The Memory of Us

by Lisa Sorbe

  We crashed at the bottom, of course, ramming into a snow drift that toppled the sled and us right along with it. But the ride was wonderful, invigorating, and I felt so alive that I didn’t mind the mouthful of snow stuck in my throat or the way West’s body fell heavy over mine, pressing me further into the drift. I pushed him off and rolled away, laughing in a way I hadn’t since my dad died, and reached my gloved hand out for his. But when I tried standing, intending to start back up the hill so we could do it again (and again and again…as many times as I could so I could feel West’s chest against my back) something tugged me down, pulled me back into the snow. I fell into West’s lap, straddling his thighs, the wetness seeping into the knees of my jeans and making me shiver.

  I’d never been kissed, and I was pretty sure that West had done a lot of it. But it wasn’t awkward when he touched me, not the way it had been at homecoming. Maybe it was because I was older now, or maybe it was simply due to the fact that I was so lonely I didn’t care. Maybe our time apart created the bridge we needed to cross over from what we were to what we could be.

  And as for what we could be, I didn’t know.

  But it was just a kiss, only a kiss, and surely it wasn’t possible for something so small to lead to something so life-altering.

  What I didn’t count on, however, was the history we had, the love we shared that had been building between us since we were born. The kiss was a spark, and it fueled a fire that I didn’t even know had been burning all these years. And our reunion after such a long time apart only served to fan the flame.

  I remember pulling back from him, filled with the sudden urge to tell him about my scholarship to ASU and that, after the summer, I planned to leave Wolf Lake forever. But West spoke first, opened his mouth and confessed the sort of love that most girls dream about, the sort of adoration that most people go through their adult lives waiting to find. And his words stopped mine short; I selfishly bit them back, mirroring his confession with my kiss, and when he stood and held out his hand, I took it, knowing nothing would ever be the same.

  We don’t speak much on the way home from the lake. West wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close the moment we got in his truck, and during the hour drive back to Wolf Lake, I stayed just like that, curled into his side, feeling his breath in my hair.

  Though we haven’t discussed it, we both know that whatever is happening between us is fleeting, temporary. Just being this close to West is enough to read his thoughts, feel his energy. And it’s enough to know that it matches mine.

  We want what we want, regardless of the consequences.

  Though the only casualties this time will be us, and it’s a sacrifice we’re willing to make.

  West passes my driveway, steering one house down and pulling into his with a lazy turn of the wheel. This whole afternoon, in fact, has been lazy—at least, everything that followed our jump, anyway. From the make-out session in the water to the picnic lunch of prepackaged sub sandwiches on the beach to the quiet drive home, it’s as if a plug was pulled from my soul and everything nasty and toxic drained out into the cosmos, leaving me completely limp and pliable.

  We both know the clock is ticking and, instead of rushing against it, we’re trying our very best to ignore it.

  If there’s any doubt that West wants me to accompany him inside, it evaporates the minute he slides out of his truck and turns back, reaching for my hand. He pulls me through and keeps his fingers entwined with mine as we climb the steps to his front porch, not even parting when he unlocks his door. A black blur is waiting to welcome us the moment we step in, and as I try my best to subdue a squirming Casper, West maneuvers through the dark rooms and into the kitchen, where he turns on the light above the sink before rummaging around for dog food. Cas and I both hear the clank of his dish, and the dog tears from my arms and scurries into the kitchen with me in his wake.

  I haven’t been inside the Brooks’ home in years, not since the night before I left, and even though the lighting is dim, it’s easy to see the renovations that have taken place. My flip-flops smack against hardwood floors where there used to be carpet, and I notice the wall separating the kitchen from the dining room is missing, giving the space a nice, open feel.

  West lets Casper out through the sliding glass doors leading to the backyard and the dog bounds out into the twilight, his form becoming more and more dim as he dashes toward the back of the large property. For a while we just stand there, West’s arm draped over my shoulder, and watch him careen from one spot to another, releasing a day’s worth of pent up energy. There’s something so freeing in his gait, so carefree in his goofiness that it makes my heart swell just looking at him.

  Being this close to West, however, quickly diverts my attention, and now that I’ve initiated the unspoken between us, I can’t go back. I can’t stop the heat billowing just below my stomach, a fire that’s determined to spread. It’s been building all day—hell, since the day I arrived in Wolf Lake, not that I would have admitted it then—and after crossing the line this afternoon, it’s an inferno I can no longer control.

  But I need to try. Turning, I lean away from West, because maybe if I put some space between us, I can clear my head. Stop us from damaging whatever friendship we have left.

  But West reaches out, snagging me by one of my belt loops and preventing me from getting very far. His curls his finger, slipping it into the waistband of my cut off jean shorts, tugging me back. “And where do you think you’re going?”

  The rough edge to his voice is a reminder that I’m not the only one overwhelmed with desire. Even though the words form a question, his tone makes it absolutely clear that I have very little choice in the matter.

  I’m not going anywhere.

  “West, this afternoon…in the water…”

  He pulls me closer, his hooked finger sliding past my waistband and trailing a line against my swimming suit. It’s such a light touch in such an intimate area that, even though there’s a thin layer of material separating his skin from mine, I shiver.

  “Where’s that two piece you were wearing a few weeks ago?” he asks, bringing his other hand up to cup my hip. “Not that you don’t look amazing in this,”—he steers me a few steps to my right, pushes me up against the kitchen island—“but I really prefer the other one.”

  “Oh, yeah?” My voice is a whisper-squeak, and I swipe my tongue over my lips to wet them, because all I’m feeling right now is a sort of heady thirst that only West can quench. I want to be ready when he brings his lips to mine, because he will.

  He is…

  And when he does, his lust is a growl against my mouth, a moan so primal I feel it all the way down to my toes.

  But I try again, a half-hearted attempt to spare us whatever the aftermath of tonight’s actions will bring. Sliding my hands up so they’re resting flat against his chest, I close my eyes, hoping for strength. “I should go.”

  West leans in, nipping my earlobe before answering. “You’re not going anywhere.” And with that, he hoists me up and sets me on the island, the granite cold against the backs of my thighs.

  I tilt my head, arching my neck as he brushes his lips over my jaw. “You can’t stop me. I”—a soft, traitorous moan escapes my parted lips when he skates his tongue down my neck—“can leave if I want.”

  West chuckles, a dark laugh that reminds me nothing of the sunshine boy he used to be. “Then go ahead, Elena. Leave.” His mouth finds the hollow of my throat at the same time his hand slides under my tank top, cupping my breast. He flicks his thumb over my nipple, and I might as well not even be wearing a swimming suit for all the good it’s not doing me right now. I cry out at the sensation, and a buzz shoots like a rocket to another, even more sensitive area that’s aching for West’s touch.

  My body has a mind of its own; gripping the back of his head, I pull him in, crush my mouth to his.

  Yeah, I’m not going anywhere.

  As my legs rise to wrap around his waist, a
flip flop falls off and lands with a slap against the floor.

  My first night with West, the night I lost my virginity, was slow and sweet.

  While I was pretty certain that West was more experienced that I was, I had absolutely no idea if he’d ever had sex before. When we started our two-year bout of the silent treatment, I could say with certainty that his sexual status mirrored mine—meaning, it was zip, zero, zilch.

  But after our time apart? I could only guess. He’d definitely dated enough those years, though I wasn’t about to assume he slept with every girl he took out.

  Still, I was nervous as we fell into his bed that night. His parents were out of town and his younger sister was staying with friends, so my worry wasn’t about getting caught. Far from it.

  And far less simple than that.

  I worried about what would happen to us. And, far more selfishly, to me. Somewhere deep down, I knew we were making a mistake. Doing something that could never be undone. Indulging our desires when we shouldn’t be.

  I wanted to be with West, and yet I didn’t.

  Because being with him meant that I’d have to stay here, in this sleepy town filled with unhappy memories while living too close to a mother who could barely stand the sight of me.

  Though, to be fair, there were times when I could barely stand the sight of myself, either.

  My mother had every right to hate me. To blame me for Mike’s death. I never judged her for it.

  After all, I blamed me. I hated me.

  And maybe that was why it was so hard being around West. He knew what had happened, what I had allowed to happen, and he never blamed me. Never once said he hated me or cursed the day I’d been born…not like my mother did in the months following Mike’s funeral.

  West just continued to love me in the same way he always had…wholly and unconditionally.

  And I hated it. Hated it because I didn’t deserve it.

  But that night? That night I threw my conscious aside. My first time with West was a little awkward, a little wonderful, and a whole lot surreal. And, looking back now, instead of cursing that what happened between us, I suppose I should be grateful. Grateful that my first experience with sex was one instigated by love and not the sole result of rapid-firing teenage hormones.

  I was lucky.

  Lucky, lucky, lucky.

  Until…I wasn’t.

  Because that night resulted in a pregnancy that threw my whole world off course. And everything went from bad…to worse.

  But you see? That’s the thing about life, isn’t it?

  There’s always another shoe waiting to drop.

  It’s still dark when I rise the next morning, the sun just a soft blush on the horizon. I’m careful not to wake West as I slip from his bed, which happens to be the same one we fell into years ago, and tread quietly up the stairs. I avoid the third step from the top because, according to my memory, the creak it emits when anyone so much as presses a toe on it is loud enough to wake the dead.

  Or, in my case, the sleeping man that I just…slept with.

  The kitchen is my first stop, where I quickly slide into my shorts, search for and only find one flip flop, and ball up my swimming suit into my palm before padding as quietly as I can to the front door. The neck of West’s t-shirt slides down one shoulder as I step outside and turn to slowly, slowly, slowly inch the door closed behind me.

  The neighborhood is quiet, and as I start my walk of shame, I’m relieved there’s no one around to see me make the trek from West’s house to mine. Birds serenade me as I walk, their morning gossip a soft twitter above my head, and the cool air is just thick enough to promise another day of suffocating humidity as soon as the sun makes its appearance.

  I cross the street barefoot, digging in the pocket of my shorts for my keys as I do, and only when I reach my own front porch do I feel myself start to relax. Pushing the key into the lock, I pause, lean my head against the door, and take a breath.

  Even after all these weeks, it’s still so damn hard to enter this house.

  “’Morning, missy.”

  Corrine’s voice precedes the first whiff of cigarette smoke, and feeling like a criminal caught in the act, I grimace. I close my eyes and count to five, needing the time to compose myself before answering.

  “Good morning, Corrine.” I cast a glance in her direction, and she nods from her perch on the porch, raising the hand holding both her coffee mug and cigarette in greeting. Her hair is laden with rollers, the soft pink kind that snap into place, and her navy-blue bathrobe is cinched at the waist.

  “You’re out and about early today,” she says, taking a puff off her cigarette and quickly exhaling before sipping from her mug. Her eyes flicker across the street towards West’s house, and she smacks her lips.

  “Yeah, well…” I stop, because there’s really nothing I can say that will make this look like anything other than what it is. I mean, my hair is a mess, I’m carrying one shoe, and my shirt is three sizes too big and has Midnight Sun Builders etched across the front.

  Corrine shoots me a knowing look.

  I ignore it and instead turn back to my door, twisting the key and popping the lock. I’m just about to step inside when Corrine says my name.

  My actual name.

  Her voice is a plea, turning my name into a question.

  I’m so surprised, it takes me a few seconds to respond. “Yeah?”

  She shuffles uncertainly, sucking on her cigarette one more time before bending down and rubbing the tip across the cement. “You’re a lawyer down there in Arizona, right?” She stands, and the question leaves her lips in a puff of smoke.

  “I am.”

  She bites her lip and nods. “So, well. That’s nice. That’s good.”

  I frown, not used to this submissive tone. She’s always been big, strong (if not sometimes scary) Corrine. And while the years have diminished her physical appearance, her attitude, at least from what I’ve seen since I’ve been back, hasn’t faded in the slightest.

  “Did you need something?” I ask, because it’s obvious that she’s trying to spit something out. Like most professionals, the minute someone finds out I’m an attorney, I get bombarded with requests for legal advice. I can only assume doctors have it worse, what with people constantly whipping out their toe funguses or crazy-weird growths in the quiet hallways at dinner parties or family gatherings. So while I’m fairly certain Corrine won’t be pulling up the sleeve of her robe to get my opinion on some grotesque abnormality, I’m still wary.

  “I have a…something I was hoping you could help me with. If you’ve got the time.”

  I have the time. Still, I’m reluctant. “I’m not licensed to practice in Minnesota, so if it’s anything specific…”

  Corrine quickly shakes her head. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. I just need some help with…” She pauses. “Would you mind just stopping over after you make yourself decent?” The assertive tone is back, and she stares pointedly at West’s shirt before sliding her gaze up to my disheveled bedhead.

  “Sure. Fine, Corrine. Just let me hop in the shower. I’ll be over in half an hour, tops.”

  Corrine nods, satisfied, and bustles into her house.

  I groan, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into, and disappear into mine.

  I’ve never wanted children.

  Even before my dad died, having kids was something I dreaded. I even had a countdown going in my head of the years I had left before I’d have to suck it up and pop out a kid. The option of doing my own thing and not having children…well, that was just something you didn’t do around here.

  You grew up. If you were lucky, you went to college. And then you got married and had kids while working the same job until you either died or, if luck would allow it, retired and then died.

  So when the two lines appeared on the pregnancy test in less than a minute of peeing on the stick, I did what most any teenager who got herself knocked up would do. Hid the test as deep in the trash bin
as I could and went into shock. For days I was a zombie—at home, at school, at the little bookstore where I stocked shelves my senior year. My mother didn’t notice, as was her way back then, and I didn’t let West get close enough so that he would.

  After our first night together, I wasn’t sure how to act or even how I felt, so I kept my distance from him, taking the long way to classes if I knew there was a chance of seeing him in the halls and keeping my head down while rushing from my car to the house. And West, for the most part, let me be, treating me like a feral animal that would bolt at the first sign of movement. He was gentle in his pursuit, sending me flowers the morning after, scraping the ice off my windshield after school before I even made it out to the parking lot, and getting up extra early on the days it snowed to shovel our driveway so I wouldn’t have to.

  I’m not going to lie and pretend I didn’t secretly love those gestures. Because I did. So much. I’d been taking care of myself for so long, shouldering responsibilities that most people in their thirties could barely handle, that it was nice to have even such minor things done on my behalf. But it also felt weird, and I knew if I opened myself up to West and committed to an actual relationship, I’d in a way be opening myself up to the entire world, as well. A world I began to shun after my dad died and rejected completely after Mike’s accident.

  I wasn’t ready to meet the world yet. At least, not the one in Wolf Lake. And I didn’t know if I ever would be.

  But I also didn’t know how to deal with the baby. If I followed through with the pregnancy, I’d be thrust right into the word, completely destroying the wall of self-imposed isolation I’d succeeded in building the last few years. But this wasn’t something I could just reverse or ignore. What was done was done, and I’d been stupid enough to let it happen.