***
There's a vague familiarity about this place. I recognize the sandy pebbled land, the wispy excuses for trees, the concrete and stone ramadas. But I don't feel like I know them. My memories of that day are hazy, fuzzy on the perimeter. All the people, gathered here to say goodbye to Ethan.
Why am I here now? To say hello to him?
No. To yell at him.
I stop at the directory and find his grave number. Slowly I drive through the small winding roads, following signs with numbers. A few other cars dot the landscape here and there, but not where I'm headed. I drive for another minute until I find the number I'm looking for. I pull off into the gravel and park, gazing out at row upon row of headstones. I'm alone out here.
I climb from my car, my legs awkward and reluctant, like my brain and heart disagree about this visit. Get away from here. This will make it final. My brain wants to protect my heart. My headstrong and passionate heart will hear none of it.
I walk along the rows until I find the right one. My steps are hesitant and very quiet. Something a newbie would do. Maybe now I can get up the nerve to visit my father.
Ethan James Shepherd. My gasp is sharp, painful. There it is.
It's just… There.
His name. His memory.
I sink down into the dirt. My fingers bump along the letters carved into the bronze plate. His name, the dates of his birth and death, and different abbreviations. BSM. Bronze Star Medal. PH. Purple Heart. Over and over I trace three letters in particular. KIA. Killed In Action.
“Hi,” I say softly. I thought I would feel stupid, but I don't. “I don't know how to start. Or what to say. I spent the whole drive telling myself I wasn't allowed to turn around.” My hand stays lying across his first name. When I do that, it feels like maybe he's not as far away from me as I think.
“I miss you. A lot. I don't know what you can see, or if you can hear. Maybe you already know all about the last six months. Maybe you know what happened this morning. I don't know.”
I rub my eyes. “In case you don't already know what's happened, let me just tell you things are messy right now. I know about her. Emelie.” I make a face when I say her name.
“You could have told me, you know? You didn't have to lie.”
The tears start. “You left me here in this world without you. I'm struggling to become a whole person again. I don't have you, I don't have Harper, I don't have a job. It's like somebody erased my life and set the paper on fire. All I am is ash.”
“In your stead you sent Nick. Who else better to bring me back to life? Did you know I would need him like I have? Did you know he would save me from Michael, from a dark mountain, and from myself? Maybe I am the dark mountain.” My shoulders shake with a mirthless laugh. “Yes, yes, I'm getting my creative chops back. Did you hear me call my grief a dark mountain?”
I sit back, gather dirt in my hand and watch it fall through my fingers like a sieve. Only the largest fragments remain.
“Where am I supposed to go from here? I'm dangerously close to healing. I can feel myself on the precipice. And after it happens? What will my life be like? Eventually I'll be the person who used to love Ethan Shepherd.” Every fiber of my being turns away from that thought, horrified. My love for Ethan, stated in past tense… It feels so wrong.
“Kate? I thought that was you.”
My shoulders jump, startled by the real voice behind me.
James looms over me, the sun behind his head. He folds his legs into a seat beside me.
“You got dressed up to sit in the dirt?” He sways as he asks. His acrid breath wafts over to me.
I lean away. “Are you okay?”
“Never better,” he says flatly. He reaches a hand beside him and brings up a six-pack of beer. I shake my head when he offers one to me.
“James, it seems you've already reached your limit. Are you sure you should be drinking those?” My voice is tentative, the equivalent of a tip-toe.
He cracks open a can and gulps. “Yep, I'm sure I should be drinking these,” he says after he brings the can back down. “That's my son right there. I picked out his name.” He points at the headstone. “Evie wanted to name him after her dad. Can you believe that?”
“Crazy,” I murmur. It's what he needs to hear.
James drains the first can and starts on the second.
“My fault.” He nods his head quickly, agreeing with himself. “He went into the Army to make me happy. This is my fault.” He pours a little of his beer into the sand beside Ethan's name.
“It's not your fault. You didn't know this was going to happen.”
“I put him in danger. That's the long and short of it. I put my own kid in danger. Don't bother denying it.” He drains the second beer.
I climb to standing. Sand has made its way into my shoes and squishes between my toes. “I'm going to call Evie.”
He reaches out to me. “Please don't. Not yet. Call her when I'm done. For now I just want to sit here quietly and stare at my son’s name. It's what I came out here to do. Will you sit with me?” His voice has a pleading, desperate edge.
I sink back down. I know what he's doing. How many months did I do it myself? Drank until oblivion, just to remember. Some people drink to numb the pain, but not me. Like James, I wanted the pain to be as raw and real as possible. That was how I kept Ethan.
What changed me?
Nick.
I let him in, and my substitute Ethan went out.
I sit silently beside James. He drinks beer after beer, and I don't stop him. He was drunk when he showed up. What's the harm in letting him do what he came here to do?
He finishes the final one, and I help him stand. We walk, his heavy arm draped across my shoulders, his feet crossing over each other every few steps. It's a lot for my body to handle.
“Why'd you come here?” His words are thick, soaked in alcohol and too big for his mouth.
“The same reason as you, I suppose. To talk to Ethan.” My car is only twenty feet away. James's weight is getting to be too much. I'll get him to my car and call Evie.
He stops walking suddenly. Somehow I know what's coming. I've made it two steps away as he bends over and vomits all over his feet.
***
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” Evie says again. It's her fifth apology in as many minutes.
“It's okay. Honestly. I'm just glad I was there.” I look at James, passed out in my backseat. He's too big for the space, but he managed somehow. We managed. There was a lot of me shoving his limbs into place and him mumbling incoherently.
“I won't think about what could've happened if you hadn't been there. At least he had a cab drive him to the cemetery.” Evie rubs her temples. “Now you know our dirty little secret. This is my James since Ethan died. Either drunk or passed out.” Tears form in her eyes. “I don't know what to do.”
I feel bad for him. I feel bad for her.
“He's sick, Evie. He needs help.”
She nods, lips pursed.
“Nick might be able to help you. Not professionally, just personally. His mom was an alcoholic. He…” I pause, unsure, but decide to keep going. She needs to know she isn't alone in this. “He helped me. I spent the first few months coping like this.” I nod my head at James's prostrate form.
Evie's eyes widen. “You?”
“Yeah. Me. Kate Masters. Medicating with alcohol. I know how unbelievable it sounds.”
“Does your mother know?”
“Not that I know of.”
“And Nick helped you?” She eyes her husband.
“Um hmm.”
She walks to the open car door and picks up a slack foot. “Too bad Nick’s not here to help us lug this guy inside. Where are his shoes, by the way?”
“In my trunk. He threw up on them.”
She looks up at the sky and exhales loudly. “It’s like he’s in college again.”
I laugh, picking up James’s other foot. “Come on, let's get our game plan toge
ther.”
We discuss how we should extract him from the car and just how angry Evie should be. Among all our planning, hanging behind every proposed strategy, is a palpable disbelief. How did we ever get to this point?
34
Kate
The weight of what happened has finally hit me.
I was fired from a job I loved.
It wasn't until I walked out of the Shepherds’ house, leaving Evie alone with her still passed out husband, that the realization sunk in. What will I do when I wake up tomorrow? What will this mean for my future?
I lean against my car and look across the street.
For once I don’t look at my childhood home and see my dad. I see the spectacular color blooming from pots that line the walkway. I notice the ivy growing along the facade. I see the green, lush lawn with its recently mowed newness. My mom takes care of all of this by herself.
Movement from behind the wooden side gate catches my eye. I cross the street and peek through the wide slats. My mom's bent over her garden, muttering to herself. Nostalgia hits me hard.
“Mom,” I call out. I sound distressed. I’m an adult now, with adult-sized injuries, but in my heart I’m a sad little girl who needs her mom. Life has knocked me off my bike and tossed me onto hot asphalt.
She hurries to unlock the gate. The fence swings open, and I rush into her arms.
“What’s wrong?” She strokes my hair. “Are you okay?”
“Ethan.” It’s the only word that makes it past my waterfall of tears.
“Oh, sweetheart. I know.” She holds the back of my head with one cupped hand. “I know,” she croons.
“How am I supposed to survive without him?” More tears slip down my cheeks.
My mom sniffles. “You don’t have a choice. You have to find a way to make it through. That’s all I can say.”
“How long will it hurt?”
“Quite a while. Maybe forever. When you love someone the way you loved Ethan, or the way I loved your father, they never leave you. Slowly the pain fades, but in your case I don’t think it will ever fully leave.” She takes my face in her hands and looks into my eyes. “You lost your love, your best friend, and your future. That’s going to leave a scar.”
She lets me go but grabs my hand and leads me to the love seat on the back porch.
“Sit,” she orders.
I listen, folding my legs underneath myself. She disappears and reappears a moment later with tissues.
“Thanks.” I noisily blow my nose.
She sinks down beside me. “Honey, what happened to make all this come out?”
“So much. And all of it since Saturday night.”
“Start with Saturday night then.”
“I punched Trent. And Ethan was dating someone in Europe and lied to me about it. I kicked Harper out. And this morning I was fired.”
My mother does her best to fix a calm expression. “I see.”
I pour out my heart. I tell her everything. The way Harper’s been treating me, my dependence on alcohol, the dreams, my friendship with Nick, the disastrous work party, Ethan’s German girlfriend, and my disgraceful exit from Simone.
“Ethan wasn’t a liar. He wasn’t. But he lied to me. How many lies did he have to tell to keep Emelie a secret? Or omissions? How many of his stories were changed to keep me from finding out?” I shake my head slowly. “I just don’t understand. My Ethan, my perfect, perfect Ethan. He lied to me.” Even as I say the words, I can hardly believe them.
My mother’s quiet, the tip of her tongue touching her upper lip. It’s her thinking look.
“Have you considered perhaps Ethan had a reason for not telling you about Emelie?”
“What reason would that be? We told each other everything. Or I thought we did.”
“He didn’t want you to think he’d given up on you. Because he hadn’t. And can you really blame the guy for seeing someone else? Sweetheart, he waited for you for ten years. He was loyal, but he wasn’t a monk.”
“Are you saying I need to re-set my expectations?”
My mom looks unsure. “Ehh… Sort of. The tricky part is that you can’t have expectations anymore. Ethan’s gone. He’s not here to live up to them or fall short. And he can’t defend himself either.”
She’s right. I’m going to have to let it go.
“As for everything else you said… I’m glad you stood up to Harper. She’s not a bad person, but she’s not your friend either. You don’t have to tolerate a person who only likes you when it suits them. I’m not going to lecture you about abusing alcohol, because I think you’ve figured out that you don’t need to do that anymore. I’m very sorry you lost your job. I know what it means to you to do good work and be a good employee. Good workmanship is something your father passed on to you.” She tilts her head to the side. “Maybe too much of it.”
I laugh without mirth. “Can you have too much good workmanship?”
“When it makes you lose sight of your dreams, absolutely.”
“I dream of being a good employee and making worthwhile contributions.”
She gives me a pointed look. “You used to dream of being a writer.”
“That was a long time ago, Mom.”
“So?” Her eyes challenge me.
“So, I was a child with childish aspirations.”
“Well, here’s what I think. And I know you didn’t ask me. Tomorrow you will wake up and have more time on your hands than you know what to do with. You have money in the trust your dad set up before he died. I’ll authorize you to have some of it, and you can spend your days writing. After the past six months, I think you have more than enough material.”
“You want me to write a story about Ethan?” My mind weighs the possibility. But…that’s…probably a good idea.
Mom nods. “Ethan, Harper, Nick, the whole ugly mess.”
I roll my head on my shoulders. “Mom, I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve been creative in any capacity that doesn’t directly suit a boss, a professor, or an admissions counselor.”
“Will you try it? For me?”
It’s not like I have anything else to do. I picture myself waking up and sitting down to my computer with a cup of hot coffee, my hair in a top knot with a pencil stabbed through it. Cliché. Lose the pencil. A flicker of excitement runs through me.
“I’ll do it.” I’m breaking a major rule. Leaving time between jobs.
“That’s my girl.” She ruffles my hair. “Now let’s talk about Nick.”
“What about him?”
“I think he has feelings for you.”
My hair whips me in the face with the force of my head shake. “Not even, Mom.”
“You just told me all about what he did for you the night you hit Trent. And, hello, the coloring book? That alone should tell you how much he cares about you.”
“He’s looking out for me. Like Ethan asked him to.”
She points a finger at me. “Keep telling yourself that. Just don’t expect him to wait around for ten years.”
“I’m sure some lucky woman will snatch him up in no time.” My face puckers like I’ve eaten something sour. It’s those words. Those words were sour in my mouth. Of course I don’t want someone to take away my closest friend. Not when I have so few.
“You’ll have to move on sometime, Kate. And this thing with Emelie might finally be what you need to move forward.”
I sit back in my seat. “Please explain.”
“You say Ethan was perfect. But he wasn’t. He was great, don’t get me wrong. He was as close to perfect for you as you could get. But he wasn’t without his flaws. Maybe that’s why you’re having an immensely difficult time letting him go.”
“Ethan was my life, Mom. That’s why I can’t let go. He was my everything. He was my future. He’s in almost every memory I have. He is everywhere.” My shoulders and head slump from the weight of my words. “Who am I without Ethan?”
She puts a finger under my chin and li
fts my head. “You are my wonderful, stubborn, hardworking daughter. You’re a protective, watchful sister to a bizarre little brother. You are a good, loyal friend. And you’ll grow to be more than that, too. You have to figure out how to be happy and fulfilled without Ethan. And you can’t do that until you start to move on.”
Her words bounce through my head, resonating loudly each time they land. Before Ethan died I had other titles I wanted to obtain in life. And then on that terrible day when my life was shattered, I saw those titles fly out the window with my future. Do I still want those things?
An image pops unbidden into my mind. A large cardboard box, packed full of pain. The words For Kate scrawled on the side in black marker.
Right now that box is sitting on my closet floor, tucked behind a row of dresses. Safely out of sight.
It’s time.
“Mom, thank you. Everything you just said…well, it’s having its intended effect.” I stand, using two hands to pull my mom up. I squeeze her tight. “I knew you would make it all better.”
“Sometimes a girl just needs her mom.” She pulls back to smile at me.
“I’m sorry I shut you out. It sounds silly now, but I was terrified of talking to you. I knew you’d say things I needed to hear and I’d start to feel better. And if I felt better, I’d lose Ethan.”
“Honey, I knew what you were doing. I’ve been there.”
“I think I forgot that. My head was a scary, messed up place.”
“I had you and your brother to live for. I couldn’t give in to my desire to go off the deep end. But I can empathize.”
I hug her again. “You’re the best. Thanks for not going off the deep end.”
She laughs. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Walk me out?”
She falls into step beside me. When we get to the gate I turn to her.
“Do you remember that box of Ethan’s things Evie gave to me? I think it’s time to go through it.” A heavy feeling settles onto my chest. Dread. “Wish me luck.”
“It’ll be hard. But you’ll be okay.”
The Day He Went Away Page 26