The Memory of Us

by Lisa Sorbe

  “Jesus, Laney.” West’s ache mirrors mine. “You can’t keep blaming yourself like this. It wasn’t your fault. Mike put himself in that situation. And as hard as it is for me to say this, you picking Mike up that night would have only saved his life in the short term. He was on a destructive path, you know he was.”

  “But he would have had a chance. I feel like I’m responsible for the way we all turned out.”

  Even you and me.

  “It takes more than one person to break apart a family.”

  “Or a friendship, right? Only that’s not true, is it? Because I’m the one who ruined us. Me.” My eyes begin to droop, exhaustion working its way through my system. But the tears still roll, still drip down my cheeks, my chin. “I wouldn’t even let myself think about you or even remember so much as the good times we had. So, in a way, I even ruined the memory of us. I ruined it all.”

  West tightens his hold as he listens, brushes his lips over the top of my head. And all of that just makes me cry harder. Because I don’t deserve to be loved this way. I don’t.

  And it hits me. I miss my life before. I miss the dreams I had, that I’m realizing I still have. It’s funny, but the dreams I thought I was following, that took me so far from where I started, weren’t really dreams at all, but distractions. Just a mirage on the horizon of life, keeping me running toward something I’ll never reach.

  I ramble on, like some plug has been pulled from my soul and everything I’ve ever pushed down is spilling out. The anger I have for my mother for essentially abandoning her children when they needed her most along with the regret that I, in turn, have for abandoning her. How much I miss my dad, how sometimes I wish I could scrub the memory of my family from my mind because thinking about them hurts so damn much.

  I talk so much, so much more than I’ve ever talked before. I’ve soaked West’s t-shirt. I can feel it, the soft cotton damp against my cheek, the beat of his heart a soft thump against my temple. Without realizing it, the rhythm has calmed me down, and the confessions and tears have worn me out. My limbs feel heavy, so heavy, until soon I can’t even feel the weight of them at all.

  I’m not sure if I’ve actually fallen asleep, or if all this purging has thrust me into some other state of awareness, where the past and present mingle as one. But when West speaks, it sounds like it’s coming from far away. Like he’s talking through a tunnel and to hear him I have to float up through these dense layers of consciousness, my mind traveling faster than my body.

  “It wasn’t all your fault.”

  At first, I’m not sure what he’s referring to. I’ve confessed so much tonight, accepted blame for so many things that were my fault, that would have turned out differently if I had acted differently. “What?” I ask, struggling to wake up, to clear my head.

  “Us. It wasn’t all your fault we didn’t work. I pushed us. I pushed you. I tried to turn us into something I wanted—a house, kids, this small town—even though I knew you had no desire to live that kind of life. I pushed you into it.”

  “You didn’t push me into it, West,” I mumble. “I got pregnant. That was on both of us. I’m just sorry I wasn’t as happy about it as you were. I hated what happened, but you…you were so mature about it all.”

  West’s laugh is gruff. “Not very. And I wasn’t exactly happy about it. To be honest, I was scared shitless. Hell, I wasn’t ready for a kid. But having you pregnant, well…” He stops, and I can feel the heavy rise of breath as it fills his chest. His exhale is audible, peppered with shame. “I was happy. I was happy because you wouldn’t be able to leave. The baby would have kept you here. With me. Fuck…I loved you so much, and I didn’t care that your dreams were ruined so long as you stayed. So how much of a shit am I?”

  I cuddle into him more, love him more for this admission. “Then we’re both shits, West. Both of us. Fucking shits.”

  West chuckles, the rumble in his chest a sad grumble of agreement.

  “Do you… Would you mind…” I can’t find the words to ask, because I’m not just asking, I’m begging. “Can you please…”

  “I’ll stay, Laney. It’s okay”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble into his shirt.

  “Don’t be sorry.” West rubs his hand down my back, a soothing motion that should feel good but only makes me ache. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  The months after we lost the baby flew by. We graduated, and West had an amazing last season on his baseball team, sending Wolf Lake right into the state championship. With classes over and having earned the title of valedictorian, I could finally take a break, though without my books I didn’t really know what to do with myself. Over the years, I’d found a smooth rhythm in studying, a comfort in words and figures and facts. Pouring over textbooks with small print and slick pages gave my racing mind something to do, kept it off what-ifs and should-haves and focused it on something I could control—my future.

  Little did I know back then that control of any kind is a myth.

  So, I toiled away the days before I left for college in the local library or driving down into The Cities and prowling the aisles of every bookstore I could find. Once, I even fired up my computer and sat with my fingers poised over the keys, intending to try and write something, anything, when just the act alone made me so nauseous I quickly abandoned the thought and pulled out my ASU course catalog, reading up on any degree that wasn’t creative writing. I remember thinking law sounded good and quickly based my class schedule around that major without much thought. Law wasn’t a passion, but a checklist, a sequence of courses and grades I could tick off to meet an end goal. It was as simple as that.

  Though nothing about my last summer in Wolf Lake was simple.

  Whenever he wasn’t on the field, West was with me. He’d tag along to the library or on my trips to Minneapolis when he didn’t have practice, and during the evenings he’d bring over DVDs for us to watch. Sometimes we’d go through four movies a night, losing ourselves to the plot so we wouldn’t have to admit what we already knew—that we were losing each other.

  Because even though I know West held out hope that I’d still attend college in Minnesota, I was going to Arizona. I didn’t bring it up because I figured he knew; the baby was gone, so why wouldn’t I revert to my old plan?

  Maybe I shouldn’t have spent as much time with him as I did that summer. But it was better than being alone. Alone in a house with a mother would could barely look at me. West was like a comfortable blanket, and I wrapped myself up in him as easily as he let me. He was refuge, his presence provided safe passage through the hot, humid months until I could leave. To him, though, I was a bomb. A ticking time bomb, and the only thing he would have left after I was gone would be destruction.

  I guess we were both selfish, knowing what we knew about the other. But it was love and it was desperation and it was bigger than the both of us.

  And the night before I left, when we threw caution to the wind and slipped together into bed one last time, our touch was apocalyptic.

  And what remained of us exploded.

  “I can’t believe you’re moving.”

  West takes a bite of ice cream before he answers, and I try not to watch the way his lips wrap around the spoon. The way his throat works as he swallows, the cut of his jaw growing sharper with the movement.

  I get a random, forbidden image of him licking ice cream off me—off of my hot and willing body—and blush furiously as I scramble to think of something, anything, else.

  But we don’t go there. Not anymore.

  Not in well over a week, actually. And since tonight is my last night in Wolf Lake, probably never again.

  And West is moving…to Michigan. He’s expanding his cabin building business to encompass all of the Greater Lakes area and needed a more convenient location than central Minnesota. He’s still keeping his office here; in the land of ten thousand lakes, Midnight Sun lake homes are in high demand. But in the last few years, he’s been getting more and more qui
res from locations surrounding Lake Michigan and Lake Huron and is using the opportunity to extend his reach.

  So he wouldn’t even be around if, on the off chance, I did decide to stay. Which, I mean, isn’t even an option.

  No way. Nuh-uh.

  “Neither can I.” West dips his spoon back into the heaping mound of ice cream still left on the platter between us. Number sixteen on our bucket list—eat The Mountain at Rolley’s Ice Cream Shoppe—is in full effect, though I’m having serious doubts on whether or not we’re going to finish it. The Mountain is a town favorite, although only a few have ever actually eaten the entire thing. And since West and I are tag-teaming it, we won’t be listed as “true mountaineers” even if we do consume the entire thing. That title is reserved for the suicidal souls who pursue the challenge alone, adult onset diabetes be damned. The monstrosity boasts nineteen scoops of ice cream, a bundle of bananas, four brownies, whipped cream, chocolate and caramel syrup, and is topped with nuts and sprinkles and chocolate chips and cherries. The edge of the platter is garnished with vanilla wafers, and rules state that even they have to be eaten to complete the challenge. The concoction made Wolf Lake semi-famous about a decade ago when a show from the Travel Channel included it in on an episode where they searched the country for crazy food challenges.

  A presence beside our tiny table-for-two halts our conversation, and we look up to see Arnold Rolley, owner and inventor of the The Mountain, peering at us from behind his thick spectacles. His face is just as lined as I remember it being when I was a kid, and when I walked in the shop a mere thirty minutes ago, I was shocked to see him still working behind the counter.

  “You kids doing okay? You need more whipped cream?” He holds up a can, shakes it, and emits a high-pitched little cackle, giving me chills and quite possibly turning me off ice cream forever.

  West smiles politely. “We’re good, Rolley. Thanks.”

  Rolley shrugs his bony shoulders. “Alrighty, then. Just holler if you want seconds now, you hear?” He chuckles as he shuffles away, making for the only other occupied table in the place. Distantly we hear, “Whipped cream?”

  “He makes it sound erotic.” I wrinkle my nose and drop my spoon onto the platter. “I’m done. Stuffed and done.”

  West snags a brownie from the pile, making half of it disappear in one bite. I arch a brow at him. “What?” he asks, his voice thick.

  “Nothing,” I laugh, shaking my head. “It always annoyed me how much food you could put away and not gain a pound.” I wave at the plate, which is still heavy with ice cream and toppings. West’s end has a much bigger chunk taken out of it than mine. “I bet I gained five pounds in just the little bit I had. But you? You’re probably burning calories as we speak.”

  West tosses me a wicked grin and pops the last bite of brownie in his mouth.

  “Welp,” I say, ignoring him and sliding my water glass closer. “Looks like we failed this one. Unless you plan on finishing this by yourself?”

  He gives the sundae one long look, though I doubt he’s counting calories. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” Sighing, he digs his spoon into the pile with a new vigor. “Although,” he points out, “true victory is in the attempt.”

  “You sound like Buddha.”

  “Well, I’m very wise.” He gloats while a splotch of vanilla ice cream drops from his spoon and onto the plastic bib he theatrically strung across his chest before we started eating.

  I roll my eyes. “You’re incorrigible. You know that, right?”

  West skims his spoon along the edge, scooping up a vanilla wafer garnish. “Whatever. You’ll miss me.”

  I look away, not wanting to think about missing him, much less admitting to it. “So,” I say instead, “how long do you think it’ll take to sell your parents’ place?” Before he can even answer, I rush on. “I mean, with all the remodeling you’ve done, it shouldn’t take long. Courtney said the market up here is growing.” I take a sip of my water. “People wanting to escape the frenzy of the city and all that.”

  “I’m in no rush. The house is basically finished, and I’m not opening the new office for a couple months. Plus, I’ll be back and forth for a little while, making sure things stay on track here.”

  I pick up my spoon and dive back in, scraping a tiny bit of melted cream off the bottom of the platter. “I still can’t believe you picked Grand Rapids over Chicago. Chicago has so much to offer.” I suck on the spoon, savoring the sugar rush. When I catch West watching me, he quickly looks away.

  “Chicago,” West says emphatically, “was claustrophobic.” I give him a look, to which he responds with a shrug. “It didn’t feel right. Grand Rapids is still a great location, convenient to the other great lakes. And the outskirts are quieter, more secluded.”

  “Well, either way it’s exciting.” I smile up at him, though a heavy feeling—one that’s not at all related to the pound of ice cream I just ingested—sits in my stomach. “I’m so happy for you, West. I really, really am.”

  He smiles back, though it’s closed lipped and somewhat just as sad as mine. We just stare at each other for a moment, an hour…years. As always, time is weird when we’re around each other, and a part of me wonders what it would feel like if I never left his side. If I stayed and moved with him, started a life with him.

  Would time stop? Would each moment suddenly stretch into eternity?

  Nope. The clock would continue to tick, days would turn to years in the blink of an eye, and I’d lose him just as I lost everyone else I loved.

  But he hasn’t asked me to go with him, hasn’t even so much as eluded to it, and we haven’t talked about anything too personal since that night he almost left me.

  The night I should have let him go, but I was far too selfish to do it.

  I shake the moment, because if I think on it all for too long, I just might fling myself at his feet, right here on this sticky floor, and beg him to take me with him. And that image, the image of a needy woman who can’t be alone, snaps everything back into focus.

  “We never finished the list.” I down the rest of my water, lean back in my chair. “Too bad, too. I really wanted to find a way to cover at least one thing Amber owns in toilet paper.”

  West nods, staring down at the mess congealing on the tray between us. “Yeah,” he says, slowly. And then his eyes drift up to meet mine, one corner of his mouth rising. “But this whole thing…It was never really about finishing, was it?”

  I can’t hold his gaze for very long, because he’s right.

  It was never about the list.

  The For Sale sign is up by the time I leave the next morning, the realtor’s happy face photoshopped in alongside the company’s logo. It’s a mirror image of the one that now sits in West’s yard, and though it should strike me as odd that we’re both closing the same chapters of our lives at the same time, it doesn’t.

  The days are still warm and muggy, though the mornings are cooler than they’ve been lately. I take a seat on the front porch, careful not to scrape the material of my skirt on the concrete. My heels bring my knees almost to my chest, so I lower them a step and lean my elbows on my thighs as I watch West cross the street. He’s carrying two travel mugs of coffee and lifts one in greeting as he treks up the sidewalk. Taking a seat beside me, he nods at my luggage. “You all set?”

  “Yep.” I take a sip of my drink, and West does the same. I’m catching a ride into Minneapolis with Corrine’s daughter, who’s heading home for the weekend to be with her family. Turns out my words affected Corrine more than I thought they had. Both of her children have been back and forth this last week, and I’ve even heard talk of her moving in with Macy during the time she has left. It doesn’t, however, sound like Corrine has changed her mind about undergoing treatment for her cancer. Though, sometimes healing isn’t just about the body. Sometimes it involves so much more than just taking a pill.

  The work we do on ourselves is pivotal for what comes next. Whatever that is.r />
  Although I’m one to talk, aren’t I? Because I’m just about to say good-bye to the only man I’ll ever love.

  Ah, well. Pobody’s nerfect.

  The stupid phrase makes me laugh instead of cry, and as West looks at me sideways, his own lips turn up in a smile. “What?” he asks. And though he’s laughing with me, he persists. “What’s so funny?”

  “Ahh… Nothing.” I’m laughing so hard a tear springs from my eye, and I swipe it away with the pad of my thumb. “I was just thinking of something we used to say. You know, ‘pobody’s nerfect’? I don’t know why, but for some reason it just made me laugh.”

  West chuffs, knocking his jean-clad knee against my nylon covered one. “You’re a nerd,” he says, though I can hear the affection in his voice.

  “Takes one to know one,” I quip back, giving my go-to response.

  We drink our coffee in silence for a while. Corrine’s daughter isn’t scheduled to leave for another thirty minutes, but I couldn’t wait around inside. Not in a vacant house that will never, for me at least, feel empty. Even with the furniture gone and the pictures packed and on their way to my condo in Phoenix, the old place still has a gloomy feel about it that I just can’t shake. Not the day I arrived and not during the weeks that followed, either. Nor did it abate during the nights West stayed over, like I thought it would. Even with my body tucked snugly against his, the hairs on my arms still prickled with static from the past.