by JA Huss
“That is what happened, it seems.”
She now takes up her drink and continues nodding a tiny bit as she takes a sip. Then she places it back down on the table, wipes her mouth with her hand, and says, “Well, shit. That was the same night I voluntarily wandered into a car with a drug dealer and assumed I was gonna be hacked to bits or sold into sex slavery, so I guess who the fuck am I to judge?”
I have to bite my bottom lip to the point that it’s almost bleeding to keep from smiling. But then she smiles, which gives me permission, and then we’re both laughing. We probably look like a couple of assholes, but if so, we’re in the perfect place. After a moment, the laughter dies down and she says, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I say, still smiling.
“Have you ever been to Scotty’s grave?” And now, suddenly, I’m not smiling. “Like, since you’ve been back, or...?”
Rather than answer directly, I say, “What made you think to ask that?”
She shrugs an ‘I dunno’ shrug. Except that she does know. We both do.
“No,” I say, candidly, trying not to make any excuses. “No. I haven’t.”
“I haven’t been for a while either.” She looks ashamed.
“Maybe that’s something we should do, then.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Maybe it is.”
We just stare at each other for a tick until the moment is broken by the sound of a text message pinging my phone. I pick it up off the table and look at the screen. The message says it’s from one of those weird short code numbers that telemarketers will sometimes use. This one is 87-3323.
The message reads, “Plans for New Year’s?”
I know this is just some bullshit solicitation text. I get them all the time, even though I’ve put myself on the damn Do Not Call registry like twice. The thing is, they’re just sending out this shit scattershot, and if you call or text back, now they’ve got your actual phone number locked. So as tempting as it is to “text 1 to opt out,” or whatever, as soon as you do, they’ll have your digits and then you’re fucked.
And, again, even though I know that’s what this is, something about getting the text makes me uneasy. The same way seeing my dad the day after tomorrow is making me uneasy. I’m chalking it all up to the fact that Maddie and I have just been through a fucking lot and on top of that some major changes are coming our way, but the reminder that the new year is right around the corner and that I’m cautiously hopeful that this new year will bring the peace that Evan is always wishing for me is making me feel just a little unsettled. Which is, I suppose, ironic.
“Who is it?” Maddie asks.
I swipe to delete the text and say, “Nobody. Bullshit solicitor. You ready to go, asshole?”
“Yeah, asshole. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We both stand, throw our half-finished drinks in the trash, and take each other’s hands. She gives me a kiss on the lips, then rubs her fingers once again across my naked face. “So you just spent almost eleven thousand dollars to spend four hours in a building that you used to own an apartment in before you burned it down.”
I blow my lips out. “That does seem to be the case.”
She runs her fingers through my hair. “Yeah. You’re gonna need to build at least two or three girls’ schools, my friend.”
And with that, we saunter our way up the escalator and out the door.
Just two assholes making their way in the world.
Chapter Twelve - Maddie
December 29th
Two Days Until New Year’s Eve
“You OK?” Tyler asks as we drive north on I-15 towards the cemetery. He reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m cool.” I’m not cool. In fact, I might be falling apart. Right here. In this car. On this freeway. Going to…
I look at Tyler, fake smile still in place.
He smiles back, except I’m pretty sure his is real, then he takes his attention back to the drive. There’s a ton of traffic so he changes lanes.
I take his distraction as a time to pull myself together and reflect. Not on Scotty. Not really. More about how long it’s been since I’ve visited his grave. How guilty that makes me feel. Like I’m the worst sister in the world.
Four years. I count the anniversaries. Yeah, four. The last time I was here I was selling make-up online. That was the year I got the idea for the pet bakery, so I was trying to figure out how I could talk my parents into lending me money. I’d blown through all my savings and maxed out seven credit cards on other stupid ideas.
That was two years after they left for France and one year after I totaled their car. Well, my car, I guess. They signed it over to me when they moved away.
I never told them about that. Just started taking the bus. I was waitressing at the Hard Rock and living in a pay-by-the-week motel just off the strip so I could be close to my job. It took me three years to save up money and rebuild my credit enough to buy the little Honda I had been driving last Halloween.
Which I no longer have because I left it in the middle of the street and went home with Tyler.
God, what was I thinking? Not about Tyler. He’s pretty much the best thing to happen to me in… maybe ever. But leaving my car like that was so irresponsible. So reckless. And crazy.
And all those words pretty much sum up the last seven years perfectly.
“How long?” Tyler asks, pulling me out of my self-reflection.
“Four years,” I say. “Funny. I was just thinking about it.”
“What were you doing four years ago?” Tyler looks over at me, but then quickly takes his attention to the road when the car in front of us slams on their brakes. “Fuck,” he says, changing lanes again.
“Four years ago…” Four years ago I was declaring bankruptcy. I was dead-ass broke. I was… unrecognizable. “I was selling make-up online.”
“Really? How was that?”
Wow. There’s still so much we don’t yet know about each other. Which kind of makes me excited, actually. Because it means there’s a lot to learn.
“Pretty good,” I say, nodding my head.
“Why’d you stop?”
“Oh.” I wave my hand in the air. “They went out of business. Left me with a shitload of stock too. Which I did sell on Ebay eventually.”
I just got rid of the last of that stock about six months ago. Which is ironic, because the very day I made that final sale—if you can call losing a hundred percent of the price I paid for it a “sale”—I had a drink with Annie. We bumped into each other at the post office and then drove over to a little bar to catch up since I was avoiding my wedding planner job after the Carlos shit started going sideways. And I told her all about my big online makeup venture and how it was over now, and I was a wedding planner but had another new idea, and we toasted to new beginnings.
That’s when she mentioned she needed a roommate.
Weird. How two completely unrelated things can become related.
I sure did get a new beginning, and I’m not complaining about how it all turned out, but… Jesus. So much has happened in that short period of time.
Tyler says, “If I’d had been here I’d have bought all the makeup.”
“Really? And done what with it?”
“Dunno. But you’d be driving a pink Caddie right now.”
God, I love him. “Thanks for this.”
“For what?”
“Coming with me to the grave.”
“You’re coming with me.” Then he squeezes my hand again. “But yeah. It’s hard.”
I nod, refusing to cry. “Yeah,” I say. “It’s hard.”
“Does it get any easier?” he asks.
“No,” I say. And now it’s my turn to squeeze his hand. “At least it hasn’t yet. But I’m glad you’re here.”
He sighs through his nose. Nods. Goes silent as he probably runs the past several years through his mind too.
In a way, life is like
those dumb choose-your-own-adventure books we found in the closet. Sell makeup online, turn to page 34. Total your car, turn back to page 16. Fail at the make-up business, go back to start. Meet an old friend at the post office, skip to page 200. Get caught up in a drug lord’s crazy, go back to start. Get a job stripping at Pete’s, go to page 90. Fall in love with your childhood crush…
Then what?
That’s like the happily ever after, right? Achieving your goals isn’t the end, it’s supposed to be a beginning. Isn’t it?
So back to the start, I guess. “Book two. Page one.”
“What?” Tyler says. He looks over at me, smiling. Either his past four years have been better than mine—which I doubt—or he’s putting on a brave front for my sake. Just like the one I’m putting on for him.
“You know. Those choose-your-own-adventure books. We met, we did...all this, and now what? We’re at the end of the book. Commander Morgan has swept the Space Goddess off her feet and now what?”
He chuckles. Just a little one, but I’m pretty sure it’s real. “Book two. Page one.”
“Yeah,” I say.
We squeeze each other’s hands as he gets off the freeway. Less than a minute later I can see the cemetery off to the right and I begin to sweat, even though it’s cool out today.
“The last time I came here I was drunk. I said a lot of mean things to him. Like really shitty things.”
I didn’t mean to admit that. But fuck it. If I can’t tell Tyler about these things, then who can I tell? Plumeria Brown? No, thank you.
“I was drunk for the funeral too. I barely remember it. I know it was special. I know there was a color guard and cannons or whatever it is they fire to memorialize firefighters killed in the line of duty. I know there were a lot of men in uniform. And lots of crying. I know I got up halfway through the burial and left. Just walked away. My dad came looking for me in the car. I was almost to the freeway and… I don’t know where I was going. Like was I just gonna stumble onto the freeway? Where was I going?”
I pause to look at Tyler. As if he has the answer to this question. But it’s ridiculous because he wasn’t even there. And I know that’s what he’s thinking about. How he wasn’t there. And now we’re probably both thinking about all the things between then and now. All the failures. All the mistakes. All the sadness. All the—
“I’m so, so, so sorry I wasn’t there, Maddie.”
“Me too,” I whisper, my eyes already searching for the grave as we turn into the cemetery entrance. I point to the road that goes off to the left and he turns. “It would’ve been better if we’d had each other.” He nods.
Silence as I guide him the rest of the way to the grave by pointing my finger until we reach Scotty’s row and he stops the car.
Turns it off.
Silence.
Stillness.
“We’re here,” I say.
“Yeah, we are,” he replies.
We get out of the car at the same time. Meet at the entrance to the row and find each other’s hands. Squeezing tight, together.
I have a sudden stab of fear now that we’re here. I want to get back in the car. I want to drive home. I want to go back to bed, bury my face in the pillows, and cry and never stop.
I want to go back to the start.
Tyler says, “Visit your best friend’s grave, turn to page 99.”
This makes me keep walking. “That’s quite a jump. Sure it’s not page 23?”
“Nah,” Tyler says, focused on the grave markers and headstones. He already knows Scotty’s headstone is light grey and stands about waist tall because I told him before we left. So he passes by all the small, ground-level markers. “This is a monumental leap forward in pages for Commander Morgan.”
Fuck it. I decide to play along. It’s kinda fun. And better than dwelling on all the mistakes and failures. “Admit your brother didn’t die on purpose, turn to page 199.”
“Let go of the guilt of not being there, turn to page 256,” Tyler whispers.
“Take responsibility for your actions, turn to page 301.”
I start to cry. We stop walking and he just holds me, whispering in my ear, “You’re OK, you’re OK, you’re OK,” over and over again until I start nodding my head against his chest, trying to talk myself into believing it.
“I miss him,” I sob. “I just really miss him.”
Tyler drags a stray piece of hair away from my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. Then he kisses my head and says, “Me too. But…” I can feel him swallow hard. Feel him take a deep, deep breath. Feel him rally, for my sake, or his sake, or someone’s sake. And he says, “Come on.”
I back away, nodding. Sniffling. Wiping my wet cheeks. And then I turn, find his grave with my eyes just a few yards away, and pull myself together as I approach.
His name and date of last call is like a dark scar carved into the granite. Above that is a quote. For those I love, I shall sacrifice.
A hot flash of anger rides up my spine and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I go stiff. Bristling at my brother’s choices.
Tyler’s hand on my shoulder cools me off.
I take a deep breath, then drop to my knees and press my fingers into the creed. Tracing each letter. Letting go of my anger. Accepting that this was his love. He loved fighting fires. And he did make the ultimate sacrifice. But that was his choice. Maybe it was a bad one—for sure it was a bad one. But I’ve made so many bad choices, who am I to judge?
But then I remember he saved someone. That guy—I forget his name. Jim something, I think. He saved Jim. Sacrificed himself. And then I recall Brandon… Raven’s Brandon. He had a sticker on the back of his helmet that night he pulled Jeff out of the fire at Pete’s. It read, So that brothers and others may live.
“He was a hero,” I say. More to Tyler, but it’s Scotty I’m talking to. “You are my hero.”
And then I cry some more.
And the words pour out like water. “Scotty,” I say to him, still tracing the letter of his headstone quote. “God. I’ve seen a lot of fire over the past month. People have died in it. Some good, some bad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much fire.”
I look over my shoulder to find Tyler has stepped back. He’s leaning up against a tree, arms across his chest. Our eyes meet and he smiles with only his lips and then nods for me to keep going. So I do.
“I know I haven’t been here in a long time but I just want you to know, it’s got nothing to do with you, OK? It’s me. Because… because I wanted you to be proud of me and I couldn’t come back here until I was proud of myself. Until I was brave again. Until I was strong again. I never wanted you to see me the way you saw me last. Drunk at the funeral, then drunk again on the anniversary. I wanted to make you proud. I wanted to show you that I was OK. And it just took me a while. I’m sorry about that. But I’m doing better, I think.”
I drag the back of my hand across my nose, wiping away the running snot. “And guess what?” I smile, then find myself laughing. “Guess who’s here with me?”
I look over my shoulder to see Tyler. He looks… scared.
“It’s Tyler. He came home. He’s still alive. He’s been through hell and back, but he’s still here. And… and I don’t really know how to tell you this, but we’re together now.” I pause. I’m not sure why. Maybe I’m waiting for a reaction. “And it’s good. It’s good,” I say. “It’s really good. So I hope that makes you happy. That he’s back. That I’ve got him back. I just want you know that I’m safe, and I’m actually happy. For the first time since... since I last saw you. I think I’m going to be OK.”
I have books of things to say to him. I want to tell him about Carlos and the drone. About how we—or someone—blew up the fueling station and took down the compound. About how Tyler has my back now. How I feel safe with him. Protected and cherished. How he makes me laugh with his quirky weirdness. How I think we’re made for each other. And how he might be the one. Might be? No. He is the one.
But I don’t say any of that. I just trace his name and his last call date. I whisper his motto. And then I put my arms around his headstone and give him a hug. Because I think he needs a hug.
“I miss you,” I say, pretending he’s here. That he’s hugging me back. That he never left.
Because that’s all I can do.
Chapter Thirteen - Tyler
Watching her rips me up inside. I had no idea it would be like this for her. I’m starting to realize that there’s actually a whole, whole lot I don’t know about Maddie anymore. Lots of details to fill in. Shit, lots of details about me to fill in for her. But that’s OK, because that image I had in Mexico of me marrying her and being with her – assuming I didn’t die, which I didn’t – still looms large for me.
If I’m being truthful, there was a moment where I wondered if I’d wake up and not feel that way anymore. If it was just the desperation of the circumstance we were in that was causing those thoughts to manifest. I mean, that shit happens. Circumstances change and feelings change with them. I’m not naïve. Hell, could happen for her too. We could leave here today, she could remember all the ways I totally hung her out to dry, and she could feel completely differently about me than she did the day before.
Except I doubt it. Because what I feel for her right now is a love that’s not born out of desire, or want, or even need. Yeah, sure, there’s passion. Bet your ass there’s fucking passion. I want her all the time, but that’s not what I feel now. What I feel now is greater than that. Elevated. More.
What I want now is just to be near her. To help her when she wants, to let her be when that’s what she needs, and to learn to be just a little less stupid. (But only a little, because my idiocy is part of my charm. Not everybody says so, but I believe it’s true.)
And I’ve made it this far in life on my wits, such as they are, and my intuition, which isn’t terrible. And my gut tells me that she’s here to stay. And I am one hundred percent here to stay with her as long as she’ll have me.
She lets go of her bear hug on Scotty’s headstone and crosses over to where I’m standing. Her cheeks are streaked with her tears and it makes her look like a kid somehow. I see all of her at once. Who she was, who she is, who she will become. And while I’m tempted to wipe her tears away, I don’t. Because they’re hers. And she should be able to hold them as long as she needs. I don’t even crack a joke to try to make her feel better or anything. Because sometimes what a person needs most is understanding. Not healing.