“Aunt Willow?”
I turned my head and Max stood a few feet away.
“Max,” I said, hurrying to smile.
“Are you sad?”
“No.”
“You’re crying.”
“I miss someone,” I said. “A friend.”
“The guy who gave me milk?” Max asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why do you miss him?”
“He lives far away.”
“Oh. You should visit him.”
I smiled. “Maybe I should.”
“Do you need a bag?”
“A bag?”
“For your clothes,” Max said.
“Oh, a bag. Right. I think I have plenty of bags, Max.”
His innocence made me feel better. He had no idea that I’d just been on a plane. Or that my bags were at the front door. Or that I had been gone for a little while to be with Travis. Maybe that’s what I needed though. To look at everything through the eyes of innocence. And how crazy it was to think I could just go with Travis and leave everything behind. That it would all somehow work out. Like throwing my arms in the air and letting fate take over. Which was stupid to think. There was no fate when reality stood firm. And the reality of it all was…
Travis lived down there. Right on the beach. He surfed. He smoked. He played drums. He had a nice, cozy, hidden life. Would that be his life forever? That wasn’t my position to worry about. As for me, this was my reality. Mom in the kitchen, cooking a meal nobody would eat. She’d exhaust herself cooking and end up showering and going to bed with the kitchen left in a giant mess. Wren would nap for hours and then sneak out with Max because she didn’t want cabbage rolls. And that meant I would either have to stay and eat some cabbage rolls and clean the kitchen… or take Wren and Max to the diner so they could get a decent meal before going home.
“Don’t cry, Aunt Willow,” Max said.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just… you know, I miss my friend.”
Max inched his way toward me and ended up curled up in my arms. He was the only one who knew what I needed or what to say and do. I sat there on the stairs and gently rocked him. To my surprise, he slowly closed his eyes and fell asleep.
In the kitchen I heard Mom trying to sing along with the radio. She didn’t know a single word to the song, but tried her best. There was an explosion on TV followed by some cartoonish noises. Behind me and up the stairs, it was quiet. Wren didn’t even bother to try and follow me.
I looked down at Max.
“I love you, Max,” I whispered.
I stared at the front door and let my mind waste away in everything that happened with Travis.
My first kiss. My first love. My first heartache.
He had been the first… I wanted him to be the last…
Instead, all I got was reality.
30
The Reverse Trip
TRAVIS
I sat on the beach with my board next to me as though it were a loyal dog. Scores of people had come and gone throughout the day. For whatever reason, I chose a busier spot to sit and watch. People running along the shore, leaving me wondering where they started running and when they planned on stopping. People walking hand in hand, their feet in the water. Losing time. Not giving a shit about anything other than touching someone else and the feel of someone’s hand in theirs. Families coming and going too. Dads dragging wagons full of supplies and beach toys. Wide eyed youngsters looking to run toward the water, but once they got there, they’d freeze up, realizing just how big and powerful the ocean was.
Hour after hour ticked by as I sat there. I had surfed earlier that morning at a different part of the beach. Bigger waves, less people, just me against the water. It wasn’t the same for me. It hadn’t been the same for days. Fuck that. Longer.
It hadn’t been the same since the day Willow left.
And I let her go.
She didn’t slip through my fingers. I fucking held the door open for her and watched her leave. I kept my face straight and tough because that was the only way I knew how to survive. I had to always be strong and tough to get through life.
Everywhere I went… Willow was there.
The ocean water had licked her skin when she was here. I wished I could drain the fucking ocean for that reason alone. The sand. It touched her in places that were meant for me to touch. The sun warmed her skin, gently painting it with a darker color. Leaving tan lines that only my eyes were supposed to see.
She was gone. But she was still here.
I finally stood up and took my surfboard back to my truck, then went to get a bite to eat. The only distraction I had after Willow left was my phone going crazy with phone calls. Word got out that I was back in town and that I quit After the Run. I had the guys calling to check on me. Wanting to hang out. Wanting to be friends - whatever the hell that meant. I had Tommy wanting to come and check up on me. As though I was a project of his, like Ronny. Then I had other people calling me, wanting me to play drums in their band. Wanting to know if I was going solo with my own stuff. It was intense, but I did the only thing I could do to make it less so.
I ignored it all.
I left my phone back at my apartment.
When I got home, I sat on the balcony and sipped whiskey until my head was mushy. I smoked until my chest hurt. I wrote in my black notebook until the words refused to spill from my mind to my hand.
Day became night, night became day, and the clock meant nothing to me because it was just a reminder of all the seconds wedging their way between myself, Willow, and the moment she would look at someone else and feel something that resembled the spark she felt with me.
I couldn’t go back there though.
To that town? To that house? To everything that was left behind?
So much unfinished living that would never get a chance again.
I looked up from the notebook after writing for hours. It was dark out across the world. I had only a few more sips left in the whiskey bottle. Two smokes left in the pack. I sat right on the balcony itself, my back against the stone wall that separated my balcony from the person next to me.
What would have been…
I can see you as a teacher. Correcting crooked A’s and sloppy Z’s, finding ways to use coloring projects to help kids learn the most basic stuff that would always be the most important. Or maybe you would have been with older kids. Get some asshole like me who would say ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’ just to make everyone laugh.
Nah, forget that.
I can see you as a counselor. Yeah. Sitting behind a cluttered desk, a weary eyed teenager sitting across from you, spilling their heart. And you’d move everything out of the way and walk to the front of your desk and be there. Be present.
Or…
How about a chef? I can see you traveling the world, working in the kitchens of restaurants that made people into rockstars. You’d call me from another part of the world, learning a new language and technique. You’d tell me about the food you were cooking, and I would have no fucking clue what you were saying. But you sounded happy. And nothing else matters.
Then again…
What if you found the right guy and had a family? What if you were a Mom? That was your job. That ultimate job. The most important job in the world. You’d be the best mom in the world. Your love, care, patience. Forever smiling, always finding a way to stretch time in a way that’s supposed to be impossible.
I shut the notebook and flicked my wrist, sending it flying across the balcony.
This was all bullshit.
Me hiding somewhere in the fantasy that Willow called me out on, and yet I still lived in it. And with each passing moment I wondered what she was doing. If she was helping Max. Helping her sister. Helping her mother. Or maybe she and Sam finally went at it. Throwing down for some mediocre sex and Sam doing everything he could to spoil her to make up for what he couldn’t do in the bedroom.
I knew jealousy was ugly, but so
was guilt.
I reached for my smokes and lit up a fresh one. I washed down the first burning drag with another drink of whiskey. I had gotten myself to a point where the smoke hurt worse than the whiskey.
I fucking loved her.
I fucking loved her with all my heart.
I fucking loved her so much that I was willing to sit here and let her take care of what she needed to do. I greedily wanted to go after her and drag her down here with me and keep her safe and happy, and go from the bedroom to the beach, to something to eat and just keep doing it over and over until time stopped.
But love went beyond that.
That’s what I realized as I sat there alone, taking a slow and long drag of my smoke. I made rings with the smoke and watched them disappear into the night.
“Love went beyond that,” I whispered. “Love makes you challenge yourself. Love makes you walk up to a demon you thought was dead and stare into its cold fucking eyes. And you just stand there. You face it. You keep it away from the person you love.”
I put my head back and felt the whiskey doing its job. Everything started to spin.
I told myself to wake the fuck up before I became that guy. The one who falls asleep with a lit smoke and burns down a building. The one who drinks too much and ends up choking on his own vomit.
I opened my eyes and made sure to take care of the smoke.
I swatted the bottle of whiskey out of the way.
I shut my eyes one more time and felt the swirling again. Only this time I saw Willow. We were holding hands, spinning in circles. On the beach. Kicking up sand. The ocean throwing waves at us. Her hair dancing in front of her face.
“Love went beyond that,” I whispered with my eyes shut.
My hands touched the ground, looking for my notebook.
You threw it, man. You lost it. Just like you lost Willow.
“Fuck,” I said.
To be honest, I didn’t lose Willow.
I knew right where she was.
The truth… I lost myself.
I ordered a beer and sat there, staring at the stage. The same sign was there as the last time I was here. Sitting up there and playing guitar to impress Willow was something I never thought I’d do. Not to mention going back a short time later to play some more so I could get a bottle of whiskey from the bartender to take back to the room. That same bartender was there and gave me a nod and a wink when she saw me.
Alone, I drank my beer, left some cash on the table, and left.
Outside, I smoked a cigarette and kept grabbing at the air with my right hand, waiting for the moment I would find Willow’s hand and she would be there with me. Back on our little road trip where we could fall in love again and again.
When I finished my smoke, alone, I walked to the B&B.
I paid for the same room I shared with Willow. It was a different person at the desk this time though. A man in a nice sweater with a curious smile when he saw me standing in a hoodie and beat up jeans, holding nothing but a guitar case. I smelled like beer and smoke, my hair messy, probably not the normal kind of person he’d expect to see there.
I didn’t give a shit though. I paid for the room and the first thing I did when I got in there was start a fire in the fireplace. I laughed, remembering that Willow didn’t know how to do it.
With the fire burning, I slowly sank down to the floor, my back against the couch.
This room was where I cried as I thought about Julie. And Willow was there to comfort me. We did more than comfort each other too.
I couldn’t even look at the bed.
I had no intentions of sleeping in it either.
I was fucking backtracking every step to get back to Willow.
I opened my guitar case and took out my black notebook. This was interesting because I had one beer and nothing else. My lips were dry, thirsting for the taste of whiskey or Willow’s skin. And all I had were my thoughts. That, and the shadows that danced around the room with the memory of me and her in it.
You smile and the fire burns.
The embers never shut their eyes.
I can never look away.
You’re awake, feet shuffling against the smooth floors.
Your hair looks like sleep.
Your eyes look like hope.
I feel blind right now.
I touch walls, but get nowhere.
Everything I know has been stripped down.
There’s lost, leaving, letting go.
On the mantle, I give you my heart.
I wait on the floor, your body deserves the warmth of the sheets.
With lines, I trace.
I draw the picture of love with the curves you call home.
The temptation you left behind leaves me wondering.
I hold it, like a dust shadow.
I breath it in, second by second, never wanting to be alive more than I do right now.
I stopped writing and looked at the fire.
Everything Willow said to me went through my head.
“Fuck you, Travis. You can’t fix what Julie did.”
I could never go back and fix it. I knew that. But I never got to say goodbye to her. I never got to hug her one more time. I never got to tell her some stupid joke. Or teach her something else about life. I never got to share another smoke with her on the roof outside her room and look at the stars and forget about life. I never got to hold her when she cried over something that happened in life. I never got to feel that stomach sinking feeling when I would have to tell her that our mother took off again.
That night… while she was making that decision for herself, I was in someone’s basement, throwing back drinks, catching the eyes of girls who thought they were women, all the while I thought I was a man. I crashed that night with my head buzzing, not knowing that my sister was taking her last breath. I woke up to leave, still buzzing, not knowing my sister was gone without a goodbye. Or worse yet… that Willow was on her way there. Julie called Willow for help. Why? Because she didn’t mean to do it? Because she regretted it? And Willow was the one who called for actual help. But it was too late. It was all too fucking late.
I lowered my head, alone, and pinched the bridge of my nose.
It was like living the same nightmare over again.
Losing someone I loved.
Not being there to save her.
Never getting a chance to say goodbye.
Before a single tear could jump from my eyes, I reached back and pulled myself to my feet. I threw my notebook into my guitar case and turned off the fire. I looked at the bed, shaking my head.
I wasn’t going to do this.
I wasn’t going to live in the memory of what we did.
Maybe it was too fucking late.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
I left the room and raced down the stairs like a mad man. The poor guy behind the desk looked a little scared as I told him I was leaving. I told him there was an emergency and I had to go. I’d already paid for the night, so what did it matter?
I ran to my truck. I threw my guitar across the seat and started the truck.
The smart thing would have been to spend the night and drive in the morning.
But I didn’t do smart. Ever, it seemed. I wasn’t going to change now.
Willow was home. The place she thought was home. Whether it was dealing with Max, her sister, or her mother, that was her version of home. And that place was the place I grew up. That used to be home to me. It was stripped away because of what happened.
I started to drive.
I didn’t care how much coffee it would take, I knew where my next stop was going to be. Not some place that Willow had been with me. No. That was the past already. That happened. That was a memory.
I didn’t want to live in a memory.
I wanted to live… with Willow… in a moment that was going to be our forever.
I just hoped it really wasn’t too fucking late.
I crouched and placed the black notebook onto t
he soft ground. I tried as hard as I could not to look at the name etched in the stone. My middle finger touched the L in her name and shivers went through my body. I fell to my ass and put my fist to my mouth, I couldn’t hold back any longer.
My sister didn’t even get a real headstone. She had a small, flat block on the ground and that was it. Her name. The year she was born. The year she died. The dates close enough that anyone who saw it would pause, quickly do the math, and realize she was in her teens when she died.
I took a heavy breath.
The caffeine had long since stopped doing its job. I was half awake, half asleep, still unable to comprehend that I was back in this fucking town. So far nobody had seen me, which maybe wasn’t all that surprising. It was the early afternoon and I came right to the cemetery.
“The words are yours now,” I said.
I always hated the notion of talking to nobody. Julie wasn’t here. I wasn’t sure what happened after your last breath, but to be the guy sitting in a cemetery talking to the breeze…
“Everything I never got to say to you. I’ll never forget you. You know that already. I don’t know where you are. I don’t know how this works. If you can see things… you see it. You know how our mother is. She’ll always be that person. So, don’t worry about it anymore. I think I fucked up pretty badly with some things. I never talked to you about my problems. But, damn, I think you could help with this one. I love you, sis. I hope wherever you are, you’re taking good care of yourself.”
I leaned forward and put my hand to the stone.
I cried.
I cried like a damn fool. I cried like it just happened a day ago. I cried more than I did when it happened.
And when that storm passed by, I stood up, leaving my notebook behind.
I didn’t need it anymore.
I didn’t need to write anything.
Whatever I had to say next…
Willow was going to hear it in person.
31
A Few Choices, Maybe One More
What You Don't Know (True Hearts Book 6) Page 28