The Crossroads Duet

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Even if life hadn’t been manipulated or altered in the way I knew it was all those years ago, maybe the outcome would have been the same.

  What ruled our existence, I thought. Fate? Or our own decisions?

  This line of thinking was too existential for me. My world was one of cause and effect. Clients paid me, then I installed my systems at their hotel and they made better money. That was all I knew, like Bess knew waitressing and collecting tips on the morning shift, going to meetings, and walking her dog. It was how we survived, lugging around the burdens of our youth, and we each had our own ways of dealing with it.

  But Bess was growing out of it. I didn’t know how or when, but she was. She was strong and I was weak.

  When I’d stood up with the intention of going back into my big, empty house as dawn broke, I’d decided I wanted to be strong. Not just a facade of strength, but complete. Whole.

  And I’d called a number I hadn’t used in a few years.

  The shower water began to cool, shifting my attention back to the present.

  I wanted to touch myself, but I didn’t dare. Aside from the fact that Jake was downstairs, I couldn’t find relief the only way I’d grown to know. I’d spent years losing myself in women and climaxing—using my brother’s leftovers, my own conquests, Bess, and my own hand.

  Now I knew I needed to surrender to the pain and relieve myself of the responsibility, rather than masking the pain with substitutes. That was the only way I could move on.

  And that was what I’d been doing until Jake showed up.

  “So, what do you want, Jake? Money? Help with your latest piece of tail? What is it this time?” I asked as I walked back into the kitchen.

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit,” I said as I opened the fridge. Grabbing a bottle of water, I guzzled it and tossed it into the trash.

  “Well, what is it? Why you so quiet all of a sudden?” I asked Jake.

  “Listen, Lane. Honestly, I’m just worried about you. Have been for some time.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, unable to keep the anger from my tone. “That’s how Bess ended up on my doorstep before I tossed her out like the trash. That was your fucking fault. I wanted to be alone.”

  I sat on the stool across from him, both of us with our elbows on the island, mirror images of each other except for the hair . . . and beard. I was doing everything in my power to separate myself from that fuck.

  “Bess is doing okay, by the way.”

  I stood, slamming my hands onto the counter. “What the fuck? How are you still seeing her?” Agitated, I spun around and started pacing. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  He completely disregarded what I said and answered anyway. “She’s been spending time with Camper, who got the job with me. We’ve all hung out a little. She worries about you constantly. Even when she’s not asking, I see it in her face.”

  Jealousy raged inside me, whipping and licking at my skin, fighting to come out and play.

  “Shut the fuck up, Jake. You don’t deserve to hang out with her. You don’t deserve to be here, either. Because if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this god-awful place. My soul is black because of you. Our whole lives were ruined by your mistake, and I’m supposed to take that shit to the grave?”

  My brother stood up, matching my height inch for inch. “That’s another reason why I’m here. I need to say I’m sorry for that.”

  “Sorry?” I yelled, sweeping my hand across the island, sending napkins and little knickknacks my housekeeper always left out flying across the room. “For what, Jake? Say it,” I said, taunting him, knowing the words would never make it over his lips.

  “You know.”

  “See! I fucking knew you couldn’t say it. Say it, Jake! Say what you’re sorry for!”

  We were in each other’s faces, our eyes the same, our noses exactly alike, but our hearts were not. His was lifeless, like always. Dead. I wondered if he even had a pulse. While mine was shattered and glued back together just enough for me to function in day-to-day living.

  “Why do I have to say it?” he yelled back.

  “Because you have to own it, Jake. I’m sick of walking around with it in my back pocket.” I was so furious I was practically foaming at the mouth. I could feel spit flying around my beard, my hands were shaking, and my knees were weak.

  Suddenly done with it all, I said, “Oh, fuck it, what the hell does it mean now. Great, you’re sorry.” I stepped back, dismissing Jake. “Go back home.”

  He walked forward, gripping my shoulders with his hands, caging me in with his arms. “I’m sorry, Lane.” And then through gritted teeth, he said, “For doing what I did. I shouldn’t have done that. I was just playing, and I didn’t know any better. And well, you know . . . Shirley fell asleep and you didn’t want to play with me.”

  “Say it, Jake.”

  I was losing patience; I’d never loved and hated another person more in my life. We shared blood and some innate bond as twins, so I couldn’t cut off my caring for him. But compassion was hard to find when it came to Jake.

  He broke free from me, taking a step backward and then another. “It was my fault. All of it. The accident. It was all me. I played with the car, pretended to be fixing stuff that I had no business messing with, all because I wanted to be like Dad. Oh shit. Dad . . . he’s gone because of me.” Then he bent over like a runner trying to catch his breath after a race, and said between raspy breaths, “Okay, you happy? I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m not okay,” I spit out. “I’ve carried that shit around with me for years. When I was little, I worried they would take you away from me. When I was older, I was worried others would judge me like I’d judged myself all these years. I’m so ashamed. We killed our own parents.” Doing my damnedest to hold my shit together, I sat down and cradled my forehead in my hands.

  Jake stepped next to me and rested a hand on my back. “You were an innocent bystander. A kid, Lane. We were the same age. I did what I did, and you had no power over me to stop me. You were the well-behaved brother, the one who went in our room and played Legos while I single-handedly ruined our lives while Shirley slept. Speaking of her—”

  Not allowing him to finish, I interrupted. “That’s what my therapist has said since I moved here, that I was an innocent bystander. But I needed to hear it from you.”

  “You don’t think I don’t walk around with this in my soul, burning my gut all the fucking time? It was me!” Jake said softly, almost a whisper in my ear as he bent over and leaned on the island.

  “I see it. It’s why I’m always cleaning up your messes, excusing your lousy behavior. I can’t imagine . . .”

  My eyes stung, and I felt tears fill my eyes. It had been a long time since I’d felt that. Looking up at my twin, I saw that Jake’s eyes were wet too.

  Right there in the middle of my kitchen, my brother and I finally had a reckoning that was twenty years in the making. We fell apart, dissolving into bits and pieces of emotion that scattered around the room.

  As I lifted my hand to swipe away my tears, I wondered if we would be able to put ourselves back together.

  AJ

  It felt really good to hit the open road. Rock music blaring through my truck, a cigarette hanging from my mouth as I shifted lanes—I couldn’t give up all my vices—and the fall breeze wafting through my open window. I was free.

  From her.

  From booze.

  From everything.

  I’d been out of rehab for a few months. I’d gone home for a while, done the meetings, made my apologies, got along on my own just fine. Then I needed to get out.

  I couldn’t see Bess every day just yet, even if we had made our peace, hugged, and declared ourselves friends. The knowledge that she was alone now didn’t make me feel as good as I thought it would.

  Bess was a good soul. The best. She forgave me for it all—the attack, the stealing, the stalking. She deserved happiness, and I wanted her to have it, ev
en if it ended up being with that prick, Lane.

  I stuck my hand out the window, signaling I was stopping for gas to the head of my crew who was following me down to North Carolina. I’d met a guy in rehab who wanted me to do a job for him. I thought it would be good for me, a change of scenery and all that shit.

  Jax, my right-hand man, was coming with me, and we’d pick up a crew down there after speccing the job. It would be a long one, and I was looking forward to lying low for a while.

  Yeah, I’d go to meetings. I had the details for local ones in my phone. Jax wouldn’t care; he knew the drill. Dude had been with me a long time.

  Made me wonder how Bess was doing it. Her world had crashed down on her so many times since cleaning up, and she seemed to just get stronger. I envied her that, but was happy for her just the same.

  Throwing the truck in park, I got out to pump gas at the same time as Jax. “Dude, you ready?” I asked him.

  He twisted the gas cap off of his truck and joked, “The question is, are Southern babes ready for me?”

  I just gave him a half smile, but said nothing as I ran my credit card at the pump.

  Seeing my reaction, Jax shook his head. “Sorry, man. I know it’s a bad subject. Listen, a few weeks of new pussy and you’ll feel on top of the world.”

  I let out a loud laugh. That was exactly what I didn’t need right now, but I didn’t want to burst Jax’s bubble.

  Twisting the cap back on the tank, I hopped in the cab and pulled out with Jax on my tail, a small smile spread across my face. Checking my reflection in the rearview, I knew I needed to let go of Bess, both for her sake and for mine.

  I still loved her, but she was gone to me.

  Maybe some new pussy was just the ticket.

  Bess

  “See you, May,” I said, dodging around a scarecrow.

  It was October, and the entire hotel, including the staff corridor, was decorated for Halloween coming up in a few weeks.

  “You coming to the staff party tomorrow?” she yelled back to me after I rounded the corner toward the lockers.

  “I think so. I’ve never been before, but I’m changing things up, so I guess. What do you think?” I called back, grabbing my purse from my locker.

  “I think you should go, because you deserve to have a good time. But don’t wear those shoes,” May said, her voice clear and too close. She’d sneaked up on me and was standing on the other side of the locker door when I slammed it shut, looking at my Nikes.

  Shit.

  “Brooks and I are going to eat pizza and watch horror movies tonight. I don’t know of a better time, but I’m seriously considering going to the party tomorrow.” I hustled to head out to my car, not giving her a chance to nag me about it any further.

  I was back to my old life. I worked hard, serving both breakfast and lunch at the hotel, went to meetings, and spent time with my dog. My greatest pleasure came from eating scones with Ernesto.

  Okay, I was doing a little more socializing. I’d been to May’s house for tea, Ernesto’s for a big Sunday-night dinner, and was trying to make peace with it being more than normal to see movies and grab dinner with a friend or two.

  I’d even taken a trip. Camper had suggested that we take a few days and get to know each other again. She’d apparently won a trip through her job—with Jake—to a posh hotel in New York City, and took me as her guest. Even though the whole trip stank of Lane’s doing, I couldn’t help but have a blast.

  We’d taken a regional jet out of the small local airstrip, landing in the Big Apple just in time for rush hour. Even that had been awesome to see. Cars honking, taxis blaring by, people everywhere, bicycles whipping by our cab’s window—it was a living, breathing zoo of humans. We arrived at our hotel right on Central Park South, and as soon as we’d entered our elegant suite and I saw the million-dollar view, I’d known.

  When I turned and glared at Camper, she made puppy-dog eyes at me and said, “Don’t say it, don’t ruin it. Let’s just have fun. You deserve it, okay?”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, “Okay,” and I’d meant it. I’d never really been anywhere, other than Florida, and I was going to enjoy this getaway. Especially spending time with my old friend.

  We spent the first whole day checking out the Statue of Liberty from Battery Park before taking the subway up to the Village, where we had amazing Italian food and even better conversation.

  Sipping on sparkling water with huge lemon slices floating among the ice cubes, Camper asked, “So, do you ever look back and regret meeting me or doing what we did back then?”

  “No, of course not. I was long gone, checked out emotionally before I even met you. I would’ve found my way to all of that even if I didn’t meet you.”

  She leaned in and wrapped her hand over mine on the table. “I’m sorry I didn’t take better notice or help.”

  I gripped her fingers and said, “And I’m sorry for dragging you down and then locking you out.”

  Then at the same time, we both said, “Enough!”

  “Right, we’re here to have fun!” I insisted.

  We’d spent the rest of the time taking in more sights and a Broadway show. On the last night in New York, we’d stayed in the room, giggling in our pajamas with mud masks on our faces, courtesy of the hotel spa.

  Over our room service dinner, Camper had gotten serious again and said, “I wish we’d known back then we could have this much fun without all that shit.”

  “Yeah, I know. But we still have now.”

  That was it for the heavy stuff. We went back home the day after, feeling connected and positive.

  Now as I made my way to my car after work, I reminded myself of that feeling. I needed to keep it going. Often it took a daily or hourly reminder, but I was trying.

  Of course there were meetings, and they helped. I was back at the church for the nighttime gatherings, pouring strength into others and dipping into theirs when I needed it.

  My biggest problem was, I still preferred the isolation. There was solace in the time I was left alone with my memories of the first trip I took to Florida, or the words imprinted in my mind from the letter Lane had sent with the necklace, or the shorter ones that followed.

  I hadn’t talked to Lane directly since the night he watched me pull away in the town car, but there were packages. A small box arrived every month by courier. Each one included something small for Brooks like a doggy bowtie covered in oranges, a lemon for me, and either a bag of sand or seashells. One even contained a sealed bottle of ocean water.

  There was always the same simple apology note.

  Dear Bess,

  Sending you and Brooks some Florida sunshine. I never should have turned my back on you, but you deserve the sun and the moon and the stars. Not just Florida’s.

  I’m so sorry.

  ~ Lane

  Jake had stayed in touch, also refusing to let me wallow in my preferred solitude. I saw him on my own a few times, and sometimes with Camper.

  As for the two of them—Camper and Jake—something was up, but I wasn’t savvy enough to figure it out. At the thought, I laughed as I clicked my key fob to unlock my car door. I couldn’t even figure out my own love life, let alone someone else’s.

  I drove past the new strip mall, distracted for a moment with the view of reddish and burnt-orange leaves, and my thoughts turned to AJ. He headed out last week to new experiences, thinking it would give him a fresh start. I hoped so. I forgave him; it wasn’t in me to hold a grudge against him. We’d shared some intimate moments—not just sex, but meetings and friendship and borderline stalking. It didn’t matter now. He was better without me. My heart belonged to someone else, a man whose own heart wasn’t available.

  Pulling up to my house, I couldn’t hold back the sadness. It had been a year since Lane Wrigley came into my life. Originally, I’d thought it was a death sentence being called to a dinner for my employers’ sake.

  But as it turned out, Lane breathed lif
e back into me. He was the first one to show me how to live again, during our precious time in Florida as we walked in the woods or made love, and even during that very first awkward dinner in the tavern.

  The last few months had been good for me. I had been getting back to experiencing the world, opening myself up to really feeling and seeing it with people I cared about and who cared for me. The problem was that I wanted to do it with Lane, but he couldn’t do that with me. Or maybe he wouldn’t, I didn’t know. His life was tethered to something or someone else. I didn’t know what the nightmares were about, but I knew they kept him stuck in the past—and apart from me.

  After unlocking my door, I was immediately greeted by a wagging tail and gigantic paws stepping on my feet.

  “Hey, Brooks, how’re you doing?” I said to my dog, half expecting him to answer.

  It was hard to believe that I woke up on a chilly morning last fall and Brooks was the only man in my life. But that was before, and this was now. As if the last year didn’t happen, Brooks was still the only guy in my world.

  I let him out to relieve himself, leaving the door slightly open so he could come back in while I busied myself with turning on the oven, filling the kettle with water, and scooping a cup of dog food.

  “Hurry up, Brooks, we’ve got a hot date,” I called behind me to the half-open door.

  “You do? Sucks for me,” I heard behind my back. Stopping what I was doing, I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing my hands on the counter in front of me.

  I’m hearing voices?

  I couldn’t turn around—refused to—because I didn’t want the fantasy to end. I wanted to hear the voice again. Squeezing my eyes tighter, I wished with all my might for him to say something else.

  Inhaling deeply, I took in the essence of a ghost. His scent was clean, tiny hints of sand and surf lingering with soap, the manly spearmint kind. Then I felt his presence—his hand was at my lower back—and if I squeezed my eyes tighter, I could almost feel his fingers caressing me.