Even If

by Bethany Riehl

  “Hey, Tiff? Can I come spend the night? Or what’s left of it anyway? I’ll explain when I get there…”

  ***

  Chuck followed Luke and Tanner into a quiet downtown Boise neighborhood. Watched as Tanner slid off the bike and followed a crooked stone path around the side of an old house, and trudged doggedly up three concrete steps and through a brown door.

  Based on the number of entrances into the house, Chuck guessed it to be a multi-family rental unit. There were many large, rambling old homes in their area that had been converted into apartments over the years.

  Chuck craned his neck, making note of the street sign a hundred feet up the road. It wasn’t too many blocks over from the Idaho Building. Had Tanner lived here all this time? Chuck climbed out of the truck once Luke drove away. Followed the path Tanner had just walked. Climbed the same four concrete stairs. Knocked on the door. Waited for a few minutes before descending the stairs again.

  The door opened behind him and Chuck turned to look up at Tanner, who slipped his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Whoa. I didn’t think you had the guts to come up to the door.”

  Chuck worked a muscle in his jaw. Stared into eyes that had become familiar. How many times had he looked at that mugshot? Bloodshot eyes. Indignant scowl. Disheveled hair. Of course, Chuck knew Tanner’s profile better. Hadn’t been able to look away from it all through the trial, the entire week, or during sentencing when he willed Tanner to just. look. up. at his mother when she addressed him with her victim statement at sentencing. He had wanted to punch the relief off his face when the judge came back with a five-year sentence and five-year probation period.

  Five years in exchange for his dad’s life.

  Chuck couldn’t look into Tanner’s eyes without hearing the desperate sobs of his mother from deep within her closet where she’d released the wild horses of her grief when she thought he was asleep. And now he couldn’t see Tanner without remembering Lillian’s furtive glances from the passenger side of his truck. Her fumbling attempts to open her door. Her tightly clenched eyes and hands over her head when he’d given into his desperation to hang on to her.

  When he’d kissed her to stifle his anger toward Tanner. Let the desperate hopelessness he’d felt when Tanner had strolled into Lillian’s backyard take over and take him where he never intended to go.

  Tanner left the door open and took two steps toward Chuck before he lowered himself onto the top stair. He held a cigarette and lighter in his hands. Chuck watched the top of Tanner’s head as he bent over, cupping one hand to protect the flame from any breeze that might happen by. He sucked in his cheeks, the cigarette stirring to life, and squinted at Chuck. He twisted his lips to direct the smoke away and set his wrists on the tops of his knees, the cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers.

  “So now that you’re here, what are you going to do about it?”

  Chuck considered him. Really looked at him for the first time that evening. He was thin, wiry. He needed a haircut. Although he’d been stone drunk when he was arrested, even now, Chuck could see that he’d lost weight and life in the years since the accident.

  Accident.

  That word had haunted Chuck every time his mom said it. Was it an accident? The man in front of him had chosen to drink. Chosen to drive, knowing the dangers—who didn’t? He had chosen to walk home after the collision to save his own skin, leaving his dad to bleed to death. What if he had stayed? Would it have made a difference?

  “You think I don’t ask myself those questions every day?” Tanner’s answer startled him—Chuck hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud.

  “Yours wasn’t the only life ruined that day, Chuck. I was the first person in my family to go to college. I made the Dean’s list every semester. And then junior year…” he took another drag on the cigarette, looked away. He shook his head and released the trapped smoke in a violent rush, facing Chuck again.

  “Do you know that I can never have a driver’s license again? I can’t get a decent job because I have too many community hours to complete, not to mention there’s nothing within walking distance of this place.”

  Chuck’s eyes flickered to the small apartment behind him. The window next to the door was covered in plastic blinds, bent back in one section. Through the open door, Chuck could see worn, dirty carpet. Water stains dripping down one wall from a rust colored spot on the ceiling. A faded orange couch with thin cushions. A stack of car magazines. Chuck stood rigid, jaw clenching and unclenching. Was this guy seriously comparing this to Chuck’s loss?

  What am I doing here? Did he really think he could face this man and the forgiveness would magically come?

  “So, what now, Chuck?” Tanner asked again. “What are you going to do now? Punch me? Would that make you feel better? Because you’re welcome to take a shot. It won’t be the first time. Can’t be any worse than those victim panels they make me go to,” he muttered, eyes on the ground.

  “My mother goes to those,” Chuck answered.

  Tanner gave a dark chuckle. “I’ll bet she does. Does she go around forgiving everyone there, too?” Another drag on the cigarette.

  “You’re the only one that needed her forgiveness, man. And you disregarded it.”

  He hit a nerve. Tanner stood and strode down the stairs, stopping just a couple feet from him. He was shorter than Chuck had realized at the BBQ. The dull light hanging above the open door cast an eerie glow on Tanner’s features. Lines, too deep for a man his age, swallowed shadows the light couldn’t reach.

  Tanner met Chuck’s gaze, his eyes a lackluster, muddy brown. Acrid smoke curled around them.

  “So why don’t you hit me, Chuck? You look like a strong guy. I’ll bet you could do some damage. Maybe even enough to make us even.”

  Chuck’s fingers twitched. “I didn’t come to hit you.”

  Tanner’s nostrils flared, his face reddened. “What—you going to forgive me like your mom?” He spat the words out as if they tasted bitter in his mouth. His once bored eyes were now flinty and hard.

  “I want to,” Chuck responded honestly.

  Tanner flicked the stub of his cigarette across the yard. He looked away, fingers tucked into his armpits, thumbs pressed against his pectorals. Tanner laughed darkly. His tongue moved inside his mouth, pushing a whiskered cheek in and out. Silence stretched between them.

  “Why?” Tanner asked at last, face turned toward him, eyes focused somewhere around Chuck’s ear.

  “Because I know it’s what God wants of me,”—Chuck ignored Tanner’s derisive snort— “and I can’t see any other way for my relationship with Lillian to move forward if I don’t.”

  Tanner met his eyes. Considered him. And for the second time that night, Chuck offered a handshake to his father’s killer.

  “I want to forgive you,” he repeated.

  Tanner’s upper lip curled in disgust. He turned his back and walked inside, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the blinds in the window. Chuck curled his fingers slowly into a fist. Then turned and numbly walked back to his truck, opened the door and paused. Then shut it without getting in. He turned and walked down the road, hoping the darkness on the next street over could swallow his hopelessness.

  He didn’t know how long he walked. An hour. Maybe two. Had no idea what time it was. He walked through the sleepy downtown residential streets, circling the same blocks again and again, searching for answers in each step. By the time he returned to his truck he was finished looking for an answer. He’d done what he could. Couldn’t force the guy to accept his offer.

  The teasing light of dawn now hovered over the horizon. Though he was bone weary, Chuck drove through the quiet streets and up the steep hill to the top of Table Rock, pulled his truck as close as he could to the edge, and cut the engine. He should be tired. Probably was. But adrenaline continued to pump through him.

  He walked to the rock-carved bench in front of the base of the cross, as he had so many months before, and sat, waitin
g for God’s promised mercy to roll over the valley. He couldn’t sleep until he watched it. Couldn’t face Lillian before he reconciled with the Lord.

  I did it, Lord. I can’t help it if he won’t accept my forgiveness. I confess that I let my passions get away from me. Hatred toward Tanner all these years. Nearly losing control tonight with Lillian. I ask Your forgiveness, Father.

  Wisps of cotton candy clouds spread over a brilliant fuchsia sky as it pushed the dark of night away, then rolled into swirls of tangerine and gold. Chuck dipped his chin and pulled the baseball cap low to shield his eyes. The foothills were rich with patches of brown and green spilling into city streets. The sun hit window panes, warmed tall office buildings, and nudged the new day awake. God’s mercy arrived, crisp and clean, as promised.

  So why couldn’t Chuck shake the dank cold that crept over his spirit?

  I just need to see Lillian. Make things right with her. Then I can sleep, and when I wake up, we can go to a nice dinner. I’ll make up for how I treated her last night, Lord. I swear.

  Chuck walked to his truck and dug around for his phone. He found it on the floorboards under the passenger seat. He’d missed a call from Lillian around 3 in the morning, but she hadn’t left a voicemail. He hung his head, a tingle working up the back of his neck. What a jerk. He knew the long road she’d walked toward accepting God’s forgiveness. He’d worked hard to win her trust, and then left her weighted with shame over something he had done.

  On top of everything, when she needed him, when she was at her most vulnerable, he’d been out driving, sulking over his own losses. Chuck tapped out a text:

  Lilly, I’m sorry about last night. I’m such a jerk. Don’t make coffee, I’m bringing some over. I know it’s early but…I need to see you and make sure you’re all right. See you in a little bit.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Eighth Street was buzzing with activity. Vendors were busy erecting tents and unfolding tables, hauling totes of produce from the back of pick-up trucks. A handful of runners gathered around one of the tables in front of Daily Bread. One sipped his coffee and set a foot on the seat of a chair, his spandex shorts barely containing his muscular thigh. Chuck walked by the men and pushed open the door. Other than an older man reading the paper at a corner table, the place was surprisingly empty.

  “Chuck! I haven’t seen you around here in a while,” Nan called from behind the counter.

  “Morning, Nan,” Chuck yawned in reply. She eyed him intently as he drew near. He leaned down, feigning concentrated interest on the contents of the pastry case. He knew from experience that, if given a chance, Nan could see right through him.

  “Whoa. What happened to you?”

  He glanced up sharply. Nan had folded her arms over the top of the pastry case, lips curled as if trying to determine whether a carton of milk had soured. Chuck pulled on the rim of his hat.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is that you look awful,” Nan said, mouth set in a firm line. It was the same “don’t try to pull one over on me” look she’d given him in first grade when he was in her Sunday School class.

  “I just didn’t sleep great last night. Must have had too much caffeine before bed or something. Hey, aren’t these Lillian’s favorite?” He pointed to the tray of chocolate croissants.

  Nan slanted her eyes at him and pulled back to retrieve a white paper bag from the counter behind her. She shook it open and grabbed a pair of silver tongs, her eyes trained on his face. Chuck went for casual and crossed one arm across his chest, the other coming up to scratch his chin.

  “Let’s see, I’ll take a couple of those, two everything bagels with cream cheese, and two large coffees.”

  Nan turned away at last and filled two paper cups with coffee, snapped on the lids, and set them on the counter. Chuck released a drink carrier from the stack next to the register and loaded the cups in opposite slots. Nan set the pastry bags on the counter and tapped out his order on the register. He left the coffee on the counter and walked to the side table where Nan stocked condiments, sugar, and cream. Chucked grabbed two handfuls of cream cups and sugar packets and dropped them into the remaining slots in the carrier.

  “You and Lillian are sure meeting early today,” Nan observed. Chuck pretended not to notice her dry tone and handed her a twenty. The cash register dinged open.

  “I wanted to surprise her with a treat.” True. “She does so much for everyone else, I just want to pamper her a little.” Also true. “We have plans to go to the Farmer’s Market,” he nodded toward the window at the front of the store.

  The drawer slammed shut, and Nan handed him his change. Heat crawled up his neck.

  Okay, so that one was technically a lie. But he would make it true just as soon as he could squirm out from under Nan’s calculating stare. She arched a brow at him.

  He cleared his throat and raised the caddy in the air in salute. “So, we’ll try to drop in later, Nan.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  Chuck wove through the organized chaos in the street and trudged up the six flights to his floor, weariness seeping into his bones. He rounded the corner, a small smile playing on his lips. Chuck knocked lightly on Lillian’s door, his rib cage expanding. The heaviness in his spirit would be gone as soon as she opened the door. He was sure of it.

  He knocked again, a little louder. At last he could hear the shuffle of bare feet on the floor as she made her way toward the door. His heart quickened as she fumbled with the lock, turned the knob, and opened it wide.

  Only it wasn’t Lillian who answered the door with disheveled hair standing on end.

  Certainly not Lillian wearing nothing but jeans hanging low enough to expose the top black band of Hanes underwear.

  Not Lillian rubbing the patch of hair on her chest, not her mouth opening in a wide yawn, not her deep voice scratching out, “Yeah?”

  Chuck took a step back. His gaze slipped out of focus. “Uh…” His mind raced to catch up with what his eyes told him.

  He looked past Drew, hoping—dreading—that Lillian would emerge from the kitchen with some reason for a man to be in her apartment, shirtless and barefoot, at six in the morning. Instead, he saw Drew’s shirt hanging over the back of her couch. Could see the right side of her bed through the bedroom door, where blue sheets and the white comforter bunched together in a messy heap.

  Was Lillian in there, just out of sight?

  Chuck blanched. Thrust the coffee and pastry bags toward Drew, not caring that he caught the man off-guard and nearly toppled the cups of coffee. He spun toward his apartment, then back toward the stairs, completely sure he couldn’t sit in his apartment listening to Lillian and Drew rekindle their relationship over his gift of coffee and pastries on the other side of the wall.

  Instead, he drove to Felix’s. When his friend opened the door, in jeans and a paint stained t-shirt, Chuck asked if he could sleep there. Confusion skirted over Felix’s eyes, but he took a step back.

  “Yeah, man. I’m just headed out to work. Crash here as long as you want.” Felix turned back to the house, leaving the door open.

  Chuck nodded numbly and followed him inside. Felix sat on the edge of his recliner to lace up his work books. Chuck fell face down on the couch. Adrenaline that had carried him through the night had funneled away the moment Drew answered the door. As Felix moved throughout the small house and readied for the day, Chuck floated into oblivion before he allowed himself to think about what it all meant.

  ***

  When Lillian woke after ten, Tiffany was still conked out. She changed quietly in Tiffany’s bathroom, scrubbed her face, and left a note that she would be back soon.

  The Farmer’s Market was in full swing when Lillian stepped out of the Idaho Building and into the bright Saturday sunshine. She shopped there for her produce most every weekend, and knew which booths were authentically run by farmers, and which ones bought produce from the grocery store and tried to pass it off as organically grown. />
  She stopped at her favorite booth, frowning when she saw they were out of berries. Bummer. She’d raved to Tiffany the other day about how good they were and wanted to treat her to something special after not only waking her at three in the morning, but also for keeping her up afterward.

  Meredith, the reserved teen that helped her parents run the booth, was busy with a customer, but caught Lillian’s eye and held up a finger. Lillian waited, poking through what was left of the produce and trying to make sense of it all. She thought back to Tiffany’s response the night before.

  “Whoa, that’s heavy…and a little spicy,” Tiffany had said when Lillian spilled the details about the BBQ and the unexpected exchange between her and Chuck before she’d asked him to leave.

  When she’d told her about Drew, Tiffany stood, abruptly. “He can’t just show up and kick you out of your own apartment. Come on, I’ll take care of it.”

  Lillian would have laughed at the red splotches on Tiffany’s face and the squaring off of her shoulders if she hadn’t been so tired and emotional.

  She’d grabbed Tiffany’s arm. “No, Tiff. Let’s just let him sleep it off. If it’s okay, I’ll just crash on your couch and deal with it tomorrow. More than likely he’ll wake up and realize what he did and slide on out of here like the slime he is.”

  Tiffany giggled. “That’s quite the picture, Lil.”

  Lillian smiled as well, then fell back onto Tiffany’s couch. “I’m tiiiired, Tiff. And your pillows are so fluffy.” She snuggled down and drifted off to sleep. She hadn’t woken until the patch of sun that crept into the apartment beat down on her, making her sweat.

  The customer in front of Lillian left, bringing her thoughts back to the present. Meredith smiled at Lillian. “I know how much you love our berry baskets, so I set a couple aside for you.” She bent to retrieve them from the shelf behind the small table, her thick blond braid nearly sweeping the ground.