by M. R. Joseph
"Sadly, no. I’m not ready for that. I am concerned for his wellbeing, but as you have recommended, I have to take care of me first. I have to learn to live on my own again. I have to prepare for the upcoming school year, and deal with my therapies. I have to move on, Dr. Goldberg, and so does Cruz."
***
Craw always picks me up from therapy and takes me home. Both therapies actually. He waits for me at the front door of Dr. Goldberg’s building, but as I exit the elevator doors, it's not only him I see, but Willow and Thea, too. They are dressed for the beach and I have a sneaky suspicion they have plans for me. I’ve known them my whole life, so I know when I’m being kidnapped for a day at the beach.
As I make my way to the door, I’m engulfed in hugs from the girls. When I pull away I already shake my head no.
"No way, girl. Not happening. I just want to go back to my condo and relax before I have to start work again."
"Too late," Willow sings. "We went to your house, packed you a bag, and now we are going to handcuff you, stick a burlap sack over your head, and steal you away from the jail that is Princeton."
"I’m not going anywhere, Willow. I’m not ready."
"Oh, hog wash. Get your ass in the car and let's go sip on some beers and enjoy the beach before we have to deal with a bunch of acne-faced, hormonal pre-teens for nine months."
Craw slugs his arm around my shoulder as he leans against the glass door of the building and bends in my ear.
"Har, I think you're ready. You need this. It's just the weekend." I look to my brother who I trust with my life. I bear my soul to him time and time again and I do know that he knows what's best for me.
"But what if—" Craw stops me before I can finish.
"What if what? What of you see Cruz in Sandy Cove? Yes, I'll be honest with you. You may see him. He doesn't live at Porter's parents’ anymore. He has his own place again."
"Again?" I question.
Craw looks like he doesn't want to fill me in, but he knows I'll ask again if he doesn't. I can be relentless.
"Yes, again. He had gotten his own apartment before the accident when Porter had kicked him out of his house. When you didn't wake up, he wouldn't leave. This you already know. But he had to give up his apartment in Sandy Cove. When you woke up, he went to live with his brother."
I get a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. Poor guy. He gave that up for me.
"But what about his job? He got it back, right?"
"Yes, for Sandy Cove, and he rents a place not too far from the station. But don't worry. I spoke to him. He knows to give you your space. He just cares about you, Har, and he is dealing with this just like you are."
"Yes, drinking solves a lot, doesn't it?" I probably should not have said it that way.
Craw gives me a soft but warning look.
"Harlow, that's not fair. Max and Porter are keeping tabs on him. He knows he can't mess up or get out of control. And he knows to be respectful and keep his distance."
I ask him again.
"But why is he not at Porter's place again?"
The three of them look at one another, clearly trying to figure out what to say next. I bite my thumbnail waiting for them to answer. I get aggravated almost immediately from their silence.
"Well, for fuck’s sake. Would someone tell me why?" Still the deafening silence resumes and now I just want to leave.
"Never mind. I already know the answer. Let's just go."
I carefully climb into the car with Craw’s help, and he sticks my crutches in the trunk of Willow’s BMW. The air conditioning is on full blast, cooling me automatically. I think about the answer they would have given me. Why Cruz isn't staying at Porter's parents’ anymore. It's because of me.
I’m emotionally, physically, and mentally drained. I usually am after a session with Dr.Goldberg, but including Cruz in that mix outside my session makes intensifies those feelings.
CHAPTER 2
I'll keep playing this song till I’m all out of quarters
Cruz~
She's here. Not here like in front of me, but she's here in Sandy Cove. My anxiety has erupted into something I can't control. I can't sit still, I can't really think. I can't do this mother-fucking job right now. Craw called to tell me that he was going to try and convince her to come for the weekend. He basically asked me—in the nicest of ways because we have become friends—to stay away from her while she's here. I will do as he asks and only because I know in my heart I need to give her some space. The doctors told her she could regain some of her memory eventually, but there's no timeline. My only hope is that it does happen. If I were a magician, the first thing I'd do would be to bring her memories back. Make her remember us. We were in love. I didn't tell her until it was too late but that's the guilt I'll have to live with. I once said to her that if she just wanted to be friends then I would have to live with that, but I wouldn't live without her in my life.
Things change. I’m living without her. I exist without her. Barely. Craw told me they are going to Jax. When I heard that I was surprised she agreed to go there, then I remembered that it's just another place to her. She has no memory that Jax was the place I told her I wanted to be with her. That it was the place I told her how I felt about her. I don't even know if she remembers that was where we first met. The bathroom. Fuck bathrooms. Well that one anyway.
I started writing her letters in order to jog her memory of what we had. They just confused her and kept on breaking me apart when there was no response. Once Craw asked me to stop writing them, I did. Reluctantly, but I did. I left the hospital when the nurses and her doctor asked me. Her parents felt horrible. They thanked me for being by her side all those weeks, and for never giving up hope. But they told me I needed to stay away so she could recover. It gutted me. Not being able to help her, hold her, be there for her. Sometimes it is too much for me—not being there for her like I always was. I stopped driving by her parents’ rental house. That was where they took her once she was strong enough to leave the hospital, but not strong enough to go back to Princeton. I saw her leave to go home, though. I parked down the street. She looked so small and fragile as Porter and Craw carried her down to the car. That should have been me carrying her. Me. I thought my heart would break again right there like it did day after day while she was in her coma. I watched her be driven away, out of my line of sight, out of my life. That's when the numbness began to take shape.
So here I am again. Knowing she's in Sandy Cove, do I revert back to my stalker-like tendencies, or just stay away? Just one look at her is all I need. I just need to see her beautiful hair, her skin. I just want to see her smile.
My shift is almost over. It's nighttime. Now what the hell do I do with myself? All my friends are out with the girls and I can't be anywhere she is. I'll spend the night pacing the floor of my shitty apartment, getting hammered by myself, and wishing things were different. I wish every day things were different.
As soon as I'm off duty, I switch from my patrol car to my own, and take off for my apartment. Thoughts go through my mind, plans in the making. I go through them like I’m making a list to go grocery shopping or something.
A. Go find someone to just fuck and pretend it's Harlow, just to get off. Which I know I’m not going to do, but I still weigh it as an option because soon I will be a virgin again cause it's been so long.
B. Go get totally shit faced in my apartment and cry like a bitch after I drink a fifth of Jack.
C. Go walk the streets of Sandy Cove in front of Jax, back and forth, all night long wishing and hoping I get to run into her.
I think I want to go with C. Even though I'll most likely do some of B. Plan A never seems to be an option for me though.
***
So I shower, not really knowing what the point is. The air-conditioning in this shit hole I call an apartment doesn't really work and my nerves are making me sweat. I wander down the main drag where all the popular bars are. I wear my baseball cap to try and go
a little incognito. It may work, but the goal is to see her and actually talk to her. That's the whole reason why I went with plan C.
Hands in my pockets, my head down, I walk. Inching closer and closer to Jax, I see people I know. Stopping to talk with them, but not really paying attention to the small talk that takes place. I have one eye on them and one eye on the door of Jax. I have no intention on following her in if I see her in there or if I see her go in, I just need to see her face. I need to know she's happy and I will if I see her eyes sparkle, if I see that glow she always has around her. I'll know it. If I just happen to cross the street when I do see, it will be by accident. Everyone will see through that plan, so my course of action has changed. I’m a chicken.
I run into the drugstore to grab a pack of gum. The line in here is long, too long for my liking, and I’m freaking out that if I wait here much longer I'll miss my chance to see her. Oh, fuck it. I throw a few bucks on the counter and tell the kid who works the register that I’m in a hurry. He knows I’m a cop here so he doesn't give me shit. I take off out the door in a mad rush and run right into...Willow.
"Cruz?" It's a question and a warning. Of all the people in this damn town to run into. Why? Please, God, why?
"Willow, I was...um just stopping at the store for some gum. That's it."
She grabs my arm and pinches it, dragging me towards a brick wall near the drug store. Her voice surprisingly calm after she just shredded my arm.
"Cruz, I know what you're doing, but you can't. You promised Craw. Please, if you love her, let her have her space. Give her time to heal everywhere she needs to." She smiles at me sadly like she understands, or attempts to.
Where'd this Willow come from?
I lower my head, shaking it and re-depositing my hands in my pockets. I can't look up at her because I know she's right, and if I keep my focus on the ground beneath me, I won't cry. Yep. Big pussy. I cry...all the time.
"I...I just want to see her face, Willow. It's been so long. A photograph is nothing compared to the real thing. Can you understand that?"
She takes my face in both her hands and raises it up to look at her. Her smile is genuine and I know she gets it. I like this Willow. She should stay.
"Yes, Cruz, I do. But she doesn't remember. It's not that she's trying to forget because believe me, and I told you this after she came out of the fucking coma, if she knew the truth, if she knew what her grandmother said to you and what she made you do, she would have never allowed it to happen. I know that girl and she did love you, with all her heart, but she is a different person now. I...I can't explain it, but she is."
Craw told me she is different. She's not hiding from her problems like she used to. She's not allowing the old, dark thoughts or memories to overtake her. Things that used to make her insane, she allows to roll off her back. I’m glad for that part.
"And I’m different too, Willow, but it sure as hell doesn't allow me to stop loving her."
She let's go of my face and looks defeated. She shouldn't because I’m the one who is directionless.
"I know. I know, just try and be patient. She's still got a long way to go mentally and physically, Cruz. Please if you love her, let her go. Just let her go."
Willow walks away and I'm left standing alone again with my thoughts. No actions, just alone in a place where I’m lost. I feel so lost, that's until I see her. I see her hair whip around the corner without even seeing her face ’cause when I see her face, I'll know. I'll know she's happy, I'll know I can walk away and let her go on and live her life.
But that's not what I see.
Even though I see her shiny, bright-as-the-glowing-sun hair, it’s her walking with crutches, hobbling along the sidewalk that I see. Craw on one side and Thea on the other. I duck under the awning of the drugstore to hide, but I stare at her. I’m mesmerized by her. Not only her beauty that is now making my heart thump out of my chest, but to see her wounded, limping, and easing her way on those damn wooden sticks. Her head is down still and I can't see her face. I just want to see her face.
Harlow. Look up, Turnip. Look at me, baby.
And as though she heard me, she peers up and I see what I’ve been waiting to see for weeks and weeks. Her face, those eyes. I long to see happiness in them, but I don't. I don't see it. The one thing I wanted to see was her blue eyes radiating happiness but that's not what I see. I know her so well. I can tell that's not what she's feeling.
Does it make it any better for me to walk away knowing she's hurting? No. It makes it worse. Even if she were happy, my feelings wouldn’t alter. I'd feel the same way. I think I really would. My heart and my world would crash down again no matter which outcome.
She doesn't see me. I make sure of that as she disappears into Jax. With every step I take toward my apartment, I become numb. Pained.
***
I play with the few dollars worth of quarters on the bar in front of me. I allow them to hit the bar from in between my fingers. Listening to them clank as they hit the wood. And I sing along with the words to the song. Not sure I’m using the right words or if they're coherent, but fuck it.
How do you mend this broken man, how does a loser ever win... blah blah blah... Wah, wah wah...
I feel a hand on my shoulder and a voice in my ear but I’m so drunk I’m not sure at first who it is.
"I didn't take you for a Bee Gees’ fan there my friend." I spin on my stool in my drunken stupor to try and gage who the messenger of the words is. It's Max.
"Max! Max a million, thanks a million. My friend of friends. What the hell you doin’ here?"
I notice Porter or who I think is Porter behind him. I squint my eyes to try and focus.
"P? Is that you?" He nods, well all three of him nod. I think.
"It is you. Come 'ere and hug me, man. I missed you. What you all doin’ here?"
The song of the night comes to an end and I stumble off my seat to play it again. I leave Porter and Max at the bar and stick my quarters in the jukebox.
When I start to hear the soulful sounds of the three, British men in white leisure suits coming out of the magic box, I tap my fingers on it and sing along again. I hear someone tell me to shut the fuck up and I don't get angry, I just laugh. Max comes over to me and leads me back to my stool.
"Cruz, buddy. How long have you been here? And how many times have you played this fucking song?"
I giggle at Max. I think I giggle, no, no I giggle. I’m pretty sure I giggle. Fucking pussy.
"Oh, I have no idea. Ask my friend here? Phil the bartender, how long have I been here for?" I hear him answer to Max, long enough. I gotta laugh at that. I’m giving him money and he's telling me basically I’ve had enough. But I’m not fully numb yet.
In my haze I think, how'd they know I was even here?
"How'd you two even know where I was? This place is a little far off the Sandy Cove map."
They take their seats next to me, ordering themselves a few cold ones. They keep eyeing each while I sing along who are best described as the three most prolific musical geniuses in all of history. Those three brothers could really write some good lyrics. It's like they're telling my story. Our story. Harlow's and my story. Well, we no longer have a story. I guess...
Max takes a long, drawn out sip of his beer, glancing up on whatever is on the TV behind the bar.
"Willow told us she ran into you on the street near Jax. She said you promised you wouldn't follow Harlow."
Porter interrupts. "We figured you'd know better or best not to go to any of the places on the strip. This is the place we used to come to when we just wanted to get good and drunk. No strings attached."
I know what he means by no strings attached. That's code for: No Women.
I motion for the bartender to line up some shots for my pals and me. Porter's my pal again. Thank God. After all that shit went down and he knew that what I did, why I did what I did to break it off with Harlow—that it was for her own good—he understood. He told me I shoul
d've gone to him, that he knew how to handle that part of the Hannum family, and maybe I should have. At least that’s what I think happened. It’s hard to tell right now.
Oh, well.
I slam back my shot of whatever was the bartender’s choice while Max and Porter's shots still remain in front of them.
"What's the deal with you two? C'mon. Do those shots. Let's get fucked up."
As I reach for my whiskey and water Max pulls it away from me.
"I'll go with the old cliché, my friend; I think you've had enough."
I give him a warning look and kindly ask for my drink back.
"I’m not done with that, little man. Give it here."
When he doesn't, I begin to feel the blood starting to pump through my drunken veins.
"I said I wasn't finished with that. Actually, I’m not close to being done anytime soon, so my suggestion is for you to give me that glass back so I don't have to hurt you."
He shakes his head, obviously not afraid of the threat of me knocking that damn mohawk off his head. Fine. I'll play it cool for now. I stroll over to the jukebox again and replay my new theme song. When I hear the eruption of “fuck you’s” and “knock it off's”, I think I’ve played the frigging song a dozen times. The next thing I know, as I turn to begin my rant—a loud one at that—punches are being swung, and my ass is being dragged out the door because no one can appreciate good music these days.
Max has his one arm around one of mine and Porter around the other. I struggle to get out of their grip, but all that whiskey has made all my muscles feel like jelly and the strength I felt earlier has dissipated. Whiskey will do that to ya.
They finally let go once we are way out of sight from the dive bar and I sit at a bench near the inlet. Hanging my head between my knees and rubbing at my eyes trying to regain some kind of focus.
Max yells at me, "That was totally unnecessary, dude! Tell ’em, P. This is all getting way out of hand."
I don't even answer him. I can't. I know what I’m becoming but it's all I can do to stop the pain. Yes, I said pain. I’m in it. I’m in hell.
