Forget You

by Jennifer Snyder

  I watched as Camilla attempted to burp Veda, thinking of how my brother was such a reckless ass. How could he have done something so stupid as to drink and ride in the pouring rain? He knew how bad that corner was. He’d fucking built it himself. What the hell had he been thinking? How could he have thought something so beautiful was such a bad thing?

  Then it dawned on me. That wasn’t the reason he was out there that night. The reason had been out there was because of me. Ryker thought I would never be able to forgive him for sleeping with Camilla, for loving her, for getting her pregnant. He would never know that everything would have worked out for the best, because he was gone.

  My heart palpitated in my chest.

  I was to blame for my niece being fatherless. If Ryker hadn’t been so damn worried about my reaction to him and Camilla, he would still be here today. My eyes lowered from Veda resting peacefully against Camilla’s shoulder; she chewed on her fist toward the floor. If I could go back and change everything, somehow I would, as long as it meant that Ryker got to be sitting on the arm of that recliner right now, spewing some smart-ass remark my way while we created a happy moment with his precious family.

  Taking in a deep, pained breath, I became lost in my guilt. It gripped me with its cold, icy hand, and constricted my airway. Smoothing my sweaty hands against my shorts, I risked another glance at Veda. How would I ever be able to explain to her that her daddy was dead because he thought I would hate him for creating her with my ex?

  “Sawyer, are you okay?” Camilla asked. “You’re looking a little pale over there.”

  Eva shifted beside me. “Whoa, what’s wrong? You’re sweating bullets.”

  I wiped the sweat from my brow. “I think I just need some air. I need a minute.”

  Standing, I started across the small living room, headed straight for the door. Eva said something, but I couldn’t hear what. Everything was becoming distorted as my heart continued to race in my chest. Gripping the cool metal knob of the front door in my hand, I swung it open and stepped out into the chilly spring air.

  Pressing the palms of my hands into the rough wood of the banister that overlooked the breezeway of Camilla’s apartment complex, I took in greedy gulps of air in an effort to relax my pounding heart.

  All along, I’d been pointing the finger at Ryker and thinking of the screwed up situation entirely wrong. I was the one to blame here. Everything was my fault; it was clear to me now.

  * * * *

  “Are you seriously staying in bed again today?” Eva pushed me in an effort to get my attention. “Sawyer, I don’t understand what about meeting your beautiful niece has you so damn depressed. Will you just talk to me? Please?”

  Keeping my eyes closed, I inhaled the scent of her coconut conditioner as I balled her pillow underneath my head a little more. Seeing Veda, and realizing the deeper truth about my brother’s death, had taken hold of me in a way I hadn’t felt in months, not since before meeting Eva. Depression would be an accurate label for it. My guilt had turned into a serious state of depression over the last few days.

  While I wanted to explain it to Eva, I knew she wouldn’t get it. She’d come up with something to say that would more than likely make me want to scream for her to shut up. Eva wasn’t the most positive person in the world, but she would say just about anything to make someone she cared about feel better—just before she slapped them with a one-liner that would have them rolling with laughter. This was one of the reasons why I loved her, but it was also why I couldn’t explain myself to her yet. I needed to feel this. Ryker deserved for me to feel this way, if only for a while. I owed him that much.

  Maybe my reasoning wasn’t the best, but it was honest.

  “Seriously, Sawyer, talk to me.” She nudged me with her palm once more. “Damn it; don’t make me call your mom.”

  My eyes opened at her tone. Seriously, she thought threatening to call my mom would snap me out of my funk?

  “Go ahead; it won’t do you any good,” I mumbled.

  “Ha!” She shoved me once more. “I got you to talk. Now I know you’re awake, so you’d better get to talking, Sawyer Keeton. I’m worried about you.”

  Rolling over onto my back, I drew my arm up to shield my eyes from the bright light of our bedroom. Eva had chosen to move in with me shortly after we’d gotten married. My apartment had been one she’d always dreamed of living in, so it had been a no-brainer as to which place we would occupy together.

  “It was my fault,” I said point blank. There was no point in beating around the bush with this. Eva would only find a way to jump straight to the point anyway.

  “What was?”

  I could hear the concern and worry quivering through her words, but I didn’t remove my arm to look her in the eyes. I couldn’t. Not while admitting what I was about to.

  “Ryker’s death,” I said.

  Silence built in the small confines of our bedroom. The sound of my heart beating in my ears was all I could hear while I waited for what she would say, how she would twist the situation to make me feel better.

  “Why would you think that?” she asked.

  Dropping my arm from my face, I sat up in bed a little. “Because if he hadn’t been so worried about what I would think, then he wouldn’t have been drinking that night, he wouldn’t have decided to go ride in the rain to clear his head, and he’d still be here, Eva.”

  A weight lifted off my chest at having said the thoughts out loud that had haunted me for days.

  “No.” She shook her head. “You’re wrong. It wasn’t your fault. It was his.”

  Her words were sharp and direct. It was clear she wholeheartedly believed them, and she was about to sway me into believing them as well.

  “How was thinking I would hate him his fault?” I asked. “He knew my reaction to that would have been horrible.”

  “No, he didn’t. He worried that it would be, but he didn’t know for sure. He was scared, Sawyer. That’s why he went out there that night, because he was scared.”

  “Exactly. My brother was so worried and scared that I would be pissed at him for sleeping with my first love behind my back and getting her pregnant that he became incredibly reckless and lost his life. Again, it was my fault.”

  Eva pursed her lips together, and stared at me. “So what? He hid their relationship from you. He didn’t tell you she was pregnant when he found out. I think he was scared, Sawyer.” She moved to sit cross-legged on the bed, her gorgeous ocean-colored eyes never leaving mine. “You asked your parents if they thought he loved her. I think that was part of the problem, part of the reason why he found it hard to talk to you. He knew you loved her at one point in your life as well. Maybe, in his eyes, that made what he felt for her wrong to him and that was why he decided to ride that night to clear his head. Maybe that was the part he couldn’t get past.”

  I sat, motionless, letting my Eva’s reasoning wash over me.

  “Still makes it my fault,” I said. “You’re not helping.”

  “No, it makes it his. He didn’t know you as well as you thought he did, because if he had, then he would have known that you would have been happy for him regardless if the girl was Camilla.”

  Eva moved to lie down beside me. She tucked her body close to mine, and traced lazy patterns with her fingertip across my bare chest.

  “It’s both of our faults, then,” I concluded.

  “Which means they cancel out, and it becomes no one’s,” she whispered. “There ultimately is no one to blame.”

  “Well, you sure did change your tune quick. You went from blaming my brother to being one hundred percent sure there was no one to blame. I think I like the canceled out theory most.” I smoothed the palm of my hand against her shoulder, and bent to kiss her on the forehead. “Thank you. I needed a signature pep talk.”

  “You’re welcome.” She snuggled closer to me.

  “Anymore words of wisdom for me today, oh wise one?”

  Her shoulder rose and fell a
s she inhaled deeply. “One more thing. Just remember, Sawyer, if the world didn’t suck, we’d all fall off.”

  And there is was, a famous Eva Keeton one-liner to end the emotional moment.

  I laughed. For the first time in days, I laughed hysterically. I loved my wife more than anything in the world. God had truly sent me an angel the day I found her.

  * * * *

  The microwave beeped, and a smile sprang to my face. Eva’s baked potatoes were the best. I could cook just about anything, except for a freaking baked potato. For whatever reason, mine always turned hard as a rock or wrinkled and shriveled down to nothing. Eva’s potatoes were always perfect.

  “I still don’t know how you do it,” I said. I moved to stand behind her. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I kissed along the side of her throat.

  “Easy.” She wiggled free from my grip, and moved to the fridge. Pulling out a tub of butter, she flashed me a shit-eating grin. “I push the potato button on the microwave.”

  “Smart-ass.” I shook my head and smiled. “I know that much. The button just doesn’t work for me the way it does for you. It kills my potatoes, and makes me look incompetent.”

  “There’s a joke in there somewhere, but I’m keeping my mouth shut.” She pulled a butter knife from in the drawer, and split the potatoes open.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I swiped my keys off the counter, and started toward the front door.

  “Where are you going? I just made you this glorious baked potato.”

  “I’m checking the mail. I can’t handle the disgrace that is my lack of baked potato making skills right now. They need to air out,” I said.

  “Whatever.”

  A crumpled up paper towel flew across the room at me, and Eva laughed.

  “You’re picking that up,” I said as I ducked out the door.

  Jogging down the stairs, I made it to the small stand of mailboxes in a few seconds. Inserting the key into our box, I unlocked it and pulled the little door open. Everything inside seemed to be folded in a stack of junk mail. I pulled it out and flipped through its contents. One thing was for sure, the mailman would always have a job if companies continued to waste money on printing off coupons and flyers nobody would ever put to use.

  “Bill, bill, Eva’s, mine,” I muttered as I continued to skim through the stack.

  When I reached the final envelope, my heart stopped. Zeroing in on the return address, everything around me blurred out of focus. Ryker’s name was written in his horrible chicken scratch across the top. Someone had written return to sender in curly handwriting smack across the center. My eyes trailed over where the letter was supposed to be sent, and the realization it had been meant for me hit me straight to the core.

  Apparently, Ryker had attempted to send me a letter while I’d been away. He’d just screwed up the address, so it never reached me.

  My feet were moving for the stairs before I could think about anything more. Pushing through the door of Eva and my apartment, I closed it behind me and leaned against it, winded.

  “What’s wrong? You barged in here looking like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Eva laughed.

  I watched her as she set a plate for each of us down on the small table in the corner. She had no idea how right her words were. That was exactly what I felt like I’d seen. Ryker’s letter was like a ghost haunting me from the other side.

  “It’s… I got…” I pressed my hand to my mouth. There was no way to word what I held.

  Walking across the living room, I slid into the chair across from her, and tossed the mail down on the table. My elbows rested on the table as my hands moved to pass through my hair.

  “A letter from Ryker. How the hell does that happen?” Eva asked. The utter shock in her words didn’t even hold a candle to what I felt. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

  “No. I don’t know that I can,” I said. My stomach churned at the thought.

  He wasn’t here anymore. He was gone. This letter was wrong. It shouldn’t have come back to me. It made me sick to look at it.

  “Sawyer,” Eva said. Her tone was sharp and demanding. She didn’t have to say she thought I should; those words rested in the tone of my name.

  “Eva.” I looked up, locking eyes with her. “I don’t know that I can. I’m not strong enough to keep going through so much heartbreak.”

  Her hand was reaching for one of my own in seconds, and she smoothed her thumb across the top.

  “You’re the strongest person I know,” she said, sounding so sure of herself. “If you don’t open this letter right now, while the wound is still slightly open, you’ll always regret it, because you’ll never want to revisit this pain you’ve been dealing with the last few days.”

  Silence filled our apartment. I chewed my lip, unable to lift a finger, even though I knew she was right. This would be the final cut, the last blow, and then when everything was muted and scabbed up once more, I would never have to reopen the wound again. Not until Veda was older, and wanted to know what happened the day her daddy died.

  I needed to do this now. Reaching across the table, I swiped up the letter. The envelope was worn and soft in my hands, making me think at some point it had gotten caught in the rain. As I tore the corner, I took in a deep breath, and reached inside for the letter. Unfolding it, I read it silently, knowing if I didn’t, my words would crack and I would cry like a damn baby.

  Hey Little Brother,

  I’m a chicken shit.

  There, I’ve said it. Now you can hold onto that image of me while you read the rest of this letter. You’ll have your answer already as to why I couldn’t tell you this in person, why I couldn’t wait until you were home again.

  I’m a chicken shit. Remember that.

  So, remember that girl you dated…Camilla? Remember how she broke your fucking heart and spit on it after high school? Remember how I told you she was a heartless bitch? Well, as it turns out, she’s not. Not really. She’s sort of cool.

  Are you asking yourself what my fucking point is now, why I’m writing you a letter about Camilla of all people?

  Because shit happens, little brother. The world works in mysterious ways, and there’s something I need to explain to you before you come home. Maybe by telling you now, I’m actually giving you more time to build your rage against me so you come back and give me one hell of a solider boy ass whooping, I don’t know.

  But here’s what happened.

  I went to a party down in Deer Park one night. Camilla was there. She was drunk, and some guy was hitting on her she didn’t seem too keen on. For whatever reason, I couldn’t turn my back and leave her in the presence of that douche, regardless of how much of a bitch she was when she dumped your ass. I blame it all on Mom. Even though I attempted to dodge the majority of her attempts at making the two of us outstanding gentlemen, some things must have soaked in, because there I was, watching Camilla laugh nervously while eyeing those around her, looking for a savior. Her eyes landed on me, bro, and I couldn’t walk away.

  Here’s where my being a chicken shit comes into play, because this is the part I should have told you earlier.

  We’ve been dating for a while now. There’s just something about her. Your blood is probably boiling by now, but I’m about to say something that will raise your blood pressure even more—I think I love her.

  It hit me like nothing ever has before, little brother, and it’s scary as shit, but that’s only the half of it. The other half, the part that has my mind going a mile a minute, and is forcing me to put pen to paper right now, is that she’s pregnant.

  Breathe. I’m sure you have a picture of me somewhere you can throw darts at later. Right now, I need you to finish reading this letter.

  I should have told you about the two of us at your, whatever the hell that was, graduation thing, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I, Ryker Keeton, was a chicken shit and I’m sorry. I’m sorry if this is weird for you. I’m sorry if you now hate me. I’m sorry it was her. I’m sor
ry I betrayed you.

  She was yours. She crushed you. I know she did, because I was there to help you pick up the pieces of your fucking fragile heart afterward.

  I know how screwed up this is, but I’m hoping enough time has passed since the two of you were together that you’ll be able to be happy for me. That you’ll forgive me.

  I’m going to be a dad, bro. How fucking crazy is that? The realization has got me scared shitless, but not nearly as scared as thinking of raising this kid without my brother right there beside me, calling me out on all my fuckups and praising me when I wipe its ass the right way.

  I fucked up, Sawyer. I should have told you when I had the chance, but I didn’t. I was too much of a chicken shit.

  All right, enough with the emotions. This apartment is too damn quiet without you. I think I’ll slip this into the mail, and then pick up a twelve pack and sit out on Mom and Dad’s back porch for a bit to drink away my fears of you reading this, of you knowing the truth, while I attempt to toughen up the chicken shit inside of me.

  Signing off,

  Your chicken shit brother

  P.S. Have you ever noticed how change is inevitable, except from a vending machine? Something to think about, eh?

  The letter trembled in my fingers as I sniffled and forced back my tears. No matter the amount of heartbreak I was feeling, there were three things I was grateful for. One, that the letter had found its way back to me when it did. Two, that my brother had loved Camilla and that he had been happy about Veda. Both of them needed to know that. I would have to take the letter to her at some point. And three, that my brother was human. He’d been scared of something that tended to frighten even the best of us—change.

  “Can I?” Eva asked. She pointed to the letter still clutched in my hands.

  “Yeah, sure.” I handed it over, and sighed.