“Sam?” The bum struggled to sit up and get a closer look at us. A few beer cans crumpled under his weight, and to my surprise, a small dog appeared, nestled behind him. “Sam? Is that you?” he asked.
I glanced at Easton, hoping he would turn me around and usher me back to the safety of his car, but he did the opposite.
Easton’s face softened as he reached for his wallet. He took out all the cash he had and bent down to give it to the deranged man.
“You can do better than this, Simon,” Easton said in a quiet voice and handed him the cash. The bum grabbed at the money and started to count. I looked at Easton for an explanation, but he pretended not to notice.
Cigarette smoke marinated in the air, and a lively, probably drunken poker game carried on in the back corner. A pool table sat in the middle of the room where a man in a red plaid shirt and tattoos was trying to get lucky with a girl. By the looks of her attire, he would be successful.
“I know it’s not much, but I used to come here to play poker all the time. The people are very nice; you have nothing to be worried about.” Easton eyed my clenched hand pulling his jacket closed tight across my chest. I imagined that my face gave even more clues about my uncomfortableness.
Easton slapped the bar, catching the bartender’s attention.
“Joey! Hey man, how are you?” Easton shook the bartender’s hand.
The man with a long, thick black beard and brut body appeared incredibly happy to see Easton. I peeked around at the crowd; it wasn’t what I thought when I pictured Easton’s peers. Not that I had been thinking of him that intently.
“Who’s the lady?” Joey asked.
“This is Everly. Everly, this is Joey, an old friend.” Easton gestured to the bartender.
“Hello.” I gave Joey a small wave and polite smile, still clenching the jacket closed.
“Hey, have you seen Clyde much lately?” Easton asked as he leaned over the bar and peered at the back poker game.
“No, man. I haven’t seen Clyde for a while. He stopped coming in as much about three months ago.” Joey picked up a wet glass and began to wipe it with a bar towel.
“Damn.” Easton’s forehead lined with worry. “If you see him, will you tell him I stopped in looking for him?”
“Yeah, no problem, man! Can I get you anything while you’re here? You guys want a drink?” Joey’s face lifted, hoping Easton would stay. Mine did the opposite.
“Um, yeah! That sounds great! I’ll take a beer.” Easton pointed at me.
I sighed. “Can I see a menu please?” I crawled up on the barstool.
“No menu. I got wine—white or red—beer, and hard alcohol. We also got nachos, peanuts, and . . . that’s it!” Joey looked around the bar in case something else had slipped his mind.
I glanced down at the small picked-over bowls of peanuts. I thought about how many men didn’t wash their hands after using the restroom had dug into the nuts. I assumed the nachos would be equally disgusting.
“I’ll have a glass of red wine, please,” I said. Joey smiled and turned around to fetch us our drinks.
“Old friend, huh?” I prompted Easton.
I placed my clutch on the bar but didn’t take my hand off of it until I made one last glance around the room. He smiled and looked back at Joey before leaning into me.
“He’s had a really tough life. I’ve spent countless hours on this side of the bar, walking him through life lessons that he hadn’t yet learned. I think he’s doing better now,” Easton said, in a hushed voice.
Joey placed our drinks on the bar, and Easton straightened his back. I felt bad for Joey. I didn’t know the details of his life, but I could easily picture how Easton’s ability to connect with people had turned him into a counselor of the night.
“And Clyde?” I asked.
Easton’s eyes darted away, and I assumed Clyde was a much longer story than Joey’s.
“Clyde’s my grandpa.” Easton shrugged and took a sip of his beer.
His grandpa? I looked back at the couple, which were now making out against the pool table, and I wondered what kind of man Easton’s grandpa was. I had my presumptions.
“Yeah, he . . . he’s not that close to the family. Never was. When I found out he played poker here, I started coming to build a relationship with him. I’ve been coming here every couple of weeks to check in on him, but Joey says he hasn’t been showing up.” Easton looked down at his feet. No doubt to hide the worry in his eyes.
“Do you think he’s sick or something?” I asked with growing concern for his grandfather.
“I don’t know. Maybe? I don’t have his number or address or anything. Joey says he only pays with cash, so I just give him his space when he goes off the grid for a while. Normally, he would reappear. I think it’s more of an intermittent sobriety thing than anything else. I think it ebbs and flows with his depression.” Easton peaked up at me, his eyes glassed over and filled with emotion.
I wondered about Easton’s disconnected family life. I was positive that this was only the tip of the iceberg. I took a sip of wine, my eyes set on his.
“Did you succeed at building a relationship with your grandpa by playing poker here?”
“I did.” Easton’s smile reached his eyes. “And I learned a lot about poker too. It’s quite fun. My favorite part is trying to read everyone’s faces. Some are better than others at hiding their hand, but I can tell most of the time—if not all the time—when someone is bluffing.” Easton chuckled at a distant memory.
“Hey! That’s it! That’s the thing you do for fun!” I perked up, excited about my discovery. “I just never took you as a gambler. You never cease to amaze me,” I said, feeling the wine work its magic and alter my mood.
“Ha, yeah. Well, sometimes you’ve got to roll with the punches. I’ve found myself doing a lot of things that I never thought I would. All for a good reason, though.” Easton held up a finger to Joey, who promptly brought me another wine.
“Oh! Thank you. You’re not having another with me?” I asked.
“I would like to get you home safe.” Easton smiled, every bit the responsible gentleman he was.
My first glass of wine did go down relatively fast, and despite being the only option for red wine, it wasn’t half bad. Joey took away my empty glass. I took a long sip, and my eyes fixed on the base of my glass.
“Rolling with the punches . . . Is that what I’m doing now? Rolling with the punches?” I asked, wanting desperately to connect with him on a deeper level.
“Yes. It’s what everyone does. You have to deal with it. There aren’t many other options, you know?” He cocked his head to the side.
“You had a different option, though, didn’t you?” I was too cowardly to look him in the eyes.
He sighed, and a stretch of silence spanned between us. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom. Will you be OK here?” he asked.
I nodded, never looking at him. I regretted it the moment I said it. I always said the wrong thing, digging too deep too fast. I always pried. It was none of my business what was going through his head the moment I met him. And if I kept asking him, I was sure to lose him as a friend. I couldn’t afford it.
I finished my wine and found myself eating out of the nut bowl by the time Easton resurfaced. I watched him on the far side of the room, saying hello to the poker players. Everyone seemed to know and love him. They must have all been fifty years and up, and I wondered why Easton would spend his time with a crowd much older and less fortunate than him.
The girl that was previously making out at the pool table slid her hand across Easton’s back as she whispered something into his ear. I stiffened, and my stomach churned. I was frozen as I watched her caress him, and I seriously thought about going over there to break it up. But it was over before it started. Still, it was too long.
Did he like her? Did he know her? Did she not see me sitting over here in this sexy dress on my date!? It wasn’t really a date, but she didn’t know tha
t!
After Easton paid Joey for the drinks, he made his way back to me.
“Are you ready?” his eyes flickered from mine to the peanut bowl my hand was scraping in. Easton looked back towards Joey, “Hey, can I get some nachos to-go?” I felt my cheeks flush.
“Sorry. I don’t think I’ve had much more than a coffee today,” I said as I wiped the salt off my hands.
“Don’t be. I can get you something more substantial on the way home, but at least this will get you a little something in your stomach.”
Easton turned to pay Joey for the second time, and I turned my daggers to the only other lady in the bar. Easton said goodbye and carried my nachos out to the car for me. I once again clenched his jacket tight as the chilly air collided with my warm body. It felt both cold and reviving at the same time—discomfort with a refreshing silver lining.
I stole a few glances at the bum, who was now asleep on the curb. His dog wandered a few feet away, looking for food.
“Hey, Easton? Why did you call that guy Simon? Do you know him?” I asked as I fastened my seatbelt.
“Who?”
“That guy.” I pointed to the homeless man. “The one you gave all your money to,” I said, confused. He knew very damn well who.
“Oh, no. I don’t know him.”
“Then why did you call him, Simon?” I asked.
“Um, it was on his sign. You must have missed it,” Easton said as we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main highway.
I thought back to the sign lying next to the pup; I very clearly remembered what it read: “Money Helps.”
Easton didn’t talk much on the way home. He said a few things here and there, mostly revolving around making me comfortable. I was quieter this time around. Far too interested in my melted cheese and undoubtedly subdued by the wine. I tried not to make a mess in Easton’s prestigious car while I ate and stared out the window into the forest, which was black as the night that surrounded it.
Though I was with Easton—who was the only person that presently understood me—I felt the disconnect between us. I knew the answers lied in his mystery, but he didn’t let me in. He didn’t trust me as I did him. This realization made me feel alone all over again.
I looked at Easton’s profile and let my eyes linger. His hair was becoming more unruly as the night progressed. His shirt was now wrinkled and slightly untucked. I wanted him to notice me. To see me. My nachos slumped down into my lap as my interest in them drifted to Easton.
I wondered what it would be like to kiss his lips. Not that measly kiss he tricked me into giving him at the Red Brick Diner, but a real and passionate kiss. My stomach dropped as Easton caught my gaze, and I looked away, blinking several times. I shook away the random thought and popped another chip into my mouth, rolling the salt between my fingers and trying to keep my mind off of what I really wanted.
“I had fun tonight,” Easton offered into the silence.
I smiled. “Me too,” I said.
I remembered him holding my hand when the groom recited his wedding vows and how my stomach felt weird and anxious. Maybe it was the cheese, perhaps it was the wine, but if I knew one thing to be true, there was a very strong possibility that it might be because I liked Easton Green. Not in the way I had been telling myself for the last week—the part about us being friends—but in the way that my life was ending, and all I wanted to do was spend my last days with him.
Chapter 11
The realization that I had feelings for Easton made the last fifteen minutes of the drive nearly unbearable. I fought through a small panic attack, and to my knowledge, I hid it well enough that it went unnoticed. I tried my damn hardest to push every single thought that came into my head, out! I didn’t want to know about them, and I told myself that maybe it was just the wine talking. It wasn’t, though. I knew that much.
We pulled into my driveway. My palms were sweating and my mind racing. Was he going to kiss me? We stepped out of the car, and he escorted me to my front door, his hand on the small of my back. I trembled as I dug for my key and Yeti serenaded us through the wood door.
“I just wanted to say, that—”
“Thanks! See ya!” I opened my door and slammed it in his face. Shutting the door of opportunity and heartache all the same. Yeti pushed her nose against my thigh as my eyes bulged out of my head, surprised by my own actions. I stood still and listened for Easton’s movement, but as far as I could tell, he was just as stunned by my behavior as I was. My heart pounded against my chest. As quietly as I could, I took a step forward and lifted onto my tippy toes to look out my peephole. He was there, rubbing his chin in reflection. There we were, so close and yet worlds apart. But the thickness of the door wasn’t the only thing that stood between us.
Two times he turned to knock on the door but ultimately gave up entirely and walked to his car. My heart continued to race. I lowered down, my heels pressing into the floor, and rested my forehead on the door.
This world was cruel. Like a black hole that swallows you slowly, torturing you along the way. I turned and threw my clutch at the wall and screamed at the top of my lungs, thankful that Easton was long gone and unable to hear my cries. The wrecking quakes hurtled through my body as tears washed down my cheeks. My nails dug into the back of my arms when I tried to comfort myself with a hug. Gripping tight like I might just lose myself all together if I didn’t hold on for dear life. Only after noticing a feeling that should have been recognized as pain, did I realize I was squeezing too tightly. I didn’t stop. The tiny sting from each fingernail was a blessed distraction from the terror that lived in my head.
My knees began to weaken, and my back slid down the door till my butt was resting on the carpet, and the loud, ugly sobs filled my empty home.
I fought it the best I could. The love I felt for him. I fought it, because It didn’t make any sense to have when I knew it was fleeting.
Still, it grew.
I paid it no attention until it was too late; it’d taken hold of me. Like a vice around my chest and a weight around my ankle. And now what was I supposed to do? Add heartbreak to my bucket list? Or heartbreaker? Assuming he may have feelings for me too.
It didn’t matter if he did or didn’t. All of it was equally tragic because I was a girl who was dying. And he was a boy who was not.
Chapter 12
The following day passed in a blur. It mostly consisted of me lying in bed, somewhere between sleep and consciousness, but I can’t be sure. The curtains were drawn to black out the light, and a pillow covered my head for most of the day. At one point in time, Yeti made sure I couldn’t ignore her, so I let her outside. It was then, when I was on two feet, that I picked up my clutch and checked my phone. It was shattered. Dead. If Fresh Grounds was calling me, I wouldn’t have known.
I didn’t let myself think of Easton. It was probably better to say goodbye now. As I did the night before with a slammed door between us. It would be easier this way.
At some point in the night, I woke. Only slightly to ponder if this was it. Was I dying now? Could I die now? I watched my favorite movie in my head. Nicholas Sparks’ The Notebook. The two were so deeply connected to one another, their love carried them away. I willed it to happen to me. But each subsequent breath told me it was impossible. There was no love train out of this misery. And there was no easy way out. I was stuck, riddled with cancer and a broken heart, determined to stay in my bed until the day I was blessed to leave it all behind. Like a sweet release from the dark thoughts that plagued me.
Miraculously, at some point, I began to dream again. The swans from The Notebook surrounded me, and I, too, became a bird in flight.
The never-ending weekend finally came to an end. I had school today. And though I didn’t care about learning anything new in the field of graphic design, I figured I could at least get out of the house. Sit in my truck with a piece of paper and pen. If I was fortunate enough, I’d manage some freshly combed hair and a full belly too. I was depr
essed and run down—miserable at best—but I didn’t have to spend my last months bedridden.
By the time I got to school—teeth and hair successfully brushed—I was too late to make my first class. I didn’t bother bringing my phone, as I never had the energy to plug the thing into the wall to recharge it. Still, it sat dead and shattered in my entryway. The less distraction, the better, I figured. I looked at my notebook, which sat beside me in the passenger’s seat. I was going to need caffeine to get through writing these letters.
I was too much of a coward to stop at the coffee shop before school, so I walked to the vending machine for a Diet Coke.
The gentle rumbling of my engine soothed my nerves. I placed my notebook on my lap and the pen in my hand. I didn’t know how to start, but I figured “Dear Mom,” was as good of a place as any. I wrote nothing but the truth. Easton would be proud. I told her how I was sorry for not telling her of my illness sooner. I told her I was sorry for not letting her in. And I told her that I would change it if I could. If I was brave enough. The letter went on and on—nine pages of regrets and goodbyes. A few short, memorable stories that I held dear to my heart. I was only vaguely aware that the change of class had come and gone with the students around my truck.
I didn’t cry. If anything, I felt the baggage I had been carrying lift. College was back in session, so I took out a clean piece of paper and continued to write. “Dear Pop,” This letter wasn’t as long and sappy. I didn’t worry about crushing his soul like I did my mom’s. He was a strong and capable man, and he would be the rock that held the family together.
When I got to my brother’s letter, I found myself without words. All that I wanted to write was Don’t marry Chloe, but it wasn’t what I wanted him to remember me for. If he married that girl and his life turned out to suck the way I imagined it would, well then, I would be there to sit by his side in misery. It would be hell for both of us, I suppose. I sighed, finished my Coke, and wrote a nice letter, filled with my best memories of us as kids. I only mentioned once that if he ever happened to fall, I would be there to help him pick himself up again.
The Tethered Soul of Easton Green: The Tethered Soul Series Book 1 Page 8