The Leaving Season

by Cat Jordan

  Others, I thought. But not me. Not yet.

  A few moments later, Mr. Z brought a blowup of Nate’s yearbook photo on an easel. I heard a collective gasp from the crowd. This memorial suddenly became very real.

  One by one, Mr. Z called the names of people who wanted to share memories of Nate. Some were poignant and sweet, while others were funny: Brad Bingham’s story of Nate teaching him how to fish was far more hilarious than he’d let on at the meeting. Before I knew it, my name was called, and there was a smattering of encouragement from my friends and family. I felt my heart leap to my throat.

  The words I’d written down earlier in the day utterly escaped me. My gaze swept the green as I tried desperately to think of something to tell these people about my boyfriend. He was the love of my life, I wanted to say. He was my soul mate. He was the first boy I ever kissed.

  The only boy I ever kissed.

  I opened my mouth to say something, anything. Nothing came out but a jumbled mess. “Nate . . . my . . .”

  Speak from your heart. Lee’s words had been effortless. He’d expressed his sorrow so completely, so easily. How could I not? Did I not love Nate enough?

  I glanced over my shoulder at the photo of Nate and heard my breath catch. He was gone. He was really and truly gone. I reached into my purse, and my fingers gripped the edge of the photo. It soothed me but only briefly.

  “Nate . . . made me a better person. He made me more important than I was.” They were Lee’s words, but they were echoes of my own thoughts too.

  And I stopped. That was all I could say, all that I had in me. I stood and swayed, feeling my knees getting weak underneath me. As my father helped me down from the gazebo, I couldn’t help but think that I’d been a disappointment. I hadn’t honored Nate. I hadn’t done what others had. They’d spoken from their hearts. They’d revealed their personal stories. But I—who’d known him the best—had nothing to say. Nothing that was mine.

  At home I went straight up to my bedroom, flinging off Allison’s black dress and heels as I went. I emptied my purse on my desk and found the photo of Nate and me. I stared hard at my image. Why couldn’t you find something to say? Why didn’t you tell them all how you felt?

  When I turned on my phone, I saw four text messages from Haley appear, but I didn’t have the energy to read or respond to them.

  And then, as I was holding the phone, another one came in: who is this?

  I glanced at the number. It was from Lee. Huh?

  I quickly texted him back: it’s Meredith

  I don’t know any Meredith

  Shaking my head, I typed again: Middie

  Yoko? Why r u texting me?

  Me? I wasn’t . . . ! My fingers tapped the tiny keys. U textd me

  And then I added, im not yoko

  No response. I waited, staring at the screen.

  Nothing.

  Nothing? What the hell? I finished dressing, washed my face, and tied back my hair—and then, nearly half an hour later, a new text came in:

  Why did u use my words

  My mouth opened. Why . . . I stammered an answer in my head. I—I—I didn’t mean to . . . and just as I realized what his comment meant, the phone rang and I snatched it up. “You were there,” I said to Lee. “You were at the service.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, you were. Or else you wouldn’t know what I said.”

  “So you did use my words.”

  “So you did attend the service.”

  Silence.

  “Why didn’t you come up?”

  “Not my thing.”

  “But why—”

  “Meredith, stop talking.”

  I was so shocked by the request, which came so matter-of-factly, that I stopped. Not for the first time did I wonder why Nate and Lee were such close friends. Nate was kind and sweet and would never tell me or anyone else to shut up. I crawled across my bed and lay down, resting my head between two pillows.

  Lee’s voice was slightly muffled. “You got home okay.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m glad. You . . .” He said something else, but I couldn’t hear it.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Good night.”

  Good night? What? “Wait. . . .”

  “What?”

  “You were his best friend. Tell me—tell me what you did together.”

  There was a pause.

  “We liked hanging out. He liked doing shit with me.” Lee’s tone was clipped. “Couldn’t you say the same thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  His voice softened. “Then why didn’t you?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” I laughed once, embarrassed. “Your words were better than mine.”

  “We loved Nate. Nate loved us. For different reasons,” he said. “He was a pretty funny guy, you know?”

  “Funny?” I’d never thought of my boyfriend as funny necessarily. He smiled and laughed, but usually other people were telling the jokes.

  “He’d call me up in the middle of the night,” Lee said with a chuckle. “Just wanting to drive somewhere. Stop someplace random for a burger or whatever. He liked to be . . . What word did he use? Oh yeah. Spontaneous.”

  Spontaneous? Nate was a careful planner of all things: class schedules, workout routines, life.

  “We had some good times, Nate and me,” Lee said quietly. “I’ll miss him.”

  He ended the call without another word.

  I’ll miss him too, I thought as tears filled my eyes. I wondered if Lee cried too. I scrolled through my messages and found his very first one to me:

  breathe

  I turned over onto my back and stared up at the ceiling.

  And did as recommended.

  CHAPTER eight

  The house was emptier, my room more lonely after Allison went back to school a few days after the memorial service, and I wasn’t surprised at all when I was unable to sleep. Before dawn arrived, I tossed on my running shoes, something I hadn’t done in weeks, set the coffee pot to brew for my parents, and headed out into the crisp morning air. The sun was still an hour from rising, so the fog that typically burned off had not yet evaporated. I grabbed a thin jacket from the front hall closet before I set off to keep the breeze from chilling my chest and neck and strapped my iPod to my left biceps. I pressed SHUFFLE as I popped the buds into my ears. I didn’t want to have to choose which songs were on my run list; I wanted it to be . . . spontaneous.

  As I reached the end of the driveway, “Dog Days Are Over” by Florence + the Machine was playing, immediately followed by Neon Trees’ “Everybody Talks.” I passed Haley’s house when Led Zeppelin was on and circled the town green as I heard Michael Jackson. For a long stretch of dirt road, I listened to a violin concerto by Bach, which almost made me cry, but then LMFAO’s “Sexy and I Know It” kicked in and I grinned. I sang along with Blondie and Rihanna, songs I didn’t realize I knew by heart.

  With every song, I took a new turn in the road and before I knew it, I had traveled far past my typical run with Nate. I heard one more song, “Hey Jude” by The Beatles, and then I was at the creek. The one that ran through the woods behind Nate’s house. How had I gotten so far off my path?

  I felt sweat pooling under my arms and tickling the hair at the back of my neck. After I unzipped my jacket and tied it around my waist, I knelt by the stream and splashed freezing-cold water on my face. The shock of it made me gasp, but it felt good. I was suddenly exhausted. I’d run on fumes, having not had any breakfast or even orange juice, and was ready to collapse. I leaned my back against a tree and slid down carefully until my butt hit the tree stump below.

  From this angle, I could just see his house, which meant that this was our tree. A month ago Nate had sat here with me on his lap, not a care in the world. My finger traced a lazy pattern on the side of the stump. Funny that we’d been together for so long, living in a town filled with trees, and we never once carved our initials
into one. Were we so much a part of the digital age that declaring our love like that was too analog for us? I smiled, thinking of how Nate the environmentalist might cry, Carve a tree? That would damage it forever!

  My gaze found the side porch at the Bingham house where we studied and the old-fashioned swing where we would curl up as night fell. On those nights, Nate and I would simply melt into each other and ignore the prying eyes of his sisters, who were determined to catch us kissing. I felt my cheeks flush, thinking about the many, many times they had succeeded.

  I tilted my head back against the gnarled bark of the tree and felt the world spin around me. I had run too far without water and was probably dehydrated. Nate would have reminded me to drink water; he would have brought it on the hottest mornings. I missed that. I missed his sweaty hand pulling me along for the last quarter mile. I missed his salty kiss when we finally finished.

  I heard a rustle in the leaves and saw two figures coming toward me. They looked exactly like Nate walking Rocky, and even though I knew it was akin to a mirage, my hands gripped the stump I was sitting on and I tried to push myself up. God, I was tired. My eyes blinked a few times, bringing Nate’s image into and out of focus. I wanted so badly to see Nate that my mind was eager to play a trick on me.

  “Come on, boy!” It sounded so much like Nate calling to his dog, but I knew it couldn’t be. It was only my sleep-deprived, dehydrated brain being cruel.

  He’s not there. It’s not real.

  “That’s it, Rocky! Come on!”

  Oh, Nate, I thought wistfully as he loped toward me through the woods, dog at his heels. His hands were dug deep into the pockets of his jeans and he elbowed aside bushes and stepped over fallen branches as he came toward me. He was so handsome: the sun filtering through the leaves gave his chiseled features a golden glow and highlighted his hair. As he came closer, I caught a glimpse of a brooding grin, a look I hadn’t seen before—it was sexy.

  Ha! Sexy. I must have been very dehydrated to imagine . . .

  “Hey, Middie.”

  Oh. Shit.

  I gasped as the guy I’d imagined became very real. And very someone else.

  “Lee. Hey.”

  What the hell? I felt my blush spread down my neck, and I had to quickly look away from him. I jumped up to go, but my head swam and I began to sway.

  “Meredith?” He reached for me and I clutched at his arms, falling forward over his shoulder. He caught me with one hand at my waist and the other on my back. My face was pressed against his neck for a brief second, and I breathed in his scent. Sharp, soapy. Nothing like Nate’s spicy aftershave.

  No. Nothing like Nate at all.

  I pushed Lee back and put some distance between us just as Rocky swished his tail around my legs. I bent down to rub his face between my hands and let him place a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “Hey, boy, you going for a walk today?” I needed to pull myself together. I was just tired, not crazy.

  Lee knelt down too and scratched Rocky’s neck. “Watch for his ears,” he said. “His ears are really sensitive.” Lee’s face was so close, just a few inches from mine.

  “Are you really telling me how to pet a dog I’ve known since he was a puppy?” I stood up again, but slowly this time so I didn’t faint. “What are you doing here anyway?” I crossed my arms over my chest and took a few steps away from the tree. Lee stayed on his knees with the dog, gently stroking the back of his neck as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

  “I’m walking Rocky, what does it look like?” His words were abrupt but his tone sweet. He crooned softly into Rocky’s ear. “We’re walkin’, yes, indeed, we’re talkin’, ’bout you and me . . .”

  “Does Mr. Bingham know?” I was irritated by his presence, annoyed by his knowledge. He wasn’t supposed to know so much, to be so much a part of Nate’s life. That was me. Not him.

  Lee finally glanced up at me over his shoulder and fell back onto the log. “Rocky and I go way back,” he said as if that explained things. “I helped Nate train him. I took him to the vet when he swallowed a plastic bone.”

  “He was Nate’s dog.”

  “Yup, he was. And now . . . well, I just want to make sure Rocky’s getting enough attention.” Lee cocked his head to one side. “Nate’s dad has a lot on his plate, you know?”

  He was right. Why did he have to be right?

  I reached a hand down to poor Rocky and combed his fur with my fingers. “Yeah. Okay.”

  “I got my Vespa, if you want a lift back,” Lee said. He mimed revving the engine with invisible handlebars.

  “I’m good.” But I did still feel a little woozy. “Maybe I should sit for a bit longer.”

  Lee moved aside, and I took his place on the stump. Rocky plopped himself down on top of our feet so we couldn’t move without disturbing him.

  “You might be right about telling Mr. Bingham,” Lee admitted. “He probably should know I walk him every day.”

  “Yeah, they might wonder why Rocky’s always exhausted.”

  “He’s old. He’s always exhausted.” But he said it with affection.

  “How’d you get in? You have a key?”

  Lee held a finger to his lips. “There’s a door that doesn’t close all the way.”

  I felt myself grin. “The one next to the cellar. Yeah, I know.” Lee looked surprised. “What, you think you’re the only one who knows the secrets of the Bingham house?”

  Lee’s eyes widened. “You know about the bodies?”

  “What . . . ?”

  He held his finger to his lips once more. “Shhh . . . let’s never speak of this again.”

  I laughed in spite of myself. And then I remembered something. “There was a body once—”

  “Shhh!”

  “But it was a gerbil.”

  Lee nodded. “Scotty’s gerbil, Harry Potter.”

  Nate’s little brother had tried to cover up the animal’s death from his parents by simply pretending it was alive. One day Mrs. Bingham, with the assistance of the twins, decided to clean the cage. The girls’ screams echoed for miles.

  We both fell silent, content to listen to the rush of the water over rocks in the creek bed, a crisp birdsong high in the trees, and the hiccupy snore of the old dog at our feet.

  “What’d you mean the other day,” I said quietly, “about the shit in your life?” It sounded more abrupt than I’d intended. Lee seemed to bring out bluntness in me.

  “Take your pick. You wanna hear about the school shit? The father shit? The mother shit?” He picked up a small stone and chucked it into the water. It plopped with a teensy splash. “I have many different shit flavors.”

  “Uh, school?”

  He shrugged. “Crappy grades. No money. Ergo, no college.” He aimed another rock at the water, and it skimmed the surface of the creek before sinking. “Next.”

  I hesitated. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to know about Lee’s life. Maybe it would help me understand what Nate saw in him a little better. “Your dad?”

  “He’s a contractor. Overseas. Don’t see him much.”

  “Oh. Um, you ever get to visit him?”

  He grunted. “Uh, yeah, no. Iraq. Awesome, right? Next.”

  And just like that, I felt the wall go up again. It was like a layer of steel and stone between us; it surrounded him, protected him. He’d told me to ask. Was I not supposed to take him up on it? Was I not supposed to know? Sometimes it seemed like talking to Lee was walking in on a conversation that had been going on for a long time before I arrived, as if he simply expected me to know stuff. But how could I when Nate had never talked to me about him?

  “I said, next,” Lee huffed at me. “What else?”

  I felt a chill run up my spine. I’d hit the edge of something, and I was afraid to go further. I swallowed and shook my head. “I should probably go now. I’m sure I’m late for school.”

  “School? Nate died, for god’s sake. Give yourself a fucking break.”

  The harshness of his words hit
me as hard as if I’d been smacked in the face. I smacked back. “I can’t. It’s . . . important.”

  “Why?”

  “Uh, so I can get good grades and go to college?”

  Lee waved a hand at me. “Whatever.” This “whatever” was dismissive, no doubt about that.

  I dislodged my shoes from under Rocky and stood carefully, walking my hands up the tree until I was sure I could stand without collapsing.

  Lee rose as well and stamped the ground next to the old dog to get him up. “Come on, ya old bag o’ bones,” he mumbled.

  I bent at the edge of the stream to get a sip of water before the run home. I tried holding my ponytail out of my face to splash water into my mouth, but it was impossible to get more than a tiny sip while using one hand—and impossible to not get wet as I was doing so.

  If Nate had been here, he’d have brought water, I thought again, or reminded me to bring a bottle.

  But he wasn’t here. The weight of that loss nearly made me weep. Would every tiny thing make me think of Nate? For the rest of my life?

  I felt Lee come up behind me and kneel next to the stream. “I’ll hold your hair.”

  “What—”

  “Just—I’ll hold your hair, okay? Use both hands.” With his shoulder pressed to mine, he lifted my ponytail from my neck, making it easier for me to scoop water with two hands.

  After gulping down as much as I could, I pulled my head and hair away from him and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket. “Thanks.”

  Lee stood without another word and walked away with Rocky trotting by his side.

  “I’ll see you around,” I said to him.

  He lifted his hand but didn’t turn around. “I’ll call you when you need me.”