He grins. “That place is awesome. Do you go?”
“Not in a long time.” The scent of old paper sticks in my nose and makes me nostalgic.
“Why not?” He leans his forearm against the side of the bookshelf.
“My mom took me a lot when I was younger. But then my dad wanted me to start trying other things, so I stopped reading for pleasure.” I put the book back on the shelf.
Nick's frown tugs on the corners of his mouth.
“You don't talk about your dad much.” He pushes off and walks to the kitchen.
I follow. “Do you already know what happened to him?”
“Evie told me. I'm sorry you had to go through that.”
I nod. If my dad was here, he'd hate the way I've handled myself since Ethan died. Twinges of disappointment assail my brain.
“What's in the bag?” I ask, pointing at the counter.
“I got something for you.” He pulls out a thin book and hands it over.
I eye the cover. Animals… Flowers.
“A coloring book?” My eyebrows rise with my question. I haven’t colored in at least fifteen years. “Thanks. I’ll make sure to pick up crayons.”
Nick shakes his head. “No crayons. The designs are too small and elaborate.” He reaches into the bag again. “Colored pencils.” He holds up a box.
“Okay. Great.” Kind of an odd gift…
Nick eyes me. “Coloring is cathartic. It relieves stress and anxiety. Heals the soul.”
I hold up the book, dubious. “This is going to heal my soul?”
Nick walks to the nearly empty living room and lies down on the carpet on his stomach, facing me.
“Let’s try it and see.”
I look down at the elephant wearing a beaded headdress on the cover and back up to Nick. “You want to color right now?”
He shrugs. “Why not?”
I don’t have a reason. I follow Nick and lie down next to him. The carpet is stiff under my forearms.
The box of colored pencils makes a light, wooden sound when Nick dumps them on the ground above the book. So many colors. Way more than I used to have.
“Dibs on page seven.” He announces in a playful, warning voice.
I turn to look at him, but when I do, I find his nose is only inches from mine. Too close. I look quickly back to the book. “I guess that leaves me with page eight.”
I reach for the gray and start on a bird. We’re silent as we work. The only sound that punctuates the quiet are the shifting pencils as we trade one color for another.
I’m halfway done with my page when I notice Nick’s pencil has stopped moving.
“What’s wrong?” My gaze stays on my page. It feels weird to talk to him and not look at him, but his close proximity necessitates it.
“Why do you color like that?”
My eyes rove over my work, double-checking it. When I find no fault with it, I ask, “Like what?”
He points at the tree branch I'm working on. “You outline first.” One of his fingers runs along the brown edges of the branch.
Oh, that. “That way I stay in the lines.”
“And what happens if you color outside the lines?”
I roll to my side, away from him, and prop my head up on my open palm. He does the same.
His stare is rapt, like he’s genuinely interested in my answer. Too bad I don’t have a better one.
“I don’t know.”
He watches me, lips twisting. “Do you feel like coloring is helping you?”
I flick my gaze to the flock of gray birds and hot pink flowers on my page. “Too soon to tell.” I look back at Nick. “What about you?”
“This is for you, Kate. You’re the one with the broken soul.” His words are spoken softly, but it feels like a punch.
I suck in a quick breath. “Do you always say everything you think?”
He adjusts his supporting hand while he considers my question. “No.”
Nick rolls back over and starts coloring again. So do I.
“Try not to outline,” he says. His voice is challenging, the same way it was when he asked me to cook without a recipe.
I huff. “I like outlining.”
“Just try it the other way.”
And I do. I try. But I hate it. I feel out of control. I need a barrier to keep my strokes in line.
“I like my way better.” I draw thick, blue strokes along the black outline of the next bird. Ah, yes. Peace restored. When the bird is done I set down the blue and reach for the yellow.
“Kate?” Nick’s voice is unsure. Very uncharacteristic for him.
“Um hmm?” I’m focusing on the stamens of a crocus.
“Harper said something at the Halloween party, about you drinking every night… Was she right? Every night?”
My pencil pauses, but his keeps going.
“She was right.” I toss my pencil back in the pile.
“And now?”
“I haven't had anything to drink since Halloween. I threw out everything in my apartment the next morning.” I roll over and sit up, facing him. Nick does the same.
“I've never been much of a drinker. When Ethan died…” I pause, choking on the words Ethan and died. I never say those words out loud. Deep breath. “When Ethan died, I found that if I drank, it made me fall asleep faster. I…”
Nick leans forward, waiting. He watches me intently, his face open. He wants to hear about my pain. He's not afraid of it.
“In the first week after Ethan died, I could only lie in bed and sob.” I bite my lip, afraid I’ve said too much. Nick looks…caring. Talking like this feels so liberating. “The tears overtook my body. I couldn't breathe. I would choke and gag on sobs. I'm sure that sounds dramatic.”
Nick reaches for my hand. His fingers weave through my fingers, and he squeezes. “It doesn't sound dramatic. It sounds raw. And real. Keep going.”
My intake of breath is loud, and my exhale is just as noisy. “I wanted to die. Literally. I wanted someone to kill me. A world without Ethan seemed so impossible. It still does. I stopped for coffee on my way to work this week, and the place was packed with people just leading their own lives. I wanted to yell at them, remind them all that the world is not the same anymore because Ethan isn't in it. Don't they all know that the world has changed?” I feel tears on my face. Nick's eyes are shiny.
“The night of Ethan's funeral, I got really drunk. That was the first night I did it. I sat on my couch, looked through a photo album of me and Ethan, and drank. When I woke up the next day I felt pain in a place that wasn't my heart. Eventually I discovered if I drank myself to sleep, I would dream of Ethan. I think they were dreams, anyway. If they weren’t they were very vivid memories, and maybe made-up scenarios that felt dream-like because I was so drunk.” My heart pounds. I'm telling him everything. “They were like a lifeline. A way to keep Ethan alive. And they were so realistic. I could talk to him and see him and smell him.” I look down at our intertwined fingers, afraid I’ve overshared.
“You drank every night because you thought it would keep Ethan alive in your mind?” Nick can’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. I’m not even sure he tried.
I meet his gaze and nod. The wall I’ve built around my feelings shatters, and my emotions spill between our bent legs. I've never been so exposed. I feel raw, like a scabbed over wound picked bare. Any harsh words from Nick now will sting unbelievably.
His thumb rubs over the top of my hand, and I realize how gentle his words have been. They don’t sting. They soothe.
“And now that you aren't drinking anymore?” The pad of his thumb dips into the space between my thumb and finger.
My lower lip slides back in between my teeth, but my mouth is shaking and my lip bounces out from under my teeth. “He's gone,” I whisper, and the tears pour. “The night you rescued me off Camelback. That was the day those…dreams or whatever they were…they stopped.” My voice is high-pitched, the anguish riding through it. “I tried so har
d to get him back. But…nothing. He's gone.” My voice breaks. Sobs push my chest up and down.
“Kate.” Nick's voice is strangled. He reaches out to my face, but he drops his hand.
“I can't wipe away your tears. Not when they're for Ethan.” As he speaks his own tears flow over his strong cheekbones and drop off his jaw.
We sit and we cry. We cry for the person we lost.
The best friend.
The soulmate.
We cry until we’re left with nothing but dry, red eyes.
Nick gets up and comes back with a box of tissues. He places them between us, and we blow our noses, half-laughing, half-sniffling.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask him.
“I think Ethan knew we would need each other.”
I dab at my face with another tissue. “He knew.”
When it’s time for me to leave, Nick walks me out to my car. I pause, the open door between us.
“Thank you for tonight. And not just for the gift.” The bag dangling from my forearm crinkles as I gesture with it. “I’m hardly a great companion these days. I guess what I mean is, thank you for sticking with me. I know you’re doing it for Ethan, but still…”
“You don’t have to thank me for anything, Kate. I’m here because I want to be.” He places an open palm on my chest. My breath hitches. The warmth from his hand seeps through my shirt, past my skin, and spreads across my heart. He looks into my eyes, his face serene. “Your wounds don’t scare me.” His words are calm and strong.
My free hand reaches out, over the top of the car door, and rests on his chest. Beneath my hand I feel his heartbeats.
“Your wounds don’t scare me either,” I whisper.
We stand that way for a few more moments. Nick pulls his hand back at the same time I do, but our lack of contact lasts for only a second. Our hands meet in the space between us and he catches mine, giving it one light squeeze. He releases me with a wistful smile, one that seems to say, We’re fighting this fight together. That’s the only way we’ll make it through. I drive away, my mind grappling with the idea that Ethan has managed to take care of me, even when he’s not alive. Ethan loved me enough to wait for me, and he loved me enough to give me Nick.
***
“Can you even believe the shindig that’s happening next weekend?” Sarah takes a bite of her sandwich. The cafe we’ve gone to on our lunch hour has gotten busier since we sat down and now she has to raise her voice. “They had me at prime rib carving station.”
I swipe my mouth with my napkin. “I know. Harper’s been giving me the inside scoop. There’s supposed to be an awesome DJ and chocolate fountains. Drinks on trays, passed hors d'oeuvres. And a big raffle she won’t tell me the prize for.”
“I still can’t believe we’re merging with Maxim. Maybe I’ll meet the man of my dreams.” Sarah makes her voice breathy and places a hand on her heart.
“Just as long as his name isn’t Trent.” I should send out a warning memo to every female in my office.
“I smell a story,” she sing-songs.
I tell the condensed version while we pay the lunch bill. Essentially, he’s a jerk. End of story.
We draw out the walk back to work. A slight breeze rustles the palm tree fronds along our path. The air is unseasonably chilly, even with the sun streaming down. My face lifts a fraction to let a little Vitamin D soak into my skin.
“Can I say something to you?” Sarah sounds hesitant.
“Depends.” I slide my sunglasses down from the top of my head to cover my eyes. “Is it good or bad?”
“Good.”
“Then yes.”
“You’re different. Just in the last week and a half. You’re…more you.” Sarah cringes, as if she fears that at any moment, I’ll go berserk and start screaming.
I don’t answer right away. What’s happening to me is something I don’t want to happen.
And it really does make me want to scream and go berserk. Because what’s happening to my heart and mind is not okay with me.
“I feel more me inside.” I say feel like it’s a dirty word.
Sarah stops suddenly. She puts an arm around my shoulders and curls me into her body.
“You’re going to make it,” she whispers against the side of my head.
I don't know if I'm more shocked by the impromptu hug or the raw emotion from Sarah. Two things Harper has yet to extend.
Maybe it’s unfair of me to expect that from her, but the harsh truth is that Harper isn't capable of those things. And she’s not going to change.
27
Kate
The sun dips below the horizon just as I pull into a parking spot. The lights of the bookstore spill onto the sidewalk and over me as I walk past the long display window. It has been years since I've stepped into this place, but when I open the door and the bell chimes, I'm eleven years old all over.
“Welcome to Begin Again,” says a smiling woman behind a counter.
I say hello and look around for the person who invited me here.
I find him standing between Psychology and Self-Help.
“I didn't take you for a self-help kind of guy.”
Nick looks up from an open book in his hands. “The self-help section of the library got me and my mom through her addiction.”
My hands go to my hips. “Is that why you've asked me here? Because I stopped three weeks ago. Cold turkey.” Kate will Master it. How am I supposed to lose that label when it's ingrained?
My chin raises. “And I haven't given in.” A feat considering how much I've wanted to. The curiosity kills me. Could I bring Ethan back, just one more time?
“I asked you to come here because this is a place you used to love. This section is just where I happen to be right now.” Nick replaces the book on the shelf.
“Oh.” I blush. “Sorry.”
“It's okay. Go. Explore.” He smiles encouragingly.
So I do. I go to the second floor, where they still have a children's reading nook and possibly the same yellow and red bean bag chairs. I loved curling up in one of those with a stack of books. My mom perused the shelves downstairs and I stayed here, in the red chair, and let myself go away in my imagination.
Nobody is here on this Thursday night, so I sit on a bean bag. The filling shifts, making noise. This seat used to envelope me like a cocoon. Petite as I am, the red bean bag chair can't hold me the same way anymore. I reach for the closest book on the shelf. It's binding is shabby, and the corners of the cover flip back. White lines have worn into the picture. But I know this book. It's about a girl who does odd jobs to earn money for summer camp, but things keep going wrong for her. I open it and read, remembering the words like I’d read them just yesterday. As if I were a young girl again, the story sweeps me away.
“You ended up in the children's section?” Nick says from the top of the stairs. He comes toward me. “I would have pegged you for a romance kind of girl.” Nick sits cross-legged beside my bean bag.
“This is where I sat when I was little. And it still smells the same. Musty paper. And something else.” I turn my nose up to the air. “Burnt coffee? Whatever it is, I like it.”
Nick stands. “Ready to go?” He points at the book in my hand. “Are you getting that?”
I put the book on the shelf. “No, that was a book I read when I was young. Next time I'll spend my time in a more mature section.”
“There will be a next time?” His grin is lopsided. He looks proud of himself.
“There will definitely be a next time.”
We go downstairs, and I wait near the exit while Nick buys his book. My phone rings, and when I see who it is, I step outside.
“Evie, hi. How are you?” I sit on a nearby bench, wrap my arms around myself, and use a lifted shoulder to hold the phone to my ear.
“Kate! I'm so happy you answered.” Evie's voice makes me think of her face. When I see her face, I think of her standing in her house. When I picture her house, I think of E
than.
“I haven't talked to you in a long time. I was trying to give you space. Do you need more or have you had enough?” Her voice is serious, but it has a joking edge to it.
“I'm happy you called.”
“Good. And I'm well, thanks for asking. How are you?”
Nick sits down next to me and sets the bookstore bag between us.
“I'm hanging in there,” I say into the phone but I'm looking at Nick. He zips up his sweatshirt.
“Can you talk right now? Or are you busy?”
“I was in a bookstore but I'm finished. I can talk.”
Nick gives me a thumbs up. He crosses one leg over his knee, grabs a book out of the bag, and opens it.
“I want to talk to you about Nick.”
I clear my throat and eye my companion. He's flipping pages. Not looking at me.
“What about him?”
“We see him often. And he talks about you a lot. He told me Ethan asked him to take care of you. How do you feel about their agreement?”
“Okay, I suppose. It's not all that surprising, when you think about it.”
Evie laughs. “Right? It really isn't. I'm going to say something a little crazy, so just bear with me here.”
“Okay,” I draw out the word.
“If something were to develop between you and Nick… It would be okay with me. More than okay. He's a fantastic person.”
My gaze flies to Nick, afraid he's somehow heard Evie.
“Oh. Um. Thanks?” I'm too surprised to come up with anything better.
“It's just that, well, you're young. And Ethan would want you to find happiness again. And then there's Nick, a person Ethan loved. And there's you, a person Ethan loved. It kind of makes sense, you know?”
First Harper, now Ethan's mother. And neither of them know about the night I kissed him. I don't want to know about the night I kissed him.
“I see where you're coming from.” I switch my phone to my other ear, further from Nick. Just in case.
“So you have my blessing. I mean, he hasn't said anything specifically. But he talks about you constantly. I just thought…” She trails off.
The Day He Went Away Page 20