The Loss Between Us

by Brooke McBride

  “That’s for her to decide. She can say no if she wants.”

  “Guys! I’m in the room here. What are you talking about?” They both stop and look at me and then each other.

  “Okay.” My mother shrugs. “Go ahead and tell her.”

  My dad scoots closer to me as my mom continues to clear things off the table. I’ve known her long enough to know that whatever he’s about to say, she doesn’t support. But I also know he’s going to say it anyway. “Do you remember Kevin Talbot?”

  “Yeah, you guys golf together. Why?”

  “His daughter, Tara, is the director of the Hope Project. They’re a non-profit group that works to place foster children in permanent homes.”

  “Isn’t that what social services is for?”

  “Yes, but there are so many cases that this group formed about seven years ago to help. They help with the really difficult cases of children who have been in the system a while and can’t seem to find a home.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Well, recently their lawyer took a different job, and they’ve been desperately looking for another one for almost three months. Since they’re a non-profit, the pay isn’t great.”

  My stomach twists as I realize what he’s asking me. “Dad, no. I told you, I’m done being a lawyer.”

  “Jensen, I know you’ve said that. But you just said that you’re ready to move forward. This would be a great first step.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad, but I’m done practicing law.”

  “I don’t believe you. It’s the only career you’ve ever talked about. You’re sure you just want to walk away from it?”

  “Quite sure.” I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, glaring at him.

  “I was hoping that this would help you. It’s not full time. It’s around twenty to thirty hours a week. They just need someone to make sure the legal formalities are followed. Kevin was talking to me about it while we played golf last week, and I thought it would be a great opportunity for you.”

  “Yeah, except I’m not looking for that kind of opportunity.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m not going to push you. I just wanted to mention it. If you’re not interested, that’s fine.”

  “Well, I’m not.” He looks down, shakes his head, and then takes the glasses into the kitchen where my mom is loading the dishwasher. I sit at the table by myself and try to ignore my blood pressure rising. I pick up my glass of water and take three large gulps. It’s times like these I miss Nash. I would have felt comfortable talking with him about this but no one else. He would have understood and sympathized with why I’m not interested. I pull the glass from my lips as I realize that’s not true. Nash probably would have challenged me on why I wasn’t considering it. Jeff would have sympathized with me. My heart starts to palpitate realizing that for the first time since Jeff’s been gone, I didn’t wish he was here, I wished that Nash was here. How can I sit here and want to talk to the guy who deceived me instead of my loving and loyal husband?

  I shove back from the table, needing some air. I grab my purse, yell out to my parents that I’m leaving, and run out the door. I get into my car and pull away as quickly as possible. I pass the street I should take to my old house, so I can stop and check on it, but I don’t care.

  I drive around for a while trying to calm my nerves and somehow end up at Nash’s house. I park on the street about three houses down and kill the engine. I sit, trying to figure out why I came here of all places. My hand hovers on the door handle, but once the cool steel touches my sweaty hands I realize I’ve made a mistake. Going to him now would be unfair to him. He’s kept his distance from me like I asked him to do weeks ago, so I need to respect that he’s moved on.

  I’m numb as I drive back to the rental. The gravel crunches under my tires as I make my way through the narrow alley. The neighborhood is quiet and dark as I walk up to the back porch. I delay unlocking the door when I hear a noise around the side of the house. I debate on rushing in and locking the door behind me so I feel safe. Or being a grown-up and walking around the side of the house to check on the noise. But I’m a chicken and I get inside the house as fast as I can. I deadbolt the lock and then peer out the window. Nothing. I laugh at myself. I’m getting worked up over nothing.

  I walk through the kitchen, bypass the family room, and walk up the stairs. As I reach the top, I look down at the now-fixed stair and think of Nash. I hate myself for it. It’s been two weeks since I caught him sleeping in his truck, and I miss him. I can’t control what happened to Jeff. But I’m in total control of what I’m doing to Nash. I’m sick of hating myself or feeling guilty or wanting a life that I can’t seem to have. A shiver moves throughout my body as I walk into the bedroom and reach into the drawer for my pajamas. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I climb into bed.

  Sleep comes easily as I’m exhausted from guilt and self-doubt. I feel guilty that Jeff is no longer here. I feel guilty that Nash is no longer in my life. I feel guilty that I think about Nash more than Jeff. I feel guilty that I no longer feel as if I was ever a mom. I feel guilty that I think the person I was, who I worked so hard to be and who I was proud of, is gone. That person no longer exists, and I have no idea who stands in her place.

  Chapter 38

  I wake up with dry mouth and reach for my water on the nightstand, but I didn’t bring one up with me. The clock on the nightstand reads 2:57 a.m. I rub my eyes and climb out of bed, walk down the stairs, and grab a bottle. The bottle stops at my lips when I hear my neighbor’s dog, Chief, barking. That’s probably what woke me up. I scan the backyard but I don’t see anything. I turn to make my way back upstairs, but I linger in the hallway because Chief usually doesn’t bark at nothing. I walk back to the door and look out again, searching a little harder this time. I still see nothing, and I can’t see Chief. I can only hear him. I wait a few seconds and then decide it must be nothing and head back to bed.

  As I climb the stairs, I hear a noise that sounds like something being dragged. I freeze and try to make out where the sound is coming from. A few seconds later, I hear it again. It’s coming from either the side or back of the house. Something then hits the back-porch door, and my adrenaline spikes as fear paralyzes me. The noise comes again, and I race up the remaining stairs into my bedroom to grab my phone. I skid to a stop, pluck it from my nightstand, and hit my favorites list, praying he’s not on duty. He picks up on the second ring.

  “Jen, what’s wrong?”

  “Nash! Something’s on the back porch!”

  “What kind of something?”

  I hear scuffling in the background and I hear him start to pant. “I don’t know. Almost like someone pounding on the back door.”

  “Jen, hang up and call the police. I’m already to my truck and on my way.”

  “No!”

  “No? Jensen! This isn’t the time to be mad at me. Do as you’re told.”

  “No, I mean I don’t want to hang up. Nash, I’m scared, don’t leave me!”

  “Jensen, call the police. I’m already on my way, but they’ll get there faster.”

  “What if it’s nothing?”

  “What if it’s not!”

  He’s out of breath and his voice trembles with fear. I realize I’m scaring him and I don’t even know what I heard. I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart and turn back toward the door. “I’m going to go downstairs and look,”,” I whisper.

  “Jen, no! Where are you?”

  “In my bedroom.”

  “Stay there and lock the door. Don’t do anything until I get there.”

  “Nash, just let me go look.”

  “No! Damn, you just won’t listen.”

  I can’t help but grin. He’s right about that. I creep out of my bedroom and look down the stairs. Everything looks normal, so I make my way to the stairs and creep down them one by one, looking around as more of the room comes into view.

  “Jensen! Why are you so quiet?” I ig
nore him so I don’t make any noise. “Jensen. Son of a bitch! Answer me.”

  “Shh…I’m looking around.”

  “Seriously? Are you trying to kill me here?”

  I walk into the kitchen and take a deep breath. I pull back the curtain and look into the yard. Again, everything seems fine, but Chief is going crazy. I can hear him running up and down the length of the fence and barking non-stop. What is he barking at? I glance down to the landing of the patio, and then I scream. In the process, I drop my phone. A raccoon chews on something with a tail hanging outside of its mouth. I start to laugh. The laugh gets louder when I remember Nash is still on the other end of the phone. I pick up my phone and stare at a cracked screen. Crap. I try to turn it on, but nothing happens. As I’m fiddling with it, I hear a crash at the front door. I rush to the hallway just in time to see the woodwork crack around the frame. My adrenaline spikes again until I hear Nash screaming my name on the other side of the door. I yell back and run toward him, but I’m too late. The next thing I see is the door flying open as fragments of the wood door fall to the ground. Nash sails through it and zooms up the stairs.

  “Nash, stop. Nash!” The stairs creak, and he runs back down.

  “Nash, I’m okay.”

  He runs toward me and I meet him halfway. Our bodies collide, and he squeezes me, hard. His body is covered in cold sweat and his breath is ragged in my ear. His chest rises and falls sharply against mine. “You’re okay?” he asks, rushing the words out of his mouth.

  “I’m okay.” He has my arms pinned to my sides so I can’t hug him back. Right now, I want to. But I don’t move. I let him hold me and then I feel him start to calm down. He pulls back and looks in my eyes. He moves a stray hair from my face.

  “You’re okay.” He says.

  I smile and shake my head. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” His breathing is still broken, but not as bad as it was a few minutes ago.

  “For calling you in the middle of the night.”

  “Can you be sorry for hanging up on me instead of calling me in the first place?”

  I laugh and then hold up my phone. “I didn’t hang up on you. I dropped it.”

  “But I thought I heard you scream?”

  “You did. Follow me.” I lead him to the back porch, where my new friend is still munching on its snack. I motion toward the window. “Look down.” He does and then looks back at me.

  “You called me at 3:00 a.m. because a raccoon was eating a mouse?”

  “No, I called you because I thought someone was breaking into my house. I screamed and dropped the phone because a raccoon was eating a mouse.”

  He slowly smiles and shakes his head. “I never pictured you as the type to get upset over a little spilt mouse.”

  “Oh my God, seriously? That joke was lame.”

  “Give me a break. It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

  “I’m sorry for calling you.”

  He walks to me, and my stomach begins to flutter the closer he gets. “Jensen, don’t ever be sorry for that.”

  I don’t know what to say. But I immediately feel myself retreating. I rub my hands up and down my arms. “I think you’d better go.”

  His eyes focus on mine and he moves back. “Can I have a glass of water before I go?”

  He’s trying to stall, but I at least owe him that. I step around him to the refrigerator, pull out the water pitcher, and grab a glass from the cabinet. I move back to the refrigerator, and the slamming of the ice cubes against the glass breaks the silence.

  When I turn, he’s leaning against the door frame. He plays the part of the bad boy really well: confident, almost cocky, tight white shirt that shows off his tattoo and the outline of his pecs straining against it. He’s wearing gray lounge pants and flip-flops, proving he left in a hurry. Tension stands between us as his burning eyes hold me still.

  I shake my head, releasing myself from the draw he has on me, and hand him the glass. Our hands lightly brush, and my tongue darts out to lick my lips. I then back away and lean up against the sink. He takes a slow sip, never taking his eyes off of me.

  We stand in silence for what feels like eternity. “Can we talk?” he asks.

  My emotions are like a car driving on ice. My first instinct is to slam on the brakes and stop the conversation before it starts. But if I don’t have this conversation, I won’t have closure. Even though I’m not sure closure is what I want now that he’s standing in front of me. “I’m not sure there’s anything left to say.”

  “Oh, come on. You dragged my ass out of bed at 3:00 a.m.; the least you can do is let me talk to you.”

  “Why, so you can lie to me some more?” I cross my arms.

  “I deserve that. But Jen. I said I was sorry. And my heart was in the right place. I’ve given you your space. What else do you want me to do?”

  “Are you really sorry?”

  “Why would you think I’m not?”

  “I don’t know, Nash. In fact, I don’t know anything. I don’t even know who you truly are.”

  “You’re right.”

  “And how can you…wait, what?”

  “You’re right. You don’t know everything about me because I don’t let a lot of people in.” He grabs his hair with both hands and pulls before saying, “I don’t want to do this right now because I’m afraid to lose you again, but you need to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Who I truly am.”

  I think deep down I always knew he was keeping something from me, but I ignored it. There was too much other crap to deal with, and if I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want anything to jeopardize our friendship because I needed him. But we’re past that. “Why don’t you go have a seat. I’m going to make some coffee.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I owe you that after everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No, I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  Chapter 39

  I carry a tray out of the kitchen with two mugs of coffee, a cup of sugar, and a small pitcher of creamer. As I make my way to the family room, I see Nash bouncing on his toes. His cool and confident demeanor is gone, replaced with wringing hands and wandering eyes. I’m so startled by his appearance that I stop at the threshold and watch him. He doesn’t see me as he approaches the fireplace mantel. He picks up a picture of Jeff and me at our rehearsal dinner. It’s my favorite picture of us. And it’s the only one I put back out when I moved.

  Nash sets it down and makes his way down the mantel to a picture of my parents and me from my college graduation, and a picture of Olivia and me at our senior prom. He then picks up a picture of him and me that Olivia took of us on our hike. It felt right to frame it and place it with all the other important people in my life.

  He notices me staring and sets the picture back down. He moves to the couch, where he throws his body into a sitting position with his head in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees. I close the distance between us and set the tray on the coffee table. And wait. I’m not going to push.

  His voice startles me. “I’ve never seen that smile on your face.”

  I have no idea where he’s going with this conversation. And my gut tells me that whatever he has to say will change us. “Which smile?”

  “The carefree one that I see from your wedding day, your prom. All of them, except the one of us.”

  “But I’m smiling.”

  He turns his body toward me, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen him broken. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Something compels me to grab his hand. I squeeze and then look into his eyes. “I won’t break.”

  “This place smells like you now.”

  He says it so seriously that I can’t help but laugh. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  He takes a brief reprieve from being so serious and smiles at me. “It is. Your smell has always reminded me of the lavender bu
shes that used to grow outside my home as a kid. My mom would be gardening, and I would be running my trucks up along the dirt when she would shoo me away.” His smile falls again.

  I squeeze his hand again. “I like hearing you talk about your family, your life. Things that make you happy.” The way he looks at me makes me want to run away and to never leave his side all at the same time.

  “I don’t talk about my family a lot. It wasn’t just about hiding who I truly was.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  He stares at the fireplace as if there is a roaring fire to focus on. “Julia doesn’t go around broadcasting my story.” He then moves back toward me. “But Jeff knew my story. I’m surprised it’s not something the two of you discussed.”

  I shrug. “It never came up. I don’t have anything against your sister, but Julia and I were never close. I knew she had a brother, and Jeff had mentioned that he…I mean you, went through some hard times, but Jeff wasn’t one to gossip or overshare. And to be honest, I never asked.”

  Nash takes a large breath and blows it out. He then turns away from me to stare at the pictures on the mantel again. His hands are cupped in one another and I see the color draining from his knuckles.

  To give him a minute, I add sugar and creamer to my coffee until it looks like chocolate milk. The couch dips next to me as he leans further into it. Knowing he likes his coffee black, I pick it up to hand it to him, but he doesn’t move. I gently touch his knee, and his eyes swing to mine with tears in them. I hold the mug out for him to take. But he doesn’t. Instead he says, “I killed my best friend.”

  Chapter 40

  He says it so quickly I’m not sure I heard him right. He stands up and starts to pace again. My hands tremble, so I move the mugs back to the tray. “Do you remember that day at the cemetery? You found me at a gravesite and asked me who Mark was. And I told you that we would talk about it some other time?”

  “Yeah?”

  He moves to the front window and looks out. It’s quiet and still, so quiet I hear Nash gulp before he says, “Mark Summers was my best friend.”