Army. But staying the course doesn’t mean I have to sleep in Ethan’s room to accomplish what I came here to do.
“Evie and James, I just, uh…” I glance up at the house, at the neatly trimmed lawn, then back to them. “If Ethan’s room is the only one available then I think I should find somewhere else to stay. I appreciate your generosity, I really do, but staying in his room…” My sentence peters out. It’s hard to put words to the pain and anguish parked in my chest. Mere words seem to cheapen my pain.
Evie’s eyes widen. “Oh, Nick, no. We have a guest room. We would never put you in Ethan’s room. We would never do that to you. Or to us, for that matter.” She looks over at James. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his blacks pants, and he stares down at his feet. “For right now Ethan’s room needs to stay the way it is. He was the last to sleep there, and I never got around to washing the sheets after he left.”
I get what she’s saying. She needs his smell to stay there, on those sheets, for as long as possible. My mother would do the same.
I lift my bag from the trunk and sling it over my shoulder. “In that case, you’ve got yourself a houseguest.”
“For as long as you need,” she reminds me, leading the way up the driveway and to the front door.
It’s nice, but I won’t be overstaying my welcome. I might have come here for a specific reason, but I’m going to settle in here. I’ll find a job and get my own place. I’ll make a life for myself.
Aside from my mom, there’s nothing for me back home in Connecticut, and Phoenix seems as good a place as any to start over.
I’m not certain what life after the military holds for me, but I’m willing to find out.
***
Thanks to the Army, I’ve been a lot of places. I’ve met a lot of different people, and learned how much exists outside of my upbringing. A whole world is out there, and I’m just a tiny speck in its existence.
And yet, the feelings of one person can consume them, until their feelings become their whole world. When that happens, a person forgets how many other people exist in the world. They are the one, the only, their pain unique only to them.
Tonight, sitting around the Shepherd’s dinner table, we were three different people consumed by emotion that felt like it belonged to only us.
Evie tried to make conversation, but it was half-hearted. Not that anyone could blame her. I tried to be a good houseguest by responding, but found it hard to engage with any authenticity. And James was pretty much silent. He nodded his head when he was supposed to, but didn’t utter a word. After taking a few bites of his food, he pushed his plate away, waited until we’d finished, then strode away from the table and out the door leading to the backyard.
I watched him go into the little shed at the back of the yard, and thanks to the tour Evie gave me earlier, I know he was disappearing into his workshop.
“Well,” Evie had said, and I knew she was about to say something to excuse James’ behavior, not that she needed to. In my opinion, a man who has just lost his son is allowed to act how he wants.
I stood, stacked the dinner plates, and carried them to the kitchen. Evie tried to shoo me away, but I told her I was on dish duty for the foreseeable future, and she backed away.
After that I went back to my room to unpack and lie down.
Now it’s three-thirty in the morning and I’m wide awake. It’ll take a while for my body to adjust to the new clock I’m on.
I rub my eyes and roll off the double-bed, coming to standing and looking around.
A dresser against one wall, a matching nightstand, and oil painting of a countryside on the wall. It’s definitely not the sparse, military bedroom I’d gotten used to.
Oddly, I miss it. Or maybe I miss the familiarity. I’m sure that will wear off.
Pulling a shirt on, I leave the room in search of the bathroom. When I’m done in there, I take a left instead of a right.
It’s not too hard to find Ethan’s room. It’s the door Evie didn’t open during my tour last night.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob, take a deep breath, then push it open and flip on the light.
“Geez, I’m sorry,” I say, startled at the sight of Evie sitting upright on the bed, her legs criss-crossed.
Her hand flies to her chest in her surprise, then she pulls it away, using it to wipe her cheeks.
“It’s ok.” Emotion makes her voice tremble. She tries to smile at me, but it’s all wrong.
I take a step back but she stops me.
“Don’t go. I need to get back to my own bed, anyway.” She swings her legs over the side of Ethan’s bed and stands. Before she passes me, she stops at his dresser and brushes her fingertips over a framed picture.
From where I stand in the doorway I can’t see what the picture is of, but Evie smiles sadly at it.
“It may sound crazy, but seeing the broken hearts of those who loved Ethan most is oddly soothing. He was so loved while he was here. I don’t know if there’s anything more a mother could ask for.”
She pulls her hand away and passes me, lightly squeezing my shoulder as she goes.
I listen to her retreating footsteps and when the sound disappears, I step all the way into the room and close the door softly behind me.
I’m curious to know what picture she was looking at, so I start there, picking up the photo off the dresser.
Kate.
A younger Kate, her cheeks more
filled out, her eyes bright. She might actually still look like this. Today probably wasn’t an accurate reflection of how she normally appears. Today she looked…well, like hell.
I turn, setting the picture back down on the dresser and taking in the rest of the room. It’s a young man’s room, with baseball posters and hooks where baseball gloves and hoodies hang.
It’s exactly how I pictured his room. We’d had so many conversations about life where we were from, and I knew his love for baseball. And Kate. It’s not surprising to see both themes dominating this space.
Crossing the room, I open his closet and push aside his shirts. At some of the clothes, I can’t help but laugh. There are brands he might have worn four or more years ago before he joined, but never would’ve worn as recently as six months ago.
We did some shopping on our weekends off in between deployments. I remember what he bought, and it didn’t look anything like these shirts with their logos printed on the front.
I’d never wear anything I wore from the time before I joined the Army. Or act the way I acted, either.
I was an angry kid looking for fights, and starting them when I didn’t find any. I thought I didn’t need anybody, or anything, and even the people I called friends weren’t really my friends. They were people who populated my moment, but not my journey.
Ethan was different. He was on my journey. He was the brother I never had, the best friend I never had.
My eyes grow tight, and I blink back the moisture. I’m not good at crying. In fact, it’s one of the last things I’d elect to do. Since Ethan was killed, I’ve cried more than I have in my entire life.
I wipe my eyes on my shirtsleeve and shut the closet door. My eyes sweep the room one more time before I leave, turning off the light and closing the door behind me.
When I get back to my room, I pull out my lap top and run an internet search for EMT job openings. My ultimate goal is to be an ER doctor, and I’d like to stay in the field of medicine while I’m in school. There’s one opening to fill an immediate need, so I upload my application and hit send. Then, I go to the Arizona State University website and apply to be a student, starting in January. I’ll go to the DMV when it opens later today and get an Arizona drivers license and change my residency to Arizona.
I feel a little better now that I’ve accomplished those tasks, but I’ve still got that big task hanging over my head.
The promise that brought me here in the first place.
As I change into workout clothes and slide on my running shoes, I think about Kate. Not the Kate from all the pictures I’ve seen, but the Kate I met yesterday at the funeral.
I expected tears. I expected grief and anguish. But the hollowness, the desolation, the vacant eyes holding no hint of the soul that lay beyond all that?
I did not expect it.
That promise I made is looking like it’s not going to be so easy to keep after all.
14
Kate
Harper is gone. I’m curled up on the couch after the funeral, staring at a picture on the wall.
There’s a knock on my front door. I don’t get up.
“Kate, I know you’re home.” It’s a man’s voice.
Trent?
I open the door. He’s standing awkwardly, wearing an expression like he’s somewhere he wishes he weren’t.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
Trent pushes a white paper bag to my chest. His eyes quickly scan my body, the corners of his mouth turned down.
“Nice dress.” He walks in.
I close the door. The bag crinkles as I fold my arms in front of myself. “Why are you here?”
“You know you need to eat, right?” He throws a look back at me as he walks to my living room. I follow.
“Yes, I know.” Of course I know I need to eat, I just lack the desire to actually do it.
Trent sits on the couch I just vacated. “So maybe you should. You’re wasting away. How much have you had to eat in the last seven days?”
“Nothing I do is any of your business.” There’s no need to play games anymore. Trent doesn’t like me, I don’t like Trent. We’re no longer linked by Ethan. No further need to play nice.
Trent points to the bag. “Eat.”
I open it and find a wrap and a salad. I’m not hungry, but I have the feeling the sooner I eat, the sooner Trent will leave. I sit down on a chair across from him and pull out the plastic containers and a fork.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
His looks at my dress again, his face flat. “Because you look too thin.”
He watches me take a bite. It’s awkward, so I toss the TV remote on his lap.
He turns on a channel I never watch, but right now, I’m grateful for the five men arguing about a baseball game.
I finish my food. All of it. I didn’t taste it, but I ate it.
“Thanks for dinner.” I’m ready to be alone now.
Trent uncrosses his foot from his knee and leans forward. “Is Harper planning to grace us with her presence?”
“She’s on a date. Why?”
“Just wondering.” He studies me. “Someone needs to be here with you. I’m putting you on suicide watch.”
I shake my head. “You can go.”
His jaw clenches. “I’m not here because I enjoy your company. Ethan would have wanted someone to take care of you, and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Somehow I don’t think Ethan would have chosen you for the job.” My comment is snide, and I don’t care. My grasp on sanity is slipping.
“You’re welcome. For the food.” Trent stands and stomps to the door.
“Feel free to call Harper tomorrow morning to see if I’ve killed myself.” If only the sarcasm was realism. I follow him to the door.
“I could do it for you and put you out of your misery,” he mutters as he steps through.
Would you please? I can’t do it.
With one foot I hold open the door. He turns back to me, his pinched mouth showing his obvious contempt.
His hands come out of his pockets and fold across his chest. “Kate, I don’t like you.”
For a people pleaser like myself, this should be terrible news. But I already knew this, and I no longer care.
I cross my arms too. “Trent, I don’t like you either.”
He stares at me, I stare at him. He pivots on one foot and walks away. That may be the last time I see him.
With the door closed and locked, I go back to the couch. I’m alone again, with just my pain for company.
I sit until the setting sun leaves me in darkness.
Tequila. I walk to the kitchen, flipping on lights as I go. On tiptoe I reach back to the farthest corner of my pantry. My fingers snake around the smooth, cool glass. Bottle in hand I reclaim my seat on the couch and take a long drink. The amber liquid sets my throat on fire. Damn, that hurts. I tip the bottle up again.
Ethan… I need you. Please. You can’t be gone. I need to see your face. My memories aren’t enough.
But they are all I have. Memories. And pictures. I have so many pictures.
I put down the bottle, stand up, stumble, and catch myself. Lightweight. My feet are unsteady as I cross the room to grab the photo album off my bookshelf.
I sit back down on my couch with the mammoth book. My hand drags across the dusty cover and over the soft fabric of my dress, leaving a swipe of grayish brown against the red.
This is masochistic. But pain is what I’m looking for. I want to ache.
On the inside cover of the album, written in my mother’s scrawling script, is the word Summers. With that one word, I can smell coconut-scented sunscreen, hear the melody of the approaching ice cream truck and the cacophony of cicadas, recall the utter seriousness of rushing through breakfast to beat Ethan to our meeting spot under the orange tree in his front yard. Summertime meant three months of freedom to build forts, ride bikes, have movie marathons, and stay up until our eyes drooped. And the evidence of it a
ll is sitting on my lap.
So many pages. So much time spent together. My tears splash on the plastic that covers the pictures. It’s excruciating. Just like I want it to be.
The more pages I turn, the more I understand. This album is a tale told through pictures. One by one these memories come together to show me all the years Ethan’s love for me was unrequited.
Tequila.
The grubby, missing tooth pictures steadily change, and that’s when I see the truth of it all. We grew older, became teenagers, and even though I still considered him my best friend, I wasn't as close beside him in the pictures anymore. Our body language changed, and in those teenage years, mine was very different from his. Where his body turned toward me, my body turned away. It makes me remember all the times I’d turned him down but continued to keep him as my best friend. I knew he was in love with me, and even though I told him I didn't love him like that, I still behaved just as I always had, in whatever way made him fall for me in the first place.
“I'm a horrible person,” I whisper.
More tequila. My insides are on fire.
For years Ethan waited patiently, and I brushed him off at every pass. My favorite line was, “You’re my best friend, and I don't want to ruin that.” At the time I'd really believed myself. In reality I was just too stupid to see what he’d offered to me.
My heavy head tips back, and I let the edge of the couch support my neck. The ceiling swirls. I close my eyes to make it stop.
The lyrics of a song I haven’t heard in years float through my head. I need to hear that song right now. Fuzzy eyes see my phone on the coffee table. Clumsy hands grab it. After a few attempts to type in the name of the song, I find it and buy it. Whiskey Lullaby.
The strains of the haunting music go through me, piercing straight to my heart like an arrow. The tequila bottle doesn’t stray too far from my lips as I listen. I hit the repeat button before the song ends. I alternate between taking sips of the liquid fire and turning the pictured pages, an illustration of my history. The pictures grow fuzzier and fuzzier, blurred by tears and tequila.
The Day He Went Away Page 11