Ripple Effects

by Greene, L. J.

  Her breakup with John must have seemed like it opened a door for him in a way. And all the time they spent together probably made it feel like there could be something between them. Sarah wouldn’t knowingly lead him on, but her kindness and her ability to see the best in people probably made him feel hopeful. And then I showed up. No wonder he hates me. I took her attention. I ended the possibilities. And when she was spending time with me, he probably missed the time they spent together.

  All of the sudden, I’m looking at this guy in a very different light. Like he and I are actually two sides of the same coin. Both in love with a woman we can’t move past.

  “But see, here’s the thing,” he says, folding the label carefully in half, and then in half again. “I finally realized that I couldn’t call myself much of a friend if I’d rather she were still crying on my shoulder than happy with someone else.”

  He looks me straight in the eye, and I’m rendered speechless. Sarah was right about Marcus–their friendship wasn’t just about his feelings for her. He might have wanted things to be different, but he was always willing to put her happiness above his own.

  I begin to recognize what Sarah sees in him. He is kind of funny, if you can get past the obnoxiousness. And he’s surprisingly real once you peel back the thin veneer of arrogance. Something about him reminds me of Jamie when he was young. Too much attitude for his own good–and too little to lose to really give a shit.

  I begin to wonder, if Marcus and I had met under different circumstances or if maybe we’d had more time to get to know each other, would we have eventually become friends?

  “What I’m trying to say is, despite the way I may have acted before, I hope it works out for you two. However you want it to, that is. And, no offense, but it doesn’t look like it’s working out for either one of you right now.”

  That hits me squarely like a punch to the gut. “How is she?” I croak out.

  He looks me over. “Same as you, I think.”

  I don’t really know how to feel about that. A part of me is relieved to know that she’s having a hard time with all of this, too–that it wasn’t so easy for her to just walk away. But the bigger part of me finds the thought of Sarah suffering in any way intolerable, even if both of us contributed to our present situation. Knowing that she’s hurting somehow makes me feel worse.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  The words leave my mouth in a rush before I have time to consider them–the admission stunning both of us. And I find myself in the most absurd situation of asking advice from a guy I could barely tolerate only a short time ago. A guy who also happens to be in love with the woman I love.

  He flicks the folded label somewhere behind the bar.

  “I don’t know, either. I don’t know shit about relationships,” he says very matter-of-factly. “But it seemed like yours was pretty good.”

  My stomach rolls. He’s right. Finding Sarah was like finding a needle in a haystack. Am I being too protective over myself? Too proud? Is this what it means to love someone? That you just have to be willing to lay yourself wide open, and hope that the other person doesn’t trample on you when you’re most defenseless? That they won’t think less of you when they’re finally exposed to all of your faults and weaknesses?

  I close my eyes, and press my fingertips to my forehead; all of this too overwhelming for my exhausted brain.

  When I look up, he’s assessing me shrewdly.

  “What?”

  “I was just trying to figure out what she could possibly see in you.” He shakes his head as if he just doesn’t get it. Then gesturing at my body and face, “I bet under all of that pretty-boy bulk, you’ve probably got a very tiny brain. Like a T-Rex.”

  I just stare at him for a minute. Then I laugh. Hard. I don’t know if it’s his joke, or if it’s simply that this miserable situation has me so twisted up inside that I just need to vent.

  But pretty soon, Marcus is laughing, too. We’re having this bizarre bonding moment and, although nothing feels resolved, it’s an odd reprieve from the misery of my present state.

  Once the hilarity passes, I look at him directly.

  “You know, Marcus,” I finally concede. “Maybe you’re not a total asshole.”

  Chapter 27

  Sarah

  “HEY, YOU HAVE A VISITOR,” Selene says peeking into my room.

  My heart stops for a moment with the hope that it’s Danny, even though I know it isn’t. It’s been several days since I saw him, and he was very clear about where we stood.

  Pulling myself off the bed, I head into the living room. As I round the corner, I see the next best thing.

  “Jamie?” I’m stunned that he’s here. He’s carrying a large bouquet of brightly colored flowers, and looking at the photos we have arranged on a small side table.

  “Hey, lovely. Good to see you.”

  He looks every bit the rocker in his black t-shirt and jeans. It’s funny, though, as star struck as I was when I first met him, now I just see a man–a really good man, a family man. He engulfs me in an embrace that overflows with affection. There’s nothing about Jamie that isn’t one hundred percent sincere. He just doesn’t have artifice in him.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” I say, more emotionally than I mean to. I badly want to know if Danny knows he came or better, if Danny sent him.

  “I wanted to look in on you. Make sure you were doing okay,” he says with a smile.

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’ll get it,” he says firmly, shutting down my attempt at basic hospitality. He brushes past me, setting the flowers on the counter, and retrieving a pitcher of filtered water from the fridge.

  As I watch him move around my kitchen, a million questions swirl in my head. I’m almost afraid to open my mouth for fear that they’ll come shooting out as though fired from a slingshot.

  How is Danny?

  Can he ever forgive me?

  Is it really over between us?

  Jamie makes himself perfectly at home in my kitchen, though the room seems far too small for his sizeable presence. He comes up with a couple of glasses for the water, and a vase for the flowers. Then, he returns to the living room and sits on the sectional beside me, taking a long sip from his drink. His posture is relaxed, but there’s a purpose for his visit, and I desperately want to get through the pleasantries to know what it is.

  “How’s your mum? I heard she had an accident.”

  “Good. She slipped on some ice, but she’s fine. Actually, she’s doing very well.”

  My visit with my mother was good, truthfully. She seemed strong and healthy again; so much like the mom I remember before everything in our lives went wrong.

  He nods, focused on the glass in his hand. “A lot has fallen on you, though. Hasn’t it?”

  I shrug. “It was easier for me to get up to Auburn. I live closer than my brother.”

  “That’s not what I was referring to,” he says quietly, holding my gaze with kind hazel eyes. “I grew up with an alcoholic parent, as well.”

  His admission catches me off guard, and I just stare at him for a beat.

  “Jamie, I had no idea.”

  He smiles a bit, I think to relieve some of the heavy awkwardness of his disclosure.

  “No, probably like you, I don’t talk about it much. Makes for rather nasty gossip in the tabloids, yeah?”

  I knew that Jamie’s childhood had been difficult, but I didn’t know the specifics. In a way, I’m surprised that Danny never said anything about it, especially given my background. But then, he’d never betray a confidence, and it wasn’t his secret to tell. He is supremely trustworthy like that. My heart aches once more with the thought.

  “I’m so sorry.” I know first hand the impact that alcoholism can have on a family. His disclosure affirms the kinship I’ve always felt existed between us.

  But Jamie waves off my concern. “He’s gone now. Died a few years back. He was a brute and a bull
y, actually, but far worse to my older brothers than he was to me. I’m the second youngest of seven, you know. So he didn’t pay a lot of attention.”

  As I listen to Jamie talk, I remember all of the ribbing he got for his meandering stories. But this particular story isn’t. He’s not making casual conversation here. He’s telling me something that I’m betting he doesn’t share outside of a very small group of people.

  “The thing about it, Sarah, is that I know what it’s like to feel alone in the world. My home life growing up was abysmal. I was so ashamed of that. And so afraid that if anyone knew, things would be even worse for me, and my little sister, Cara. So I hid it as best I could. And in order to do that, you have to keep people away. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

  Yes. All too well. Neither of us needs me to say it.

  “After a while, it kind of becomes a habit. But I was lucky. I had Cara and Danny. Later, I had my band. Then I found Mel, and that changed my life.”

  “And the kids,” I add.

  “Nah. They’re arses.” The corners of his mouth lift impishly. “My point is, it’s not a wide circle, but it’s enough. And it’s essential. Particularly in a business where everybody wants something from you.”

  His eyes are locked on mine, and they convey a world of experience, of survival. I nod, unsure how to respond.

  “You have a circle, too,” he insists. “But you have to let yourself be a part of it. You can’t allow yourself to believe that everyone will let you down or leave you sooner or later. You have to have faith that you’re not alone.”

  The truth is, I have felt alone since my dad died. I love my brother more than life itself, but he isn’t someone I could lean on. He just doesn’t have the capacity for that. It’s a limitation of his Asperger’s. And as for anyone else, either through circumstance or my own self-protection, I haven’t really ever had another person that I could count on. Even Selene, though I know that one is my own fault.

  I stare at Jamie while my vision begins to blur. “I went to see Danny but…” I shake my head, unable to complete the sentence.

  Jamie wraps a gentle arm around me and kisses my hair in a gesture that reminds me so painfully of his best friend.

  “He loves you. I’ve known him a long time, and I’ve never seen him like this before. He just doesn’t trust you not to push him away at the first sign of trouble between you. You can’t blame him for that.”

  “No, I can’t,” I concede.

  We sit together on the couch in silent introspection. It’s not awkward; it feels cathartic in a way. And it’s a bit strange, too, as I have this odd sensation of being put to music.

  “Jamie, do you think you can ever really know someone?”

  He takes a long time to consider this. “In my experience, people tell you what they will, but it doesn’t necessarily mean you come to know them any better. You can probably learn more from what they do. But ultimately, we all have a secret place inside of us. I don’t think anyone is completely transparent. We probably wouldn’t like each other much if we were.” Dimples form again in his cheeks, punctuating the thought.

  He leans back on the couch, and drapes his arm across the back before continuing. “Songwriting probably makes me more transparent in some ways because it’s my method of coming to understand things. And, sometimes that’s a really frightening process; it’s kind of like thinking out loud.

  “I remember telling a musician friend of mine once that I’d written a song about the doubts I was feeling towards the religion I was raised with. And I told him that it felt too raw to sing that song in concert. He said that’s exactly the reason I needed to sing it. Because the rawness was real. It took a long time for me to finally bring it into our set list. And when I did, it was scary as hell.”

  I know exactly the song Jamie’s talking about; I’ve probably heard it on the radio a thousand times. And it’s sobering to realize that, behind the recording, there is a real person trying to make sense of some very personal questions.

  He watches me carefully and then asks, “I’m assuming your question is really about Danny, though.”

  I nod.

  “He’s kept a lot inside for most of his life. You have to give him a little time to change that because, for him, it’s scary as hell, too. But I look more at what he’s done–and that’s how I know what kind of a person he is.

  “When we were kids, I’d get picked on a lot at school for being different–my accent, and all. It didn’t help that I also had a big mouth,” he laughs. “But Danny never allowed that. He was much bigger than most kids our age, and he stood up for me more times than I can remember. He got into some pretty bad fights at school on my account.”

  A chill runs up my spine at the memory of my conversation with Casey.

  “Many times, when my da used our grocery money for whiskey, Danny would sell his things for me–bikes, skateboards, CDs, whatever he could sell–so that I could give my mum a little extra cash. Danny would have given me the shirt off his back. He didn’t care.” He looks down at his glass, but he’s not seeing it. “Richard thought he was just being careless with his stuff, and he used to give Danny a hard time about it. I always felt like shite for being part of the reason they didn’t get along.”

  “Why didn’t he just talk to his parents about what was going on?”

  “He knew I’d be embarrassed about it–about my da. And he said that if his father didn’t know he was responsible by the way he handled other aspects of his life, then knowing this one thing wouldn’t make a difference.”

  Hearing this breaks my heart–the fighting, the irresponsibility. It’s ironic that Richard raised a son he would have been very proud of had he only known him better.

  “Danny was the one who really pushed me to pursue a career in music. And he helped me in every way he could. He hauled the gear, hung flyers, anything. There wasn’t a single thing I ever asked of him that he ever said no to. I’m telling you this, Sarah, but I suspect you already know, that he’s the one of the best, most solid people you will ever meet. He was the very first person in my life who I knew with absolute certainty would never let me down. And he never has.”

  He hesitates, pausing to carefully choose the right words. His face is serious, and I realize that this is the true reason for his visit.

  “Danny deserves to be happy. And I think you can make him happy, Sarah. I do. But he has to know that you’re in this with him. If you can’t be, then I’m asking you to let him go for good. Do you understand? You have to let him move on. I’m asking you this as his friend. And as yours. I can’t watch him suffer like this.”

  He stares unblinking into my face, and I feel my heart thrumming loudly with every passing second.

  I regret so many things when it comes to Danny. But the thing I regret the most is that I lacked the clarity and the courage to break the pattern of isolation that has plagued us both. I could have, had I fought for him, for us. But, instead, I faltered.

  And I’m determined not to let that happen again. He was, after all, the one who helped me to open up, myself. Can I not do the same for him?

  “Jamie, I don’t want to lose him. But I don’t know how to fix things with him. I don’t know if he’ll listen to me at this point.” And then, realizing the full irony of my words I ask him, “Will you help me?”

  His big, goofy, mock-shocked expression makes me laugh, and it’s the first time I’ve felt hopeful in a month. I lean my head against his shoulder, just enjoying the simple, reassuring pleasure of his presence.

  “Lovely Sarah,” he says, stroking my hair. “There isn’t anything I’d like more.”

  Chapter 28

  Danny

  SUNDAY AFTERNOON, I DITCH JAMIE and the rest of the guys after basketball, and hit a local pub called The Wild Boar. Apparently, I’m back to my old habits. It’s not so much that I feel like drinking, but quite frankly, I don’t want to go home. When I was younger, this was the place I’d come to think, and just to ge
t away. I spent a lot of time here. It’s dark, and kind of a dive, but it has a huge variety of beer and plenty of pool tables. Plus, besides maybe Callum, I never see anyone I know.

  I order a Goose Island on tap, and sit back on my barstool to watch a game. About half an hour in, my phone buzzes with a text from Jamie.

  Where are you?

  Nowhere. Wild Boar.

  Brilliant. Be right there.

  So much for hiding.

  Jamie shows up, and settles onto the empty barstool to my left. He orders a pint of Guinness and a shot, and picks at the cardboard coaster. He seems pensive, but I’m not complaining. I don’t feel like talking either.

  Ever since I ran into Marcus the other night, I’ve been preoccupied by my uncertainty over where I left things with Sarah. Am I the biggest idiot on the planet for not taking her back when she came to me? Maybe I am–but I can’t get past the reality that her loving me isn’t enough. It’s enough to stem the pain I’m in right now, but, ultimately, I know it’s not enough to build an entire future on. A future that I know, without question, I want. I need more from her than just her love. I need everything.

  And, suddenly, it dawns on me with absolute clarity.

  I’ve been asking myself for a month how she could possibly have left me over one omission–one I really didn’t feel compelled to share. But I realize in this moment, that she left me for the exact reason that I broke things off with her.

  Sarah left me because she needed everything, too. She needed all of those things that I wasn’t giving her. The parts of me that I held back because I was ashamed to share. Because I had regrets I couldn’t face.

  She must have needed to know that I could be the foundation for her future. That’s no small thing to be, particularly to someone who’s had her foundation torn away once before. No one knows that better than I. It wasn’t knowing about the money, I finally realize, so much as it was knowing that I was invested enough in us to tell her. No amount of words, even ‘I love you,’ could equal, for her, that one simple act of faith.