Come Break My Heart Again

by C. W. Farnsworth

  I’m surprised this is the first I’m hearing about it, but then reconsider. Not many topics are off-limits between Paige and me, but Ryder James has been one of them for the past seven years. Until now.

  “Is she still in Massachusetts?”

  “Yes.”

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I’m not sure what I would have done if Kennedy had moved farther away. “Can you send it to me?”

  The town where Kennedy Jacobs is now living is in the center of the state. Meaning I have an hour and a half to contemplate what I’m going to say to her. I haven’t seen or spoken to Kennedy since the night of Homecoming. I’m not sure what I would have said if I had, but I never even had the option to. My parents sent me back to boarding school the very next day. A thoughtful interpretation of the action would be to say they wanted to spare me any unwelcome attention. A realistic read of the situation is they wanted to minimize theirs.

  The address Paige gave me belongs to a tiny bungalow on a secluded street. The route my navigation system put me on didn’t take me through any sort of downtown area, so I have no idea how large of a town I’m in. There are a couple of cars parked along the street and a teenage girl walking a golden retriever along the sidewalk, but that’s it for any signs of activity. Scout barks when he sees the other dog, and I shush him before climbing out of the driver’s seat. I walked Scout when I stopped for gas a half hour ago, so I leave him in the car as I lock the doors and glance around.

  “Elle? Elle Clarke?”

  My gaze flies to the garage tucked up alongside the house. Kennedy Jacobs is rounding the corner, holding a yellow watering can and wearing a shocked expression.

  “Hi, Kennedy.” I give her a small wave, trying to rapidly assess the situation. She doesn’t look angry to see me. Just stunned. But I’m wary of what might be waiting under that surprise based on our shared past.

  Kennedy sets the watering can down on the edge of the flowerbed she was clearly preparing to water. It immediately tips, splashing the geraniums with a hefty douse of water, but Kennedy doesn’t seem to notice. Or care. She stumbles down the driveway toward me. I don’t move, simply shifting on the sidewalk. Paige gave me her number along with her address. I could have called, texted, given her some indication I was coming. Now I’m stuck watching her near and wondering what I should do or say. What she’s going to do or say.

  She reaches me. Rather than tossing any questions my way—like asking me what the hell I’m doing here—she gives me a hug. I freeze, not expecting it. It takes me a few seconds to raise my arms and squeeze her back.

  “Wow, it’s so good to see you, Elle.”

  I don’t correct her use of my old nickname or inform her I go by Eleanor now. Or say anything at all.

  “Come on in,” Kennedy tells me, gesturing toward the house. I follow her up faded blue front steps, pausing behind her as she opens the front door. She pulls the screen open for me, and I walk inside, glancing around curiously. It’s small, neat, and tidy.

  “Take a seat,” Kennedy instructs. “Let me just go wash my hands from the garden. Would you like some tea?”

  “Um, sure,” I reply. “Thanks.”

  She heads into the kitchen, leaving me to study the living room. There’s not much to scrutinize. The exposed floorboards are shiny; the walls are painted a soothing shade of eggshell. There’s a couple of framed prints on the walls, but they’re otherwise bare. A vase of peonies sits in the exact center of the coffee table, with a few magazines stacked next to it. I pick a gardening one up and page through it until Kennedy reappears, holding two glasses of iced tea.

  “Thanks,” I say when she hands me one.

  “It’s mint,” she replies. “From my garden.”

  I take a sip. “It’s good.” There’s a pause. “Your house is beautiful,” I add.

  “Thanks. It was a steal. Real estate’s expensive around here. We renovated most of it ourselves.”

  “We?” I catch.

  “My husband and me. We’ll be married two years this September.”

  “Oh, wow. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. Are you seeing anyone?”

  A chat about our respective relationship statuses is not the conversation topic I had in mind, but I go along with it. “Uh, yes. I’m engaged, actually.”

  “How exciting!”

  “Yeah.” I take a gulp of tea. It’s very minty. “It is.”

  “Are you getting married soon?”

  “Next summer. We both just graduated law school. It makes more sense to get settled in our careers first.”

  “Of course. You always were one to think things through,” Kennedy replies, smiling. There’s no bite hidden beneath the words; they’re just matter of fact.

  I shift uncomfortably. “You seem… happy.”

  Her smile dims a little. “Yeah. I am.”

  I stare down at the golden-colored tea for a moment, watching the cubes of ice bob along the surface of it. “I got a call a couple days ago from a nonprofit. They’re… looking into an old case. A… rape case. Ryder’s case.” I hesitate for a few seconds before glancing up.

  Kennedy doesn’t look shocked. Or upset. “Until Proven Guilty?”

  “Yes,” I reply, surprised.

  Kennedy looks away from me, out the window that overlooks her impressive garden. “You can let trauma define you,” Kennedy states. “Or you can define it. It wasn’t until I met Jacob—my husband—that I realized just how much I’d been letting that one night define me. Let it become the thing that defined me. I tried everything I could think of not to let it. But by doing so I let it consume me anyway. How I dressed. Where I went. Who I talked to.”

  “I—I can’t even imagine,” I say softly. “I’m so sorry, Kennedy. I never even—I was so wrapped up in…” I let my voice trail off. We both know exactly what—who—I was consumed by.

  “We were kids. It’s not something anyone should have to deal with. But we were just kids.”

  “Yeah,” I finally reply. “We were.” And it’s defined both of our lives ever since, in different ways.

  “I tried to pretend it never happened. Repress everything. It worked for a few years. But then I started having these dreams…” Kennedy shudders. “And it was always a blond guy above me.”

  Shock surges through me. “Blond?”

  “Yes.” Her smile is sad.

  “You’re sure?”

  “My therapist had me do this exercise… I was unconscious for part of that night, but before…” Another shudder. “Yes. I’m sure.”

  He didn’t do it. The certainty of that races through me, erasing years of doubt and dismay. You only need to glance at the news one morning, one day of the year to know that human beings are capable of horrifying, repulsive actions. We all have the capacity to inflict harm on others. Some of us are more susceptible to it than others. I blanketed Ryder and that night in denial because I knew if I looked closely there would probably be more to the story. It’s a relief and a nightmare to know that actually is the case. Because there wasn’t anything I could have done either way.

  “I didn’t want to think about any of it again after it happened. I thought it was over. I never thought they’d convict someone who was innocent. I mean, he pled guilty. I never thought—”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I told the lawyers I’d do anything. Testimony, interview, whatever it takes to get him out.”

  “You were the one who contacted Until Proven Guilty,” I realize.

  Kennedy nods. “They said they thought there was a chance. But it’s been almost a year.”

  I nod. “Appeals can take a long time. Have they told you anything?”

  “Not in months. But they reached out to you, didn’t they? That’s a good sign, right?”

  “Maybe.” I try to recall my call with Lily Sampson to gauge the tone of it. Unsuccessfully. Everything after she said Ryder’s name is a blur. I can’t recall anything she said, much less the emotion b
ehind it.

  “Do—do you know who it was?” I ask quietly. Because if it wasn’t the guy convicted of the crime, it’s one who got off with it scot-free.

  Kennedy swallows a couple of times. “I’m pretty sure it was Liam.”

  “Liam Hathaway?” I’m stunned.

  She nods rapidly three times. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. I remember talking to him earlier, drinking with him. He told the police he walked in on Ryder… on me. It must have been the opposite.”

  Those details are news to me, but I keep that to myself. “That doesn’t make sense, though. Why would Ryder go along with that? Protect Liam?”

  Kennedy shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.”

  “Did you tell the lawyers?”

  “Yes. There’s… not much to go on. Even if there was, he’s been living overseas for the past few years. They said that complicates things more.”

  The front door opens. “Kennedy?” A man’s voice calls out.

  “Living room,” she calls back.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man enters the room. “Oh. I didn’t realize we had company.”

  “Hi.” I smile. “I’m Ele—Elle.”

  “Elle and I went to high school together,” Kennedy supplies.

  “Nice to meet you, Elle. I’m Jacob.”

  “Nice to meet you as well,” I reply. “You have a beautiful home. Kennedy said you’ve done most of the renovations yourselves?”

  The man beams at the mention of his construction prowess. “Yup. Just the guest bath left and then it will be finished.”

  “Impressive,” I compliment.

  “Eh, it’s mostly been trial and error,” Jacob replies. “But the house is still standing, so…” He gives a what-are-you-going-to-do shrug. I smile. “Hey, Ken, I was talking to Sophia at work, and she said they’d like to take a look at the terrace house after all. I said I thought you’d be free after lunch, but—” he glances at me “—I can ask her if…”

  “I’ve got to get going anyway.” I polish off the rest of my tea and stand.

  “You don’t need to go,” Kennedy protests.

  “I have to get back to the city,” I reply. “Really. Don’t rearrange any plans on my account.”

  “Okay. Well, let me walk you out, at least.”

  “Sure,” I respond. “Bye, Jacob.”

  “Bye, Elle,” he calls back.

  I follow Kennedy to the front door and back outside. We’re both silent as we cross her front lawn and reach my car. Scout starts barking as soon as he sees me, and I shush him.

  “I’m glad you’re happy, Kennedy. Your life here—well it seems pretty great.” I smile as I fiddle with my keys, and she returns it.

  “Are you happy, Elle?”

  “Yeah. My life is… well, I don’t have anything to complain about. I never have, I guess.” I let out a dry laugh. “I just—well—that phone call was kind of a curveball.”

  “Have you talked to Ryder?”

  “No. Not since that night.”

  Kennedy gives me a sad smile. “When did you get engaged?”

  “Three days ago,” I admit.

  “So… crappy timing?”

  I give her a wry smile. “The crappiest,” I acknowledge. “It’s been seven years. It’s stupid. It shouldn’t matter if he’s guilty or innocent.” I shoot her a horrified look, realizing what I’ve just inadvertently implied. “I mean, of course it matters. I want whoever hurt you to pay for what he did. Whoever he is. But if Ryder didn’t do it… well, it turns out that still matters to me.”

  Kennedy nods slowly. “You’re still in love with him.”

  “No.” My tone is emphatic. “I never—I wasn’t…” I take a deep breath. “It’s just—there was never any resolution between us. He was just… gone. I left. No closure.” I shake my head, trying to clear the heaviness lingering in the air. “Forget it.” I step forward and give her a hug. “It was really great to see you.”

  “You, too,” Kennedy replies as I open the door and climb into the driver’s seat.

  “I’ll send you a wedding invitation.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood.

  Kennedy smirks. “I’ll come. If there’s a wedding.”

  “What do you mean, if?”

  The girl who used to copy my every motion and outfit is entirely absent as Kennedy raises both of her eyebrows in a clear challenge. “I mean I’ve been the third person in a Ryder and Elle love triangle, and it doesn’t end very well for the person not named Ryder or Elle.”

  I scoff. “I’ve moved on.”

  “Just don’t run into something else because you’re running from him,” Kennedy advises. “It will catch up to you. Feelings always catch up to you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It takes me over a week to muster the courage to call Lily Sampson back. She answers on the first ring.

  “Lily Sampson.”

  “Hi, Ms. Sampson. This is Eleanor Clarke. We spoke last week?”

  “Oh. Yes.” Her tone has changed. It’s wary now. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s recalling how I hung up on her. “I remember.”

  “I’m sorry for ending our call so abruptly and taking so long to call you back. I—something came up.”

  “That’s quite all right.”

  “You were calling about Ryder James before?” I prompt.

  “Right. Yes.” She sounds flustered all of a sudden.

  “You said there was something I could help with?”

  “I did, but that’s no longer necessary. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Now—”

  “No longer necessary? Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure. We have all the information we need.”

  “So… you have a strong case?” I fish, recalling how Kennedy said she hasn't heard any news in months. Probably a bad sign.

  “I’m afraid I can’t discuss the details of a client’s case, Ms. Clarke.”

  “I’m an attorney. I just graduated. I’d be happy to volunteer—”

  “Mr. James has been released, Ms. Clarke. There’s no longer anything to be done.”

  I stare at my kitchen like it’s the first time I’m seeing the marble countertops. “Released?” I echo. “He’s… out?”

  “That’s what I just said.” There’s a touch of impatience in her voice, along with something else I can’t fully distinguish. “Now, I’m afraid I’m late for a meeting. Have a good day.”

  She hangs up before I can say anything else, leaving me with the devastation of the bomb she just dropped.

  Released. Ryder is no longer in prison.

  Still dazed, I grab my keys, and head outside. I’m halfway to Fernwood before I realize I don’t even have my phone. I don’t turn around. Don’t let my foot up off the accelerator until I’m turning up the dirt road that leads to the trailer park and reach the only one I’m familiar with. I trace a path I know well up to the front door and bang on it a few times. No answer.

  “No one’s home.”

  I turn to see an old man leaning back in a lawn chair that’s perched below the overhang of the neighboring trailer. A thick cloud of smoke surrounds him, and I have to smother the urge to cough as I approach him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Watched them all leave this morning, and no one’s been back since,” he confirms, taking another pull of his pipe.

  “Them?”

  “Kat and her two boys.”

  My heart starts racing. “Two? You’re sure there were two boys?”

  “My eyes haven’t left me yet, girl. Especially when I’ve got these.” He taps the rim of the thick glasses he’s wearing with the lit pipe. I’m a little worried he’s going to set what’s left of his hair on fire.

  “Do you know where the boys went?”

  “Christopher takes care of the landscaping round the wealthy parts of town. Other boy’s just back from the big house. He’s at the garage, if I had to guess. That’s where he used to spend most of his time.”

  “Thank you,�
�� I tell him fervently. I guess it would have occurred to me to check Bob’s garage eventually, but I likely would have sat around here for an hour first.

  He waves away my thanks. “That’s one thing I’m still good for.”

  I climb back into my car and set off for the garage. My anxiety level rises with each turn of the tires. The short drive feels twice as long as the trip to Fernwood did. Anticipation transforms each second into hours. There’s not going to be a guarded entrance separating us this time.

  The garage is bustling when I arrive. With customers, employees, and cars. I park on the very periphery of the parking lot.

  “Be right with you, miss,” one guy tells me as he rushes by.

  He’s gone before I have a chance to tell him I don’t need any automotive assistance. I wander along the side of the building, peeking inside each bay as I do. There are mechanics in every one, but none with a familiar figure. I linger and peer at each one anyway. It’s been seven years. He could look completely different. I reach bay six and following a careful examination of each person inside I’m certain none of the men are Ryder. I turn to head back to the office. Maybe Bob is working and can tell me where he is. If he’s even here. Maybe the old man was wrong.

  I spin around to retrace the path I just walked.

  And there he is.

  Ryder doesn’t look surprised to see me. Which surprises me. I came here to see him, and I’m still taken aback by his sudden appearance.

  Instead of startled, Ryder looks withdrawn.

  Resigned.

  But he also stares and stares at me, not saying a word.

  I’m doing the same, categorizing every visible change the same way I did the first day of senior year. Except this time, it hasn’t been two years since I last saw him. It’s been seven. And the worst part is it doesn’t feel like it. It doesn’t look like it. My fears I wouldn’t recognize him were completely unfounded.