by R. R. Banks
I looked around at the other graves and noticed that most of them had flowers or some small token from a loved one. There were obvious signs that the people who resided in those graves were missed. When I looked down at the plain plots that housed the remains of my parents, I saw that there was not one flower and not one token placed upon them. They quite obviously, were not missed. By anybody.
“To tell you the truth,” I say to the two graves, “I don't even know why I'm here. It's not like we ever got along. And it's not like we ever had a family bond or anything.”
Honestly, I really have no idea why I'm here. Maybe, it's to confirm the fact that they really are dead. Maybe, this is some way to provide me with some sense of closure in my life. Back in the Corps, I'd met with a shrink a few times. He'd told me that I would never truly be able to move forward in my life if I hung on to these things from the past – these things that caused me pain. Namely, the relationship with my parents.
It was his belief that I needed to confront my past, make some effort to come to terms with it, and then let it go. He said that I needed closure on that chapter of my life. Only then, would I be able to move on from it and move forward unhindered.
Yeah, my relationship with the shrink didn't last very long.
I preferred life in the military. It was simple. Orderly. I knew what was expected of me. I could just go out and do my job. I didn't have to worry about stupid concepts like closure or moving forward. My job was simple – see the bad guy, shoot the bad guy. It doesn't get any easier than that.
But for whatever reason, almost the minute I hit the town limits, I felt compelled to visit the graveyard.
“Maybe, that shrink was right,” I say. “Maybe, I did need to see this. To know for sure that you're dead, gone, and not coming back.”
I stand up and turn to leave, but then pause. I look out at the sea of headstones, at the riot of colors from the flowers placed on those graves. And although there is a part of me that feels badly that these two people had so little impact on the lives of others that nobody bothered to even put a flower on their grave, the other part of me feels somehow satisfied by it. Part of me feels like in death, they are getting what they deserve for what they wrought in life.
I turn back to the two graves. “Actually, before I go,” I say, “I just want to get a couple of things off my chest.”
A soft gust of wind blows across the cemetery, sending dry leaves skittering across the grass. The sudden breeze made me think the spirits in the graveyard – my parents in particular – were trying to communicate with me. Although, I don't know what my parents would be trying to communicate. Would they be asking me for forgiveness? Or would they simply be launching another verbal assault from beyond the grave.
Knowing them as well as I did, I suspected it would probably be the latter.
“I guess I just want to say that I hope you two are rotting in hell,” I say. “For eighteen years, you made life beyond miserable. You twisted me in knots that I'm still trying to untie. Believe me when I say that you two fucked me up but good. I'm glad you're both dead.”
I stare down at the graves as if expecting an answer. Obviously, none is forthcoming. Which is fine. I have a little more to get off my chest and I hate being interrupted.
“As parents and as human beings, you both failed. Miserably,” I say, “The fact that they dumped you two out here in the corner of the boneyard, all by yourselves – it says a lot about the both of you. All of it well deserved. I made something of myself, you assholes. You did your best to tear me down. To make me a useless piece of trash like the both of you – but you failed at that too. I did something with my life. Unlike the both of you.”
I open my mouth to speak again but find that – I'm done. I'm surprised to find that I have nothing else to say. It strikes me as incredibly odd given that I had so many years of rage built up within me. So many years of pain. And because of that, I thought that I'd be standing there throwing verbal grenades at them for hours.
But the desire to do that simply – evaporated.
Maybe, that's what closure feels like – the need to exact a pound of flesh simply disappearing. I'd said my piece and maybe now, it's time to move forward.
The only problem is that I've lived so long with that weight on my shoulders and that rage within me bubbling just below the surface, I'm not quite sure how to live without it. That dark anger – in a way – defined me.
It's one reason I was so effective in the fields of Afghanistan – I could actually kill without the barest shred of remorse. My anger and my rage made me a better soldier. And if the anger that had sustained me for so long did simply vanish, I wasn't sure how I was going to manage to live without it.
But, that's a discussion better left for another day. I'm so screwed up in the head right now that my old familiar companion – the rage – might still actually be somewhere deep down inside of me. Might not have gone away at all. Who knows?
All I do know is that I said my piece to my folks and I was now done with them. Totally and completely done. And I feel pretty damn good about that.
Chapter Sixteen
“And after we got the doors open, we loaded that skunk into that beat up old VW bus Mr. Teller drove,” I say, laughing. “Closed it up and went on about our day.”
“Dude, I remember that,” Eric replies. “I remember he smelled like shit for about two weeks after that. Made that class more unbearable than it already was.”
The crowd around us erupted in laughter. The prank we'd pulled was legendary – kids still talked about it to this day. Rick and I were known around school as pranksters – but locking our old math teacher in his bus with a pissed off skunk was one of our best.
“I had no idea that was you two,” Jessica Mendoza says. “Figures though.”
I nod and raise my beer mug. “It was all Rick's idea,” I reply. “A brilliant one, I might add.”
The bar we're in, the Rusty Wagon, has been around since before the dawn of time, it seems. It's just always been a part of Sheridan Falls. Generations of people have sat on these very stools over the years. Growing up and having a few at the Wagon is like a time-honored tradition in this town.
The place is packed – mostly with all of us holding Rick's wake. For lack of a better word. And I have to admit, as I look around the room and see so many familiar faces – it sort of feels good. In a lot of ways, even though a lot of time has passed, it feels like some things haven't changed. I'm holding court among people I was friends with back in the day, we're all talking and laughing – it really feels like old times.
Of course, the biggest differences are that Rick is not here holding court with me and the stories we're sharing have changed – somewhat.
The conversation goes on around us as other people share their stories about Rick. Some of them serious, some of them funny – all of them evoking fond memories. I lean back against the bar, take a long drink and listen. I'm enjoying listening to other people's memories of Rick, hearing stories that I didn't know – stories from my time away. Although we kept in touch and remained close, I know there is a part of Rick's life I don't know. And I'm glad to hear about it.
I'd had to field a few questions about my disappearance, but I think that the people who know me best, know the hell I lived through and understood my reasons for getting the fuck out of Dodge as soon as I could. All I tell them is that I joined the Corps and they're content to leave it at that. Nobody really seems to feel the need to pry. Which I appreciate.
The music is loud and the air inside the Wagon is saturated with the aroma of stale beer and cigarettes. Smoking indoors is technically against the law, but the current owners – like the past owners – don't really seem to give a damn. Smoking in the Wagon was legal back in the day and as far as they're concerned, it's legal now.
“So, Caleb,” Jessica says, moving closer to me. “Twelve years in the Marines, huh?”
I nod and take a long pull of my beer. “Yup,” I say.
“Twelve years.”
“Must have been dangerous.”
I shrug. “It had its moments.”
“I'm glad to see you again,” Jessica says, stepping even closer to me.
I look down at her and smile. Back in high school, she and I had flirted with one another, but it never went anywhere. There was always something there between us, but the timing was always off – either she was dating somebody or I was. And after I got together with Abby – well, I didn't have eyes for anybody else.
But as she looks up at me, I can see that there's still something there. She looks at me like she did back then and there is definitely still a heat between us. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested. Time's treated her pretty damn well and it's obvious that Jessica takes care of herself. Long, dark hair falls to the middle of her back. She's got wide, dark eyes, smooth, olive colored skin, full lips, and a tight little body.
“Yeah, I'm glad to see you too,” I say. “So, what's your story? Married? Kids? Boyfriend?”
She shrugs. “Divorced,” she says. “One kid. No boyfriend.”
“Where's your kid tonight?”
“With his dad,” she says – and then adds, “Until tomorrow morning.”
“Good to know.”
She gives me a flirty little smile as she takes a drink of her beer, her eyes twinkling and shining. I nod and take another drink of my beer, liking where this seems to be headed. The stories and laughter go on around us for the next couple of hours as Jessica and I get reacquainted with one another.
“So, tell me something,” Jessica says, “What's up with you and Abby? Seen her yet?”
Just the mention of Abby's name is like a kick in the nuts. My stomach churns a bit and my mouth runs dry. I take another swig of beer and then clear my throat. I haven't yet tracked her down to have that talk I promised Brooke I'd have with her. In fact, I'm still debating whether or not I can go to the funeral and get out of town without seeing her.
Finding out she's here, in Sheridan Falls, was a nasty surprise. One I wasn't prepared for. But all I can do is take one step after another, stay on mission, and figure it out as I go. And right now, my only mission is seeing some old friends, paying my respects to and honoring the man who was closer to me than a brother, having a few drinks, and maybe, just maybe, getting Jessica into bed.
“There's nothing up,” I say. “She moved on. I moved on. It's all good. And nope, I haven't seen her yet. I figure I'm going to have to talk to her at some point.”
Jessica grins. “Yeah, you probably should,” she says. “From what I hear, she was pretty fucked up after you left.”
“Yeah, so I'm hearing,” I say.
She shrugs. “It's not my business or anything though,” she says. “It's not like she and I are friends or anything like that.”
There's something that hadn't changed. Jessica and Abby had been good friends when they were kids. They'd been close. But for one reason or another, they'd had a falling out somewhere along the line. By the time they got to high school, they were pretty bitter rivals.
“You guys still haven't buried the hatchet, huh?” I ask.
Her laugh is high pitched and bitter. “After all this time, I'm pretty sure it's safe to say that's one hatchet that's not going to be buried.”
“That's too bad.”
“Meh,” she replies. “It is what it is. I don't lose any sleep over it.”
I finish my beer and set the mug back down on the counter. I look over the crowd and see it's thinned out a bit since the beginning – parents needing to get back to their kids and all. Gone were the days of staying out all night and getting trashed.
Well – for some. I still managed to squeeze a few of those in now and again. Being child-free and unattached came with certain perks and privileges.
“What do you say we get out of here?” I suggest.
Jessica gives me the kind of smile that would make lesser men weak in the knees. Good thing I'm not lesser men.
“I was wondering when you'd get around to asking,” she says.
The fire is already burning inside of me and I'm counting down the minutes until I get her back to my hotel room. I can tell she's going to be one hell of a lot of fun.
We say our goodbyes to the crowd and I promise to hook up with some of them for drinks or dinner after the funeral. More than a few of them give me a pointed look, their eyes traveling down to my hand – the hand Jessica's holding onto tightly. I just give them a shrug and a wink.
Jessica finally manages to pull me away and leads me to the door. And I can't say I'm not glad to see how eager and enthusiastic she is about getting back to my room.
We step out of the Wagon and into the cool night air on Main Street. The moon is high overhead in a crystal-clear sky and there is a soft, chill breeze in the air. It's a perfect night. Jessica smiles at me and I wrap my arm around her shoulders.
We turn and start to walk to where I'm parked and I stop dead in my tracks. I feel Jessica's body tense up beside me and the smile quickly falls from her face. The churning in my stomach kicks into overdrive and I suddenly feel lightheaded.
Standing on the sidewalk right in front of me is Abby Greenwood – the woman I once loved more than life itself and had been planning a future with. The woman I'd completely ghosted.
She looks at me with an expression of pure disbelief – which quickly gives way to one of hurt and anger. Abby clutches at her stomach and looks like she might throw up all over the place. I can see that her legs are wobbling and fear that she might just fall over.
“Dude,” I say to the douchebag holding her hand. “She's going to fall. Do something useful and hold her up.”
The man looks at me, his face a mask of confusion. But he does what I said and puts his arm around Abby's waist, keeping her standing upright.
Abby looks from Jessica to me with eyes that are glistening and her lower lip quivering as if she's about to burst into tears. As I look at her, a splinter of guilt the size of a fucking two-by-four drives itself straight through my heart. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out.
“I – we should probably go,” I say.
Abby looks at me, imploring me with her eyes to stop and talk to her – but I can't bear the sight of her. I grab Jessica's hand and pull her around Abby and who I assume is her douchebag of a boyfriend. We walk quickly down the street, find my car, and take off as quickly as we can.
Chapter Seventeen
Abby
“Who was that?” James asks as we walk to the car.
“Ummm – nobody. Just an old friend from high school,” I say, my body tense, my heart and mind choked and clouded with emotion.
I somehow manage to feel both numb and overwhelmed by pain, all at the same time. This didn't feel real. It feels like I'm in a dream – or rather, a nightmare. A terrible, horrible nightmare. I cannot believe that twelve years after he vanished like a goddamn puff of smoke on the wind, I run into Caleb Tirico on the streets of Sheridan Falls.
“Just an old friend?” James asks, opening the car door for me.
“Yeah,” I say blankly.
I slide into the passenger seat of his BMW and just stare blankly ahead, looking out at the street beyond the windshield without actually seeing anything. I'm almost afraid to look around, afraid I might see Caleb again. And God knows, I can't handle that right now. There is no way in hell I can handle it.
James walks around the car and gets in the driver's side, but instead of starting the car, he turns to me, an inscrutable look on his face. I refuse to look at him, sure that if he sees my face, he's going to know I'm lying. But the silence between us lingers so long, things inside the car are growing awkward. Finally, I turn to him and sigh.
“What?” I demand.
He shrugs. “I'm just wondering about that guy,” he says. “Because I'm picking up on something that feels like he's more than just an old friend from high school.”
I sigh again, feeling irritated on top of
every other emotion coursing through my body. “Fine. We used to date. Back in high school,” I say. “I just – well – I never thought I'd see him again honestly.”
“I see,” he says quietly and turns away from me.
James starts the car and pulls from the curb, accelerating down the street in silence. I can tell something is bothering him, but I figure that he's just processing everything like he usually does. He's not saying a word and neither am I, content to brood in the darkness of the car. I know what to expect once we get home though, and while I normally can find some desire for sex in me, this run-in with Caleb really has thrown me for a loop.
James parks outside my house, and as usual, he opens the car door for me and we walk in together, hand-in-hand. He still hasn't said much else about Caleb, and I pray to God he doesn't. I'm just not even close to being in the right head space to talk about that. Not with anyone – but most of all, not with him. Not right now. Maybe, not ever.
As we step into the house, I put my jacket away, and as expected, I feel James pressing himself against me from behind. He kisses my neck, and instead of leaning into him like I normally do, I pull away. I turn around to explain to him and find him staring at me, a look of surprise and hurt on his face.
“Listen, I'm not really in the mood tonight,” I say. “Can we just watch some TV and go to bed instead?”
James' jaw is clenched tight. I can see he's struggling, internally, with what I just asked him – as if I'd just asked him to put the moon and stars in my hand. It's like he was having trouble coming to grips with the fact that I'd just broken the sacred routine and had turned him down. I half expected him to just start saying, “does not compute, does not compute.”
But instead of agreeing or disagreeing with me, he surprises me. He leans forward, grabs hold of me, pulling me to him and kisses me. At first, it's a chaste kiss, but quickly, he presses his tongue into my mouth and pulls me closer to him, making me feel that he's already aroused and ready.