by Trisha Wolfe
He nods slowly.
“It’s the darkest part,” I say, and a mock laugh tumbles from my mouth. “I can relate. It’s dark, stubborn, callous, dead on the inside.” The wind picks up, sending my hair lashing against my cheeks. I don’t care how crazy I sound to him anymore. It’s true. Since losing Tyler, I’m just like my lovely dead trees.
Holden’s thumb pauses over my vein, and his arctic eyes find and hold mine. “That’s only one perspective. The way I see it, the heartwood is strong, beautiful, and resilient. It can fight off any outside threat that tries to invade, and in rare cases . . . is alive. It may be the darkest part, but a living heartwood is a force to be reckoned with.”
His eyes penetrate mine, won’t allow me to look away, as his words break down the hardened bark that surrounds me. My eyes sting. I can feel them welling up, and if I blink, I know tears will spill over. I hold them open, fighting against the wind.
Finally, Holden releases my arm and lies back down, freeing me from his hold. My skin is cold, the contrast in temperature jarring, missing the warmth of his hand.
And right now—in the second that clarity overrules my heart—I remember why that little girl fell in love with the boy in the first place. He might have compared me to the heartwood, but he’s like the bark. Rough and fractured, guarding, protecting the living part inside.
It makes me ache for everything that was lost. For him. For me. Between us. I want to know why, and how, and what happened that day to make him turn on me more than ever.
Shit. I can’t do this again. I worked too hard to close off that part. And now, I don’t have Tyler to mend and put me back together again.
“Enjoy your nap,” I say, standing and picking up my sketchbook.
As he closes his eyes, before I can pull myself away, I take a mental snapshot for my drawing. One good memory out of a million painful ones. I can keep at least this one.
HOLDEN
I feel the cool drops hitting my face before I hear the shouting. I’m in that groggy, in-between state where you know you’re sleeping, but can’t wake yourself up fully. But when another scream blasts my eardrums, I discern Sam’s startled cry, and I bolt upright. Wide awake.
“I can’t believe you did that!” Sam yells.
Shit.
I glance around, looking to put a hurt on someone—her voice is that frantic. But there’s no one besides us. I watch her face redden as her voice pitches even higher, and realize she’s having a meltdown. That’s almost worse. I could’ve handled putting my fist through a real person.
Sam shouts again. To the air. To the fucking invisible air.
Pushing myself onto my feet, I start toward her. I open my mouth to ask what’s going on, only to stop when she swings her hand out and slaps air.
“You dick! I can’t believe . . .” She hangs her head. Her chest rises and falls as she huffs short, heavy breaths. “Shit, Tyler.” She laughs, but it’s filled with spite. “Oh, don’t even go there. Kevin Banks flirted with me. I never did anything to lead him on.”
What the hell? “Sam,” I say, my tone low and warning. I don’t want to frighten her out of her current mental state, but she’s losing her shit. She needs to calm down.
Her heated eyes snap to me. Then they widen, and she stomps toward me. Gets right into my personal space. Her head is cocked back, her eyes staring up, red-rimmed and glassy. “You knew he cheated on me?”
And the air is punched from my lungs. My mouth opens and closes.
“You assholes!” She shakes her head. “I swear, I’ve now put up with too much shit from the both of you. You’re both alike. The biggest assholes, and I’m the stupid girl that—” She bites off her rant, her lips pressed together so tightly they’re turning white.
“Sam,” I try again, straining to keep my voice level. I hold up my hands, reach out, and then drop them by my sides. “What the hell are you talking about?” I fail. My cool is officially gone.
Her head whips around, and she points a finger at the air. “Don’t even . . . I don’t care if you claim you don’t think you actually sleep with her. I don’t buy that crap. You better fucking remember. But even still, you thought about it?”
My heart is in my throat, and I’m now looking between Sam and the empty place she’s screaming at. I make a call. Play the game, just until she composes herself. “He didn’t sleep with her.”
Spinning around, she levels me with a look that could flay me. “You’re covering for him. Don’t. Not anymore. I want the fucking truth.”
The only thing I can think of is . . . The memory closes off, my brain trying to shut it down. I force through the barricade. Drudge up the horrific and painful memories.
The night Mom died, right before . . . Tyler and I were out at a bar celebrating his birthday. A little redhead had been hanging all over him, and we’d gotten into a fight. Me telling him that he was going to fuck everything up with Sam. And him drinking himself into oblivion. He was having second thoughts about marrying Sam so young. He was freaked out, claiming he’d only ever been with one girl. That he wanted to have one fling before he tied the knot. I was pissed. Beyond pissed. Sam was . . . everything. Everything I had wanted and given up. For him. And I drove my hand through the bar bathroom wall instead of his face.
“Sam,” I say again, trying to collect my thoughts. “I promise you, Tyler didn’t sleep with her. He was drunk. That’s all. I sent him—” I cut off. Shit. I rake my hand through my hair.
Her eyes narrow. “You sent him where?”
I told this story so many times—to police officers, my dad, lawyers, everyone—I should be able to spit it out without thinking. But I slow myself, making sure I don’t slip now. “I called a cab and sent him home. That was the night I got into the wreck. With my mom in the car.” I take a breath, finding my words easily now. The lie falls from my mouth. “I sent Tyler home and drove his car. Remember? He was at home, passed out, when the cops got there.”
Realization flashes in her eyes. She’s going over that night, too. After I was taken into custody, the police told my father that his wife was dead. Sam stayed with Tyler the rest of the night, comforting him. I watch as it finally clicks in her mind.
She turns around and says, “Okay. Okay. So you didn’t sleep with her. But how could you even think about it? With some chick you don’t even know?” I can hear the tremor in her voice. The pain splintering through her. “And I’m just finding out now?”
A blast of cold air seeps into my pores, freezing me from the inside out. I’d been so focused on getting her to calm down that I hadn’t stopped to question why now—in the middle of nowhere Mississippi—she’d chose to confront her invisible, dead boyfriend about his infidelity.
With a backward step, I stumble over my own feet.
I won’t buy it. I don’t. My hands start to shake, and I clench them into fists. Then I latch on to the anger building below the fear. It pushes away the cold chill sweeping over my skin.
“You’re this desperate to make me believe Tyler’s a ghost that you’d stoop to this?” I shake my head, fury igniting my insides. “Stop. Stop it now.”
When she looks at me, her face is pale, her eyes large and round. The hurt in her expression slams my chest hard. “I’m not trying to do anything, Holden. I just found out. And . . .” She furiously swipes at a tear. The charcoal from her fingers smears her skin. “I can’t do this. It’s too messed up.”
It’s the first thing she’s said that I agree with. This is messed up on so many levels.
Her chest is heaving, her breaths coming in quick bursts. She lets loose a scream, piercing the air and my eardrums. Her whole body is wracked, shaking, and she turns her attention back to the empty air. “I can’t even slap your ass!” She tries unsuccessfully to strike something solid, her hands flailing. This girl is losing it. Right now.
Chancing getting slapped or kicked, I move in and grab her arms. She breaks free and balls her hands into fists, beating my chest. I close my
hands around her wrists and haul her against me. She shakes her head, over and over, and I can see the sanity being lost. She’s tripping over the edge.
“Sam.” I tuck her arms between us. Keeping her fists pressed against my chest, I wrap an arm around her back and grip her jaw with my free hand. I hold her firmly in place, force her look into my eyes. “Sam!”
The haze covering her eyes, whatever crazy is torturing her brain, starts to clear. Her breathing shallows, and her gaze locks on to mine. My fingers loosen, spreading over her soft skin. Brush her snarled hair from her face. Wipe the black smudge from her cheek. As I’m staring into her yellow-green irises, my hand fists at the back of her shirt, and our breaths begin to sync. Our bodies are connected by a taut cord, charging the sliver of air between us.
She blinks.
I swallow. “Get in the truck.” Slowly, I uncurl my fingers from her tee. Pry my hand from her face. And release her.
She backs away, her eyes never leaving mine. Then, before she’s halfway across the park, she turns back toward the emptiness. “Don’t come around me. Not until I ask you to. I don’t want to see you right now.”
My breath whooshes out painfully, the ache in my chest deep and fire-hot. I look around. For what, I have no idea. Sam is going to drive me crazy. In so many ways. Scrubbing my hands down my face, I curse under my breath.
As the sky opens up, releasing the rain, I bunch up the blanket and trash and Sam’s uneaten food, and head toward the truck.
Sam hasn’t said a word since we got back on the highway. She’s curled into a ball, reading her book. She just shut down. Why she chose back there to have a yelling match with Tyler, I have no clue. I don’t know what set her off, but I need to figure it out. To avoid it.
Fuck. Now she has me thinking of my brother in the present tense. If Tyler—oh, my shit—were really ghosting it around, he’d have some choice words for me, I’m sure. He’d have done everything in his power to stop Sam from being alone with me. I have to keep reminding myself of this fact. All the lies, all the bullshit, being around Sam and having to hold everything in . . . I’m getting mixed up.
This is how her mind has to work things out, though. She’s making excuses so she can keep her fantasy going. Like apparently, he’s forgetting things and being sucked into limbo. But it’s what her mind has to do to keep believing her own lies.
I know all about believing one’s lies. It’s exactly what I’ve been doing for nearly the past year. We can convince ourselves, if we lie to ourselves long enough, of just about anything.
I have no right to think anything bad about Sam, though. I’m just as fucked up as her. But she, at the end of this trip, gets to go back. I don’t. I’m stuck with all the blackness and lies. And I should never have dreamed that I could be around her and not become just as unhinged. Especially when I knew going in that she thinks she’s talking to my dead brother.
I grip the wheel, tighten my fingers until my knuckles go white. The cut on my hand was almost healed, but it’s throbbing now. There’re so many levels of pain and wrong and I hate dealing with them all. Up until now, I’ve been handling my brother’s death. But this shit is trudging painful things up, and I’m having a hard time beating them back down.
Death Cab for Cutie is blasting over the speakers, and we’re about twenty minutes outside of Memphis. Stop number two on The Most Fucked up Road Trip of All Time. From here on out, I have to decide how to handle her outbursts. I still have the backup plan. But I don’t want to go there. Not yet.
Obviously, Tyler told her a lot. If he fessed up about the redhead, then he might’ve told her the whole story, too.
So, is she fucking with me? Unless she’s really that far gone, no. I don’t think she is. She’s never been that good of an actor. I’ve been in somewhat of denial, but at this point, I’m coming to terms that Sam is really mental.
Regardless, if I find out Tyler told her everything, I’ll just have to be convincing and persuade the outcome. I don’t want it to go that far. I hope she doesn’t make me have to take it that far.
With a grunt, I reach over and flip the glove box open. Sam startles. I ignore her inching away from my hand, like it doesn’t bother me that she wants to be nowhere near my touch, and reach for my emergency pack.
Sam pushes her book under the seat and pulls her knees to her chest. I’ve noticed she does this when she’s nervous. “Since when do you smoke?” she asks, her voice raspy from shouting. If this whole thing wasn’t so fucked up, it’d sound sexy.
Packing the cigarettes on the wheel, I thump the box a few times. “I don’t. Not anymore.” She cocks an eyebrow. Badly. I almost laugh at her attempt. “I started up right after I left home, but I stopped not long after. I keep a pack around for emergencies.”
She drops her feet to the floorboard. “Can I have one?”
I shrug and flip out a cigarette, then nod toward the glove compartment. “There’s a lighter in there.”
She lights hers and coughs, fanning a hand in front of her face before she hands me the lighter. “Oh, God. That’s as bad as I remember.”
My lips stretch into a small smile against my will, and the weight pressing on my shoulders lessens. “Did Tyler ever find out I got you to smoke that time?”
I can feel her tense up. That cord between us snaps tight. “I don’t want to talk about him. Not right now.” She rolls down her window and flicks the ashes out.
Inhaling a deep drag, I roll down my own window and then blow out, watching the smoke get sucked out of the cab. I didn’t mean to bring him up, but fuck. He’s my brother. “That’s kind of hard, considering we’re doing this trip for him.”
She takes another drag and then stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray, apparently not feeling it anymore. Then she sinks into her seat. “I don’t know if I can forgive him.”
My gut twists. And I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “Omission is betrayal . . . to a certain extent. But he technically didn’t do anything. I think, considering everything, you should cut him some slack.” Truthfully, I don’t know if I’m talking about him or me.
She looks at me and bites down on her lip. I swear, if she keeps doing that, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. I adjust in my seat, shifting my suddenly alert dick. I’m trying hard not to have these thoughts of her.
“Yeah, well. I think it’s complete betrayal. He should have said something. He was the one who proposed to me.” She laughs darkly. “He didn’t even have a ring, but I didn’t care. That stuff wasn’t important to me. And I wasn’t sure, either. I had doubts. But I would’ve talked to him before I slept with someone else.” She holds up a finger. “And don’t try to play that ‘he’s a guy’ card. It’s bullshit. I’m sick of the fucking double standard.”
“Agreed,” I say. “I’m not arguing the facts here. Not going to debate right and wrong. I’m just saying, he’s not here to tell you his side of the story.” I cast her a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile. “He’s not really here.”
“Okay,” she says, and I brace myself for an argument, anyway. But she floors me when she says, “You were there, right? You tell it.”
Christ.
SAM
Driving through the city of Memphis feels longer than it actually took to get here. Holden wanted to take the scenic route, but after stopping and going at about ten lights, he cursed and pulled a U-turn, jumping back onto the highway to get to our designated location.
Buildings and concrete and lights, even in the daytime, are everywhere. After riding for so long with nothing around for miles but fields and trees, it’s almost a shock to my system. The park on our left, full of green and people, ends, and the Mississippi River comes into view. Yawning and endless. I can see a bridge stretching over the glassy water top, and I can’t wait to view it at night, lit up and reflecting off the river.
Holden didn’t have much to say on Tyler’s “supposed” betrayal. He told the same story again, like he’s rehashed it a million time
s. And, I guess he has. I feel awful making him recall the events of that night. I know how painful it is for him. And when he repeated, again, that Tyler went home in a cab (no redhead with him), I let it drop. I loved Shannon like a second mother, and Holden shouldn’t have to relive that night. Not now. Not because of some fight between me and Tyler.
I feel scraped raw, empty, and too tired to think. I don’t want to think.
“This is definitely one of my favorite stops so far,” I say. My voice feels flat as I stretch my neck to see the top of a building.
Holden chuckles. “We’ve only had two.”
I pretend not to hear him. I’m sure he doesn’t count the Oak Picnic as an important stop on our trip, but before my world fell apart, it was for me. I feel ridiculous, like I’m fourteen and making up stuff in my head, running down the path on my way to see him, just to be reminded how very ridiculous I am.
And what’s more? I’m angry. Angry over the dumb flutters in my chest when our hands touch as we’re reaching for the stereo knob at the same time. Angry that my stomach tumbles when his blue eyes seem to see me. Really see me. Like how they did a long time ago.
Angrier, still, that I’m feeling and thinking like this at all. It’s only been five months since I lost Tyler. And, he’s not even gone. Not really. Not yet. Despite the past two hours, and the heartache kicking me in the soul, I still love him. And miss him. I miss what he was before he became this . . . whatever he is now.
He doesn’t tell new jokes, only repeats the same ones from when he was alive. Doesn’t look at me with deep chocolate eyes; they’re now faded and the gleam is too distant. Won’t even fight me with the passion he once used to have. He could win any argument—it always drove me nuts. Now, he only claims to be forgetting, incapable of feeling anger, bitterness, hurt—and unable to do anything to make me not feel those things.
He was always the one who could get me out of whatever funk was bringing me down.
And I hadn’t noticed any of this until Holden’s very here presence made me so painfully aware of it.