Seared on my Soul

by Cole Gibsen

  To my annoyance, Mary’s grin only widens.

  “I loved my grandmother more than anything,” I add.

  Mary laces her fingers together. “I’m not talking about love, Emily. I’m sure you loved her a great deal. I’m talking about authenticating her and, therefore, authenticating yourself.”

  I run my face with my hands. “Are you even trying to make sense right now? Or is driving people insane with psychobabble a fun game for you.”

  Mary laughs. “I can’t make your self-discovery for you, Emily. You’re going to have to work with me here.”

  Sighing, I drop my hands.

  “You keep telling me in our therapy sessions together, you don’t know what to do with your life. But it’s obvious that’s not true. The baking you did with your grandmother—that’s your passion, right?”

  “It was,” I mutter. “But it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “Maybe the cookies and cupcakes aren’t meant to be. But what about the real baking your grandmother did. The other things you told me about?”

  “Like the baba and honey cakes?” I snort. “Americans wouldn’t like that stuff.”

  “Do you?”

  “I love it. But I grew up on it.”

  Mary retrieves her discarded notebook. Without looking at me, she adds, “So who doesn’t have faith in her grandmother, now?”

  I lean back, so stunned by her revelation I can’t speak.

  “I just want you to think about it,” Mary says, her voice low and soothing. “It’s not the American desserts your grandmother loved. It was the food from her homeland. That’s where her spirit is. That’s where her passion was. And I have a hunch, that’s where you’ll find yours, too.” She clicks her pen closed and sets it aside.

  “What if you’re wrong?” I think about all the shit I’ve been through in the last year, from the car accident, to being rejected at work, to Reece giving me the ultimatum. “I don’t think I can survive another rejection.”

  She laughs at this. “Of course you can. You’re a hell of a strong woman, Emily. What you can’t survive is going down this path of drinking and self-loathing. I’m only presenting you with one path of many that could lead to your happiness. Don’t you think you owe it to yourself to explore your options?”

  Again, I think about Reece, and how he walked away from me. And I did nothing except watch him go. Would things have been different if I hadn’t given up so easily? If I’d fought for myself instead of running away?

  “What if it’s too late?”

  Mary shakes her head. “The only time it’s too late is when you’re dead. You, Emily, are still very much alive.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Reece

  The flashes of cameras flood my vision with spots. Goose, the black Labrador at my side, noses my clenched fist, alerting me to my rising anxiety. I exhale slowly, the way my therapist instructed, and scratch the back of Goose’s ear.

  The bands of anxiety around my chest loosen just a fraction. It’s enough that I can breathe, and that’s all I need to get through this moment until the next.

  Goose glances up at me. I can read the worry in her eyes as plainly as if they were human. I smile back, hoping to convey I’m okay—at least for right now.

  I was originally resistant to the idea of a PTSD service dog when my therapist first suggested it. But now, standing on a stage at the University of Illinois—farther from my home than I’ve been since the desert—I don’t know how I would have traveled here without her.

  Five young kids, practically babies—God, is that what I looked like when I went off to war?—line up in front of me. Skinny and zit-faced, their hands shake as they accept the envelope I hand them with their checks inside.

  “Congratulations,” I mutter, shaking each sweaty hand before turning, plastering on a smile, and posing for the obligatory photo op.

  “Thank you so much for this opportunity.” This from the smiling redhead at the end of the line. “I wouldn’t be able to attend veterinary college if not for this scholarship.”

  Opportunity. The word echoes inside my brain. Something Chad never had, but now, because of the foundation I set up in his name, others will.

  It’s not enough. It will never be enough.

  But it’s something.

  When the awards ceremony ends, Goose and I linger at the back of the auditorium, waiting for the crowd to filter out before I make my getaway. It took all I had just to climb on that stage. I doubt I have the energy to stand for even one more photo.

  “Excuse me.”

  So much for getting away unnoticed. I turn and find a woman roughly my mother’s age. Her black hair is streaked with silver. Her floral dress hangs loosely on her shoulders. Her fingers work nervously, twisting a ring around and around on her finger. There’s something familiar about her, some piece to a puzzle I didn’t even know I was missing.

  “I traveled from Mississippi to be here,” she says. “I had to be here. My son—”

  “Chad,” I blurt. I look into her eyes and see his eyes stare back at me.

  Goose shifts nervously beside me, her tail beating a frantic rhythm against my leg. Absently, I reach for her ear and stroke it.

  “Yes,” she answers and gives me a small smile. “My youngest. The only boy out of five children.” She stops twisting her ring.

  I want to run, but my feet are somehow glued to the spot. I brace myself for her accusations, for her hatred and rage. I failed her son. God knows I deserve whatever she gives me.

  She touches my arm, and it’s all I can do not to flinch. “I wanted to come here…I had to tell you in person. Thank you.”

  My throat is so tight it takes me several tries before I’m able to swallow. Maybe a lack of oxygen is screwing with my brain. I’m sure I heard her wrong. “Please, don’t thank me.”

  She frowns and drops her arm. “What?”

  “Please, don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me. I failed your son.”

  Her face softens. “Oh, honey, no. War killed my boy. Not you.”

  “But if only I—”

  “Listen,” she cuts me off. “Chad loved you. Told me you were like the brother he never had. Talked about you all the time when we had our computer visits.”

  Her words do something to me. I can feel myself cracking from the inside.

  She grabs my hands suddenly, squeezing them nearly to the point of pain. Goose whines and nudges my leg with her nose. It’s her way of alerting me to my rising anxiety—something I realized completely on my own.

  “It’s true. I don’t know exactly what happened or how. But I saw my baby when he returned to me. I made them open his coffin. A mother has to be sure—I had to be sure. It was him.” Her voice catches. “My baby. You didn’t do those things. You didn’t kill my boy.”

  I open my mouth, but she cuts me off with a shake of her head. “This foundation is a wonderful thing you’re doing. But you can’t hold onto my boy any longer. Chad wouldn’t want that. You need to let him go.”

  Maybe it’s because the words are coming from Chad’s mother, or maybe it’s because they have the same eyes, but they do something to me. I can feel the crack inside me widening, accompanied by a flood of pain. My eyes well with tears that I’ve been holding back for five long years.

  I crumple in the woman’s arms. She’s so much smaller than me—so much frailer—yet she has the strength to hold me up. How? How can she be so strong?

  “Shhh,” she whispers, her hands stroking circles on my back. “It’s time to let him go. It’s time to let it all go.”

  I want to tell her I don’t know how to, or even if I can. What if she’s wrong? What if Chad doesn’t want to be let go? I look up, sure I’ll see him standing in the shadows. Always behind me. Always near.

  But this time, no matter where I look, he’s nowhere to be seen.

  That night, Goose watches me flip a burger on the small charcoal grill outside my new, pre-owned Winnebago Minni
e Winnie. It’s not the full size RV of my dreams, but it’s all I could afford after donating the bulk of my trust fund to set up Chad’s veterinary scholarship foundation. And honestly, it has a bed, shower, toilet, and gets me where I’m going. I don’t need anything else.

  But that’s not exactly true.

  There are times—night is the worst—when I realize how empty the bed is, and how much I miss having her body pressed against mine. So, yeah. I guess I don’t have everything I need.

  My phone buzzes, and I set my spatula aside to retrieve my phone from my pocket. A quick glance shows that the text is from my mother asking how the ceremony went. I type a quick response and return the phone to my pocket. While my relationship with my parents is far from repaired, at least we’re talking. My sister even arranged for us to have a family dinner at her place the week I return home. Four months ago, it would have taken a gun to my head to get me in the same room with my mother, father, and sister. And here I am agreeing to do it on my own free will.

  I have Emily to thank for that.

  Emily. The girl who I spent an entire summer running from but still can’t escape.

  I reach for my beer and take a long swig. Before I set out on my trip, I promised Tonya I’d call Emily after the awards ceremony. Now, I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s been nearly six months since she walked out of my life. While the ache in my chest feels just as raw as the day she left, somehow I’ve learned to live with it.

  Six months is a long time. Emily, I’m sure, has moved on. If not with that guy from the bar, then with someone else. That’s not something I want to know. Today is, after all, a day of letting go. Maybe Chad isn’t the only one I have to stop holding onto.

  I touch the bullet hanging from my neck. It’s a small piece of crumpled metal but feels so much heavier, like a boulder tied around my neck, pulling me underwater. I think I’m finally ready to be free.

  After finishing my burger, I follow the thin dirt path to the edge of the lake. Goose follows at my heels. Her usually upbeat demeanor is sullen, as if she knows the importance of what I have to do.

  When I arrive, the sun is beginning to descend, setting the water aglow. Several boats dot the horizon. I walk to the edge of the muddy band, stopping when the toes of my boots touch the edge of the water.

  I turn, half expecting to see the ghost of Chad scowling at me, angry at what I’m about to do. But he’s absent, just as he’s been since the moment his mother took me into her arms.

  “Chad…” My voice breaks. I feel a little stupid. At the same time, I know this is something I have to do. “I’m not going to lie and tell you I’ve always been grateful you saved my life. I wish it was me. I think I always will.”

  A crane swoops down and lands in the water several yards away. It watches me curiously.

  “Anyway, I can’t keep carrying you around with me. It’s not fair to you or me. You wanted me to live.” My throat tightens, making the words more difficult. Still, I continue. “You wanted me to live. The only way I can find to honor your choice, your sacrifice, is to stop holding onto you and let you go.”

  I unclasp the chain from my neck and hold the bullet in my fist. “We come in the dark,” I mutter, reciting one of the Night Stalker mottos. “And now, I’m letting you leave in the dark.”

  With Goose by my side, I watch the sun sink below the horizon. The glow fades from orange to navy and then to black. In that darkness, I throw the bullet into the lake with all my might.

  The heron makes a squawk of protest before taking flight.

  I don’t see where it falls. I hear only a distant plop of the bullet hitting the water.

  Goose whines.

  “He’s gone,” I say, reaching down to stroke the dog’s head. And it’s the truth. I can feel it all the way down to the marrow of my bones. Manifestation of my guilt, ghost, demon—whatever it was that followed me out of the desert, it’s gone.

  And that terrifies me. For the last several years, I’ve lived my life a haunted man. Now that I’m free, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Reece

  I glance at the digital clock on the Minnie Winnie’s radio and mutter a curse. I hate being late. Spending an entire summer driving across the country and fishing, I got a little too comfortable with not having a schedule.

  Goose sits in the passenger seat beside me, her tongue dangling out of her mouth. She squints through the rush of wind streaming through her window. After these last months we spent outdoors, I wonder how she’s going to like being stuck inside a classroom.

  I know I’m not looking forward to it.

  A highway sign ahead alerts me Springfield is only thirty miles away.

  An invisible band squeezes my chest. Returning to work isn’t the only thing I’m dreading. The closer I get to home, the closer I am to her, the more pressure builds inside my chest.

  I turn on the radio and crank the volume. With each passing mile, I grow twitchier. I need a distraction. Especially since my previous distraction—a cross-country road trip—is over.

  The loud music doesn’t help alleviate my anxiety. In fact, I feel even more on edge, so I turn it off. Swallowing hard, I grip the steering wheel. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to use these months to find myself and get over her.

  Now that I’m back, I see that was never really an option. Turns out, I was only running from my unresolved feelings for her. Running but never actually escaping. Maybe I should have called her like Tonya wanted me to. But I just can’t imagine Emily would want anything to do with me, not after what I did to her.

  My phone rings, startling me from my thoughts. I hit the Bluetooth button on the custom stereo I had installed, and Tonya’s voice fills the cab.

  “Reece, where are you?”

  I sigh. “There was some unexpected traffic in Nashville this morning. I should be there in about twenty-five minutes.”

  She tsks. “You know how Sherry is about her faculty meetings. She’s going to be pissed you’re late.”

  “I know.”

  “You should have come home sooner.”

  I know that, too. Despite planning to get over Emily while I was gone that summer, part of me was worried my feelings for her would come rushing back the moment I returned. I had wanted to put that off for as long as I could. Too late.

  “Tell you what,” I say, “I’ll pick up a box of donuts on the way in. That should smooth things over.”

  “I have a better idea,” Tonya says. “There’s this new bakery off of Walnut. It’s two blocks away from school. They sell these bacon bun things that are to die for. Pick up a dozen, and I bet you Sherry won’t even mention you being late.”

  Inwardly I grimace. Driving down Walnut will force me to drive past the coffee shop where Emily works. Surely, Tonya knows that. I open my mouth to tell her I’d rather face Sherry’s wrath for being late, but she beats me to it.

  “Grab the buns, and I’ll see you when you get here.” She hangs up before I can argue.

  I mutter another curse. She’s cunning, that Tonya.

  Goose cocks her head, her tail thumping against the seat.

  “Looks like we have a pit stop to make,” I tell her.

  Twenty minutes later, I see Emily’s coffee shop up ahead. I tighten my jaw, clenching the muscles as I keep my eyes focused on the road. If thinking about her is this hard, I can’t imagine what it would do to me to see her through the window.

  Unconsciously, I slow the RV down as I drive past. I force my foot back on the accelerator while what feels like every cell in my body strains for me to stop the vehicle. I make it past the shop, and the knot inside my gut loosens, letting me breathe easier. I mentally congratulate myself for winning this round. Unfortunately, I have this internal battle to look forward to every day of the upcoming school year.

  With the coffee shop well behind me, I search for a bakery among the various shopping malls and restaurants I pass. It doesn’t t
ake long before I spot a sign perched along the side of the road reading Senelė Bakery.

  Strange name for a bakery, I think as I pull the Minnie Winnie into the nearly full lot. Only a couple spots are available, none of them wide enough for me, and I’m forced to park off in the grass.

  The blue two-story house, now converted to a bakery, has a wrap-around porch, complete with a porch swing and bird feeders. Several people sit at tables outside, sipping coffee, reading, and scrolling through their phones. The smell of bread wafts from the door and is enough to make my mouth water before Goose and I even set foot on the porch.

  I glance through the large window in the door and mentally groan. The waiting area is packed with people bunched around the glass cases of baked goods. My pulse skips several beats, and I consider abandoning my mission.

  Goose nudges my hand, urging me on.

  She’s right. I made it this far, might as well keep going.

  I open the door and step inside.

  If I thought it smelled good outside, it’s nothing compared to the scent of honey, bread, pretzels, and coffee inside. One whiff and I realize this isn’t the average bakery. There’s not a single cupcake, brownie, or donut in sight. There are, however, bacon buns, pretzels, honey cakes, and various other pastries labeled with names I can’t pronounce.

  I grab a paper number from the dispenser. While the waiting area is packed, the line moves quickly. Soon enough, my number is called.

  The girl behind the counter is young, barely out of high school. She reminds me a bit of Emily with her tattoos and piercings. But Em’s hair is short, curly, and blond, while this girl’s dark braid hangs nearly to her waist.

  “I need a dozen bacon buns.” I quickly scan the display case. Since I’m here, might as well make it worth my while. “And a dozen pretzels.”

  Nodding, she grabs a piece of cardboard and folds it into a box. With gloved hands, she starts placing bacon buns into the box only to come up short. “Hang on,” she tells me. Glancing over her shoulder at a pair of swinging doors, she shouts, “We need more bacon buns!”