by MK Schiller
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Do me a favor and drop it.”
“I just bared myself and you’re asking me to drop it?”
“Yep.”
She shifted higher on the couch, a flicker of hurt crossing her face before she jutted her chin with stubborn pride. She smacked her hands together as if ridding herself of our late-night confessional. “Dropping it like a sack of potatoes.”
“Better yet, drop it like the two-ton anvil it is.”
“Done.” Her voice was unusually sharp as she narrowed her baby blues my way. “Hope it didn’t hit your foot when it landed.”
“Just missed me.”
“I’ll aim better next time.”
“You do that.”
She sighed, crossing her arms. When I turned back, she chewed on her lower lip. On second glance, she started a new braid. What the fuck are you doing to me, Scarlett?
I pulled her legs up on the couch. In one fluid movement, she was beneath me. She shrieked, her jaw dropping slightly. I threaded my hands through her soft hair. She smelled of apples and nutmeg and chocolate chips. I ran a finger across her lower lip.
“What do you put on your lips?”
Her breaths quickened, or maybe they were my breaths. “Lip balm. Sometimes gloss.”
I inhaled deeply, begging all the raging hormones inside of me to simmer down for a few minutes. “What flavor?”
“Depends on how I’m feeling.”
“It drives me crazy.” I sucked my finger. “Is this…root beer?”
“Root beer float.”
“You taste like root beer floats? Do you know what that does to me?” I cupped her chin, drawing us close enough that an inch in either direction would connect us. “I have never kissed you, because if I do, you’d have to be mine. Mine alone and mine always. Even though that’s what I want, I realize how creepy it sounds, especially at our age. Do you want that? Cause I do, but it freaks me out. I pray to God it doesn’t freak you out, too. That’s why I’ve never kissed you.”
She pressed her hand to my mouth. “Kiss or no kiss, I’ve always been yours. Yours alone and yours always. You were wrong about me having no one. I had a lot of people, but mostly I had you. I have you. When something belongs to you, you don’t have to claim it. You just know it as truth. I’m not perfect, but I’m yours.”
“Neither of us are perfect, but I don’t want you any other way.”
She wrapped her arms around me. She kissed me. It wasn’t a quick kiss. No sir, it was sloppy and loud and long. We veered into the French territory when I tasted her mouth and teased her tongue.
My girl kissed me.
She was mine.
And I was hers.
Chapter Eighteen
I’d never been to a memorial service. Scarlett told me Tommy’s death happened so suddenly that no one could really give him the eulogy he deserved. How did it feel to have someone you loved so much be taken away?
Judging from the amount of tissue and wet eyes before the service even started, this was going to be one emotional day. I could feel the despair in the air. It hung dark and heavy, leaving a wake of melancholy so strong not even the rays of the sun could penetrate through. For the first time since I’d arrived, the sky was gray, not blue.
White lawn chairs had been set up on the beach. A wooden platform acted as a stage. There were large vases with white flowers on either side. She wore a black dress. I wore dark pants with an oxford shirt. Everyone was barefoot since we stood on sand. We gathered in a group. I held her hand. If it wasn’t for all the tears, you might have thought this was a wedding.
Tom’s father recited versus without the aid of a Bible. Then he opened the urn, took a fistful of ash, and spoke his own words. “Tommy was an amazing son.” He choked back some serious emotion. “He was the best son a man could ask for. Everyone who knew him loved him. But he loved everyone. He’d be the first one to grab a heavy bag from you or ask if you needed help. He always asked me how my day was. No matter what, he always asked. He always had laughter in his eyes and love in his soul.” He opened his hand. The ashes scattered in every direction, as if Tommy’s soul was so full of life, he couldn’t rest in one place.
Russell followed, making similar sentiments, trying to choke back his sobs. Each person did the same. Everyone had a sad or funny story when it came to Tommy. Some of them sounded familiar to me, as if I’d been there, too.
She squeezed my hand before she made her way to the front. She looked lost, her eyes searching. I smiled and held up my wrist, tapping my finger against it. She understood and looked down at the watch she wore, her symbol of strength. Her tribute to her friend.
She stood in front of us, strong and stoic. “Tommy was my best friend. Everyone has said such beautiful things about him, and I agree with all of them. But it’s what I never said to him that hurts me the most.
“I got into a relationship that was abusive. Tommy saw that. He pointed it out on many occasions. I always brushed him off.” She sucked in a deep breath. Her fingers brushed back her hair and lingered there as if she wanted to braid it. She shook her head as if dismissing the emotion that threatened to consume her. “One day, we were out here surfing.” She pointed to a distant wave. “Right about there. He said something about my boyfriend, and it set me off. I lost it. I told him to mind his own business and leave my man alone. Leave my man alone.” She choked out a small laugh, sad and cynical. “I paddled back to shore. I’ll never forget what he shouted to me as I got out of the water. He said, ‘You have no idea what a man is, Scarlett or how he should treat a woman. I hope someday you will. You deserve to know.’ I never looked back. I just kept walking. We never spoke about that day after.
“But Tommy…well, he was there for me no matter what I did. I finally saw the light and the danger I was putting myself in. I only wish I’d told Tommy what I’d learned. What I now know.” Wiping a tear from her eye, she turned to the ocean, releasing the ashes. They flew through the wind, eventually swallowed by the waves. “I know what a man is now, Tommy. It was you. It was always you. I love you and miss you every single day.”
I put my arms around her when she sat back down. She buried her face in my chest. I held her close.
After the ceremony, they all comforted each other. I saw it all clearly in every warm embrace, the tears that fell freely, and those that stayed locked away. A father’s grief for his dead son, taken too soon. A sister’s sorrow for her brother, the one who picked on her and protected her in the same breath. A friend’s empty ache for the dead space a death left. Feeling hot salty tears streak down my own face, I looked up at the heavens and said a silent prayer for Tommy, acknowledging God for the first time in my life.
Scarlett and I stayed at the beach. We sat on our boulder. Its smooth, hard surface was surprisingly comfortable. We watched the waves for a while. I wanted to tell her my connection to her. To Tommy. But how could that possibly provide comfort or even make sense? No, that would be making this day about me. It wasn’t. It was about coping with grief and loss. It was about a young guy who lost his life way too soon. It was about being there for Scarlett.
I held her in my arms, letting the sounds of the crashing waves provide the voice of comfort. Finally, I took a thick strand of her hair and held it out to her.
“Here.” She looked at it and back at me. “Braid it. It’ll make you feel better.”
She graced me with a sad smile. “How did you know I do that?”
“You’re always doing that.”
I watched as her deft fingers separated the strand into three and then expertly twisted them all into one.
“Tommy’s death wasn’t an accident,” she whispered so quietly, I had to replay it in my head.
“I didn’t read anything about foul play.”
“You wouldn’t. He committed suicide.”
I swallowed, unprepared for the rush of emotions that leveled me. “He didn’t leave a note.”
She let out a s
oft bitter laugh. “That was the kind of considerate guy Tommy was. He wouldn’t leave a note. He’d let everyone think he just drowned while surfing. He didn’t want people to be left with the questions. The whys and what could I have done. He shared his secrets with me, though. I knew he was depressed. He left clues but just ones I could figure out.”
“It was his way of saying if you want to know, I’ll give you the information if it eases you somehow. If you don’t want it, then forget about it. He sort of gave me a choice.”
“What clues?”
“His favorite author was Virginia Woolf. I never really got her stuff. Plus, it was hard for me to read. When they found him, he had pebbles in his pocket.”
I thought about what I knew. I wasn’t a huge fan of Virginia Wolfe, but for some reason, even I didn’t understand. I’d read all her books over one snowy February at the Strand Bookstore on Eighth Street. I wolfed down the words while sipping lukewarm lattes laced with Irish whiskey, wondering the whole time what the hell I was doing. It was almost as if reading the words served as some type of punishment. A bitter pill I swallowed down chapter by chapter. Then I remembered the biography I’d read about Wolfe. The stones. An aching chill ran through my body.
“He killed himself the same way Virginia Woolf did? He put stones in his pockets until he drowned?”
“He had stones in his pocket, but there weren’t enough to drown him. They were symbolic. I believe he just walked out into the water until it was over his head and stayed that way. He told me once how she died. He cried when he told me about her life and her death. He absorbed emotion like sunscreen, this boy. He saw himself in her.”
“The stones are why you think he killed himself?”
“I had my suspicions. He sent me a letter, too.”
“He mailed it to you?”
“Tommy was more creative than that.” She began twisting another strand. “I had it the whole time. He lent me a copy of her greatest works a week before. He had a note tucked inside the first page of the last chapter.”
“What did it say?” I shook my head. “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me if it’s too painful.”
“It is painful. That’s why I have to tell you. I’ve never told anyone. It’s eating me up something awful.”
“Then I want to hear.”
She took a deep breath. “He wrote the note…like she wrote her suicide note. I ripped the paper to shreds after I read it, but the words are still in my head. I’m not great at memorizing, but I can’t forget them. No matter how hard I try. I’ll always have them.”
“What did it say?”
“‘To my best friend. I am writing this only so you won’t blame yourself. There is something wrong with me and it can’t be fixed. I know you tried so hard, but there is no cure. I question why God made me this way. I am doing what seems right to me. I don’t want you to wonder and go to all those dark places in your head as you often do. You have been my comfort, my shield, and my strength during the hardest times. Bottom line, you have been the greatest friend a person can have. If anyone could have saved me, it would have been you. I am not certain if this is the right decision, but I am certain you are the kindest person.’ He didn’t sign it or even address it to me, but he lent me the book a few days before…” A sound got stuck in her throat. I squeezed her hand. “The note was folded in a paper kite like the ones he taught me to make when we were kids. He meant for me to read it…if I chose to.”
I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly. “I’m so sorry.” How long had she been carrying this burden in her heart?
“I never told anyone, not even Russ. Tommy wouldn’t want that. He wanted me to know so I wouldn’t wonder. He was wrong, though. I wasn’t a good friend. I could have helped him more. I was so into my own life I didn’t see his sorrow. He pretended well enough, but if I’d just opened my eyes more, I could have seen it.”
Her body shook with thunderous sobs. Her hair a mess of various size braids. I worked slow, undoing each one and running my fingers through them.
I leaned close to her ear and whispered what I hoped were soothing words. “He was trying to tell you it wouldn’t have made a difference. Whatever he was going through, you couldn’t change that for him. You have to accept his words as the truth.”
I knew it to be true because in my dreams, I had a feeling I was the one he went to, not Scarlett. I hadn’t been able to help him, either.
“I loved him. Not romantically, but in every other way one human can love another. He was my person, you know? We were friends and family, and I thought we’d be in each other’s lives forever.”
“I know,” I said and kissed her head. “He was lucky to have you.”
“But the thing is I kind of hate him right now, too. If he stood in front of me, I’d hug the hell out of him and also scream my head off. Why did he do this? Why did he leave us? Leave me?”
“I wish I knew, Scarlett.”
Her sobs quieted, but her body still trembled. I rocked her until she became still. She fell asleep in my arms, and I held her there for a long time, even when it became uncomfortable and my arms burned from being in the same position for far too long.
…
She rubbed her eyes, watching the setting sun.
“Oh my God, how long was I out?”
“Two hours. I fell asleep, too.”
I winced as I stretched my arms. My sides ached.
“I’m so sorry. That had to be uncomfortable for you.” She shifted off me.
“I’m fine.”
She eyed me warily, but instead of saying anything, she rubbed my arms, moving her hands up and down their length. “Thank you for letting me emotionally vomit all over you.”
I laughed. “Did it help at all? How do you feel?”
“Better. I needed to get all that out.”
“I’m glad you did. This might be a strange question, but do you want to go dancing tonight?”
“Really?” She looked doubtful, but her lips twisted slightly, revealing the smile I loved so much.
“I think Tommy would approve. We can take the ferry to the mainland. There’s a club there, right?”
She nodded. “How did you know?”
I took you there once and you told me you had the best time. We danced to a slow song or ten. I want to see that same smile on your face tonight.
I cleared my throat. Hide your crazy, man. “I heard about it.”
“I thought you didn’t like dancing.”
“I don’t, but I love making you happy. I think this might help.” She found joy in dancing, and if I could give her anything right now…it would be joy. “Can we invite Russell?”
My smile tightened. “Really?”
“He’s sad today, too. He’s my friend and you’re my boyfriend. I’d really like you two to get along.” She looked down at her watch. “I can’t lose another friend.”
“Of course, Jones. He can come.”
Chapter Nineteen
Russell accepted the invite but said he’d meet us there. The club had a live band, line dancing, and a mechanical bull in the corner.
“Is this a real honky tonk?” I asked her.
“Sort of. They play everything, but country is popular here.”
Scarlett wore dark jeans, a button-down yellow shirt where the buttons were little daisies, and well-scuffed cowboy boots. Her hair, similar in coloring to her name, hung down in long shiny waves. Her outfit wasn’t revealing, but hell if it didn’t turn me on.
“How goes it, Russ?” I asked as he approached us.
“It goes.” He turned to her. “How you holding up, Scar?”
She nodded. “I’m okay. You?”
“It’s been a day. But I’m glad I’m here with you.”
“Same.”
“Do you want to dance?” he asked her.
“Yeah, I’d love to.” Then she looked at me. “Do you mind?”
“Go ahead. Have fun.”
I wanted to give them som
e privacy to process the day. I needed to process it, too.
He led her to the floor. He didn’t hold her sexually, and I appreciated that. She said something to him, which made him crack up. Russell must have softened toward me, because after two songs, they waved me over.
“I don’t really dance,” I said.
She looped her fingers around my belt. “Just move with me. I need your arms around me.”
I wasn’t the best dancer, and she didn’t make it any easier, floating with the grace of a butterfly. All the songs were fast, and the dance floor became crowded. Somewhere, I lost my stiffness and began to feel the music. The three of us danced and laughed like old friends.
“Letting your inner cowboy out, New Guy,” Russ said.
I spun her around, and Russell caught her. The three of us were in sync as if we’d done this a million times. Maybe we had. The sound of amped-up steel guitars hit me in every direction from the inside out.
“You’ve heard this song?” Scarlett asked when I started nodding my head and mouthing the words.
“No,” I said honestly. But I knew every word just the same, as if every note had been written just for us.
She quirked an eyebrow but thankfully let it go. I brought her close to me. You know that scene in a movie where a man is so graceful and masculine and commanding that all eyes are on him and his partner just goes breathless?
Well, that didn’t happen. I almost tripped her. But I caught her in my arms in the nick of time and she still had a huge smile on her face.
We all gasped for air when we came back to our table. Scarlett and I chugged water while Russell had a beer.
“You surprise me, New York,” she said. “Maybe you’re more country than I thought.”
“Life goals met.”
“Not that country,” Russell said, jerking his head toward the mechanical bull. “I bet I can outlast you on her.”
“Challenge accepted.”
Russ went first and stayed on for a while.
I didn’t think I’d come close, but I actually beat him by a few seconds before I flipped over into the bales of hay. For the first time, Russ’ smug expression morphed into something else. Maybe respect? But all our manly swagger disappeared when Scarlett said she wanted a turn.
