The Days Without You: A Story of Love, Loss, and Grief

by Skylar Wilson

  Surfing Saturday? Got to practice. Talk to you later.

  No way, now, could she let Samantha beat her this year.

  A few days after Shawn’s emergency, just as Adam was about to undress and climb into bed—early, for a change—his phone buzzed. Shawn was on the other end of the line, ready to come home from the hospital and needing a ride. Wearily, Adam dressed once more and headed out.

  While he drove, he mulled over what he could, or should, say to his roommate: tell him to cut back on drinking? Or say nothing? For sure, he couldn’t yell at him despite his urge to; the poor guy almost died.

  After the shuffle of checking in with the unit secretary and being instructed to bring his truck to the front of the main entrance, he watched while a young aide wheeled Shawn out and helped him into the cab. Adam thanked her before he climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the engine.

  For several minutes while Adam drove, neither said a word. Adam draped his arm out the open window, enjoying the warm breeze. Shawn’s hands lay flat on his lap, and his gaze stared at the passing houses. An awkward tension hung between them. A thousand things to say flashed and passed through Adam’s mind while he drove, yet none of them seemed appropriate.

  Finally, glancing at Shawn, he broke the silence.

  “What happened?”

  Shawn shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember coming home and busting my guitar?” Anger threatened to bubble in Adam’s chest.

  “What? No. I did?”

  “Yeah, I still have to buy a new one,” said Adam, fighting to keep his voice level.

  “Oh, man. I’m so sorry. I had no clue.” His knees suddenly captured his attention. Were tears forming at the corners of his eyes? “I’ll give you the money for a new one.”

  The anger in Adam’s chest cooled. “You can buy me that new Gibson I’ve been wanting. I’m filling in at Grits on Saturday, so I still need one.” He gave a half-hearted grin at Shawn, who chuckled lightly, and they returned to riding in silence for a while.

  “The doctor thinks I need to do rehab or something. Or go to twelve-step meetings.”

  “Do you?”

  It made sense now, Adam thought—all of Shawn’s drinking and partying, going to work drunk, losing his job at Grits.

  Shawn shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” His eyes grew wide, almost childlike. “They gave me a list of meetings.”

  “Maybe you should give it a shot. You never know—you may like it.”

  He mulled this over. “I guess so,” he mumbled. “Would you go with me? At least to one. There’s a meeting tomorrow. I just…I dunno. I don’t think I can do it by myself. Not at first.”

  “Shawn, I don’t know if they’d want me in there.”

  “Please, just this one. That’s all I’m asking. It’s at ten, so you have time before your shift tomorrow, right?”

  Adam hesitated. “I’ll drive you there and wait in the parking lot or whatever. I’ll be there when you get out.”

  Will you stay with me tonight?

  Saturday morning, Kylie sat on the edge of the bed and stared blankly at the wall, regretting wanting to go surfing. Instead, she wanted to return to sleep and never wake up. It was as if the all the energy had drained from her muscles despite a full night’s sleep.

  Cat had texted her sporadically throughout the week, although Kylie did not always reply right away. She had yet to tell Cat the reason behind her sudden desire to surf again, as it seemed to take more energy than usual to talk to anyone. Somehow, though, she had made it through the days that felt like months.

  Dragging herself to her feet, she rifled through the dresser drawer and changed, her body and mind, meanwhile, crying out in protest for no particular reason. Every movement was tiring and trying. The nothingness of oblivion called out to her, imploring her to just simply go back to sleep. She turned to stare at her phone as the thought to call Cat and cancel their plans crossed her mind. No. She was the one who wanted to surf in the first place, not to mention she needed to practice. The Gidget Classic was coming up quickly, and after remembering her encounter with Samantha the other day, it was as if a small match had been struck. Not a raging, roaring fire—just a tiny spark of determination. With that tiny spark, she found renewed energy.

  “Hi,” greeted Cat, who had been waiting outside her townhome, with a bright smile as she tossed her wetsuit into the backseat. Kylie, meanwhile, hoisted Cat’s surfboard onto the roof rack. “Why the sudden need to surf this weekend, by the way? I thought we weren’t going until next weekend.”

  “I saw Samantha Hart.”

  “And she brought up the interference call, didn’t she?”

  Kylie nodded, and they climbed into their seats.

  “Ah.” Cat pursed her lips to one side while adjusting her seatbelt. “I don’t know why you let her bother you so much.”

  “Because,” began Kylie, her focus on the street as she pulled out onto it, “she’s been competing against me since the very first year I entered.”

  “Yeah, three years ago.”

  “She came up to me and asked where I’d learned to surf and, you know, I told her my dad taught me. And then she goes—I remember it exactly, too, because I was so angry—‘He must not’ve been very good, either’ and she walked away.”

  “You never told me that.”

  Kylie shrugged, her eyes trained on the car in front. “I tried not to think about it,” she lied. But she had thought about it. She stewed over the jibe for weeks on end, internalizing all her anger and hurt while outwardly feigning nonchalance, never revealing what Samantha had said to her. Cat would have said many profane words about Samantha, carrying on endlessly, and Kylie would have nodded with a smile and played along.

  The name Colton came to mind, also. What had her mother meant by asking for someone named Colton? Maybe it had just slipped out, meaningless, in her delirious state.

  “But I know you did think about it,” said Cat, cutting across Kylie’s thoughts. “I know how you are. Why didn’t you tell me? It’s no wonder you hate her so much—I’d always wondered why.”

  “Yeah.” The topic was getting old, however, and Kylie found it trying.

  Seemingly sensing Kylie’s mood, Cat suddenly brightened. “So, I’ve been thinking: we haven’t had a nice date in ages. We’re way overdue for one.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Dinner. Oliver and Adam work at that place downtown on Meeting Street, don’t they? The one we went to before.”

  “Grits.”

  “Yeah, that place. Oliver was telling me they have music some nights. Let’s go tonight. Just you and me.”

  Kylie smiled.

  “It’s a date.”

  That evening, Kylie stood before Cat’s bathroom mirror, waging war on her limp hair with hairspray and pins, and Cat, half-dressed in front of the closet, rifled through her overflowing racks of clothes.

  “I should have something that will fit you,” Cat called from deep within the racks. She emerged, holding up a black cocktail dress to herself, its hem falling past her knees. “I think the length on this one would look good on you.”

  “Whatever you say, shrimpy,” said Kylie, smirking and ducking as Cat chucked a plastic clothes hanger through the bathroom door. Cat tossed the dress on the bed, and Kylie scrutinized it. “That looks kind of fancy. Too much for tonight? It’s just dinner.”

  “Nope.” Cat returned to digging around the closet floor. “No such thing as too fancy for tonight. This is our first date in a long time, and we’re going to do it up right. Gotta treat my lady nice once in a while.”

  Kylie laughed, holding her lips in a smile for a few fleeting moments before it faded. It felt as though it had been a lifetime since she had felt this light, this happy; she wanted to savor the feeling. Over two weeks had gone by already. She had survived her first week back to work with minimal interference from Bruce, and Maggie had even done her own work for a change
. This morning’s surfing session had been excellent, as well.

  “Does this look okay? Or is it a total bird’s nest?” She turned her head from side to side, examining her work in the mirror’s reflection and adjusting a few pins.

  Cat tossed out several pairs of shoes before emerging from the closet again with a deep wine-colored dress. “You look fine. Stop fussing. I’m sure Adam will be impressed.” She grinned, and Kylie rolled her eyes. Cat tossed the black dress at her. “Get your ass moving, or we’ll be late for our reservation.”

  They exited Cat’s townhome, stepping easily down the front stoop. Cat linked an arm through Kylie’s. She smiled, enjoying the warm, balmy evening air on her face and arms as they covered the few blocks to Grits. Cat chattered chirpily and merrily, changing subjects every other minute, and their steps fell in time. Already, Kylie regretted wearing heels—her feet had begun to ache as she tried to maintain her balance on the uneven sidewalk.

  For once, Kylie was not consumed by grief. Perhaps, she thought, the dimmest ray of hope was beginning to shine. Maybe, she prayed, she would get through unscathed this time, this loss.

  Maybe.

  “Adam’s working tonight; that’s what you said, right?” asked Cat as they approached the restaurant front.

  Gold scroll letters covered each wide picture window on either side of the propped-open front door, reading Grits, Fine Southern Dining. Through the open doorway flowed a gentle acoustic melody. A throng of people milled about; some muttered irritably about the wait, others chatted with each other while waiting patiently.

  “Yeah, he said to make reservations for after seven, so I made them for 7:30.” She glanced at her silver watch. “Five minutes early.”

  “Look at the line, though,” said Cat, screwing up her face at the crowd.

  Squeezing their way through to a small podium, the flowing music growing loud, they stood before a young hostess, who greeted them with a haggard smile.

  “How many?” she asked. “It’s a forty-five-minute wait right now.”

  “Oh, um, no,” said Kylie, “we have a reservation. It should be under Lewis.”

  The girl closed her eyes for a moment and nodded, as if in relief, then glanced down to the book in front of her. “Certainly. This way.”

  The pair followed the young girl inside, and they wove their way through the maze of white linen-covered mahogany tables, most of which sat fully occupied. Softly glowing string lights lined the walls; candles flickered gently, illuminating the tables in a delicate, fluttering light. As they approached the back of the restaurant, Kylie suddenly recognized the voice singing—it was Adam’s. He sat on stage, propped on a stool with his guitar.

  Cat smacked Kylie’s arm from behind. “You didn’t tell me he was playing tonight,” she said as they sat.

  “I didn’t know. I thought he was working tonight.”

  Her eyes flicked between the stage and the menu before her, trying not to stare outright. Adam noticed them and smiled, and Kylie gave a small wave.

  Cat glanced up as the waitress approached their table, and she promptly kicked Kylie’s shin under the white linen.

  “Ow, what—?”

  Samantha stood over them, clearing her throat. “Can I get you something to drink? Something to start off with? Maybe some arsenic or lye?”

  “Very funny,” murmured Cat, scanning the wine menu. “We’ll take a bottle of Pinot Noir, and hold the poison. Oh, and an order of breadsticks.” She smiled just as sweetly.

  “You should probably save talking smack for the Gidget, or are you going to pay your way to win this year?” spat Kylie.

  “I never paid my way to win. Not my fault you’re not that good. Maybe you should reconsider competing this year; maybe practice some more. A lot more,” said Samantha before turning on her heel and walking away.

  Kylie stared as she watched Samantha walk away, then turned to scold Cat on the price of the wine—also for antagonizing her—but Cat interrupted.

  “Relax. Tonight’s on me.”

  “You’re a bad influence. Why am I friends with you?” She poked her tongue out and laughed, although her giggles died quickly.

  The pair sat without words for several minutes, simply listening to Adam’s performance. Kylie leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her palm while she watched. The song was intricate, the delicate accompaniment alternating between picking and strumming, and Adam’s dulcet voice sung softly. With a glance at her, he smiled. Finally looking up, Kylie noticed Cat staring at her.

  She frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing,” answered Cat, singsong and high-pitched.

  But before Kylie could badger her about it, Samantha returned with their wine and basket of breadsticks and poured their glasses full.

  “No spit on those breadsticks, right? Haven’t thrown them on the floor or anything?” asked Cat.

  “Are you ready to order or not?” Samantha said, her notepad and pen poised.

  “Yeah, I’ll have…” Cat prolonged the word cheerfully while she scanned the menu, holding it long enough to be antagonistic. Impatiently, Samantha tapped her toe, and Cat waited just a few more moments before deciding. “I’ll have the filet mignon.”

  “Chicken and collard greens for me,” said Kylie stiffly, holding up the menu.

  Samantha took it with a strained smile and walked away.

  Already, Kylie’s mood was beginning to deflate. How could she enjoy dinner with Samantha lurking about, waiting to insult her? Or Cat just being…Cat? No surprise if Cat were to antagonize Samantha throughout the entire meal. Perhaps she should have stayed home, vegging out in pajamas.

  “Kylie? You okay?” came Cat’s voice. Kylie glanced up to see Cat’s brow raised in concern. “If you’re upset about Samantha—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “She’s just trying to upset you so you won’t compete this year. Ignore her. We’re not going to let her ruin our date. Besides, you’re going to do just fine this year. Different judges mean no bad calls.”

  Kylie nodded vaguely and returned her attention to the small, raised stage just as Adam paused between songs to drink from the water bottle at his feet. He strummed a few chords then muted the strings with his hand and leaned toward the microphone.

  “This next song is dedicated to someone here tonight,” he murmured before beginning to play again, picking the strings with a melody Kylie did not at first recognize. Quickly, though, recognition settled in; it was a pop song, unlike Adam’s usual genre, but the lyrics sounded vaguely familiar.

  Cat leaned forward, her forearms resting on the table. “Kylie! This is so romantic!” she cried.

  But Kylie’s ears grew hot as her pulse pounded in them, although she was unsure whether she was overcome by flattery or embarrassment. No, she shouldn’t be embarrassed—it wasn’t as though he had called her out by name. Murmurs sounded throughout the room, whispering how beautifully Adam made the song his own: extra little flourishes or swinging the notes in well-timed measures, small trills here and there. Kylie wished she could melt into her seat or hide under the table. Instead, she drank deeply from her wine glass to avoid responding to Cat; she couldn’t bear to look at the stage, instead nibbling on a breadstick for something to do. Finally, when the song ended and Adam moved on to another cover, the heat finally faded from Kylie’s cheeks and neck. She was spared speaking as Samantha dumped their plates on the table and left without a word.

  “I swear,” muttered Kylie, glaring at the back of Samantha’s head.

  Cat shushed her and picked up her fork. “We’re having a good time, remember?”

  She nodded stiffly, forcing a smile, and shredded the chicken on her plate with fork and knife. “I still think she paid off the judges.”

  “Relax,” soothed Cat. “Just beat her next month at the Gidget. She’s just worried because she knows you’re good; that’s why she’s trying to get you not to compete.” Her fork waved in the air as she spoke.

  �
�Already planning on it.” Kylie chewed another bite. “There are some maneuvers I’ve got to get down to get my scores up.”

  “Well, we’ve only got three weeks to keep practicing.”

  Kylie continued to shred her meal and to chew large, angry bites, and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

  Cat’s expression relaxed. “Let’s just enjoy tonight, all right?” She set her napkin on the table and rose to her feet. “I’m going to the restroom. Be right back,” she said before heading to the rear.

  Fork still in hand, Kylie looked up at the stage. Adam’s eyes were closed while he sang, and he seemed utterly lost in the music, as if he had shut out everything around him. She watched him intently, a small smile on her lips. His passion for his music was inspiring to Kylie; she did have surfing, though—that was something she was passionate about. What about her work? Mostly she suffered through the days. She didn’t particularly feel like she was helping anyone with the advice column, and the magazine was, put bluntly, a gossip magazine. She was now officially covering the advice column since Maggie moved out of content. It was a start in the right direction, at least, but it wasn’t exactly what she thought she would be doing with her degree—she wanted to chase down leads and uncover lies and reveal hidden truths.

  “Are you done?”

  Samantha stood over her, brusquely clattering the plates together without waiting for a reply.

  “Hey, I wasn’t done!”

  She leaned down to Kylie and said in a hushed voice, “I don’t know what I’ve ever done to you. And I never did anything like pay off the judges.”

  “Then why did they investigate last year’s judges?” Kylie shot back at her. “That’s one of the reasons they replace all the judges. They don’t put up with that nonsense. Tell me, how much did you slip to the judges for my interference call last year? Or did Mommy and Daddy pay for it?”

  Samantha stood straight. “Even if you hadn’t been called on that interference, you screwed up your big move, whatever it was you were trying to do.”