by Devney Perry
And now it wasn’t.
But the added work had been necessary. I’d been cramming my days full of distractions so I wouldn’t think about Silas and how I’d completely humiliated myself.
Gah! Why had I kissed him? Any progress I’d made toward building a friendship had been erased. I had been a daft idiot to push for more, because he didn’t want me like that. Now I didn’t have him at all.
Grabbing my phone, I hit Sabrina’s name only to get her voicemail. Again.
“Three voicemail messages and no return call. I’m assuming that your phone is in a bag of rice because you’ve dropped it in a toilet. Why else would you not be returning my calls or sending me a ‘Hey, I’m alive’ text? You have exactly twenty-four hours to respond before I call the police. Please don’t be dead.”
My phone chimed with a text not long after I hung up.
Sabrina: Not dead. Call later. Love.
Next up, I found Khloe’s name. Just as I’d suspected, it went to her voicemail too.
“Hi, Khloe. It’s Felicity. I was just calling to say hello, find out what you’re doing for Christmas. If you want to meet for a holiday coffee, I’d love to see you. Bye.”
That was what felt like my millionth message for Khloe, but I wasn’t giving up. She was either going to accept the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere or change her number.
The cupcake wasn’t doing its job and I was still in desperate need of a pick-me-up. If I couldn’t gab with friends, then I needed the next best thing. Shopping. Prescott didn’t have much but I’d make due at the hardware store today.
Two hours later, I pushed inside Mom’s trailer, my arms loaded with groceries and two bags full of new kitchen gadgets.
“Mom!” I called. She came walking out of her bedroom with a white bandage across her cheek. “What happened?” I gasped, dropping my bags and rushing toward her.
“Oh, I just slipped.”
I brushed my fingers over the bandage. “Did you go to the hospital?”
“It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine.”
“Mom,” I said gently. “Was your slip because of a blackout?”
She looked to her feet and nodded. “Sorry.”
“No apologies, okay? I’m just glad you’re okay.” I feared the day that I came over and she had seriously injured herself. “How about some dinner? Your choices are stuffed pork chops or a homemade chicken pot pie.”
She smiled. “Both sound wonderful. You decide.”
I went back to my bags, picking them up and taking them to the kitchen to start unloading supplies for pork chops. “I know you’re nervous about those tests but I really do think it’s for the best.”
She nodded and gave me an unconvincing smile.
Her appointment at the hospital was in two weeks, and with any luck, we’d have the results back within a month. I only hoped that with the results would come the good news that there was something more we could do to help Mom avoid her spells.
I wanted to know why she was so nervous about the tests but I didn’t ask. Was it because they could find something? Or that they wouldn’t? Pushing too far with this topic had always made her uncomfortable.
“So, I quit my job today,” I told her while I cooked.
“What?” she gasped.
“It’s for the best. The time has come for me to do something new. Now I just have to figure out what. Brainstorm with me?”
She took a seat at the small round table in the kitchen. “You’d be good at so many things. How about opening up a clothing store? You always look so nice.”
“Not a bad idea. What else?” I went to the sink to rinse my hands.
“Hair stylist?”
I shook my head. “I’d rather not have to go back to school.”
“How about a job at the bank?”
“Maybe, though I’d rather have a job with a bit more flexibility and independence. I think starting a business could be fun. Can you think of anything that Prescott is missing?”
“Hmm. Let me think.”
I did the same while stirring the stuffing mix. When I couldn’t come up with anything, my mind wandered to other topics until, like always, it landed on Silas. I hadn’t heard from him since the party and that kiss. He had said that he understood why I’d left, but after another long stretch of no communication, I was doubting his sincerity. Just like I doubted he really wanted to be friends.
“Mom, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think it’s possible to truly forgive someone who broke your heart?”
“Oh.” She sat back further in her chair, likely surprised by my complete change of topic. “I don’t know. I guess. It probably depends on the situation.”
“If Dad came home and begged for forgiveness, would you take him back?”
It was a risk, bringing up Dad. She’d erased him from our lives after he’d left, removing pictures and throwing out any of the things he’d left behind, and she never spoke of him. I half expected her to ignore my question, but I needed to know if forgiveness—even under extreme circumstances like hers—was possible.
“If it was just me,” she said, “yes. But he left you and Jess too. I’ll never get over that.”
I smiled. Maybe there was hope for me and Silas after all. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Is this about Wes? Did he break your heart?”
I could see why she’d wonder. Silas hadn’t been the only person I’d abandoned without explanation. Neither Jess nor Mom had ever gotten the full story as to why I’d left so suddenly after high school. I’d called them from Seattle, told them I’d needed a change and that Wes and I had broken up. End of discussion.
“No, Wes didn’t break my heart.”
“Oh, I just assumed since you only came back after he had passed.”
I sighed. “I was scared. That’s why I didn’t come back. At first, I was so determined to prove to everyone that I could make it on my own. I was scared that if I came back, I’d look weak. Years went by. Then more. It just got easier to stay away.” It had been easier to ignore my mistakes rather than face them.
“It’s hard,” she said. “I’m sad, the way Wes’s life ended, but at the same time, I’m also glad because it brought you home.”
My nose started to sting and I swallowed the lump in my throat. Wes’s death had been tragic and senseless, but it had been my wake-up call. “Does it make me a horrible person that I’m grateful for his funeral?” Tears flooded my eyes as the words came out.
Mom stood and crossed the room, pulling me into her arms. “I don’t think grateful is the right word. How about this? You’ll always love and remember the good things he brought to your life. One of those was the chance to come home.”
I nodded and hugged her tighter. “I like that.”
I had loved Wes. We never would have made it long-term, but he had been my first everything, and for that, he’d always have a special place.
With one last squeeze, I let Mom go and wiped my eyes dry, then went back to cooking.
“You never said. Who broke your heart?” Mom asked while I slid the pork chops into the oven.
“Oh, I was just being hypothetical,” I lied. “No one broke my heart.”
My wounds were self-inflicted.
“Oh, Felicity!” Annie said. “Come in, come in! What are you doing here?”
I leaned in to give Annie a quick one-armed hug, balancing a stack of Christmas presents in the other. “Hi, I just wanted to drop these off.”
“You wonderful girl. You didn’t need to get us anything,” she said as I followed her inside.
“I wanted to.” I set three gift boxes on the kitchen island. “It’s nothing big, just a couple of little things I thought you and Jack would enjoy, and I got a present for Mason too. It’s a Lego set.”
“Thank you, he’ll love it. You’re too sweet. How have you been?”
“I’m doing well. You? I was thinking about you last week.”
&
nbsp; “Thanks.” Her eyes glistened. Last week had marked the two-year anniversary of Wes’s death.
“I should have called or . . . stopped by. I just wasn’t sure if you’d want company.”
“You are always welcome here.” She sniffled and dried the corner of an eye. “And we’re doing okay. It was a sad day but we tried to make the best of it. We took Mason sledding and then to a movie. Jack and I each spent a little time visiting Wes’s grave. It helps us both to talk to him, to speak our feelings out loud. I’m not sure if he can hear us, but it gives me some peace. If he can hear me, I want him to know that I’ll always love him.”
“I can understand that.”
“How about some coffee?” I nodded and, with steaming mugs in hand, we wandered to the living room. “What are your plans for Christmas?”
I took a sip and set my mug down. “Mom and I are going over to the farmhouse. Gigi pulls out all the stops for her holiday meals so I’m sure I’ll stuff myself to the brim and waddle home. What about you?”
“Mason has had so few real Christmases that we’re planning a big ordeal for him here. Jack has gone, shall we say, completely off the rails. See those gifts there?” She pointed to the enormous stack of presents under their tree. “There’s another pile from Santa just as big hidden away upstairs. Mason doesn’t even believe in Santa.”
“Oh, lordy,” I muttered and we both laughed.
Thankfully, the awkwardness from my first dinner here was gone, and for the next hour, Annie and I visited about the farm. She told me about the changes she and Jack had made the last few years so it would be more manageable as they got older. Their plan had always been to pass the farm down to Wes, but now they were just hoping to keep it running until Mason was older and could decide if he wanted it for himself.
But the more she talked, the more my heart hurt for her. Wes’s life hadn’t been the only one drastically changed by his drug use. Had he ever realized how much he’d hurt those who loved him? Jack and Annie had had hopes and dreams for Wes. They’d planned to leave him their legacy.
If he were alive, I wouldn’t know whether to punch him for being so selfish or hug him and say I was sorry. Probably both.
“Well, I’d better get out of your hair,” I said, standing from the couch. I’d kept the smile on my face during our conversation, but I couldn’t take much more without my real feelings starting to show and I didn’t want Annie’s sympathy. Not when I was to blame. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“I’m so glad you stopped by. And thank you for the gifts.”
“My pleasure.”
She walked me to the door and gave me another hug. I turned to leave but hesitated when my hand touched the doorknob.
“Annie?” I turned around. “I’m so sorry about Wes.”
“Thank you.”
“No. I mean I’m sorry because it’s my fault. When we were younger, I asked him to . . . he was . . .”
I tried to tell her what had happened all those years ago but I couldn’t get the words out. Annie and Jack deserved to know the truth, but I was terrified that after my confession, she’d never look at me the same way again.
“Felicity.” I stopped stuttering and met her gaze. Her eyes were full of pain. “I’m sure there were things that happened, but it’s just too much. Jack and I, we’ve come to terms with what happened with Wes. Let’s leave it alone.”
“All right.” I wouldn’t push. I wouldn’t put this woman through more pain.
“I don’t mean to shut you out, it’s just—”
“I get it, Annie.” I carried guilt, but so did she. I didn’t have to have kids to know that mothers felt guilty when bad things happened to their children, no matter how old those children were.
Her whole body sagged with relief. “Thank you.”
“You guys have a merry Christmas.” I turned to the door and stepped outside, but before I could get off the front porch, Annie called my name.
“If you have things to say, you should say them to Wes. Tell him and get it off your chest. It always helps me cope.”
I nodded and waved again, walking down the sidewalk to my car. Should I go to Wes’s grave? Could I?
I set my purse inside my car, then set out along the gravel road toward the oak tree in the distance. In the middle of a wheat field, under its towering limbs, was Wes’s grave.
The air was fresh and smelled of the rich dirt from the fields. We’d gotten an unseasonable Chinook wind this last week and most of the snow had melted. It would come again but, for the time being, the breeze was warm and the ground dry.
The oak tree’s leaves had long since blown away and the wheat in the fields had long since been cut, leaving behind short, yellow straws that contrasted with the dark evergreens in the distance. The setting for Wes’s resting place was beautiful, even in the dead of winter. In the spring, when everything was green and bright, it would be spectacular.
“Hi, Wes,” I said to his tombstone. A simple square slab of charcoal granite stood tall above the earth. His name had been engraved in large block letters.
I stared at his name for minutes, unsure of where to start. There was so much to say but the only words that seemed to come out were “I’m sorry.”
A flood of tears followed my apology. Regret and guilt poured down my face. Sadness and longing too. The hairs blowing in my face stuck to the wetness on my cheeks.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I ever had that horrible, dumb idea. Why didn’t you just tell me no? Why didn’t you stop? You promised.”
My sadness morphed to anger and I bent down and picked up a handful of rocks lodged between the grasses. One by one, I started throwing them at Wes’s name.
“I’m sorry but I am so fucking mad at you!”
Throw.
“You left us. How could you do this to all of us?”
Throw.
“You almost got my brother killed in that goddamn explosion. How could you be so reckless?”
Throw.
“Your parents had to bury you. How could you be so goddamn selfish?”
I ran out of rocks.
“Did you blame me for this? Did you hate me all these years?”
“He never hated you, Lis.” I jumped at Silas’s deep voice. He stood behind me with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets.
It took me a moment to get over the shock of seeing him, but once I did, I started swiping my cheeks to dry my face. “He should have hated me. It was my fault he even started using meth in the first place.”
“How do you figure that?”
“It was my idea,” I confessed, sniffling. “That first night he did meth? It was for me. I told him I wanted to try getting high and he wouldn’t let me. He said he would do it first to make sure it was safe but then he couldn’t stop.”
Ouch. I rubbed my hand against my sternum. I had buried that burden deep, carrying it alone for so long, that setting it free physically hurt. The tears returned and I furiously wiped my eyes, but there were too many to stop.
When Silas’s strong arms folded around me, I didn’t resist as he pulled me into his chest. “It wasn’t your fault, Lis.”
“Of course it was. Wes hated drugs. He told me all the time. But you know how addicting meth is. Once he started, he couldn’t stop.”
His arms squeezed me tighter. “I’m not sure how to tell you this.”
“Tell me what?”
Silas let me go and bent down to pick up his own rock, chucking it out into the open field.
“Tell me what?” I repeated, knowing whatever was coming would be bad news because he wouldn’t look at me.
“Wes started doing meth his senior year, Lis. Not yours. He started using two years before that party.”
My whole body jerked. “What?”
“I didn’t know it at the time, but after I got home from the army, Wes and I met up for a beer. It had been so long, I thought all that shit was behind us. It wasn’t. Long story short, we got into an argument when I found
out he was still using. I told him to get some help and he said he didn’t need it. He said he’d been doing drugs since his senior year and was just fine.”
“No. No! That can’t be.” My hands balled into fists so tight my fingernails bit into my palms. “How is that possible? I would have known, Silas. I would have seen the signs. I would have helped him.”
He shook his head. “Wes didn’t want help. He was the master at hiding his habit.”
“So, you’re saying that Wes was doing drugs for over half of our relationship and lying to me?”
Silas nodded.
“And the first time he did meth, it wasn’t my fault at all?”
“No. It wasn’t your fault.”
I shook my head. “I can’t believe this.”
“Think back. Did you really have to try hard to convince him to use?”
No. Wes hadn’t put up much of a fight at all.
A wave of dizziness washed over me. Silas jumped forward to grab my elbow as I swayed. Though I found my feet again, my head was still spinning.
How many years had I felt guilty? How many times had I regretted that night? How many tears had I cried over Wes? I’d spent sixteen years regretting that party. And now? Poof. All that time. All that worry. Wasted.
“I can’t believe this. He lied to me,” I whispered. That hurt the worst. More than all the unnecessary guilt, the fact that Wes had lied was the most painful part to hear. I trusted so few people, especially men. But I had trusted Wes.
“He lied to all of us, Lis.”
I stepped past Silas and turned back to Wes’s grave. “He left me a voicemail about a month before he was killed. He said that if I came home, he’d get help. I didn’t even call him back, Silas. Do you think if I had, he would still be alive?”
He stepped up by my side. “I don’t think it would have made a difference. Toward the end, he was high all the time. No one could have convinced him to get help. Not even you. He never thought he had a problem.”
I hoped he was right but I hated that I’d never know.
We stood silently for a while, side by side, as I let everything sink in. Shock. Sorrow. Anger. I didn’t know which emotion to start with first.
