Seared on my Soul

by Cole Gibsen

  “Did things not go well today at the coffee shop?”

  “They went fine.” Her smile is tight. “When are your parents supposed to get here?”

  I glance at my watch. “Any minute.”

  “Do you think we have time for a drink?”

  Now I know something’s up. “If you’re not feeling up to this, that’s fine.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She cranes her head toward the bar. “I wouldn’t leave you—not now.”

  I gently grab her arm and draw her to me. “I thought you gave up drinking,” I say in a hushed voice. Having her this close, I can smell a faint trace of alcohol beneath her perfume.

  She squirms out of my grip. “One drink never hurt anyone.”

  “Em, what the hell is going on with you?”

  “I’m fine,” she hisses.

  A man clears his throat, stopping me before I can say more. “Forgive me for interrupting,” the maître d’ says, looking anything but apologetic. “Your table is ready.”

  “Wonderful,” Emily says, marching ahead of me.

  The douchebag in the tuxedo appraises her as she walks by, his gaze traveling from the stud above her mouth to the tattoos decorating her arms and chest, before landing squarely on her ass. He frowns in disapproval.

  My hands ball into fists before I can stop myself. Let him say something, I think. Just one word.

  Lucky for his sake, he says nothing as he leads us to a table in the corner—my request—so I can keep my back to the wall. He does, however, give a slight sniff in Em’s direction before walking off. Either Emily doesn’t care or she doesn’t notice.

  I make a mental note to have a few words with Monsieur Doucheface before we leave.

  Emily reaches for the wine list. Her hands tremble as she opens it.

  I gently remove it from her hands. “Please talk to me.”

  She presses her lips together. “Not now. Later.”

  “Later,” I echo, sliding the wine list to the far side of the table.

  She nods. Her eyes lose focus as she traces circles on the tablecloth with her index finger. She’s closed herself off to me. With a sinking in my gut I realize there’s not a damn thing I can do to draw her out. At least not here. “We should go.” I reach for my cane.

  “What?” She makes a face. “We just got here, and we haven’t even met your parents yet.”

  “Yeah, they can wait.” I stand. “There’s something you’re not telling me. We can grab a pizza, go back to my place, and talk about it.”

  Her lips twitch into an almost-smile. “Actually, that sounds…” Her mouth snaps shut as her gaze narrows on something past my shoulder.

  “Hello, Reece.”

  I haven’t heard her voice in almost three years. Still, I grip the edge of the table to keep from recoiling. “Mother.” I turn to face her.

  She’s thinner than I remember, or maybe it’s just the slimming effect of her black dress. Though she still sports the same angled bob, her formerly blond hair is now almost completely white. Two large diamonds dangle from her earlobes, and her favorite pearls—a Mother’s Day present from long ago—are clasped at her throat.

  Dad stands beside her. Neither will look at me. Instead, they stare at my cane with matching expressions of morbid fascination.

  Mother touches her throat. “It’s true.”

  “What’s true, Mom?” I ask, pulling a chair out for her. “That I’m a disabled vet? Or that I’ve managed to survive this long without your money?”

  With wide eyes, Emily grabs onto the sleeve of a passing waiter. I can’t hear what she murmurs into his ear, but I have a bad feeling it’s a drink order.

  Mom hesitates, turning to face Dad.

  His once-dark hair is completely salt and pepper. There are more creases lining his eyes than the last time I saw him. His shoulders slump. “Son, we didn’t come here to argue.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that,” I say. “Because there’s nothing to argue about.”

  Mom and Dad exchange a glance. Dad nods and they both sit.

  After a moment, I do, too.

  Mom carefully unfolds her napkin and spreads it neatly on her lap, while Dad stares at the ceiling, drumming his fingers on the table. Only when the maître d’ scuttles over is the silence broken.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery, I had no idea you were joining us tonight.”

  “Yes.” Dad clears his throat. “We’re here with our son.”

  He says nothing about Emily, or even acknowledges her existence for that matter. My blood begins to heat to lava-like temperatures.

  “And Ms. Garrett,” I add. “My girlfriend.”

  Em slumps in her chair.

  Mom’s head tilts sharply, like a hawk suddenly realizing the presence of a mouse. Her eyes narrow. “Your girlfriend?”

  Dad’s eyes narrow. “You look familiar.” His eyes widen. “You’re the girl from the hardware store.”

  The maître d’ shifts uncomfortably. “I’ll see to your drinks. The usual martini and scotch?”

  Still staring at Emily, Mom and Dad nod.

  He turns to me. “Sir?”

  “Water.”

  He arches an eyebrow inquisitively at Emily.

  She waves a hand. “I’ve got one on the way.”

  “Very good.” He hurries away.

  Mom’s attention remains locked on Emily. “So, you’re Reece’s girlfriend.” Her smile is stretched tight. “My, aren’t you…colorful.”

  Before either of us can respond, the previous waiter appears and deposits an amber-colored drink in front of Emily. She hurriedly takes a sip.

  “Mom.” I lower my voice to a growl. “I won’t let you be rude to Emily.”

  “Emily,” Mom repeats. Her nose scrunches, as if the name leaves a bad taste on her tongue. “How on earth was I being rude? You are colorful, aren’t you? Isn’t that the desired effect you were going for with all that…?” She gestures to Emily’s tattoos.

  “Ink?” Emily supplies before taking another sip. She pushes her shoulders back in that defiant way of hers I’ve come to love and admire. “Yes, I do love color. But tattoos are wonderful for another reason.”

  Mom’s eyebrows raise.

  “They’re remarkable asshole detectors. It’s amazing how clearly they allow me to spot people who are superficial, pompous asses.”

  This time, Mom’s smile is smooth as silk. “That’s nice.”

  Dad clears his throat. “So, Reece, tell us how you’ve been.”

  “You mean after you left me stranded, injured, and alone at the St. Louis airport? Or currently? Because the answer to both is fine.”

  “Reece, we were wrong,” Dad admits.

  His admission, so unlike him, catches me completely off guard. “What?”

  “We were wrong,” Mom echoes. “We were acting childish. We were punishing you for defying our wishes. Still, you’re an adult and entitled to make your own decisions. We realize that, now. That’s why we’re here. To ask for your forgiveness.”

  I look at Emily to see if she’s hearing the same words I am. As long as I’ve known my parents, they’ve never apologized to anyone about anything.

  Em gives me a small smile accompanied by a shrug before taking another sip of her drink.

  “We’re so very sorry,” Mom continues. “We don’t blame you if you no longer want anything to do with us. But, if you’re willing, we’d like to be a part of your life again.”

  Something inside my chest feels like it’s being pulled to the point of breaking. I never realized I’d wanted their apology until now.

  The waiter returns with our drink orders and offers us more time to look at the menus before scuttling away again. My head, however, is whirling so fast I’m no longer hungry.

  “You don’t have to say anything now,” Dad says. “We’re glad just for this opportunity to have dinner with you. Our treat, of course.”

  And there it is. I did something they liked; now they’re going to rewar
d me with money. “Don’t worry about it. This one’s on me.”

  Mom waves a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous, Reece. You can’t afford that on a teacher’s salary. Your sister told us what you’re doing now.”

  “You let me worry about what I can and cannot afford.”

  Mom opens her mouth, but Dad silences her with a look. “You’re absolutely right, Son.”

  “While I appreciate your approval,” I tell him while reaching for my water, “I’m certainly not asking for it.”

  Emily winks at me, a gesture that does not go unnoticed by my mother.

  “We’re certainly not trying to imply you need our approval,” Dad says. “It appears you’re doing well enough.”

  It’s the enough that scratches down my skin like a fork. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” Mom cuts in, “that we’re your parents. Whether or not we’re in your life, we still worry about you and want what’s best for you.”

  “You have nothing to worry about.” Emily’s comment draws a frown from Mom. “Reece is fantastic.”

  “Are you?” Mom turns her gaze back on me. “Jessica implied you were having some difficulties—from your time in the service.”

  Jessica. I clench my jaw until it aches. Of course my sister, with her big mouth and need of approval, would blab everything to my parents. “I’m fine.”

  “Darling, you have a cane. That’s not the definition of fine.”

  “It’s true. I was injured.” I grip the edge of the table. “And you’d know that if you had been there to pick me up from the airport.”

  “It’s also true,” Mom counters, “you never would have been injured if you hadn’t gone against our wishes and enlisted in the first place.” Her lip quivers.

  “Mom, I’m not Jessica. I can’t just sit back and let you dictate my life for me.”

  “How can you say that?” She leans forward in her chair. “Though, I can’t say I’m surprised. You were always accusing your father and me of controlling you. But what were we supposed to do, Reece? We’re your parents. Our job is to keep you safe.” Her voice trembles and her eyes swell with tears. Dad places his hand over hers. Several people from nearby tables glance in our direction.

  “You call taking my trust fund away from me and cutting me out of your lives keeping me safe?”

  Sighing, she dabs her tears away with a napkin. “So, we made a mistake. I was desperate. You were always a defiant child, and when you told me you were enlisting, I was terrified.” She points to my cane. “Rightfully so.”

  I remain silent. There’s nothing I can say to argue.

  “I am your mother,” she continues. “It is my job to love and protect you. I’ll admit, I’m not perfect and I make mistakes.” She reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. “But as long as you are alive, I will continue to love and protect you.”

  Her hand is so much smaller than I remember, frail even. I want so badly to believe her. Dad gives me a hopeful smile.

  Emily averts her eyes while finishing her drink. “I don’t see how taking his trust fund away is protecting him,” she mutters.

  “How nice.” Mom lets go of my hand. “She’s concerned about your finances.”

  Emily narrows her eyes. I can practically feel the heat crackling between the two of them. “I’m concerned about Reece. He had dreamed of buying an RV and traveling the country.”

  “An RV?” Mom makes a face before shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m glad you brought it up. As I said, that was a mistake on our part.” She refocuses her attention on me. “We’d like to give it back to you.”

  “I told you, I don’t need your money.”

  “It’s your money, Son,” Dad says. “It doesn’t matter if you need it.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Then donate it to charity.” Dad waves a hand in the air. “Cash it out and set it on fire for all we care. It’s yours to do whatever you like with.”

  For a split second, the image of my RV flashes through my head, with Emily sitting inside. I can see us driving across the country, stopping at every greasy diner and gimmicky tourist trap along the way. She’d buy a sombrero in New Mexico and I’d pick up a lobster coffee mug in New England. The dream is more than a little tempting.

  Then I see Chad, his blood—along with his dream—bleeding onto the sand. I inhale sharply. RV, sombrero, and lobster coffee mug be damned. If there’s a way I can use the money to rid myself of Chad’s ghost, I’m going to do it. Still, I know better than to think anything from my parents would come without strings.

  “What’s the catch?”

  Dad frowns and Mom looks taken aback.

  “We told you,” Mom says. “We only want you to be happy.” She pauses. “Are you happy?”

  “Sure.” Even though her question catches me off guard, my answer is programmed. Automatic, even. For so long, every day was just a struggle to stay alive and happiness was a long lost dream. But that was before Emily walked into my life, bringing…color? Vibrancy? Light? Life?

  Actually, she’s brought all of those things.

  Is that what happiness is?

  A surge of panic jolts up my spine like electricity. I can’t be happy. I don’t deserve to be. Not when a man, barely older than a boy, gave up his life for me. He should be here. Chad should be happy.

  “He loved motorcycles. He was going to be a veterinarian.” I don’t realize I’ve said the words out loud until I look up to find my parents staring at me with matching looks of concern.

  A breeze tickles my neck, blowing sand onto my napkin. I turn to find the rest of the tables have fallen away, leaving us stranded back in the desert.

  “Reece?” Emily leans forward. “Are you okay?”

  In the distance, I can hear the rattle of gunfire. I reach for my gun, but it’s been replaced with a useless glass of water.

  A lump wedges inside my throat.

  “Son? What is it?” Dad’s brow furrows in concern.

  I sweep my hand through my hair, already gritty with sweat and sand.

  “Reece?” This voice, quieter, sounds from behind me, making me jerk back.

  Turning, I find Chad stumbling toward me. Blood spurts from the slash across his neck. A chunk of his skull hangs from his head, revealing the soft pink brain inside. He stumbles to his knees beside me. “Reece?” Her voice is thick and garbled. His eyes meet mine, they’re wide with fear. Already the light of life is draining from them. He teeters forward. Just before he falls I hear him ask,

  “Are you happy now?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Emily

  After his episode, Reece says very little and eats even less. When dinner’s finished, I won’t let him ride his motorcycle, given his state, so I drag him to my car, shove him inside, and drive his ass home.

  When we arrive, I guide him into his house and steer him straight to his bedroom. “I’ll take you to your bike first thing in the morning,” I tell him, helping him into bed and slipping off his shoes.

  He nods.

  My head is beginning to throb, probably from my earlier pity party. I press my palms against my pulsing temples. “I think I might go back to my place. I’m getting a migraine, so I’m not going to be much fun.”

  He says nothing, only stares blankly at the wall in that way of his that lets me know he’s not really with me.

  “Unless…you want me to stay?” I add.

  He blinks then, his eyes focusing before finding mine. “Maybe you should stay. Maybe you should stay forever.”

  I snort, sure I’ve heard him wrong. “Go to sleep. You’re delusional.”

  “I’m serious.” He sits up. “I’ve been carrying all this guilt around for so long, guilt that my life will never amount to the life Chad should have had. But maybe I can do better.”

  I never know what Reece I’m going to get after he has a panic attack. Usually, it’s sleepy Reece. Sometimes, it’s paranoid Reece. Tonight, I got super-ambi
tious-I-need-to-make-changes Reece. I cross my arms. It’s my least favorite Reece. “What are you talking about?”

  He peels the covers back and swings his legs out of bed. “Maybe if I make my life mean something, Chad wouldn’t have died for nothing.”

  “Sweetie, Chad didn’t die for nothing. You aren’t nothing. I hate it when you say that.”

  He waves a hand in the air. “Listen, I can go back to law school and become a lawyer. I might not be able to fight physically, but I can do it in the courtroom. I can make a difference.”

  I knew something happened to him at the restaurant, but this episode is unlike any I’ve dealt with before. “Reece, you do make a difference. Every day at school. Besides, you’re done fighting, remember?”

  “That’s what a coward would say.”

  “You told me yourself you would hate being a lawyer.”

  “Yes.” He nods. “But at least I’d be doing something worthwhile.”

  “This is insane.” I throw my arms in the air. “You need sleep. In the morning you’re going to realize how insane this all is.”

  “It’s not.” He limps toward me and takes my hands in his. “I’ve spent all these years wasting my life. I have to make it count for something. For Chad.” He pauses. “I think we should get married.”

  I yank my hands out of his. “As romantic as that proposal was, I think you’ve lost your mind.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I think I’m actually seeing things clearly.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ve been carrying this terrible guilt for so long. But what if I didn’t have to? What if I changed, made my life more meaningful?”

  “And you think getting married is the answer?”

  “Why waste time? I think if we’re not moving forward, we’re not moving at all. Don’t I make you happy?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  “Reece, you had a bad attack in the restaurant, and you’re still not thinking clearly. I’m sure you’ll agree in the morning, after a good night’s sleep.”

  “Emily.” He grabs my hand. “I need my life to count.”

  “Your life already counts. Why can’t you see that?”

  “What’s the big deal?” he asks. “Marriage is the natural progression of relationships.”