Living With Regret

by Lisa De Jong

Simple. Uncomplicated. That’s what I want my life to go back to.

  “Sometime, I’d like to sleep out here under the stars,” I announce out of the blue.

  “We can make that happen.”

  “So, you’ll go camping with me, Sam Shea?”

  He sits up on his elbow, staring down at me with only the moonlight above us. “I’ll go camping. Sweetheart, I’ll even share my sleeping bag with you … whatever you want me to do as long as I’m with you.”

  Smiling, I bite down on my lower lip. “I kind of like that idea.” I kind of just like the idea of Sam.

  September 15, 2013

  IT’S BEEN FOUR MONTHS since Cory died. Every day I feel a little less sadness and have a slightly better view into normalcy. He lives inside me, and he’ll always have a piece of my heart; but I’m realizing little by little that I can’t let my guilt control me.

  If I could just remember everything that led up to the tragedy, I’d feel better about moving forward, but that may never come. The more time that passes, the less hope I have that I’ll ever regain any recollection of that day. I’m just going to have to deal with it the best way I can.

  Unfortunately, the better I start to feel the more life with my parents is starting to bother me. Before I left for college, I was too busy with Cory and normal high school things, but now, I notice how distant the two of them are with each other and me. I think you have to feel true loneliness to recognize it. You can have all the people in the world around you but that doesn’t mean you have anybody.

  Since I decided not to go back to school this semester, I’ve been applying for jobs. There’s not much for the taking in a small town, and given that I’m not really the town prize right now, I’ve been struggling. Until yesterday, however, when Ms. Peters, who owns the town’s only flower shop, called me and said she needed someone to help with deliveries in the afternoons. It’s not much, and it doesn’t pay more than minimum wage, but I lost my right to be picky a long time ago.

  I dress in a nice pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, remembering that I’d have to wear an apron while I worked. I actually take the time to straighten my hair and put on make-up, wanting to be prepared in case she has any deliveries for me on my first day. If I’m going to face the town, I’m going to put my best foot forward.

  When it’s finally time to leave, doubt consumes me. What if I’m not ready for this? For years, I hid behind Cory. Not intentionally. It happened gradually. I liked him so much I wanted to make him happy. I did what he wanted to do, and after a while, his hobbies became mine. I saw his friends more than my own. I lived in Cory’s shadow, and now, it’s time to step out from under it.

  When I walk into the kitchen, Mom’s standing in front of the sink, rinsing the dishes from breakfast. She’s not too excited about me starting this job. I think she’s told me over ten times that I don’t need to work, but that’s not what this is about.

  “Do you want something to eat before you go?” she asks, wiping her hands.

  “I had a big breakfast. I’ll just bring a snack for later.” Someone might as well staple my mouth shut when I’m nervous. I couldn’t eat if I tried because I’m worried about how today will go. I’ve never had a real job before.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

  “I might need my car for deliveries.”

  She nods, folding her arms over her chest. “I know. I just worry about you.”

  The hardest thing about people who aren’t always genuine is deciding when they are. I know she loves me. I know she worries about me, but there’s this little voice in the back of my head that’s always telling me she’s more concerned about the social damage it would cause if it happened again … if I disappointed her in some way. I hate that I even think like that.

  I pick a red apple from the bowl on the counter and a cold bottle of water from the fridge before taking one last look at her. “I’ll try not to get into any more accidents.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know,” I say softly as I walk out the door. The air is humid, and the sun instantly heats my black T-shirt. With any luck, there will only be a couple more weeks of this weather before fall rolls in. I quickly make my way to the new “safe” car my dad bought me a few weeks ago. It’s white, small, and made in the USA. Most importantly, it gets me from one place to another.

  Climbing into the driver’s seat, I wrap my fingers around the hot steering wheel and take several deep, cleansing breaths. Driving sucks. Every time I do it, I have a tiny seed of fear buried within me. I imagine it would be even worse if I could remember anything about the accident.

  After turning the key, I make sure my seatbelt is fastened and slowly make my way down the driveway. I think the country roads are the worst. Speeds are higher than what is allowed in town. The blacktop is narrow with gravel lining the sides, and this time of year, the tractors are starting to come out and slow traffic along the usually quiet roads.

  It’s only three miles to town. One hundred and eighty seconds. Less than one song on the radio. The first time I drove it, I was in full-on panic attack mode by the time I got to town. The therapist said it would be best if I did it over and over again until I felt very little anxiety so I drove it every day, even when I didn’t have a purpose.

  I do okay now, but I still hate it. Thank God for The Civil Wars, and the killer speakers in this thing. At least they keep my mind occupied.

  Today, as I drive through downtown, I have something new to worry about … my first day of work. I’ve known Ms. Peters since I was a little girl so this shouldn’t be that hard. She’s nice but quiet; I’m hoping that’s how she runs her shop, too.

  After parking my car, I take a few seconds to straighten my hair in the rearview mirror, more out of nerves than the desire to look perfect. A few deep breaths and a quick application of lip gloss later, and I’m ready. I can do this, I tell myself over and over again. This is nothing.

  The storefront is adorned with a black and white striped canopy that reads Simple Elegance. I’ve seen Ms. Peter’s work many times over the years and that pretty much sums it up. She has a talent and a reputation for being the best; it’s an honor to be given this opportunity, even if it’s just deliveries.

  The door dings when I pull it open, alerting anyone inside to my presence. I slowly walk up to the counter, taking in the scent of fresh flowers that fill the room. Walking in here every day, greeted by that smell, is going to make working here worth it.

  “Hello!” a voice calls from the backroom.

  “It’s me, Rachel.” I fidget with my purse strap, waiting for instruction on what to do next.

  Less than a minute later, Ms. Peters walks up front wearing a black Simple Elegance apron. She smiles—the warm welcome kind that eases some of the tension in my neck and shoulders—and reaches her hand out to me. “Nice to see you again, Rachel. Are you ready to get started?”

  I place my hand in hers, noticing how small and cold it is. “Of course. Just tell me where you need me.”

  “We’re going to start with some paperwork, and then I’ll show you the computer system we use to take orders. If we have any time left, I’ll give you a mini-lesson on flowers in case someone stops into the store and I’m not around.”

  “I think I can handle that,” I say, glancing around at the floor-to-ceiling coolers full of fresh fall bouquets. I love the rich reds, oranges, and yellows, so bright and beautiful.

  “I know you can. That’s why I hired you.” She smiles again … it makes me feel more comfortable. If nothing else, I’ll have someone nice to work with. “Follow me,” she says, letting my hand fall from hers.

  We spend the afternoon doing new employee paperwork and a general orientation on how to answer the phone and record an order, as well as tracking the number of deliveries for each day.

  Just as she’s about to take me into the cooler at the back of the shop to get a lesson on the types of flowers she carries in shop, the door
dings. On instinct, we both turn to see who walked in, and to my surprise, it’s Sam, standing there with his hands tucked in his jean pockets. Part of me is thrilled to see him and the other is a little embarrassed that he came in on my first day. I told him I was starting here so it’s no coincidence.

  “How can I help you?” Ms. Peters asks while I stay frozen in place.

  “Hi,” he says, sneaking a quick look in my direction. “I was wondering if you carry daffodils. I just need one.”

  To say I’m surprised by his request would be an understatement, but when the corner of his mouth turns up, I know he’s up to something.

  “I have a few out here, but let me get you a fresh one from the back cooler,” Ms. Peters offers.

  “Perfect,” he replies, never taking his eyes off me.

  Ms. Peters turns to me, speaking just loud enough that I can hear. “I’m going to run to the back. Why don’t you try using the computer to ring it up?”

  My eyes double in size; she literally showed me the system about ten minutes ago.

  “Don’t worry,” she adds, “You can’t mess it up too much.” And with that, she disappears to the back, leaving me to take my first order by myself … at least it’s just Sam.

  Before I have time to collect myself, Sam’s beside me, his hand resting gently under my elbow. “The computer is over there.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Buying a flower.” He slowly walks us to the register, his hand never leaving my arm.

  “Since when are you into flowers, Shea?” I ask, walking around the counter, out of his grasp.

  He shrugs. “Since you started working here.”

  I roll my eyes, yet inside I’m laughing a little. This was his way of checking up on me. I see that now. “So one daffodil. Do you need anything else with that?”

  He leans his arms on the counter while I pretend to look for daffodil in the computer system. I find it right away, but keeping my eyes on the screen is giving me an excuse not to look directly at him. He unnerves me in the best and worst ways. “Well, I was wondering if you wanted to come out to the lake with me tonight. We could watch the sunset.”

  “I don’t know. After work I have therapy—”

  “You’re usually done with that by seven. I’ll meet you at eight.”

  I hesitate, not because I don’t want to watch the sunset with Sam, but because things feel different since he told me how he feels about me. He’s been respectful, giving me my space, but it’s always in the back of my mind. If I knew I didn’t want him, it wouldn’t be a big deal. But I do. I do kind of want him. “I don’t know,” I finally answer.

  “Please,” he begs, sticking out his lower lip. How am I supposed to say no to that?

  I smile, mostly because of how ridiculous he looks. “I’ll try, but no promises.”

  “If that’s as close to yes as I’m going to get, I’ll take it,” he says, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. Ms. Peters chooses that moment to come out with a single daffodil wrapped in light green floral paper. She makes a simple flower look amazing.

  “Did you find it?” she asks, handing the flower to Sam.

  “Yep, that will be four dollars and fifty cents. Please.”

  Sam hands me a five, and as I reach back out to place his change in his hand, his fingers brush mine. I feel it deeper than just my skin. Way deeper. Like scary deep.

  “Thank you.” He winks. He starts toward the door, but before he opens it, he turns back around. “And that thing tonight … it’s on the dock.”

  And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me feeling a little unsettled. I’m excited about the prospect of spending more time with him but nervous about it, too. I’m not ready for anything in the relationship department, or at least I never think I am until I lay eyes on him. He messes with everything I think I know. Everything I’ve tried to convince myself of.

  Glancing over at Ms. Peters, I notice her eyes haven’t left the door either. It’s the Sam Shea effect. I guess it doesn’t discriminate against age.

  I clock out a little before six and head to see Dr. Schultz at his office a few blocks away. It took my parents almost three months to convince me to go, but now I look forward to it. He’s helping me work through my grief and to see through the fog in my head, even if it hasn’t triggered any memories of that night.

  I’m always his last appointment of the day, but he’s still eager to see me, or at least he acts that way. How someone can still smile after listening to other people’s problems for hours is beyond me. “Rachel,” he greets me, briefly shaking my hand. He’s almost old enough to be my grandfather, but he’s good at what he does.

  “Dr. Schultz.”

  “Have a seat and let’s get started,” he instructs, gesturing to my usual chair. “I hear today was your first day of work? How did that go for you?”

  I clear my throat, trying to switch gears from the flower shop to this. Keeping things locked in to now letting them all spill out. “Yes. It went much better than I expected.”

  “I’m happy to hear that. I’ve known Gretchen Peters for years. I had a feeling she’d take good care of you.”

  “It’s going to be good to get out of the house for something other than this. No offense.”

  He smiles. “None taken.”

  I thought therapy would be a place for me to sit and have someone else tell me everything that’s wrong with me and how to fix it. Up ‘til this point, it’s been anything but. It’s a ship I drive with Dr. Schultz giving me a few pointers on which direction to turn. It’s amazing how much a therapist helps just by asking the right series of questions.

  “Sam came in while I was working,” I blurt, jumping immediately to the one thing I’m dying to talk about. The one thing, besides the accident, that I’ve talked to Dr. Schultz about quite often.

  “Oh,” he says, watching me curiously.

  “I think he was checking on me, but he also invited me out to the dock tonight to watch the sunset.”

  “Are you going to go?”

  I glance down at my folded hands, noticing the chips in my purple polish. There’s no point in wearing it anymore if I’m going to be working at the flower shop. “I don’t know.”

  “What’s holding you back? You’ve spent a lot of time with Sam, so why is this any different?”

  I know after almost six weeks of working with the doctor that he’s not going to tell me what I should do … he’s simply going to lead me to my own conclusion. I love how he does that … most days. “It’s a sunset, and I’ve always thought them to be romantic. I feel like it’s too soon for that. I mean, I feel things for Sam, and it’s becoming harder and harder to be around him and not act on them. It just doesn’t feel right.”

  “Tell me why it doesn’t feel right.”

  I hesitate, trying to pull together the words to describe it. It’s harder than one might think. “If I start a relationship—something more than a friendship—with Sam, I feel as if I’ll forget about Cory, and I don’t want to.”

  “Do you really think that’s possible?”

  “What?” I ask, drawing in my brows.

  “Forgetting him. From everything you’ve told me, he was a big part of your life.”

  I let his words roll around for a little bit. If my life is the series of short stories I think it to be, Cory had his own. Maybe even two. He was a whole phase of my life. “No, I could never forget him.”

  “Then what are you really afraid of?”

  Shaking my head, I feel the truth coming to the surface. It’s not new to me, but I tried to bury it away. It’s become too easy to blame all fears and hesitancies on Cory’s death. “Losing the one person who has been there for me.”

  “I see,” he says, pulling his glasses from his eyes. “Do you feel enough for him to think your life could be better if you let him in … in the way he wants in?”

  “There’s no doubt he can make me happy.”

  “Then you have some thinking to
do, but Rachel I’ll tell you, I don’t think this is really about if you’re ready or not.”

  At least once a session, he leads me to a truth. Sometimes I hate how easy it is, but I also appreciate it. He gets me places a lot quicker than I would on my own.

  MY FLIP-FLOPS HIT against the old wood dock as I make my way to where Sam sits. When I’m just a few feet away, he turns to me with a devilishly handsome smirk on his face. I can’t see his eyes because they’re hidden behind his aviators, but I know he’s thinking he somehow won the battle. In a way, he has.

  “I was hoping you’d come,” he says as I slide down next to him.

  “I’ve never turned down a front seat to a perfect sunset.”

  “You make it sound like you’ve been invited to quite a few.”

  I laugh nervously, gripping the end of the old wooden platform. “This is actually my first.”

  “I was hoping it would be something different, not just another recycled idea.” He looks up to the clear blue sky where a flight of birds moves from one end of the lake to the other. “Do you ever wonder what the world looks like from up there?”

  If he only knew how much I think about seeing the world from a different angle. “They get to pick where they land and when things get in their way, they can just take flight again. I wish it were that easy for us to disappear.”

  “Why would you want to disappear?” he asks.

  “Maybe disappear wasn’t the right word,” I reply, pulling my legs up and wrapping my arms around them. “Don’t you ever wish you could go somewhere else and forget everything? Just pick up and leave like the past never happened.”

  He pulls his sunglasses from his eyes, letting the true depths of his emotions show. “There’s no need to run when everything you want is right in front of you.”

  The way he’s looking at me, eyes locked onto mine so tightly, I couldn’t turn away if I wanted to. He has always looked at me like he’s interested in what I have to say, like I’m the only thing that matters, but now, I’m getting something even more, which makes it hard to fill my lungs. His dark brown irises warm me to my core, taking me in like a man who’s been given the ability to see for the first time … who only wants to see me.