“Please, Peyton, talk to us. We need the deets.”
True concern the motive? Or unadulterated gossip? I fear any one of these girls would sell me out to the tabloids in a New York minute for the right price.
I go with the truth, not having much to share anyway. “I’m not sure what’s going on with Kyle. I haven’t had any contact with him or his family in a couple of days. He’s alive is all that I know. It was close. They made me talk to organ-donation people.” I leave out the details of the blame placed squarely on me by his unaccountable parents.
“No one else has life-threatening injuries.” Not physical ones anyway. The emotional ones still feel lethal, mortal, and fatal.
“Talk to me. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You do not sound fine. When are you coming back? We’ll take care of you. We’re here for you, sweetie.”
I want to believe that. “Thank you. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow.” Anywhere would be better than here right now. An echoing chorus of goodbyes are said, and I hang up, grateful they seem to finally be on my side.
JANUARY 8th
CHAPTER 37 | J.T.
D amn it. I pasted Column F into Column K, not Column P. Undo. If only there was a button so easy to press for my life. I slam the Control-V. My keyboard will never be the same. Nothing will ever be the same. I let hope run away from my past. An impossibility I should choose to accept. Never should I think there will be a day that trouble won’t haunt me.
Distance from the past won’t ease the pain, nor would being in Africa be far enough away from Peyton not to miss her. The high to low of the past weeks shrouds me in darkness from morning until night. Neither miles nor time will replace missing everything about her.
What’s worse is the pummeling of memories every year post-Christmas. The two weeks of hell following Tim’s death. The police investigation. Meeting Ellie and the daughter who would never have a father walk her down the aisle. Ellie’s face in her hands at the funeral. Walking back into a school where I knew no one. A whole new life in Michigan where I knew no one. Rehab. Facing myself in the mirror every day. Learning twelve steps that would ultimately dig me out of the hell hole I’d dug for myself. I thought maybe I would have Peyton to help me through this year. I should have known I would never have the chance to have her shoulder the burden with me. I’ll never duck karma.
Then I fast-forward to an image of Peyton’s face as I rejected her, not just once, but twice. Her expression of horror as the dots connected that J.T. to her was Joe to Alexandra and her son. I push it aside and successfully convert kwacha to dollar in my spreadsheet. Numbers I can make fit neatly in rows and columns of a cost model for our next project. Numbers I can control when there is seemingly not another damn thing I can.
My phone skids across the desk with the vibration of an incoming call. And there it is again. The ghost I’d just ridden myself of seeing. A broadly grinning Peyton in a selfie of us. My arms are wrapped around her waist and I am kissing the side of her neck sideways but looking forward. Only my eyes show in the picture, wide and alive. I stare at the phone and her name across the screen. My hand instinctively moves to my heart, as if it can somehow mask the pang of loss I feel right there in the center of my chest.
I hover my finger over the screen. My fingers curl into a fist. The screen fades with the missed call. My fist pounds the desk.
I can’t force my eyes to move, desperate to see a voicemail symbol appear. Nothing. Damn it. A Snapchat notification. I have to look. There is a picture of her holding the repaired quilt across her chest. I had secretly snagged it from her room and Ellie had repaired it. I might not be able to be with her, but I am not an asshole. It was just the right thing to do. The caption says, “Means the world…u have no idea. Thx….x a million.” I feel a little relief to hear from her, but it’s a Band-Aid on a gaping wound.
Reply.
Do not reply.
Don’t lead her on.
You should say something.
You should not say a thing.
Not saying anything wins the internal debate sparked by her contact. I notice the ache in my chest is even more painful than before.
My phone buzzes again and I want to throw it across the room. It’s only from Owen:
nice getting me a HOT new volunteer for africa
What? I have no idea what he is referring to and respond with WTH.
His response is immediate:
Peyton??? figured all u
WTH? Of course she would do this! I knew she was a special woman. My emotions swing around. I am furious she would sign up to spend weeks with my friend, jealous it isn’t me who would be showing her the continent, and thrilled she will have the experience. I have to respond now.
I text, short and sweet, promising myself, like the addict I am, just one more.
u r welcome. Thank Ellie for quilt. Heard about Africa – know u will love it as much as I do
The phone vibrates again:
Thank u for Africa too…zoo
Zoo. My heart wrenches. I had what I never thought I would in Peyton. Inside jokes. Passion. And most importantly, complete acceptance of all of my scars. My fingers find my forearm, remembering.
I move to a small conference room in our shared space, leaving the phone behind to avoid the temptation of replying again. I’m practiced in removing temptation. I’ve heard falling in love causes the brain to think it is on drugs. No argument from me. Coming off the high of having Peyton Jennings in my life is one hell of a withdrawal.
I grab my keys and wallet, knowing exactly where to go. Fuck ten years of sober suffering. I know something that will ease this pain.
JANUARY 17th
CHAPTER 38 | Peyton
“ Shit. Shit. Ouch. Shit.”
I hop on one foot, trying to grab the aching toe I’ve just smashed into the doorjamb while racing across the apartment to my ringing phone on the kitchen table. Wishful.
I’ve purposely turned off his special ring tone just to torture myself with the potential it could maybe, possibly, be him if it is ringing. Then, I always keep the phone as far away from me as I can, otherwise I will waste more hours of my life willing a call, text, email, Snapchat, Facebook, or Instagram message from J.T. It’s not far from the truth that I’ve lost my mind along with love.
Days of the last weeks have been wasted under my reconstructed quilt, with a laptop, in the dark. I’ve cried through Fault in Our Stars four times, The Notebook three times, and laughed, cried, and lived vicariously through hope, heartbreak, and happily ever after of Charlotte, Miranda, Samantha, and of course, Carrie. I’m not sure how long I can subsist on the stereotypical post-breakup diet of ice cream and television binging, but I have no goals to end my streak. I am content to be crying over fake lives and people because maybe it means I’ve hit my lifetime quota on tears spilled at my pity-party for one.
My lunacy is curbed when I am close enough to see Cassandra Lewis flashing across the top of my phone screen. Should I answer? Why would she be calling me? Is she going to berate me for ending her relationship? Is she calling because misery loves company and she just needs to talk? I owe her, in any case, so I answer hesitantly, “Hi, Cassandra.”
“Hi, Peyton, it’s Cassandra. How are you?”
I let my guard down just a bit, her tone showing no evidence of angst yet. “To be honest, I’ve been better.” I try to laugh at myself but I just don’t find me funny.
“I wish I could say I didn’t know what you mean,” she says, trying to force the same laugh. “But that’s why I am calling. This is going to sound crazy, but I know you do yoga and I’m hoping maybe you can come with me to a yoga retreat. It’s in five days, and for a week.”
I do quick math. I have to give up four shifts working, but soon enough I will have an inheritance coming, and I saved all the money from my last movie shoot. I can do this.
“My boyfriend gave it to me for Christmas. It’s for two, and… well—�
��
She doesn’t finish the sentence.
“It’s in San Diego, so I thought of you. I know it’s last-minute so I understand if you can’t, but it’s yoga, spa, and beach. I think it’s going to be incredible, but I can’t go alone.”
“It sounds great, Cassandra, if you are sure that you want me—”
She interrupts, “I probably shouldn’t throw myself under the bus like this, but hell, it’s not like you aren’t going to know everything about me soon enough.”
Now she does manage to laugh. Nervously. “I haven’t exactly invested much time in making friends, Peyton. I feel a little extra-bonded with you, and Liz and Alexandra, if you know what I mean.”
I do. The incident. And broken hearts. A rough start to a friendship, but nonetheless, a start.
“Well, then, definitely a yes.”
“Thank you, Peyton. And everything is my treat. I insist.”
She sounds grateful I’ve accepted, but I am pretty sure I should be the thankful one. “My flight to San Diego gets in around ten o’clock in the morning on the 22nd.”
“Okay, that’s easy. I can drive down and pick you up.” My other line rings. When it rains it pours. Who calls anymore? It’s an unknown number, and I feel compelled to answer on the slim chance it is J.T.! I interrupt and ask Cassandra to hold on for a moment, then flip to the other call.
“Hello.”
“Peyton.”
I freeze, paralyzed by the throaty yet unmistakable voice.
“Peyton, please don’t hang up. I need to talk to you.”
I lean against the table to steady myself, heart racing. My palms instantly sweat, the hair on the back of my neck rises and my scalp prickles. I pull out a chair. This is a sit-down conversation. My phone tries to jump from my trembling hand. “Kyle.” His name comes out in a shallow breath.
“Peyton. I need to talk to you. To apologize. You are the one and only phone call I am allowed, and I picked you.”
Should I feel even more guilt for this fact? Haven’t I had a lifetime’s worth already, between him and his mother?
Because of Brad’s affinity for me, he’s been making sure to eavesdrop. I know his father is using temporary insanity as his defense, calling what had happened “tweaking”. Prolonged days of no sleep and meth use. Aggression, violent outbursts, and psychotic behavior are just part of the program.
Brad heard words but not details. Medically induced coma. Cardiac collapse. Mini-stroke. Dialysis. Permanent damage. I knew he was being moved to a rehab facility then was supposed to attend a court-ordered full-time rehab program after discharge. It will probably be a cushy one at that, and Brad’s father has managed to delay his sentencing. No doubt by the time he plea-bargains, Kyle will get off as if he only put a scratch on all of us he has harmed.
“You don’t know how sorry I am. I am going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
My eyes widen. Make it up to me? As in, be a part of my life? I think not!
“Like hell, you will, Kyle! Do you know what you have done? The lives you have devastated? The people you have hurt?”
“I never meant to hurt anyone else, Peyton. I was only going to hurt myself. It was an accident. It wasn’t me. It was the drugs. Haven’t you heard? It happens after no sleep. But now we have a second chance. I’ll be sober forever. You are still the only reason I have to live, Peyton. The only reason to get better. To be better.”
No more can I be this man’s muse! “No, Kyle. I am sorry but you will stay the fuck away from me, my family, and my friends.” My voice is firm and in control. I choose my words carefully and consciously.
My phone pulls me away from the agony with a buzz. Cassandra had been on the other line. I had forgotten! Now she is texting:
hung up after while - hope all ok????
Not okay. The reason you need me to accompany you on your vacation is still delusional about our future. I text her:
So sorry! Will call you back!
“I’ll never be the same, Peyton. Physically, I mean. That’s penance. But losing you is the biggest punishment.”
He doesn’t think he is going to jail.
“I’m sorry, Kyle. I hope you get better. I hope you find a way to move on.” What I want to say is heal quickly so you can serve your time, but I hear Alexandra. Her words flood over me, “Forgiveness always takes time but love wins. Somehow, love always wins.” Kyle’s delusional love for me cannot win.
“That means a lot to me, Peyton. Thank you. I have to go. I have to earn my five minutes of phone time every week. Pretty harsh, huh?”
What is harsh is all the damage you caused, Kyle. “Goodbye. And good luck.”
I’m still shaking in the chair several minutes after I hang up. I was clinging to the hope that if Kyle was in jail, J.T. might acquiesce his need to protect Alexandra. Kyle doesn’t think he will go to jail. His parents can buy the best defense. He still wants me. Will I one day have peace?
Peace. That’s what I want. What I need. And I know how to make it for myself. I have forgotten and been fearful since the incident, but Cassandra has reminded me.
Rolling out my mat, I feel edgy. My eyes keep darting toward the door. I tried to keep it in full view, but the class is crowded so I am stuck with the proverbial looking over the shoulder.
Class begins and the hush of slow and steady breathing falls over the room. I hear and flinch at each little sound. Gretchen is the teacher today, and she speaks to challenges faced in life. You have to move through, not around them, she says.
I think of my first fender-bender in the high school parking lot and driving after that loud sound I knew left a big dent in my bumper without even looking. I thought of my first back handspring in gymnastics after the cast came off my broken wrist. My mother’s lifetime of suffering under her evil parents.
Gretchen says lightning never strikes twice unless you tempt it to do so. Her words resonate. Right here and now, in this studio, I feel in the eye of the storm, hoping to get spit out still standing on the other side. I remind myself I am safe because Kyle is tucked away safely at the moment.
I rock the side planks, warriors, and even try a backbend with the strong energy built in the room. We don’t have to go through anything alone as long as we are willing to let others help. When Gretchen had said to set an intention for class, mine was to gather up peace enough for both Cassandra and I for the weekend. My body complied fully, my brain, almost. I only got anxious and took child’s pose one time. Normally I would consider resorting to child’s pose a failure, but under the circumstances, I was able to offer myself some compassion. I am learning, as Alexandra had said, to be a student. Of life.
Class flies by, and I feel ready to take on the big, bad world again. Gretchen’s calm voice revealing her displaced tinge of southern accent tucks us into Savasana, “Once you get through the challenges you face, be in the present moment, moment after moment, and keep moving forward. Stay ahead of the past. Leave it where it is. Be grateful it’s behind you and can’t hurt you anymore.”
I have my breath and gratitude in the present. I have found the peace of being in the four corners of a yoga mat. Alexandra and Liz will be able to practice in a few more weeks, and we will share yoga together again. Kyle didn’t die, so I can live with myself. I have, mostly, forgiven myself for all of this. My mother’s courage and sacrifice protecting me. Having Jack in my life as the family I always wanted. Amazing sex! An upcoming yoga retreat. New friendships! And Africa. I have everything I never even knew I wanted.
That is, except J.T.
We move through fetal pose and I leave behind on my mat the fear of what comes next. Gretchen says to push ourselves up into our do-over leaving behind what we don’t want to take. I’m happy to relinquish some of the baggage I started yoga with, even though Louis Vuitton is hard to give up.
Sitting up into a cross-legged pose, my hands move into prayer at my heart. I feel my bracelet slide down my wrist, settling into place. I may
only have this metal word but I’m happy to have learned that love is all we need. J.T. has helped open my heart to what I’d never known. I may never have his love, so for now, loving myself will have to be enough. But I know. With a little more time and a little more life, I will know love in a way I never thought I would. One day.
“The love and light in me salute the love and light in you,” Gretchen closes class. We are all in this together and reply in unison, “Namaste.”
JANUARY 31st
CHAPTER 39 | J.T.
E llie’s embrace lifts my spirits. Everything about her is grandmotherly. She is warm, fleshy, and smells like she has been in the kitchen. Cinnamon and cloves is my best guess. Her hug feels like unconditional love, given to me in spite of the conditions under which we were brought together.
“Happy birthday, Ellie,” I say with a final squeeze, moving past the doorway where she has greeted me.
“Thanks for coming, J.T. It wouldn’t be a birthday without you reminding me I am getting better with age, not just old.”
She laughs heartily, and it makes me smile. She always seems to be wearing a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say, but I would prefer to be anywhere but Detroit.
Her lips purse into a fine line stretching cheek to cheek. She isn’t smiling anymore. We are only a few minutes in, and I have the sneaking suspicion I am about to be ambushed. I should have known. My mother’s work, no doubt. I know John hasn’t shared my secret.
I try to escape. “I’m sure you have other guests to chat with. Is my mom here yet?” I try to avoid eye contact and look around. I’ve come right from the airport, and she was desperate to get back to teaching, so she couldn’t pick me up today.
One Day After Never (The Second Time's the Charm STANDALONE Series Book 1) Page 29
