Chapter 29
Hidden away in her bedroom, Sara sat on her bed, surrounded by old photo albums. She had gotten the most recent one down from a shelf so that she could put away her 1841 Anderson photograph, but that led to her bringing them all down. She was compelled to skim them for something resembling an ordinary life. Knowing he was in the house, she couldn’t help but look through pictures of her and Phil, but she eventually made her way to Jake.
It had been a long time since she last looked through these photographs, and they still made her emotional. She’d grown calloused to her mother’s pictures, having seen them often, but not these. These were personal. She had been feeling detached lately, almost as if Jake’s half-life had been a burden refusing to let her go. Looking at these pictures, however, she was reminded of why she loved him. They dated back to their childhood, pictures taken by her mother and others who knew them. She flipped to one of their last pictures, taken six months prior to the accident. It was a close up of their faces. She was holding the camera out for the snapshot, the way young couples often do, and she was crying. It was a good cry. The memory made her smile, even if there wasn’t any joy in it. He had just asked her to marry him and she had said yes, despite their age and the guilt of what she’d done not long before that. It was snowing.
“Lookin’ through our old pictures?”
Phil’s voice startled Sara and she closed the album quickly.
“Sorry,” he said and she could see the pain in his eyes. He must have been suffering the mother of all hangovers. “There a reason I woke up naked on your couch?”
“Because Stan found you in your own vomit, undressed you, made you shower, and then covered you up before you fell asleep on my couch.”
Phil grunted. “Well that’s not what I was hopin’ for.”
He wrapped the blanket closer around his frame and stumbled back toward the couch. Sara hesitated a moment before following him. She handed him a mug of coffee and he thanked her but asked for something else to put in it.
“No,” she said. “I’m tired of seeing you like this. You’re getting sober.”
“Since when do you care?”
“I’ve never stopped.”
“Then why’d you leave?”
Sara sighed. He knew the answer to that question and she didn’t feel like arguing about it again. The two of them sat in silence as Phil sipped his coffee, grimacing with each taste.
“This is horrible,” he finally added.
“You used to be grateful.”
“I used to have somethin’ to be grateful for,” he answered without looking at her. “Where’s Stan? And where are my clothes?”
“Stan went home. Your coat’s on the floor by the door and your clothes are in the dryer. They should be finished by now.”
She went to collect them, uncomfortable in Phil’s presence. She could see the couch from the laundry room and watched as Phil leaned forward, the blanket falling about his waist. Her eyes lingered and she closed them in disappointment. No one could ever deny that Phil had one of the most beautiful bodies in Anderson. He had let himself go over the past year, but there was a time when every sculpted muscle could be traced without looking. He still looked good though and she hated herself for noticing.
“Here you go,” she said, tossing him his clothing. “I’ll be in the bedroom while you get dressed. Take your time.”
He knocked on her door several minutes later and smiled dimly when she opened it. “Thanks for everything, but I should go.”
She followed him into the living room and watched as he searched his pants pockets for the missing flask. He swore and reached for his coat and rummaged through it as well. Then he paused, his hand resting on an inner pocket, and sighed with relief.
“You have another one?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Give it to me, Phil. You’re better than this. You don’t need that flask, or bottle, or whatever it is.”
Phil just shook his head. “It ain’t like that. You got the beer. This is somethin’ else.”
“Is it drugs?”
“You ever know me to be a pill popper? I ain’t that far gone yet.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s nothin’. Don’t worry about it.”
“Please sit down, Phil. I want to talk to you.”
Phil looked at her; and, for the first time since he woke up, she could see a longing on his face. Not a disturbing or dangerous longing, but something resembling how he used to look at her when they were together. He sat down with a grunt, his knees popping.
“So talk.”
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Sara forced herself to sit beside him on the couch. She was aware of the awkwardness this created but hoped he would see it as a symbol of trust.
“For everything, starting with when Jake and I were together.”
“Sorry for that much, huh?” he asked while rubbing his temples.
She took a breath and decided to just punch through it all. “You know how I came on to you while Jake and I were having problems? You had changed so much after your dad left—it was endearing—but I was wrong when I tried to kiss you. I was young and stupid, and you were right to push me away like you did. I know you liked me, but you stopped for fear of hurting Jake. I’ve never forgiven myself for that.
“But after Jake…” she paused but then continued with her thought, “you were there for me, same as he always was. I liked you, Phil, I really did, but what I wanted was for Jake to come back.” She took a breath but refused to look Phil in the eye. “I loved Jake—I still do—but when I wanted out, when I needed someone to hold me, I turned to you. I knew you’d take care of me. I knew I wasn’t ready to move on, but I clung to you anyway. I’m sorry I made you feel like it was true love because we both know it wasn’t, not for me anyway.”
“I never minded,” Phil whispered. “I just wanted to make you happy.”
“I know, and that was better than I deserved. I was just looking for something, anything, to make me forget Jake. If it wasn’t you, then it would have been someone else, and that was wrong of me. You and Jake both deserved better.”
She stopped long enough to make herself a cup of coffee, took a few sips, and returned to the couch without making eye contact. “I know you genuinely meant it when you said you loved me, and it felt so good to hear someone say it again. I just needed to keep hearing it, so I lied and told you I loved you, too. I even tried to convince myself that it was true, but I knew otherwise.”
“I know you never meant it,” he said softly. “I didn’t care.”
She sighed and looked at the ceiling, gathering her thoughts. “Phil, it was wrong! I used you because you were the most Jake-like person in Anderson. You were the closest I’d ever get to having Jake back. When we kissed; I imagined him. When we laughed; I imagined it was Jake and I. And when you told me you loved me; I imagined Jake’s voice saying it.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Phil suddenly shouted. “I didn’t care, Sara! I’ve liked you since we were kids and dreamed of the day when you and Jake would break up. I knew you guys were forever—I hated it—but Jake was such a good guy. I couldn’t help but be happy for you guys.”
He grunted and rubbed his temples again. Sara rummaged through her purse and handed him some Tylenol. He took it and sighed, rubbing his neck.
“But later,” he continued, “I thought maybe I could fill Jake’s spot. I could tell almost immediately that I was just a placeholder, but I didn’t care because you wanted to be with me. Then, one day, I came to your mom’s house to surprise you and saw you cryin’ in your room. You were cryin’ over pictures of him; those pictures in there,” he pointed a thumb toward the bedroom, “and I knew you never really loved me.
“I thought about givin’ you time, but I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.” He laughed under his breath. “I fooled myself into thinkin’ that if I just
waited long enough, you’d eventually fall in love with me. I swear Sara; you were a worse drug than that whiskey ever was. I loved you so much, but you were like a black hole. I threw everything I had at you, but nothin’ ever really came back.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, but he waved her off.
“I was wrong for steppin’ in when I did, but I’d do it again if it meant spendin’ one more day with you. I ain’t a drunk now because I’m angry; I’m drunk so I can forget you. I ain’t gotten there yet, but I figure if I keep tryin’, maybe I will. Either that or I’ll get dead, either way.”
“Please stop,” she said, her eyes wet now. “I was wrong for misleading you, even if you knew I was doing it, but you don’t have to drink yourself to death. You’re a good person, Phil, and you always have been. Jake was the first to see it, but Stan and I did, too, and so did everyone else. You don’t have to live like this.”
“Yeah, I do. It hurts too much not to.”
“Please,” she said, placing her hand on his knee.
He jumped at her touch but then simply pulled away. “Sara, you love a man who can’t love you back. I love a girl who can but won’t.” He groans. “At least your time with Jake was real. I have to live knowin’ what we had was fake, and I can’t deal with that no more.”
“Phil, that’s not fair.”
“What if you found out Jake never loved you—that he only used you?”
“I’d be devastated, but I really do care for you. Maybe not romantically, but I think about you every day. I hate seeing you like this, and I hate that it’s my fault. I want to help fix you, to show you that you can be better, and so does Stan. We want to help you like Jake helped you.”
Phil nodded, but nothing in his countenance suggested that he bought what she was saying. He stood and rubbed his lower back, his knees popping again, and then slumped back onto the couch with a sigh.
“I’m not ready for that again.”
“I didn’t ask if you were,” she said sternly. “I’m tired of seeing you in alcohol-induced stupors. This isn’t you. Stan knows it, Melba knows it, and Percy knows it. Jake knew it, and I hate that you care so little about his memory that you won’t even give sobriety a chance.”
“His memory?” Phil said, finally looking at her. “You never used to talk about him like he was dead.”
She looked away. He was right. She loved Jake, but he had been gone for so long… no, she refused to think like that. She covered her face and wiped away the tears before they fell.
“Please, let me help you,” she said in a pleading, slightly broken voice. The tears fell lightly, despite her attempts to hide them. “Jake did something wonderful with you, and I broke what the two of you accomplished. I thought you were dead when we found you on the sidewalk today. Please don’t let me be the reason you drink yourself to death.”
“So I’m just one of Jake’s old projects?”
“You’re my friend, Phil, and I love you. Maybe not romantically, but you’re still one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I want that back, Phil. I want the old Phil back.”
“Despite the fact that you’ll never love me like I love you?”
She didn’t answer. She simply stared into his stern, anger-ridden eyes and watched as those eyes began to soften. Then he lowered his face into his palms and let out a long, tired breath. When he looked up again, his eyes were dabbed with tears and he breathed deep to keep them at bay.
“I know you love me,” he said. “I know it’s not like with Jake, but I don’t care. Even if it ain’t how I want, I’m glad you still think of me like you did back then—when we were teenagers and it was just the four of us. I thought I lost you. I thought I lost everything.”
And with that, tears began trickling down Phil’s cheeks. He tried to hide them, to pretend he was still the gruff man he’d become, but Sara reached across the couch and held him. It felt strange at first, but the awkwardness passed. It was like seven years ago, when they were still teenagers with no bad history or flaws—when they were still friends.
“I’m so sorry, Phil,” Sara said through tears of her own, so Phil rested his cheek against the top of her hair and wrapped his arms around her.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
They held one another as their grief poured out, but when the tears dried up, she pulled away and dried her wet face with the blanket. Phil sat quietly, taking in the sight of her until she smiled and backhanded his shoulder.
“You’ve let yourself go. It used to be like crying into a rock.”
Phil smiled but it quickly faded. He scratched the back of his neck, and Sara could see that he was nervous.
“Phil?”
He stood and began to pace. There was a sudden fear in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before, not even when she ended their relationship.
“Phil? What’s wrong?”
“I messed up, too, Sara. I did somethin’ horrible. I kept a secret I shouldn’t have, and it’s eatin’ me up inside.”
“What do you mean?”
Phil laughed nervously and squatted against the wall. He was dying to tell her something but couldn’t bring himself to utter the words, so she knelt beside him and clasped his shaking hands.
“It’s okay, Phil.”
“Jake,” he said, struggling with the name. He took a deep breath and finally closed his eyes, forcing his thoughts through his lips. “Office Clem didn’t shoot Jake.”
Sara’s eyes widened, and her heart beat violently. “What do you mean Office Clem didn’t shoot Jake?”
“I’m so sorry, Sara. I shoulda told you. I shoulda told everyone.”
Cicada Song Page 30