Even though I avoided the responsibility, in the end, I had made the reenlistment decision for him. Instead of reenlisting, he came to find me. The girls told him that I worked at Orlando's waiting tables during the day and that I smoked like a chimney and that I still preferred Johnny Walker.
“Oh, so Lizzie ratted me out too. Nice!”
“Haylee, no one ratted you out; they all care about you.”
“Uh huh! That's why she didn't even want to let me stay there.”
“She was worried. It's hard to overcome what we all went through; she didn't want to fall back into it.”
“How about you? Did you fall back into it?” I asked, sickly hoping he would say yes so that I wasn't the only one of us to fail.
He swore he hadn't touched a drink or a pipe since starting at Treadmore's. I believed him.
He said he owed it all to Coffee: the man loved him like a son and gave him eyes to see life for what it really was. Justin admired him and wanted to make him proud. It was Coffee who went with him to enlist, not his Old Man. It was Coffee who invited him to church with his family and was there standing with him when he got baptized. He invited him over for Thanksgiving and Christmas before he left for basic training, and he even flew out for his graduation.
Coffee had become his family and had given him a reason to change and stay on the straight and narrow, and Justin wanted to do the same for me. He didn't care how far down the wrong road I had traveled. He said I was meant for him, and he wanted me now as much as he ever had.
Hearing it infuriated me. He was acting so good and perfect, but he was no better than I was, and worse, he wanted to fix me, like I was broken or something. He wanted me to see him and run into his arms like the last few years never happened. He wanted us to kiss and head to the first church we could find and get married. He wanted to pick up where we left off, only now it would be for real and forever, and no one could keep us apart. All he wanted to do was keep the promises he made to me. But it was too late.
“You're believing in a fairy tale, Justin. It can't be like that. Everything is different now.”
“It can be, Haylee; you're all I've ever wanted.” This time he wouldn't be deterred; he took my hands in his and tried to pull me into him.
“Let me go. Don't touch me, please!”
“Whoa, Haylee; what did I do?”
“Just stay away from me! I stopped writing you for a reason, OK? You're not the same. I'm not the same. You make it sound like my life is so terrible, but it's not! I'm happy, OK? Do I regret some of my decisions? Yes, but who doesn't? I'm not perfect, and neither are you, but you know what? Your life turned out OK, and so did mine. I'm happy, but I've moved on. I don't want to be with you anymore. I wanted to, but that was a long time ago, not now.”
“You don't mean that.” He still knew me too well.
“I do,” I said, even though tears were betraying me.
“I don't understand. Give us a chance, please? We can start new. We don't have to pick up where we left off.”
“Let me make it clear. I'm not interested,” I lied. “I've been over you for a long time. There is no 'us' to give a chance. What we had was a traumatic childhood, and we did what we had to do to survive it. Now you have your life and I have mine, and they're too different for us to get back together. I got tired of waiting. I moved on; you need to too.”
“I don't believe you.”
“That's your problem. It won't work. I'm sorry; please leave.”
I don't know why I was so cold. All I ever wanted was for us to be together, and now that we could be, I was pushing him away even after he had come so far to find me.
He left dejected and deflated but came back day after day for two weeks. The next day I let him in. He had a bucket of KFC and biscuits, which went well with my rum and Coke (I had given Johnny the day off). COPS was on TV, and for the longest time we sat quietly watching together on my burnt orange loveseat like we had done so many times before in a lifetime long ago. This time, though, he was just a visitor—not my salvation from a nightmare life.
We made small talk for a while; then when my drink was empty, I got up to fill it. He watched me mix it, pouring the rum from a crystal decanter I'd picked up at a thrift store months before. I think he looked sad, but I couldn't read him the way I used to when we were younger. I thought maybe he wanted a drink too, but he politely declined my offer to make him one. I ignored the shame within myself when he tried to psychologize me about my drinking. I told him if he didn't like it he didn't have to be around me, which, I reminded him, is what I wanted anyway. We didn't really have anything else to talk about, but he tried to keep the conversation going for more than an hour before finally giving up and leaving.
After that I ignored the knocks, but he kept coming by. He came to my work and tried to talk to me there. I told him I was serious, that he needed to leave me alone. He told me he would wait for me until I realized we were meant to be together.
The more he was around, the worse I felt about myself. I hated the person I had become and that he loved me so much and wanted so badly to fix me. His goodness reminded me of how pathetic I was. I couldn't quit drinking, and in my heart I couldn't imagine life without alcohol. I knew I had a problem, and I knew there was nothing he could do to make me quit if I didn't want to. The only thing to do was push him away. At least if he wasn't around, I wouldn't feel as bad about being such a washed-up loser. But he wouldn't leave me alone. So I called him a stalker and told him I was afraid of him.
“You've got nothing to be afraid of, Haylee. If you want to stay here, fine! Let's stay. I can find a job; we can live here.”
“You don't get it! I don't want to be with you. You're the problem. You need to leave me alone.”
“I can't Haylee; you're part of me.”
“Well then, I'll make it easy for you. Leave me alone or I'll call the cops.”
“You don't mean that.”
“Watch me.”
He stepped back and looked at me, searched inside my soul, and found nothing.
“What happened to you? How did it come to this?” He was so confused. I watched him crumble in front of me. I felt so bad, but I could never be good enough for him. The best I could do was push him away, and I did—and I convinced us both I didn't love him anymore.
He didn't come back after that but went back to writing me regularly. The first letter came two days after I threatened him. I tossed it on the coffee table and left it there.
It took me two weeks to open it.
My one and only love,
Haylee, I don't know what I said or did to make you so mad at me. I know you're angry about me leaving, but you have to believe me—I did it because I love you. It was our only option. There was no other way. I had to do it for us.
I've always loved you, and I always will. I'm going to reenlist, but I'll leave my contact information with your Aunt and Lizzie. I will wait for you, like I always have, please come back to me.
All my love,
Justin
I thought I wanted him gone, but when the knocks ended, I felt miserable, and for the first time the emptiness of my solitary life made me feel truly sad. I hated myself for pushing him away. I couldn't understand why I even did it. All I ever wanted was him, and he came back for me just like he promised, and I sent him away.
I was tempted to write him and tell him I was sorry and I changed my mind, but I was too proud, stubborn, and ashamed. Instead, I shut everything and everyone out—not that there were that many people in my life. I saw only the day I woke up in. I went to work, put on a pretend smile everyone supposed was genuine, and went home to my hole in the wall. At the end of every shift, every good day and bad one, at the end of every walk and every rare night out I came home to a lonely apartment and good ole Johnny.
I should have gone out more and lived the party life. Maybe if I had, the emptiness wouldn't have haunted me like it did, but I was a reclusive drunk. I liked the comfort of my own
place and the safety it provided—besides, I still wasn't old enough to be legal.
I changed the décor over the course of a couple months to match my insides. Whereas before I looked for quirky vintage pieces that popped with color, I moved slowly to clean, cold, sharp lines in gray and black monochrome. Once when Lizzie and ShamRae came over to drop off some mail from Aunt Aerin (she at least respected my right to privacy and sent correspondence through Lizzie), ShamRae remarked that I should go into interior decorating and said she loved my eye for design. I thought she was trying to be nice and made a point to say most of the pieces were just refinished second-hand pieces. I couldn't accept the compliment; I felt worthless. My life was quiet and safe, but it was edged in a hopelessness that was creeping in on me, drowning me, and I was helpless to fight against it. All I could do was give in.
I stopped reading because the sight of books made me think of Justin. I quit walking because the smiling couples and happy families made me beat myself up for pushing him, and our future together, away. That's when I really started to drink too much. It got so bad I even missed a day of work because I didn't get up from my stupor in time to make the shift. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was getting worse. I justified it, but I was sinking fast.
And then came Jordan.
CHAPTER 15
HOW CAN I describe Jordan? He was everything Justin was not. Justin was hardcore, heavy-metal and guitar jams like Santana and Jimmy Hendrix. Jordan was a country boy through and through.
He came into Orlando's one morning for breakfast and ordered the Lumberjack Special. He was alone, which wasn't entirely unusual. We didn't talk much; I took his order and brought his food. He came back the next day, and the next as well. That's when the banter started.
“Lemme guess,” I said coming up behind him, “Lumberjack Special, coffee, extra cream, and a three-dollar tip at the end?”
He tilted his head to look at me from under his ball cap. There was a glint in his eye: he was noticing me for the first time, even though I'd served him before.
“Let's do it.” he said with a smile.
“Alright, it'll be up in a bit,” I smiled.
He nodded and looked back over his shoulder to watch me leave; I know he did because I looked back at him, too. We locked eyes; his mesmerized me and drew me in. They were a bright, beautiful blue—not at all like Justin's, serious, contemplative eyes that I had once known so well. They were new, fresh, unknown territory that intrigued me, made me wonder what kind of thoughts swam around in his head. I liked them very much and blushed when I realized I was staring. I looked down quickly and smiled like a school girl, but I kept looking at him—and kept getting caught.
He didn't say much else to me that morning but left a five instead of three ones and winked before he walked out the door.
“Someone's sweet on you!” Kody, the cook, said from behind the counter. Again a stupid smile erupted on my face. I liked him.
I thought about him all day long. I went home that night, had a drink, and went out for a walk for the first time in weeks. Instead of being depressed by the couples holding hands, I thought of the man from the restaurant. I still didn't know his name but couldn't get my mind off his eyes. I hoped he would be there the next day.
All at once I realized that in my whole life I had never been interested in anyone but Justin. Not one. Justin had been it since I was seven years old. Several boys had asked me out over my high school years in Leavenworth, but I had turned them all down. I was Justin's, and he was mine.
I wondered if I would give the boy in the restaurant a chance if he asked me. I knew I would, and he did.
It took him long enough to ask me out, but before too long, it was obvious to everyone he liked me. He was young—not young, just not Justin's age. He was my age, like me—a year out of high school and working for his uncle on a construction site a block away. His uncle came in every now and then, and other guys from the site started coming in as well—sometimes for breakfast and lunch, sometimes only one or the other.
They came in for a month before one of the guys asked me if I had a boyfriend.
“Nope, no boyfriend.” I smiled, looking quickly in Jordan's direction as I refilled their coffees. There were four guys at the table: Jordan, his uncle, and two co-workers I had also gotten used to seeing.
“A husband?” Jordan's uncle asked.
“Nope, no husband either.” I grinned holding up my left hand.
“A date for Friday?”
“Not even a date,” I said trying not to look at Jordan, but my eyes darted to his before I could help it.
“How does a pretty thing like you not have a man in her life?”
For a split-second I thought of Justin, then said, “That's about the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” I patted the older man on the shoulder kindly before walking away.
When they all got up to leave, Jordan lingered uncomfortably. I hoped I knew why he was there, and I made my way over to clear the table—something I would normally wait to do until all the customers were gone.
“You need something?” I asked, my heart fluttering inside like a hummingbird's.
“Yeah, um, ah, you wanna go to dinner sometime, or something?”
“Sure, dinner sounds nice. Here,” I said writing my number down on the end of his receipt, “my number...” I hated my face for smiling the way it was, but I couldn't help it.
“Friday?”
I breathed in deeply. “I don't know ... then I'd have to tell your uncle I lied about having a date.”
“Yeah.”
“Fine, Friday it is. I ... gotta get back to work,” I said, motioning to the dishes.
“Oh yeah, sure. I'll call you.”
“I hope so.”
And that was it. He came to pick me up, took me to a nice dinner, and dropped me off. It was nice to spend time with someone who didn't know my past. I didn't want to ever tell him where I had come from. I wanted to be someone new. He could make up his own story about how I grew up and what my life had been like.
The next weekend he invited me to the premiere of Pirates of the Caribbean. At the end, Jordan brought me back to my place and followed me to my door. I knew he was going to kiss me. I wanted it, but I was nervous. It was like the first time with Justin all over again—only completely different.
“This is me,” I said pointing to my door and turning to face him.
“Nice door.” He reached over my shoulder, stepping closer, and tapped the door. He was nervous too; I could tell.
“Thank you.” I looked up, anticipating.
He nodded, his eyes, blue and brilliant as ever in the porch light, only more intense. It was time. He was tall—much taller than Justin—and closed his eyes as he leaned down to me. I reciprocated and prepared myself for the first kiss I'd had in five years.
The feelings were all there, the anticipation, the thrill of the unknown, the attraction and butterflies, but it was different: his lips were too soft, his tongue too slow, his cologne too musky. None of it was bad, but he wasn't Justin.
I opened my eyes and pulled away and stared at him in shock. I didn't want his kiss; I wanted him to kiss me the way Justin did.
“What?” He smiled. There's no way he could have known what I was thinking, and I knew it, so I lied, which was so much better than the truth.
“I'm not ... ready.”
“OK ... ”
“I'm getting over someone. I need to go slow.”
“So, I'm the rebound guy?” He let out a breath, took a step back and lifted his hat off his head momentarily. Something about the way he said it made me think this wouldn't be the first time.
“No, it's not like that; it's been a long time. I just ... I want to go slow is all.”
“So what you're saying is there's no way I'm getting inside tonight?”
“The door's all you get.” I smiled apologetically, knocking on it with the back of my hand.
“How about tomorrow?�
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“I have to work early.”
“Next week then? Scout's honor, I won't try anything; we'll do dinner in, that's all.”
“And a walk?”
“Where?”
“The Milla. I like to walk there; it's nice.”
“It's freezing.”
“Then bring a jacket!” I teased.
“It's a deal.” He smiled. “Until tomorrow then ... ” He came back, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me again. It was his kiss, not Justin's, but this time it didn't shock me because I was expecting it to be different. I tried to stop comparing him to the only other boy I had ever kissed, but it was always there in the back of my mind.
It never went away, either: every kiss, every touch I let him get away with, was compared to Justin. I liked Jordan—I learned to like the way he smelled and held my hand and how he would twist my hand this way and that inside his to guide me on our walks. He wanted to be a contractor like his uncle and eventually own his own company; none of that was like Justin. I had to remind myself it was OK to like him and it was OK that he didn't want the same things in life that Justin did. I could tell he was falling for me, and I wanted to feel the same way, but he couldn't quite fill the emptiness inside me.
Once spring came we were always outside. We went to dozens of pee-wee league ball games to watch his uncle's kids play. It seemed like there was a game almost every day after work. He was the best kind of big cousin, and my favorite part was when the kids would look up into the stands and wave at us. The smiles on their faces were priceless. I knew Justin and I could never have had anything like that: neither of us had any cousins—or uncles, for that matter—who cared about us. I did have an aunt, though, I would remind myself before pushing my memories of wooded walks with her and Pepper out of my mind.
Jordan liked to keep busy, and his energy kept my mind off my mistakes—most of the time. We would take long drives up into the Angeles National Forest and walk for hours alongside the forest service roads. He said he felt at home and at peace in the woods. In a lot of ways I felt the same, and I loved him for exposing me to the raw and untamed beauty of nature. He showed me waterfalls and animal dens, and we climbed rocks and trees and stayed out late to watch the stars. But even as I walked hand-in-hand with him, I would find myself wondering what Justin would think of forest walks.
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