The Life We Almost Had

by Laura Miller

  “Iva, I’ve already seen your bra and your underwear, I think it’s ...”

  “What?” I quickly scan the room and notice my Supergirl underwear in the corner.

  “Oh, my gosh!” I run to them and scoop them up. Kill me now.

  “Just touch nothing,” I whisper-shout to him, before escaping out the door. This is the most embarrassing night EVER.

  I get to the bottom of the stairs before I hear Daddy’s voice.

  “Oh, we get a welcome party tonight,” he says to Momma, as he takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coatrack.

  “No,” I say. “No party. Just me.” I try to say it casually. “How was the meeting?”

  “It was long,” Momma says, slipping off her shoes at the door.

  I walk into the kitchen and open the freezer. I’m looking for things I can toss into the blender. I grab the ice cream and some frozen blueberries. I throw them on the counter and peek into the living room. Momma and Daddy are both sitting on the sofa now.

  I quickly scoop out some ice cream and toss it into the glass pitcher. I pour the blueberries in next, and I look one more time into the living room. Then I close my eyes and press start.

  The sound of the blender bounces off every wall of the house. I never noticed it before, but tonight, this old blender might as well be a freight train.

  I nervously watch the ice cream and blueberries turn into a thick, blue heap.

  “What are you making?”

  I jump, and at once, lose my breath, almost knocking over the blender in the process.

  I look at the ice cream and blueberry mixture and then back at my daddy, now standing in the kitchen doorway.

  And then I see him—Berlin—coming down the stairs.

  I quickly try to avert my eyes back to the blender, but it’s too late. It all happens so fast. Berlin notices my daddy. My daddy turns and notices Berlin.

  Oh God.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Daddy says. His voice is stern and kind of scary.

  “Um, I was just returning the hammer, sir,” Berlin says, eyeing the hammer on the hall desk.

  Daddy glances at the desk in the hall. “Then how come the hammer is there, and you’re upstairs?”

  “Um, no one was here, so ...,” Berlin stumbles.

  I cringe, as his words hit my ears.

  “I was just trying to find ...,” he continues, before being cut off by Daddy.

  “Son, you best be leaving.”

  Berlin nods and then takes the rest of the steps to the front door.

  “And ...,” Daddy says.

  Berlin stops, but he doesn’t turn around.

  “If I catch you upstairs or even in my house again, period ...” He stops there, and the world goes silent, except for the water drops falling into the porcelain sink. I hold my breath. “I just better never catch you here again. Are you hearing me, son?”

  Berlin slowly nods. “Yes, sir.”

  He escapes through the door after that, leaving me and Daddy alone again.

  And I thought the underwear was the worst thing that could have possibly happened to me tonight.

  “Daddy, he really was just returning the hammer. It’s just that the door was open and no one was downstairs.”

  Daddy doesn’t look at me.

  “What’s going on?” Momma leans against the banister.

  “She can’t see that boy again,” Daddy says, walking past Momma.

  He disappears into the living room.

  There are tears starting to well up in my eyes.

  “What happened?” Momma asks.

  “Berlin was just returning the hammer,” I say. “He was upstairs because he was trying to find someone to tell ... that he had returned it. That’s all.”

  I can tell she studies me. And I can tell she believes me.

  “We’ll talk about this later, okay?” she says in her empathetic voice.

  I nod and slowly head back up the stairs, leaving the ice cream in the blender.

  When I get to my room, I notice, out of the corner of my eye, something move. I look out my window and into Berlin’s. He’s holding up a piece of paper.

  I wipe the tears out of my eyes and then read: I’m sorry.

  I try to smile, hoping he doesn’t notice my red eyes.

  I go to my desk and write some words down onto a piece of sketch paper: It’s not your fault.

  He leaves the window and goes to his desk. He’s gone for several seconds, and then he reappears with another sentence: Your dad hates me.

  I turn the sketch paper around and write on the back in big, charcoal letters: It’s the long hair. Then, I hold it up in the window and shrug.

  He seems to consider it for a second, and I’m afraid he doesn’t realize I’m kidding.

  I scribble I’m joking onto a new piece of paper and hold it up to the window.

  It looks as if he tries to smile, but the smile never quite reaches his eyes.

  Chapter Eleven

  That First Cut

  Present

  Iva

  I hear the roar of an engine cut off outside, and I push back the curtains in Natalie’s living room. The sun is setting, but it’s still light out.

  There’s a car parked on the curb, and before I know it, I find myself standing outside on the narrow sidewalk, staring at it.

  I can tell Berlin is watching me. He’s leaned back against the passenger door of the car; his arms are folded; his legs are crossed out in front of him.

  My eyes leisurely meander from the trunk to the hood, and then eventually, to the old, vinyl seats inside.

  “Well,” I say, “here she is.”

  I look over at him, and he just nods and smiles. “In the flesh.”

  My eyes fall back on the shiny, black exterior.

  “But the Berlin Elliot I knew had a cherry-red Chevelle.”

  His eyes meet mine briefly before shifting to the car.

  “Well, things change,” he says, his words deadpanning into the concrete at our feet.

  My gaze instantly goes to his, and for a moment, we don’t say a word—even though I sense the silent whispers falling unspoken between us.

  “You wanna go for a ride?” he asks.

  I press my lips together and move them back and forth. I’m trying to hold back a smile. He already knows my answer.

  “Get in,” he says, opening the passenger door.

  I gently breathe out and then walk toward him, before sliding onto the black vinyl. And before he gets in, I run my fingers over the dashboard, just like I did so many years ago. Unlike the outside, everything in here looks exactly the same. I like that it does.

  He opens the driver’s side door, and I quickly take my hand back and then watch him smoothly move behind the wheel.

  “I thought you only brought her out for special occasions,” I say.

  He cuts a glance in my direction before pulling away from the curb. “That’s right,” he says, grinning.

  We drive for a little while, with neither of us saying another word. If I’m honest, I’m almost afraid to say anything, in fear my words would betray me. I love this moment. I want to take it and shrink it down so that I can carry it around with me in my pocket forever. It feels so comfortable. It feels like home. I lost it once. And it hurts to think of losing it again.

  For minutes, all that’s audible is the soft purr of the engine and the whispered murmurs coming from the radio.

  “You cut your hair,” I say, breaking the silence.

  He looks over at me. “You just now noticed that?”

  I smile, and my eyes wander back to the window. “Do you remember that time my daddy caught you coming down the stairs, after returning that hammer?”

  His laugh catches in his throat. “That is a memory I will never forget for as long as I live.”

  “Do you remember what you did that night?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says, nodding once. “I remember that, too.”

  There’s a li
ttle girl on a bike with training wheels on the sidewalk outside my window. I follow her, until she disappears down another street. “I saw you walk out your front door the next morning, and all your beautiful hair was cut off.” I return my gaze to him. “I was so sad.”

  “Well, I figured if it meant your dad liking me more, and if your dad liking me more meant I still got to hang out with you, then ... It was just hair.” He plants his stare on the road ahead and shrugs a shoulder. “But we all know how that worked out. ... I guess it wasn’t the hair.”

  I watch him. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “I was kind of happy it wasn’t,” I say.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I liked that you grew it long again.”

  A slow smile burns across his face, and I remember just then how much I love that smile. I quickly swallow the thought down.

  “It’s weird seeing someone sitting over there,” he says. His eyes are on me now.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, after you, I never let anyone sit in the passenger’s seat.

  I can feel the questions flooding my face.

  “Yeah, I know. Strange but true,” he says. “I think it was just my way of holding onto you.”

  I inhale and then carefully force it out. I thought I would know exactly what to say to his every word if I ever got the chance to see him again. I thought I had this all planned out. God knows I had years to do it. But here I am, in this moment, and I don’t know what to say—much less how to feel. It’s been years. We were young. So much has changed. I just wish I would have found him sooner.

  “What about your friends?” I ask, trying to change the subject, fast. “Didn’t any of your friends ever ride with you?”

  “I always made ‘em sit in the back. And I kept a box on the front seat, so nobody really ever questioned it. And then, I got my truck, so ...” He looks my way. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not that weird,” I say, glancing at the speedometer. He’s speeding, as usual.

  He chuckles to himself.

  “What was in the box—that sat on the seat?” I ask.

  “Oh, just my CD collection.”

  I look at the dash just to see if anything had changed since the last time I was in here.

  “But you don’t have a CD player in here,” I say.

  He shoots me a swift glance and then grins. “And you would be the only one who’s ever noticed that.”

  I meet his charming stare and force my teeth into my bottom lip. “I don’t even want to know the type of people you were hanging out with.”

  “Well, Isaac was one,” he says.

  I nod. “Enough said.”

  He laughs, and I do, too.

  “So, tell me all the trouble you’ve been up to lately,” I say, when our laughter fades into that black dash.

  “Honey, we ain’t got enough time for all that.”

  I roll my eyes at the honey part.

  “No,” he says then, shaking his head. “I left that stuff behind—trouble, that is. Well, most of it, anyway—with my teens.”

  “No. Berlin Elliot, the craziest boy I knew?”

  “Yeah, well, I never said I wasn’t still crazy. I just cut back, you know, just to save a few years on the end of this old yard stick.”

  I keep a watchful eye on him.

  “Okay, what about girls then?” I ask. “I know this is a small town, but you must have every girl in it just waiting for you to give her a chance.”

  He looks at me, and I swear I see him blushing. But there’s something about his eyes and the way they speak so powerfully without saying any word at all. Then again, there’s always been something about his eyes.

  “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “I probably damn near ran off every girl in this town.”

  I look up, and briefly, our eyes meet before he focuses back on the road.

  “Come on, Berlin, I’ve never known you not to be a gentleman. I expect you to have broken some hearts, but please don’t tell me you meant to.”

  His eyes seem heavier, darker. “Maybe you should hear the whole story first.”

  “Berlin,” I scold.

  “It’s not that bad,” he assures me.

  I give him a hesitant look. “Fine, tell me your story.”

  “All right.” He brings his other hand up to the steering wheel, so that both hands are now resting on the top of the wheel. But it’s not until we get about a hundred more yards down the road that he starts talking.

  “I left Sweet Home, with the full intention that I’d see you again,” he says. “And then, you know, the time came, and I went back, and you weren’t there.” He pauses and shifts gears. “After that, I didn’t really expect I’d see you again. I mean, I hoped it.” He shrugs. “But I didn’t think it would ever happen. And God knows, if there was anyone left in the town to ask, I would have asked every last one to find out where you had gone.” He sits back in the seat and rests one arm on the ledge of the open window. “But anyway, after you, everything just became a little less serious. With you, I had it all figured out. With you, I had a reason to have it all figured out. You were it. It was gonna be you—you and me. It might have been a little wild, maybe even a little crazy here and there, but it was all going to be okay because it would be me and you. And that’s how life was gonna go.”

  I force out an unsteady breath. “Berlin, you never told me this.”

  Instantly, a serious expression takes over his face. “Iva Sophia Scott, you knew how I felt about you.”

  “Yeah, but we were kids. I had no idea that you put that much thought into it.”

  “Yeah,” he simply says. “We were kids. But we still had hearts.” Our eyes meet briefly. And I smile because I feel vindicated. I loved him. I knew I loved him, but I spent so many years telling myself that it was only puppy love that I started to believe it.

  “Well, anyway,” he goes on, “without you, at the time, I just lost the taste for all that—all that love stuff. I didn’t care—I mean, I tried—but in the end, I just didn’t care whose heart I broke or if I drove too fast to live long enough to have a white picket fence and two rug rats.” He pauses and takes a deep breath in before continuing. “You were my drug, Iva. I wanted you. As soon as I saw you, I wanted you. And I wanted you every moment I could get you. But you were also my heart—that soft piece that made me want to be a better man. And I really liked that soft piece, damn it.” He stops there, but I can tell he has more to say, so I don’t dare interrupt. And I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. I hadn’t anticipated his words. I couldn’t have.

  “And anyway, that’s why I think I wasn’t the greatest boyfriend after you,” he says. “I was selfish. And I did pretty much what I wanted, when I wanted to do it. And that was it. And each heart was just like the last. It would break; she would cry; and I felt bad, but I didn’t feel too much else.”

  He finishes, and there are tears floating in the backs of my eyelids. I try desperately to push them away before they fall. There are no words for how I feel. I’m sad I missed so much time with him. I’m scared I’ve missed too much. I’m terrified of missing all the rest. My heart is both breaking and melting for the boy I used to know. My teenaged self prayed every night that this boy would be a restless wanderer without me. But now, I just feel sad for ever wishing that upon him. And yet, I’m so happy that our love meant that much to him. And I wish I could tell him that. I wish I could tell him that he just recited my life in these past seven years, as well. But I’m too afraid. I’m too afraid it’s just a little too little, a little too late.

  “It’s that first cut, I guess.” His words force my attention back to him.

  I don’t say anything; I just try to smile. I know that’s enough for him. And in the next moment, we’re pulling off onto the side of the road.

  “Anyway, this is it.” He stops the Chevelle and eyes a spot through my passenger-side window. “It’s just across the field.”

  I have no idea
what it is exactly, but I don’t think to question him.

  He gets out, and I follow his lead, and we walk across the field in silence, until we get to a line of trees.

  “It’s just through here,” he says.

  It’s starting to get dark, so I follow him closely into the trees. We go about another couple hundred feet to a wooden dock. It’s suspended in the air, above a bluff painted with green leaves. And out from the bluff, far below us, is a river that in the twilight looks like shiny, black oil. It carves its winding path in the dirt and weeds and flowers below us. I can just make out the dark and light greens spattered with orange and white from where we are, perched like birds above the valley.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  He turns my way, and his lips curve up just right. “Yeah,” he says. “That she is.”

  I quickly peer back down at the dark river and try not to blush. I know what he’s thinking. And I should kill his thoughts. But something in me won’t let me do it.

  “Do you see that light over there?” He points across the valley.

  I follow his finger to a spot on the far bluff.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “It’s a lighthouse,” he says.

  I look closer, and immediately, a smile takes over my face. “It is,” I say, once I’ve got a good look at it. “But why?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s Mr. Keeper.”

  I watch the white light on top of the slender, little building spin around in circles.

  “Well, you must know who it is, right? This is a small town.”

  He shakes his head. “I’ve never asked,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I think I just always wanted to believe it was Mr. Keeper.”

  I smile and plant my eyes back on the light swirling around in the distance.

  “I think it is,” I say. “When everybody left Sweet Home, he came here.”

  He meets my gaze, as a grin smolders on his face. And we stay in each other’s eyes for a few, long heartbeats, until I force my attention to the lighthouse again.

  “How did you find this place?” I ask.

  After a short pause, he chuckles to himself. “Sometimes, I look for places that don’t have people. ... And I wander a lot.”