by Karen Booth
“He wanted to make sure I didn’t change my mind about leaving.”
“Don’t say that. I know you think he doesn’t like you, but he’ll get better about it. I don’t care what he thinks anyway.”
“Well, I care. It’s hard to imagine him ever changing his mind.”
“You won’t have to see him for a while. I’m hoping the same thing for myself.” I smiled and leaned forward, trying to catch his eye, maybe make him happy for an instant.
“You’re probably right. I won’t see him any time soon.”
I hated my dad for turning a hard day into a horrible one. “I’m sorry. If I could change it, I would.”
We stood on the sidewalk outside the terminal without saying a thing, clinging to each other. I soaked the front of his shirt, wanting to climb inside his jacket and disappear, my tears a deluge.
“Claire, I have to go.”
“I know.” I could barely convince the words to leave my lips.
He placed his hands on either side of my face. “Don’t be sad. You need to get better and it’ll be easier if you can find a way to be happy.” He placed his lips against mine, the slightest brush of his tender skin. He knew I still couldn’t take a real kiss; it hurt my pudgy purple lips. “I love you.”
I looked up at him, his face burning an image in my mind, to take with me. “I love you too.”
“I’m serious, Claire. I really love you.”
****
I lingered in bed the next morning, avoiding my dad and the rest of the world. Chris hadn’t called last night and I’d gone to bed early, yearning for the escape of sleep.
I reached over and dragged my cell phone across the bedside table.
“Fuck!” Chris had, in fact, called, but I’d left my ringer off. I was furious with myself when I pushed the voicemail button.
“Claire, hey it’s me. I just got home. Hopefully you’re sleeping right now. You really need to get your rest. I, well, I didn’t want to leave this on your voicemail, but maybe this is better for both of us, easier. I spent a lot of time thinking on the flight, about us. I don’t see us making it through a whole year of this long-distance. It’s hard on both of us and we both have so much going on in our lives.”
He took a deep breath and his voice quaked. “We, um, there are so many things standing between us and you deserve better than that. We both know Jeremy wants to be with you so maybe you should try and see if you’re happy with somebody who’s a little more stable.”
There was another pause, this one longer, and I heard him sigh. “I don’t want you to call me for a while. We need to make a clean break. I think that’s best for both of us and hopefully we can still be friends after some time. That would be nice. Take care of yourself and Sam and please be careful. Okay, um, bye.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The dark became everything, the familiar embodiment of my new life. There was hope in the dark. It meant there was still a chance that the dark would weigh me down and smother me, be the heavy hands mercifully holding the pillow to my face.
I begged my mom to come and sit with me in the dark. I needed her, I pleaded with her, but she never answered. It felt as if I was reaching for her at the bottom of a well, our fingertips would brush, but I couldn’t see her. I couldn’t find her voice.
Days after Chris’s message, I was still in bed. I’d saved his voicemail and listened to it at least a dozen times, secretly hoping that at some point it would hurt so much that it would numb the pain. Luckily, my injuries were a good excuse to stay holed up and I had my dad to take care of Sam—feed her, stuff like that. I was too busy wishing I’d had enough sense to die in the accident.
On day four, my dad had had enough. He barged into my room and threw open the shades. “Up and at ‘em, Claire. Today’s the day you get out of that bed. You’re never going to feel better if you sleep all day.”
No wonder Sam found me so annoying on school mornings. “Dad, go away. I’m tired. I need to sleep.”
“No, you don’t. You’re feeling sorry for yourself and I’m not going to allow it. Jeremy has called for you twice today and I think you should call him back.” I hadn’t planned to tell my dad that Chris and I broke up, but Sam had dragged it out of me and he’d dragged it out of her.
“Fine. I’ll get up.” I sat up in bed and pulled the comforter to my chin.
“No, I’m not talking about sitting up. I’m talking about getting out of bed, taking a shower, eating something, and calling Jeremy. He’s going to think I don’t give you your messages.” He stared at me, determined. It nearly made me feel like he cared.
I started to cry again; I couldn’t be awake for more than five minutes without starting again. I’d tried. I watched him as he busied himself, unable to stay still. Thirty-nine years on earth with him and I still had no idea what he was thinking or feeling.
“Dad, why do you love me?” I watched him turn as if I’d asked him to explain Quantum Physics. “I mean, other than the fact that I’m your daughter. What is it that makes you love me?” It was a trick question. I wasn’t certain he loved me for any reason beyond his genetic obligation.
“Where is this coming from? Is this because of Chris? Because I don’t want you to think you aren’t worthy of someone’s love because you got mixed up with the wrong guy.” He stepped forward and sat on the bed, something he’d never done before.
“No, it’s not because of Chris. This is about you and me. I don’t want our relationship to be like this. It feels like a war half of the time and I’m tired of it. We should be able to get along, for real.”
He crossed his legs and arms and stared off into space. Face-to-face time was difficult for my dad. I gave him credit for trying. “Well, I don’t agree that we don’t get along, but I’ll answer your question if it’ll help.” He took a deep breath. “Other than the fact that you’re my daughter, I love you because you’re a good person and you’re a great mom. I also love you because I see your mother in you. You’re your own person too, but I see my Sara in there.” He looked me in the eye, something he usually avoided. “There are things you do that are just like her, like the way you cluck your tongue on the roof of your mouth. It used to drive me crazy when she was alive, but I miss it.” He swallowed and stared at the ceiling. “But here’s the thing. I don’t ever see myself when I look at you. I never have.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I’ve never told anyone that, not even your mother. I know you’re my daughter, but we’re so different. That makes it hard for me to understand you.”
My breaths became shallow. I was flabbergasted that he would share this with me. “What about Julie? Is that why you like her better?” I was so desperate to get rid of the bullshit between us that I had to keep going. Complete honesty from him might never come again.
He furrowed his brow. “I don’t like her better Ladybug, it’s just different. I don’t have to try very hard to understand her. You’re more of a challenge.” He flattened a wrinkle in the quilt. “I don’t want you to think that’s a bad thing. Sometimes I worry about your sister. She doesn’t get as much out of life as you do. Your mom got a lot out of life. She was never afraid to laugh or cry. I always admired that about her.” He looked up at the ceiling again.
I watched him, thinking about my mom, part of me always wondered what drew her to him. “Do you miss her?” My tears ran freely.
“Every minute of every day. I think about her all the time.” He was staring off, wistful. “Sometimes I talk to her, when I’m by myself, around the house. I’m sure I’d be sent off to the funny farm if anyone heard me.” He laughed then; he usually only did that with Sam. “Look, Jellybean, I know you’ve had a hard time with the accident and now this Chris thing, but I really think you should give Jeremy a chance. Let him take you out for coffee. He’s a nice man with a lot to offer and he’s crazy about you.”
He handed me a tissue, but I needed the whole box. The sadness about everything in the world that I wished I could cha
nge filled me to the brim. It was no surprise I was a human spigot.
Chapter Forty-Three
A week after the dreaded coffee date, I agreed, reluctantly, to a proper date with Jeremy. Sam was waiting for me when I got out of the shower, sitting on my bed in a lime green beaded skirt with her ankles crossed, her nose in a romance.
“Are you going to help me pick out something to wear?” I asked.
“Grandpa told me to hang out while you took your shower. In case you fell or something.”
It was like I was a geriatric patient. “Thanks, honey. That’s nice of you.” I sat next to her, tightening the tie on my mom’s pink terrycloth robe that I’d dug out of my closet. “What’s up tonight?”
“We’re trying to get Leah together with one of Andrew’s friends.”
“Sounds like fun.” I poked my finger through the hole in the robe pocket.
“Are you okay, Mom?” She closed her book and sat forward. She touched my arm gently.
I shut my eyes, conjuring the strength to speak without tears. “Um, well, honey, it’s complicated.”
“You can tell me you’re sad. It’s okay. I’m sad too.”
I laughed, but the ache deep inside me roared. “I wish I could say I’m sad. That would be better.” I swallowed and gave in to the drag I felt when I talked or thought about Chris. “I still love him and I don’t understand what happened. I miss him. I miss talking to him. I feel like I lost my boyfriend and my best friend at the same time.” I focused on the ceiling to keep the moisture at bay, but it was futile.
“I’m mad at him. I can’t believe he would do this to you. I can’t believe he would do this to us.”
I realized then that I wasn’t the only one hurting. “It’s okay, honey. I know it doesn’t make sense, but we’ll get through it.” I brushed her curls from the side of her face.
“What about the baby? Are you sad about that?”
I didn’t know how to respond. I hadn’t dealt with it, at all. It was so awful that I muffled it inside me like everything else I didn’t want to think about. I took a deep breath and blew it out. “That’s a hard one, much harder than I ever imagined.” I took her hand. “I hope you know we weren’t trying to keep a secret from you. We didn’t want to say anything until we knew everything was okay with the pregnancy.”
“I know. I might’ve freaked out a little bit, anyway. I never thought about having a little brother or sister.” She managed a diminutive smile. “What about Jeremy?” Her smile faded and she wrinkled her nose.
“He’s a nice guy. He’s, well, it’s hard to imagine anyone ever measuring up to Chris.”
Jeremy was a textbook dream date at the restaurant, making a valiant attempt at romance by opening my car door and ordering for me. In the delicate light of the dining room, there was no denying that he was what my dad had called him, a looker. The dark gray suit and deep blue tie he wore made him even more so, setting off his eyes in an appealing way. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been on a date with a guy in a tie.
He was sweet enough, had a decent laugh, and was very obviously smitten with me. That had always been difficult for me to resist. We had some things in common; TV shows and books, not a lot, but enough to help when the conversation dragged. I was probably a fool for not falling madly in love with him.
Dad considered Jeremy a catch, but my mom weighed in after nearly two weeks of silence. She felt he was wrong for me; he was too buttoned up, too predictable, which I found hilarious since she’d married the King of Predictable.
After dinner, we sat in Jeremy’s car in front of my house. Knowing my dad was inside made it feel so strange, a teenage déjà vu, except that I wasn’t to come inside until we’d fogged up the windows.
“Thank you for dinner. It was nice to get out of the house,” I said, folding my hands in my lap, unsure of what to do with myself.
“I’m glad I was finally able to take you on a real date.” He turned up the radio, a very middle-of-the-road station, a song that Chris had once called bollocks. “Seeing you in that dress made the wait worthwhile.”
I blushed, even though it was uncomfortable to have the attention. “Thanks.”
I knew it was coming, but I still jumped when Jeremy reached over and took my hand, rubbing it softly with his thumb. Things shifted into a lower gear and I looked up to see his hazel eyes focus on me in the darkness. There was endless chatter in my head—my mom, my dad, Sam, and regrettably, Chris’s voice was the loudest. It felt like he was sitting on my shoulder, whispering in my ear, his breath soft against my skin. He wasn’t telling me anything he hadn’t already said. I should be happy. I should take care of myself. I had no idea what those things meant anymore.
I closed my eyes when I sensed Jeremy’s advance. I was too polite and defeated to do anything but play along. I turned and waited, even tilting my chin upward to make it more believable.
It wasn’t at all what I expected when his lips touched mine. I was so sad, I was sure I didn’t want it, but once it started, I didn’t want to stop. Technically, he was a good kisser; he had all the moves down pat and put his hands in the right places. He was overzealous with his tongue, but I ignored it and the fact that there was no passion, no real warmth or tingle. It simply felt better than anything else, so I went with it to erase the pain of losing Chris, if only for a few moments.
The interrogation from my dad began the minute I came through the door. “So? How was it? Did he make his move?”
“Dad, that’s none of your business.” I set my bag and keys on the kitchen counter.
He studied my face. “I don’t know, Ladybug. It looks like you might have been kissing him out in that car. Your face is red around your mouth.”
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
He consulted his watch, tapping the face. “So it is.” He smiled, his mission sewn up for the day. “Well, I’m off to hit the hay, kiddo. Good night.” He walked away, happily. I half expected him to start whistling a merry tune, perhaps befriend some butterflies and other creatures from the glen.
I went to get ready for bed, sliding the laundry basket from the bottom of my closet and crouching down to fish out some pajamas. Behind the basket, in the corner of my closet, sat a skeleton from my not-so-distant past.
A sound leaked out of me when I touched Chris’s gray t-shirt, a sound so bizarre that I couldn’t imagine ever claiming it as my own. I pressed the shirt against my face, the worn cotton against my cheeks, took in his still present smell. My shoulders drooped and my chest heaved. With my eyes closed, it was almost as if he was in the room with me.
I took off my dress and pulled the shirt over my head, deciding it couldn’t make me any more miserable than I already was. It was too big. The hem fell to the middle of my thighs and the sleeves to my elbows. The way it pleasantly skimmed my bare skin was almost intolerable.
I climbed into bed and curled into a ball, burying my face in the t-shirt. I wished I had someone warm and tall and British and musically inclined to mold himself around me.
My body craved sleep, but my mind sought reflection and it drifted back to Chris whenever I dropped my guard. It showed a slideshow of our time together, played out of order; times when we were happy, times when we weren’t, times when nothing else in the world existed but each other. The vision of his glorious face, the one engraved in my mind, stayed with me whether my eyes were open or closed. My chest burned with the pain, at odds with my heart which had frozen up to protect itself from my foolish choices.
I couldn’t stand it any longer. I sat up in bed and reached for my cell phone, pressing the speed dial. He didn’t answer, but I never expected him to. I only wanted to leave Chris a message like he’d left for me.
My eyes clamped shut when I heard his voice—like the undertow, it pulled me down, deep, all the way to the murky bottom. I told myself to go with it, float. Never fight the current.
“It’s me. Claire. I know you said to wait a while before I called you, but
I decided that you don’t get to be in charge anymore.” I knew for certain there was nothing left to lose. “I was calling to say that what you did really sucks. I can’t believe that you’d take everything between us and throw it away. You said you loved me. We were going to have a baby. You told me that was what you wanted, more than anything.”
I sucked in my breath with a pathetic gasp. “I guess I was kidding myself. Of course you’d eventually get tired of me. You’re probably out with one of your little friends right now, somebody new to play with. What flavor are we going for tonight? Brunette? Redhead? A blonde would probably remind you of me. I wonder if you’ll remember her name tomorrow. My guess is you won’t. Anyway, I wish you’d call me back so I could call you a jerk for real, not just on your voicemail.”
I felt so much better when I hung up—broken clean in two.
Chapter Forty-Four
There was no longer any question. I was being haunted. My ghost liked to visit at night, probably because he was an opportunistic asshole and that was when I was most vulnerable. Some nights my ghost made swirling diaphanous dreams for me, full of fog and smoke and wind. They were enough to make me groan and roll my eyes, overly dramatic reenactments of events culled from a romance I would only read on vacation. Sometimes my ghost dug up the moments that had seemed insignificant at the time, void of drama and fog. Those never failed to wake me—to a wet face and soaked pillow, gasping for air.
It didn’t help that the physical evidence of my ghost was everywhere. Dealing with the things he left behind in my brain was hard enough. I avoided driving my new car at all costs. It was a totem of my misery, complete with leather interior and a killer stereo system. It never would have wound up in my driveway if there’d been no accident. I wouldn’t have lost the baby. I wouldn’t have lost Chris. I couldn’t bear to be in the car at all so I walked or rode my bike everywhere. Sometimes I didn’t go anywhere.
