“Honey?”
My mom’s voice comes through my bedroom door.
Crap. I get out of bed and look at my reflection. Under eye bags? Check. Pajamas? Check. Greasy hair? Check.
And it’s six on a Saturday night. She’ll have a field day with this.
“Come in.”
Her head peeks around the door first, then she walks in all the way. What was she looking for before she decided to commit to a full entry?
“Hi, Mom.” I watch her take me in. “What are you doing here?”
She tries to hide her shock, but I see it anyway. She has a terrible poker face. Her lips purse, her eyes get bigger.
“I was in the area. My financial planner is nearby. I honestly don’t know why I need one, but your father liked him a lot.” She leans into my dresser mirror and fiddles with her hair. “I guess I keep him because the appointments remind me of your dad.”
She flips back around, her face hopeful. “Is there anything you do to remind you of Ethan?”
Her voice is soft, cautious. She’s treading lightly, like I’m an agitated animal. Don’t poke the bear.
“No,” I hear myself say. Unless you count getting drunk every night so that my brain conjures up memories and has vivid dreams. Then, yes.
She studies me. I want to shrink into my bed and hide under the covers. I don’t want to talk any more.
When she takes my hands I almost cry. Almost. I could do it. Right now. I could open up and let her in. Tell her I don’t have a heart anymore. That I don’t feel anything. Anything. I live only for the nights when my world transforms and I’m whole again. That’s when Ethan is alive, and we exist.
I choke back the words. Letting them out could be a step toward recovering. And if I do that, I’ll lose him. Again.
My mom steps back and drops my hands. Her lips press tightly together as she regards me. I wait for her to say more, to ask me again to open up. Her lips part.
“Want to get dinner?”
I’m so relieved by her invitation that I accept it. As long as we leave Ethan out of the dinner conversation, I can go.
Her lips twist into a half-smile. “Would you mind taking a shower?”
I laugh. Not a real laugh. An involuntary chuckle. Something in my brain knows this is funny, but my body doesn’t feel the happiness that comes with laughter. It’s an automatic response. My mom doesn’t know that, though, and she laughs too. The hope is back on her face.
“I’ll be out in ten.”
“Don’t rush.” Her face is lit up. “I’ll look for a good place while you’re getting ready.”
I grab an outfit from my closet and walk to the bathroom.
When I pull on my jeans I realize how long it’s been since I’ve worn them. It’s been work clothes and pajamas for almost three months.
I come out of the bathroom and find my mom bent over the open drawer of my nightstand. “What are you doing?”
She jumps. The drawer bangs shut.
“Umm, I was just, uh…” She blinks a few times in a row.
“What were you trying to find?”
“A journal.”
I roll my eyes. I haven’t kept a journal in years.
“Honey, I’m worried. Give me a break. You’re my daughter. You won’t talk to me. It’s been three months since Ethan died.”
Not three months. Two months and twenty-seven days. I turn away from her words.
“Kate, please. You need to talk to me. You need to talk to someone.” Her voice breaks on the last word. “I’m scared for you.”
“I’m fine. Okay?” My tone is harsh. “I’m fine.”
“I’m your mom. I love you more than anyone else. And I know how it feels to lose the love of your life. If there’s anybody who could understand what you’re feeling, it’s me.”
“Stop, Mom. Just stop!” I walk to the dresser and attack my wet hair with a comb. It hurts, but I don’t stop. “I don’t want to talk. And I don’t want to get dinner, either.”
She crosses her arms and stands straighter, eyes piercing me. My brother calls it her Showdown Stance. It makes me feel like I’m in high school again. “Nick said he’s sent you three emails. Why don’t you respond to him? He could help you deal with things.”
Unless Nick can make me dream of Ethan like my good buddy vino, I'm not interested.
I shrug again.
“You haven’t talked to Evie.”
“No.” I look down at the tan carpet and push my big toe in between the fibers.
“She’s been calling you. Just like I have. We’re both worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I mumble.
“She wants to see you.”
I want to see her too, but I can’t. I can’t risk losing Ethan. Evie will want to talk. She’ll try to make me feel better. And if I do, he’ll go away. Not happening.
I have to say something to get Mom off my back. “I’ll call her.” I move around my mom and grab my purse off the bed. “I changed my mind about dinner. Let’s go.” I start for the door.
“One day, you’ll heal. Promise.” Her whisper reaches out, finds me where I walk ahead of her. I’m not sure if she meant for me to hear her. But it doesn’t matter.
She’s wrong.
19
October
“I’m here. Don’t you know that I’m here? I haven’t gone anywhere.”
He’s leaning over me where I lie in my bed, wearing a blue shirt the color of a cloudless day.
“You look sick.” Concern steals the smile from his face. “What’s wrong?”
Tears slide out of the sides of my eyes. “You’re dead.”
Ethan shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”
I can’t focus. Not after the dream I had last night. And Lynn is going to be very unhappy if I’m not prepared for the meeting. I was supposed to send my notes to Sarah yesterday. I sit back in my chair and stare at the blank computer screen. Ethan said he was alive. My mind replays the dream again. And again. And again. In all my other dreams Ethan never says those words.
At five minutes to eleven Sarah walks into my little space and leans down. “I never received those notes on Reynolds and Leyva.” She looks at my computer, like perhaps they will be on it, waiting to be printed. I look down at my shoes. I can’t see Sarah’s frown but I’m certain it’s there. She sighs. “Let’s go to the meeting.”
On heavy feet I walk beside her. This is so unlike me. My nervous stomach churns.
We sit in our normal seats. Lynn starts the meeting like she always does. We take turns discussing our current workload in the same order we always go in. Everything works like clockwork, until Lynn turns to me.
“Kate, what do you have for us today?” Her cool eyes gaze at me expectantly. I used to be her star. The thought saddens me.
“Well,” I take a breath, my brain scrambling. “Reynolds and Leyva are back with a request to paint them as a law firm for the people. They feel they’ve gotten away from the smaller cases that are their bread and butter and they need to remind the public they are still the ‘guys on the ground’. Their words.” That was pretty good. Hopefully Lynn glosses over my brevity. And the fact I don’t have an action plan to share.
Lynn props an elbow on the arm of her chair and rests her chin on her fist. “What about the other issue with Reynolds and Leyva?”
I gulp.
“What other issue?” I arrange my features into a concerned, confused look. It’s not too hard. The consternation I feel is genuine. My embarrassment is genuine, too.
Lynn’s expression doesn’t change, but the disappointment is there in her eyes. “Reynolds and Leyva are considering creating their own PR department. Their email stated this.”
Shit… How did I miss that?
I want to look away and drown in my mortification, but her dismayed eyes hold me. After a few seconds she bends over her paper and jots something down. I know it’s a note about the most current state of the client, but I wonder if she’s added s
omething else. Something like, Kate is distracted and showing poor performance. She looks back at me. “They’ve been your client for three years. You need to show them why it’s more valuable to stay with Simone. Make them see why you’re better than an in-house shop.” She says it, and I wonder if she really believes that I’m better, or if I only used to be.
I nod my head vigorously. “I can do that.”
Lynn regards me for one more moment before she moves on. I look away too, only to meet a bevy of stares. Some curious, some befuddled, and some smug.
I’m one of the last people to leave after the meeting is over. Sarah’s waiting for me when I walk out. She looks at me with sad eyes.
“I say this out of love: Get it together.” She turns and walks quickly in the opposite direction of her cube. I shrink back into the conference room and close the door, the tears flowing.
Another person who is right. My mom wants me to talk to her about what I’m going through, and she’s right. Harper wants me to move on, and in a twisted way, she’s right. Sarah wants me to get my professional act together, and she’s right. But they don’t know what I know. They don’t know that Ethan comes to me at night, in the darkest part of my grief, and kisses my tears.
I won’t give that up. Not for anything. And I don’t care that it’s not right.
I know what I have to do when I’m finished with work today.
***
The sun is low in the sky but I think I can make it up and down Camelback before nightfall. I lace up my tennis shoes and start on the trail.
I’m here for one reason only.
If there’s any chance Ethan is alive, this mountain is where I’ll find him. When I get to the top and the breeze lifts my hair, I’ll feel him.
I make good time, despite how out of shape I am. The path is familiar, and the reason why I know it so well is painful.
I make it to the top and walk the perimeter of the large peak. Where are you, Ethan?
I go to the flat rock, the one I sat on with Ethan dozens of times. My eyes close. I inhale deeply, the smell of dirt and sweat filling my nose.
The last time we were here together, you kissed me. I sat here, and you kissed me. Please come back to me. You told me if I waited, you would come for me. I’m here. Please come for me.
Nothing.
My eyes squeeze tight. Why can’t I feel his touch on my hand? His fingertips on my shoulder? You said you're not dead. You said you haven’t gone anywhere.
I wait.
Nothing happens.
I wait longer.
Finally I open my eyes. I’m alone on the mountain. The bottom of the sun touches the top of the horizon.
“Where are you?” I scream, my voice falling to the houses and cars below me. My hands swipe at my cheeks. I look at them, see the dirt on my palms streaked from my tears.
He’s not here.
Because he’s dead.
Stupid. So stupid.
I go too fast on the way down, trying to beat the setting sun. I’m not surprised when my foot slides on loose dirt and I fall. Hot pain rides up my leg.
I grunt and stand. I try to put weight on my foot. It’s okay. I think it’s okay. I take a step. Pain shoots up.
“Shit,” I mutter, reaching to my back pocket for my phone. It’s not there. I look around and spot it a few feet away. I sit down and reach, but my outstretched arm isn’t long enough. I crawl, wincing at the gravel digging into my knees, and get my phone.
“Harper, thank God,” I say when she answers.
“What’s up? I’m working.”
“I need help. I fell on Camelback, and I think I sprained something.”
“Are you on the trail right now? It’s almost dark!”
“I need you to come get me.” I reach for my water bottle that rolled to the side of the trail and take a long drink.
“Can’t. I’m running an event for a very needy woman. If I leave she’ll throw a fit.”
I balk at her refusal while I’m still drinking and end up coughing on the water. I recover and toss the bottle aside, my panic rising.
“I need help!” The sun seems to dip lower with every word I speak.
“Call Nick. He’s probably the only person strong enough to carry you off the trail.”
“I don’t have his number.” My voice breaks, the stress seeping through.
“I do. I’ll call him.”
“Don’t, I’ll—”
Harper hangs up.
I sigh and carefully turn over to sit. In the rapidly waning sunlight, I study my ankle. It doesn’t look injured.
I stand. It doesn’t feel horrible. It hurts, but it’s not excruciating. Maybe I can hobble down.
I step.
Pain ricochets through my ankle and up my leg, and I drop, my body falling sideways. Needles stab my left arm. “Shit. God, that hurts.”
My upper half is off the trail, arm resting on a low-lying cactus. A burning sensation moves over my arm. Using just my right hand, I hoist myself up and shift my body away. My left arm screams, but I use it anyway to move myself all the way back onto the trail.
The sun goes down fast in the desert, and I’m already losing light. Using my phone's flashlight, I study my arm. Thick, waxen cactus needles stick in the tender flesh. I'm able to remove a majority of the needles with my fingers, but there are a few that won't budge.
I hiss in frustration. I want to hurl my phone.
Keep trying. You have nothing else to do. Except sit here and wait for a rattlesnake to bite you.
I'm using my teeth to pull out the last needle when my phone rings. I stare at the ten digits for a moment before realization dawns.
“Nick?” My voice is shrill.
“Where are you?” His voice is strong. Not panicked.
“On Camelback mountain. Don’t go out of your way. I can call Zane. I'm sorry Harper interr—”
“I'm already here. Yell for me.”
I look out into the dark, even though I know I won’t see him. “Umm…okay. What should I yell?”
“Help is traditional. But let's try something else.” I hear the scrape of sandy dirt moving. He's walking. “Yell your favorite color.”
“Pink,” I call out.
“Ketchup or mustard?”
“Mustard.”
“You have to yell it.”
“Mustard,” I yell.
“Vanilla or chocolate?”
“Strawberry.”
“Yell it.”
“Sorry. Strawberry!” I turn my face up and belt out the word.
“I heard that one. I'm getting closer.” He breathes loudly into the phone.
“You sound like a hurricane.”
“What?” he asks. More huffing.
“You're breathing into the phone. It sounds like a hurricane.”
“You try running on a trail.”
I glance down at my ankle. “I did. That's how I got into this mess.”
“Good point. I'll slow down.”
I turn my head. There's light from the city in the distance, but it's not enough to let me see anything close to me.
“Do you like eggs scrambled or over-easy?”
“Scrambled,” I shout.
“You don't have to yell anymore now that I've heard you. I know your approximate location.”
A warm blush hits my cheeks. “Okay.”
“We're going to play a game where I ask you a question and you answer without thinking.”
“Isn't that what we've been doing?”
“You've been avoiding me. Yes or no?”
“No.” I pause. “Yes. But not on purpose.”
“You read my emails. Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“You wish you hadn't agreed to be my tour guide. Yes or no?”
“Yes.” I bite my lip.
“You miss our best friend. Yes or no?”
“Of course.”
The sound of gravel crunching reaches my ears. And it's not just through the
phone.
“Is that you?” My heart beats faster. An arc of light shines out across the mountain near me. “Do you have a flashlight?”
“No.”
“What? Who the hell else is out here right now?” What if it's a crazy person? What if they drag me away before Nick can get to me? What if—?
Nick appears around the curve of the trail.
“It is you!”
Relief makes me sag back on my arms. The left one protests, even with the absence of cactus needles.
“What's on your head?”
Nick hangs up the phone and jogs the last ten feet.
When he reaches me he bends down so we're eye to eye.
“It's a headlamp. I wanted to keep my hands free.”
“Do you keep one lying around?”
“I had it in Afghanistan.”
“It's…interesting.” I want to laugh at the band around his forehead.
He smirks. “You can laugh at me later. Are you ready to get out of here, or did you want to do a little star gazing?”
“Screw the stars.”
He places one arm under my bent knees, the other around the middle of my back, and lifts me into the air.
“I'm going to take it slow. If we both fall it’ll be bad news.”
I nod. I haven't been this close to anybody in months. Harper doesn't hug me. Even when she knows I'm struggling. Which is all the time.
I hold my head away from his body, but my nose turns in. I just want to smell him. Maybe he smells like Ethan.
I sniff slowly, so I don't make any noise. He doesn't smell like Ethan.
Nick smells like sweat and some kind of body wash.
I peek up at his face. His jaw is very square. And his nose looks like it's been broken before.
“Are you doing okay down there?” He keeps his eyes ahead.
“You've had a broken nose. Yes or no?”
A flicker of something goes through his eyes. “Yes.”
“You're having a hard time dealing with Ethan's death. Yes or no?” His eyes stay focused on the terrain as he asks me the question.
I suck in a breath. “Yes,” I whisper.
Nick steps down hard off a rock and my teeth clatter. “Sorry. I'll be more gentle.”
The Day He Went Away Page 14