Running in Place (Mending Hearts)

by L. B. Simmons

  After throwing my toothbrush in with all my other stuff I exit the bathroom, only to find him sitting on the bed in front of me, looking down at his threaded fingers, the light from the doorway hitting him like a beacon in the night. Just when I thought my heart couldn’t break any more.

  Walking over to him, I set my bag on the floor beside my purse and lean forward, placing my palm on his cheek. His bloodshot eyes look up at me, and damn if those walls don’t start to splinter and crack. His lip is already scabbing over along with the cut by his eye, providing a true testament to why he has to leave. I know it’s not his choice. It’s out of his hands, and I can’t let him leave with the guilt that’s plaguing his face.

  He’s right. I’m so much better than that.

  “Well,” I exhale as I shrug my shoulders, “We had a good summer, huh?”

  As he barely nods, I add, “Thank you, Noah, for loving me. Every part of me, flaws and all.” Upon my last word, he solemnly presses his cheek gently into my hand as a lone tear escapes his eye. Swiping it with my thumb, I bend over and place a kiss on his cheek before leaving picking up my belongings, throwing them over my shoulder, and leaving his house.

  Getting into ol’ P.O.S., I turn the key and pray she starts. After I hear the familiar clicking sound of the engine, I shift into reverse and back out of the driveway, leaving the only person I ever loved to live his life without me.

  Reaching into my purse, I grab my phone and search for the name of the only person I feel like being with right now.

  The one person who will let me cry myself to sleep without passing judgment.

  As soon as the name Harlow pops up, I press send and burst into tears.

  Three days.

  Three days Tatum has been here, holed up in my guest room, coming out only to use the bathroom and occasionally to shove something not even remotely nutritious into her mouth before cooping herself back up again.

  Which reminds me, I should probably start buying celery instead of Snickers. Food for thought.

  Ha! I make myself laugh.

  Any-whoooo…

  When she called Sunday night, I told her to get her ass over here immediately. Somewhere between her sobs I heard the words Noah, toothbrush, and gone. I knew this was going to happen eventually, just not this soon. Needless to say, I was more than prepared. As soon as she arrived, I gave her a box of Kleenex, a pint of Chunky Monkey with a spoon, and a shoulder to cry on as any good friend should. And cry she did — the whole night into the next day.

  That was day one.

  Day two, she bawled miserably. And ate two more pints of Chunky Monkey.

  And day three? Well, let’s hope we’ve upgraded to at least moping status or I’m staging an intervention. I’ve been known to do this before. Alex can attest to this.

  Over the duration of Tatum’s time here, I’ve learned that Noah’s father is an asshole that I hope to meet in a dark alley one day. Alone. With nun chucks.

  I also learned that Noah left for Harvard, against his own wishes, leaving Tatum here with no hope of them being together and me here to watch her mutate into an extremely emotional Ben and Jerry’s fiend.

  But the most impressive thing I learned is that Tatum is growing. The old Tatum would be spending her nights at every bar in town getting sloppy drunk and acting like a crazy ass fool. This Tatum, while tremendously weepy, is allowing herself to actually experience emotion and work her way through the pain she feels. She’s finally taking a step in the right direction and I want to make sure she stays on that path.

  I’ve given her time, but now, I think it’s time we had a chat. Plus, I really need to air out my guest room and she really needs to take a shower.

  Tapping lightly on the door, I wait for her to call me in before entering. Poking my head in, I see her lying on the bed in the same Ramones t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts that she’s been wearing three days straight. Her long legs are stretched the length of the bed, crossed at the ankle, with her arms thrown on the pillow above her head. With her long hair in a ponytail on the top of her head, she’s focusing intently on the ceiling with dry eyes. Thank God, I think we’ve finally entered the moping phase.

  “How’re you doing, sweet girl?” I ask, while taking a seat on the bed beside her.

  “Better,” she replies, still gazing upward. “I’m just re-evaluating my life, again.”

  Placing my hand on her knee, I give her a light squeeze. “Well, sometimes we need to take a step back and look at things in a different light. It helps us to re-establish priorities and focus. Lord knows I’ve had to do it a time or thirty.” I chuckle to myself. “Come to any mind blowing conclusions?”

  She breaks her gaze from the ceiling, her blue eyes still puffy and red, to meet mine as she shrugs her shoulders. “A couple, I guess. I hate men being one of them.”

  Laughing, I respond, “That’s to be expected with all the tears and the recent surge of banana, fudge and walnut ice cream floating around here lately.” Nudging her over, I sprawl out on the bed beside her, laying my head on the pillow next to hers and cross my hands over my chest, waiting for her to speak.

  “I’ve really messed things up, Harlow,” she starts, her voice shaky. Lifting her arms from above her head, she covers her face with her hands as she tries to gain control of her tears. After a couple of minutes, she proceeds. “I haven’t been to work at the bar or the duplexes in three days. I’m pretty sure I’m fired.” She takes in a deep breath trying to calm herself. “So, I have no job. And I can’t get the job I really want because I dropped out of school right before I graduated. Absolutely brilliant decision, Tatum,” she reprimands herself.

  After wiping the tears from her cheeks, she lowers her hands and twists her neck to face me. “I can’t go back to my house. There are too many memories there that haunt me. So, I have nowhere to go.” Tears continue to stream out of the corners of her eyes. “I have no one. Trace and I have absolutely no relationship. Sadie won’t speak to me. And Noah, well he’s gone, obviously.”

  Rolling on my side, I take her nearest hand and cup it between mine as she continues. “So, I’m a jobless, uneducated, homeless, lonely person, perpetually fixed in the same place in life. Going absolutely nowhere. That is my mind-blowing conclusion.”

  I can’t help but smile in response. It’s so wrong, but I do, for two reasons. One, because I forgot how melodramatic the twenties can be. And two, if those are the only things holding her back, then we’re golden. Because, as usual, I have all the answers.

  “Okay, Tatum. Let’s take these one by one.” I begin to count on my fingers so that I don’t forget anything.

  “Your job situation. Just so you know, I’ve already spoken to Trace and informed him that you would not be in this week, at either job. So, you’re not fired. You’re taking a vacation.”

  After throwing her a wink, her eyes widen and the smallest hint of a smile crosses her lips. “Thank you so much, Harlow. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “You’re welcome.” I squeeze her hand gently. “Now, school. Easy. Go back and finish what you started. You’re a brilliant girl, Tatum, don’t sell yourself short.”

  She exhales deeply. “I can’t afford it, Harlow. Not with the money I make now. I can’t touch my inheritance until after I graduate, that’s my mother’s stipulation. And I lost my scholarship money when I withdrew like an idiot.”

  Letting out a laugh, I shake my head. “No, that’s Trace’s stipulation. He’s the guardian of your mother’s money. He withheld your half because he didn’t feel you were in the right mentality to receive such a large sum, which I sadly have to say, I agree with. However, I think if you talk to him, tell him about school and maybe approach him with a plan, then he would be happy to give you what’s already yours. Speaking of Trace,” I segue, my face now serious, “He loves you, Tatum. He knows he made a mistake when he left you there with her, alone, and he pays dearly for that every day with his guilt. You have to remember, he was only eighteen w
hen your father passed. He handled his death the only way he knew how at that time. I’m not making excuses for him, sweetie, but no one’s perfect.”

  Her chin wavers as she tightens her hand around mine while I continue speaking. “You’re not alone. You have a brother that loves you more than anything. You just have to mend that relationship. Let him in and let go of the past. Start fresh.”

  Nudging her shoulder, I add, “Plus, you’ve always got me.”

  Wiping her face, she nods in response as I continue.

  “Now, these memories that you speak of. Trace did share some of what you went through and let me tell you, you are an amazingly strong woman. You made it through hell and back. You’re a survivor, Tatum. Never forget that. But, you survived some horrific things that happened to you when you were very little. I really think you need to talk to someone about that part of your life, to help you work your way through the anger and hurt. If you really want to move forward, you need to release it and lay it to rest because right now it only binds you to this place in your life that you so desperately want to move past.”

  “Like a shrink?” she asks, her face thoughtful. I pray a silent prayer of thanks, before I answer.

  “Yes. I mean, I’m excellent at a lot of things, but I think that conversation is better left to a professional. Yes?” Tatum smiles for the first time since entering my house, my hearts swells with hope as I grin back at her.

  “Housing — you can stay with me until we figure out what to do. That’s a given. And Sadie, call her. You two have been friends since you were kids. Whatever happened, you’ll work it out. I happen to know this from experience.”

  Pausing, I check off her worries on my fingers, coming to the very last one. “Which leaves us with…” I trail off.

  “Noah,” she answers, sadness marking her expression.

  “Noah.” Releasing her hand, I cup her cheek and line my eyes with hers. “That boy loves you, Tatum. I can see it in his eyes. But, as much as it pains me to say this, the timing wasn’t right for you two. Not now. He obviously has his own set of issues that he needs to deal with, and you need time to focus on yourself — on your healing and your growth. Whether or not it will ever be your time, I honestly don’t know. But, you two, together right now, it wouldn’t have ended well. Neither of you are at a place in your life to take your relationship where I think you both wanted it to go. Everything happens for a reason, Tatum. Have faith that it will all work out the way it should.”

  She nods and I pat her cheek before removing my hand as she returns her gaze to the ceiling. “I know, Harlow. Blake said something similar and I know you’re both right. But still, it doesn’t make it any easier, you know?”

  Turning onto my back, I stare upward as well. “I know, sweet girl.”

  After about five minutes of us both staring at the ceiling evaluating our lives, she inhales deeply and then sits up, dangling her feet over the side of the bed and pulling her hair out of her ponytail as she stands.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m going to start working on this plan of ours. First, though, I’m going to shower and brush my teeth.”

  Thank God.

  “Thank God,” I remark through laughter.

  Smacking my leg, she giggles as she leaves the room, change of clothes in hand.

  Rising off the bed myself, I watch her leave and smile to myself as I sing my own praises — which I often do.

  Not bad, Harlow.

  Not bad at all.

  After taking nearly forty-five minutes to convince Harlow I’d be okay, I left her house to come home briefly. Not to conquer demons or face my past, just to grab some more clothes. I never really kept that many at Noah’s, I usually just wore his around the house. But, since I’m actually moving in with Harlow for a while, I will need more to wear.

  I did, however, gain a new item of clothing to wear seeing as though Noah’s Ramones shirt mysteriously ended up in my overnight bag. I’m not sure if I grabbed it on accident, or if he somehow magically poofed it in there, but either it made its way to Harlow’s with me. I bawled when I first saw it, but it sure felt good when I slipped it over my head. Like, I have part of him always. So, I lived in it for three days straight until I was ready to peel it off my body.

  But now, I’m just wearing my trusty old white tank top and jeans as I pull into Mother’s driveway, where I see Trace’s truck parked right in front of the house. Driving up beside him, I put my car in park and take in a deep breath. So much has happened in the last couple of days, I don’t know if I’m emotionally capable of having this conversation, but I’m going to try. I owe it to myself to at least hear him out. Plus, I have a feeling Harlow sent him over to make sure I’m okay.

  After getting a hold of the nerves that are fluttering through my chest and stomach, I step out onto the concrete and smooth my shirt before running my fingers through my damp hair and head to the porch. Reaching for the handle, I twist it and slowly crack the door open, peeking in before I enter the house. With no sight of him, I step inside, shutting the door behind me before heading to the kitchen. As soon as I turn the corner, I see him, sitting at the table with every single one of my journals stacked in piles on top of it. Not counting the one in my overnight bag at Harlow’s.

  His blue eyes lock onto mine as I skid to a halt, the shock of seeing the journals out in the open ceasing my movements. His black hair is a shaggy mess as it’s grown over the last month since I’ve seen him, sticking out it every direction from the top of his head clear to the nape of his neck. Leaning back in the chair, he peers at me from underneath his dark lashes, most likely gauging my reaction to his being here and the fact that my whole life is laid out right in front of him.

  “Um, hi.” I say, setting my keys on the counter and turning back to him, my hands finding their way to my back pockets as I stand, nervously rocking onto the heels of my Chucks. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you. I finally received clearance from Harlow to come within five-hundred feet of you,” he laughs under his breath. “She seemed to think you might like to have some company this morning.”

  I lean back against the counter behind me, removing my hands from my pockets and crossing my arms over my chest. “I told her I would be fine. You don’t have to stay with me, Trace. I know you’re busy.”

  He shakes his head and stands, walking toward me. “No, we need to talk.”

  I can feel my throat constricting already as my eyes begin to burn, moisture forming in the corners. Nodding my response, I force myself to swallow as he comes to a standstill in front of me, my eyes still latched onto his.

  Running his hand through his hair, Trace glances back at the kitchen table before returning my stare. “I hope you don’t mind, but I did read them. Every word you wrote, I read. Tatum,” his voice begins to shake as his eyes glisten, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Reaching forward, he grabs my shoulders and pulls me into his chest, squeezing me so tight I have trouble breathing. “You were just a baby, and my God, I left you here for years before I even returned. And when I finally did come back, when you tried to tell me, I just…” he trails off as he begins to cry.

  “God, Tatum. I’m so sorry. I was young and selfish and incapable of seeing anything other than what I wanted to see. I didn’t want to deal with her, I didn’t want to deal with you, I didn’t want to deal with anything. I just wanted to run, and in doing that, I left you alone to face a monster who tortured you. For years. I failed you, Tatum. I will never be able to forgive myself for what I put you through because of my own inability to face reality.”

  Hands still on my shoulders, he pulls back, bending at the waist to position his face directly in my line of sight. His face drenched in tears, he narrows his gaze, prompting more to stream down his cheeks as his mouth trembles. “I’m so, so sorry.” Overcome with sorrow, he falls to his knees, holding his head in his hands as he continues to weep.

  As I watch h
im cry in front of me, Harlow’s words slowly seep into my mind.

  “…you need to release it and lay it to rest because right now it only binds you to this place in your life that you so desperately want to move past.”

  With the absolute agony I just witnessed in Trace’s eyes mixed with the guilt and regret he feels permeating the air around us, I can no longer control my own tears. Covering my face with my hands, I let them fall, extracting the fury, the hatred, and the resentment as they seep from my soul and trail down my cheeks, their weight no longer harnessing my spirit.

  Taking in a deep breath, I drop my hands and place them on his head. “I forgive you, Trace.” Face still directed towards the floor, he reaches up and covers the tops of my hands with his, squeezing my fingers tightly. Crouching down, I gently tilt his head backwards until I can see his eyes. “I forgive you.”

  Letting go of my hands, he sets them gently on the sides of my face as he bends my head forward, placing a kiss on the top of my head. “I love you, Tatum. I hope that you know that.”

  “I love you too, Trace.”

  Releasing me, he takes my hands and pulls me up as he stands. Crushing my body against his, he wraps his arms around my shoulders and once again places his lips on my head as he holds me. My arms fold around his waist and with my cheek against his chest, together we stand, suturing our open wounds with our embrace.

  After a very long while, I finally wipe my damp face with the tips of my fingers and sniffle before asking, “Anything else you want to talk about?”

  His chest vibrates with his laughter. “Actually, yes. A couple of things.”

  “I don’t think I can handle much more, Trace.” He chuckles lightly again before I add, “I’m serious.”

  Unwrapping his arms and releasing me, he jerks his head toward the table. “Have a seat.”

  I give him a questioning look because, for some reason, I don’t think that he understands that I really can’t take any more emotional surprises. He smiles gently and pulls out the chair for me to sit. As soon as I take a seat, he does the same opposite me, clearing the journals from our line of sight. After setting them aside, he taps his finger on the top of one of the piles. “You speak to him like he’s alive.”