Living With Regret

by Lisa De Jong

  “Looking good,” he says, standing on the opposite side of the screen.

  “Wait until you see my real tricks. This is nothing.”

  He laughs, running his fingers through his longish blond hair. It separates him from most of the other guys in town. He’s not the clean-cut guy you bring home, but more like the guy you’d see behind the drums of a grunge rock band. But what really sets him apart is his eyes. Soulful. Chocolate brown. Luring. “Should I get an ambulance on standby?”

  I shrug. “Probably not a bad idea since you’re driving.”

  Opening the door, he steps a little closer, fingering one of my large hoop earrings. “You really do look good, like there’s less weight on your shoulders.”

  “I’ve cried enough tears this week to last me ten lifetimes. I decided I could either sit in my room and work on my eleventh, or get out of this house for a couple hours. I choose the latter.”

  “Did you have dinner?” he asks, letting go of my earring.

  “No. I haven’t had much of an appetite.”

  “That’s going to change tonight. You’re too skinny the way it is.” He stands back and holds the door open for me as I breeze on past. When I get to the stairs, I hold the railing tight and take them slowly knowing he’s standing right behind me. “You’ve come a long way in a just a couple weeks.”

  “Give me a few more and I’ll be ready to run a marathon.”

  “Maybe we should try a 5k first and see how that goes.”

  “Have a little faith,” I say, patting my hand against his chest before climbing into the Camaro.

  He shuts my door and runs in front of the car to the driver’s side. I’ve never seen anyone move so quickly to get from one spot to another. “Ready?” he asks as he climbs in and rests his arm along the top of the seat to peer out the back window.

  “I’ve been waiting all day,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “I could probably walk, you know.”

  “Fuck that. Besides, I don’t have to carry our dinner this way.”

  As he puts the car in reverse, I relax into my seat. Within a few months, they’ll be harvesting the corn from the fields that surround my house, but for now, they turn the roads into a maze, making it almost impossible to see anywhere but straight ahead.

  The grass field Sam and I go to is different. It’s a serene, secluded place where the grass is never mowed. When the corn’s not so high, it’s easy to see from the road but this time of year, it’s impossible.

  Sam pulls onto a dirt drive and slowly eases his car around potholes that have developed from the spring rain. As the fields come into focus, it all comes back to me again. It’s a sizeable lush green area, with a small grove of trees in the center and a creek that runs along one edge. It’s a little piece of heaven smack dab in the middle of Iowa.

  “Does it look like you remembered?” he asks, slowing to a stop.

  “Almost exactly.”

  I look over to see him smiling. “That’s the best part of nature,” he says, “it doesn’t change unless we change it. In one hundred years, it would still look the same.”

  “Maybe that’s what makes it feel so special. It outlasts all of us. I wonder how many people have had this as their place?” I ask.

  He shrugs, gripping the door handle. “Others may have been out here before, but it belongs to us now.”

  Mr. Bryant, a farmer who lives between Sam and me, has owned this land for as long as I can remember. He rarely uses it, but I think he’s afraid of what might happen to it if he sells it. Maybe it has the same type of hold on him that it has on us. At least he doesn’t seem to mind us being out here.

  “Let’s get out of this hot car. I heard the fields are even better when you can feel the grass against your feet,” Sam says. The corners of his eyes crinkle from the huge smile that forms on his face.

  I can’t help the little dance that goes on inside me as I open my door and step outside. The air smells of wild grape blossoms and freshly baled hay with a hint of the horses that graze in the distance. The grass tickles my feet as I stretch my arms up in the air. It really is the best place on Earth … the best one I’ve been to anyway.

  “Should we eat in the shade?”

  The sun’s already heating my skin after being outside for a matter of seconds. In July, Iowa’s as hot as it is serene, but I don’t mind the summer air. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Good girl. I didn’t want to start our first argument in over five years.”

  A smile touches my lips. As much as Sam and I always enjoyed spending time together, we also had some pretty good arguments. I blamed it on the fact that we’re both only children; we didn’t have many options for petty arguments. “I kind of miss those.”

  “It’s only a matter of time,” he says, pulling a blue cooler from the backseat. “I hope you still like bologna.”

  “You better be kidding, Sam Shea.”

  “You know I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

  As I follow him to the spot between the trees, I remember the summer I was eleven and Sam was fourteen. We’d gotten in the habit of taking turns bringing food out so we wouldn’t have to hurry home when we got hungry. It was going well—a steady rotation of peanut butter and jelly, cheese and turkey sandwiches—but then one night Sam decided to surprise me with bologna. That was the last time I went out that summer without packing a snack, and he’s held my bologna fear over my head since.

  When we’re under the trees, Sam lays out an old, blue fleece blanket, smoothing out the edges. “Where would you like to sit tonight?”

  “Hmm, I think I’ll take the spot closest to the water.”

  “I should have guessed. That’s our most popular seat.”

  As I take my spot, a little part of me wonders if he’s ever taken anyone out here … to our spot. I’ve never had any claim on him. Maybe it’s just this place that makes me feel this way.

  After we’re both comfortably seated, he lifts the lid from the cooler and pulls out two water bottles, handing me one. I unscrew the cap and bring the cold plastic up to my lips as I watch Sam pull out two sandwiches and a container of strawberries. I can practically taste them on my tongue; there’s nothing better than the red, sweet fruit this time of year.

  “I picked them from the garden this morning.”

  I curl my hands into fists, doing everything I can to not pull the container from his fingers. If I wanted to, I could easily eat them all by myself.

  “You’re showing more self-control than I remember,” he jokes, pulling one of the strawberries from the container. I watch as he takes most of it into his mouth and bites down, closing his eyes. He’s a master at teasing.

  “Shouldn’t we eat our sandwiches first?” I ask.

  He shrugs, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweet juice from his lips. “It’s all a matter of preference.”

  “Pass those over here,” I say, reaching my hand out.

  “What do you say?”

  “Hand them over.”

  He shakes his head, his lips pressing into a close-lipped smile.

  “May I please have a strawberry?”

  “Since you asked nicely.” He grabs two more berries from the container and passes it to me, a smug look on his face.

  “Thank you.” I waste no time pulling my first berry out and sinking my teeth into it.

  The only sounds I hear are the tall grass blowing in the wind, and the occasional crinkling of plastic bags as we eat every bit of food that Sam brought with him. There’s nothing extravagant about it, but it’s more than I’ve eaten in weeks, and it tastes like five-star cuisine. The turkey is flavored with maple, and the wheat bread is freshly made by our local bakery; I’d recognize it anywhere.

  “You’re quiet over there,” Sam says, breaking through the tranquility.

  Closing my eyes, I breathe in the air that blows off the creek. The smell has the same effect as the medicine they gave me in the hospital, to calm me but without the drowsiness. “
It’s nice just to be out here. Almost like the last five years never happened.”

  “But they did,” he says softly, brushing the hair from my face.

  “And up until that last day, they were all worth it. Even though I lost him.”

  I haven’t talked about Cory much since that day in the cemetery. I think my parents believe that the sadness and misery will all go away if we don’t talk about it. That may be true, for them, but some days I feel it all building up, weighing heavier on my chest. All I’ve really needed is to talk about it, bring it to the surface. That’s what we all need when we’re drowning.

  “I’m here if you need me,” he says, leaning back on his elbows. The position showcases the muscles in his arms and his strong chest. It would be so easy to fall against him and cry a puddle of tears on his blue T-shirt, but it doesn’t feel right. For so long it was Cory’s responsibility to catch me when I fell … I’m not ready to let go of that. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will be.

  Sam’s eyes never leave mine. He surveys me like one might an abstract painting, but I hide behind the lines. Sometimes it’s easier that way, but I know it won’t take Sam long to figure me out. He sees the shapes of my emotion and the color of my heart. He sees all of me.

  I lie back on the blanket, tucking my hands under my head. A breeze blows overhead, but it feels good against my damp skin. “I miss him,” I whisper, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  “What do you miss most?”

  Surprised, I turn my head, looking up at him. “You don’t really want to hear this, do you? You weren’t exactly his biggest fan.”

  “If it’s going to help you, I do.”

  I look back up, getting an eyeful of the green leaves that grow on the mature trees that surround us. With Sam, I’ve always opened up. He’s heard my thoughts and feelings and never judged me for anything.

  Bringing my eyes back down, I see the sincerity in his eyes. He really wants to hear this … to help me through the fog I’ve been lost in. I swallow down the lump in my throat and let the words trickle out. “His smile. It always made things better, and now, things are as bad as they’ve ever been, and I don’t have the one thing I need to fix it.”

  “Do you remember the day when we first ran into each other out here?”

  I nod, waiting to hear what this has to do with Cory.

  “Dad and I had just moved here, and I thought this place was hell. I never thought I’d be happy or any semblance of it … until we started meeting out here. Sometimes you just need someone to show you that there’s more than one right way to live your life. More than one way to be content.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, and I don’t think that can happen for me until I let go of my old life,” I reply, pulling my hair between my fingers. “I feel like everything around me fell apart, and I have nothing to pick up the pieces with.”

  He uses his finger to lift my chin, allowing me to look nowhere but at him. “I promise you, it’ll get better. I’ll make it better.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sam.”

  His finger drops from my chin, and his thumb brushes against my cheek. The way he looks at me reminds me so much of that day out here before the start of my freshman year … when I thought he was going to kiss me. “I’m not. I plan on keeping this one.”

  He shifts his eyes between mine, but the only way I can respond is to cross my arms over my chest and look out onto the water. His intensity, the hint of lust in his stare, are too much for me right now. Besides that, I don’t have the heart to tell him that it may not be him who doesn’t follow through on his promise … I may not let him fix this because it’s what I deserve.

  “Do you remember when we used to get our feet wet by sticking them in the creek?” I ask, needing a change in subject.

  “Yeah.” His eyebrow shoots up like he thinks I’ve lost my mind, or I’m about to anyway.

  “Let’s do it.”

  He grins, nodding his head toward the water. “If we’re going in, we’re going all in.”

  A challenge is something I’ve never backed down from, and I feel like that’s what he’s doing right now. Standing, I kick off my flip-flops and walk to the bank of the creek. The water’s not quite as clear as I remembered it, but I can still see the rocks along the shallow edges.

  Glancing back, I see Sam standing a few feet behind me with his hands on his hips. He’s probably thinking there’s no way in hell I’m going to do this, but I’m going to enjoy every second of proving him wrong. After shooting him one last look, I take two small steps into the lukewarm water. It only goes up to my thighs, not quite touching the bottom of my cut-off shorts.

  “You coming in, Shea?”

  “My shorts aren’t as short as yours.”

  “Afraid to get a little wet?” I tease, splashing a handful of water at him.

  He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and takes two quick steps to the edge of the creek. “There’s only one thing I’m afraid of, and this little creek isn’t it.”

  With one more step, he’s standing in front of me. Close enough, I can feel him there, but far enough to give me space so it’s not uncomfortable.

  “What are you scared of then?”

  His eyes burn into mine. “Something that happened once. Something that I’m not going to let happen again.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “When I’m not afraid anymore, I’ll tell you,” he says, brushing a piece of my wind-blown hair from my face.

  “You’ve always been on the mysterious side.”

  “If I were any other way, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “What fun would I be if you had me all figured out? Besides, not saying everything I think keeps me one step below arrogance.” That makes me laugh. Sam had a male meltdown one day when he started high school, all because some girl called him arrogant. He went on and on about how she had him mixed up with the jocks, or she didn’t know the meaning of arrogance. Maybe he just comes off as too good because he’s secretive about his life; he doesn’t talk to a lot of people unless he has to. I don’t necessarily think it’s a bad thing but he’s definitely not arrogant.

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” His hand comes down, lightly smacking my rear end. I jump, and he smiles—the kind that makes all the girls think he’s the overly confident guy he’s not. His expression reminds me of the old Sam who used to be the cure for any heart ailment.

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” I squeal, stepping away from him.

  “Woke you up, didn’t I?” His lips quirk even higher. It’s contagious, no matter how annoyed I am with him.

  “I didn’t realize I was sleeping.”

  His grips my wrist, tugging my arm. “Are we going to stand here and talk, or are you really going all in?”

  Looking down at the water and my dry clothes, I decide against it. “This is it for tonight.”

  He steps up on the bank, holding my hands to help me out of the water. His skin is warm and clammy against mine, but I can’t let go. He’s the only piece of security I have left.

  Being with him also makes me feel more like my old self. Like maybe everything my life revolved around the last several years wasn’t taken away … just thinking like that makes the familiar guilt come back.

  “I should probably get back home,” I say, carefully pulling my hands out of his.

  He glances back, his eyes trying to read mine. Sometimes when he does stuff like that, I feel things I don’t know if I should be feeling. It’s different than looking into anyone else’s eyes, I guess, and with the way he’s touched me today, I feel uneasy. Like this is all too much, too soon.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I lie. “I just haven’t been out much yet, and I’m getting tired.”

  He watches me a little while longer, then nods, walking back to the blanket. “Why don’t
you go sit in the car, and I’ll grab this stuff.”

  “I can help,” I reply, tossing the empty containers into the picnic basket.

  He shakes his head. “You’ve always been stubborn.”

  “I wouldn’t be any fun if I always did what I’m supposed to do.”

  Neither of us says another word as we finish cleaning up, or on the quick drive back to my house. I like the short moment of silence because it allows me to separate my thoughts into safe little compartments. Tonight, I feel more normal than I have in weeks, and the only thing holding me back from really, truly enjoying it is my guilt. And just like that, with too much time to think, my mind drifts away. Should I be out having fun when Cory can’t do the same? Do I deserve a night like this?

  I’m so lost in my own little world of thought that I don’t realize we’re in front of my house until I hear Sam shift into park. “Am I going to see you again soon?”

  Shaking my head, I ask, “What are we doing, Sam?”

  “I just want to be your friend.” His voice is low, but sure, with absolutely no hesitation.

  “Is that all this is?” I stare at him, but he looks straight ahead. I’d do just about anything to see his eyes, to receive some of the easy comfort they give me.

  His face finally shows, the corner of his lips turned upward. If only I could believe it when I look up into his eyes. “It has to be, doesn’t it?”

  I nod, biting my lower lip. There’s more I want to say, more I want to explain, but it’s been a long day. “I’ll call you.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  As I shift to open the door, his fingers wrap around my forearm, halting me in place. “Take care of yourself.”

  “I will,” I say, forcing out an artificial smile. “And thank you for tonight. It meant a lot.”

  He winks, letting me go. “Only for you.”

  WHEN I WALK IN the house, there’s a box waiting on the table, my name scribbled on the top in thick, black permanent marker. I slowly walk up to it, like it might explode if I make a single sound on the old hardwood floors. I just stare at it, unable to bring myself to actually look inside. For God knows how long, I stand there, lightly tracing my finger over each letter of my name. I know exactly where it came from; I’ve been waiting for it since I saw Cory’s mom in the cemetery, but finally having it in front of me fills me with an incredible amount of angst.