by Lisa De Jong
After living a few minutes in sweet memories, I hear a familiar sound in the distance. One I haven’t heard in months. The one I’ve wanted to hear every day since he left for college.
I stay still, waiting to hear the door of his truck squeak. Once it does, it’s so tempting to get up and run over and jump into his arms, but it doesn’t feel like they’re waiting for me anymore. It feels like I’ve lost that privilege.
Two guys.
Two loves.
Both gone.
I pushed one away and lost the other forever.
Regret fills me. Sadness consumes me.
I bite my lower lip when I hear him slam his door shut and wait silently to hear the sound of his front screen door closing, but it doesn’t. Taking a deep, pained breath and closing my eyes, I listen to the sound of shoes rustling in the grass. After many loud, thumping heartbeats, I open them again to see him standing at my feet, watching me silently.
The moonlight reflects on his skin, reminding me just how beautiful he is. Even without the light, I know what’s inside of him, and that’s the best part. He’s the complete package.
“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asks with the deep husky voice I’ve missed so much. I used to spend nights replaying how it sounded when he said my name.
“Looking at the stars,” I reply, feeling a thickness in my throat. “What are you doing home?”
“I took my last test earlier and I was pretty anxious to get out of the dorms,” he says, running his fingers through his brown hair. It’s grown out again from the last time I saw him at the funeral. “Can I join you?”
His voice is unsure, but I’m not. I’ve missed him.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I joke, patting the space next to me.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called. Things have been crazy,” Beau says as he settles in beside me.
“It’s okay.”
“What have you been up to?” he asks, tucking his hands behind his head.
Sadness floods my chest as I think of all the times I wanted to call Beau, but couldn’t gather the courage. I swallow, trying to get a grip on my emotions. I’ve tried to be better at not holding things in and keeping them to myself, but this was really the only exception.
“Working and reading mostly. I’m thinking about throwing something else in the mix soon.”
He laughs, and I feel his hand brush against mine. The tingle it sends running down my back is confusing, so I push it back not wanting to feel something that can never be. I’m not ready to deal with those emotions yet.
“There’s always school. You’re too smart to stay here.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “All I know right now is there has to be more to life than the diner. But honestly, I couldn’t have made it through the last few months without that place and the people who come in every day. They’re like family now, you know?”
I turn my head to face him for the first time and see him flinch. I know he knows I’m looking at him, but he avoids my eyes.
“I’m sorry I left that day at the funeral. It’s weird, you know? Trying to console the person you love while she’s mourning the person she loves.” He shakes his head, still avoiding any eye contact with me. “I don’t know if I was giving you what I thought you deserved, or just being selfish, but when I look back now, I wish I had done things differently.”
My heart plummets. Where did things go so wrong? When I try to look back and figure it all out, it always points to Drew, but when I really think about it, it was all me. I didn’t deal with things in the best way. I didn’t let anyone help me . . . how could they if they didn’t even know.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I was selfish to think you’d just drop everything to stay with me,” I admit, using the sleeve of my sweatshirt to dab my eyes.
He entwines his fingers with mine, and I swear holding hands has never felt this good. It’s a reassurance that there is still a chance for us, for our friendship. “I wanted to be there for you. I wanted to hold you so fucking bad and never let you go, but I couldn’t be that guy anymore.”
“What guy?” I ask, my chest rising and falling more with every passing second. Why does he do this to me?
“The guy who isn’t good enough and would always come second. For some reason, I thought we had it. I fucking felt it, but when it came down to it, I was wrong.” He pauses, letting his eyes catch mine for the first time. “When you told me you weren’t ready for us, it almost killed me, but I thought it just wasn’t our time, that you needed your space.”
“Beau—”
“No, let me finish,” he interrupts, shifting so that his whole body is facing me. “There was hope for us. When I looked at you, I didn’t see the girl I wanted to share my first kiss with, I saw the girl I wanted to share every kiss with. It might sound stupid, but I saw forever in us, Kate. The morning I saw you in the car with Asher, I felt like someone was fucking stabbing me. I never want to feel that way again.”
Ironic, since it feels like he’s the one choking me right now. Guilt is an all-consuming reaction to things we regret. While I know without a doubt that I wasn’t ready for Beau then, I never wanted to hurt him.
“I’m sorry. I hope I can explain it all someday. I know it won’t make it all right, but maybe you’ll understand. I never ever wanted to hurt you. That was the last thing I ever wanted to do.”
“I think I knew that,” he says.
I stare back at the sky, identifying constellations to keep my mind busy. I’m glad we had this opportunity to talk and shorten the space between us, but it’s also drudging up some things I haven’t thought about in a long time.
“Are you home for the whole summer?” I ask.
He lets go of my hand and sits up, rubbing his hand along his forehead. “Yeah, I’m going to work with my dad.”
I nod, focusing my eyes on his broad, toned back.
“I better get to bed. I have to work tomorrow,” he says, sliding off the edge of the trampoline.
“Beau.”
He stops but doesn’t turn around. “Yeah?”
“Can we hang out this summer? Like we used to?”
“I don’t know,” he says, walking away.
Maybe I should have stopped him . . . but I didn’t.
****
“I’m glad you decided to come in today. How have you been?” Dr. Karcher asks as she rests her clipboard on her lap.
I came once a couple years ago at my mom’s urging, but I left without saying much more than my name. I wasn’t ready, but then one of Asher’s napkin notes pushed me here. I’d held it in my hand, reading it over and over for days before finally deciding to come. Even now, I roll the paper between my fingers, reciting the words in my head.
Talk to someone. If you hold everything in, it will keep you from being the person you could be.
He’s right. I’ve missed out on so many things, and that stops now. Drew is no longer going to be my reason for making any decisions. This is my life, and I’m taking control back.
I still haven’t decided how much I want to tell her. I’ve been here a few other times, but I always close up and end up having to leave early.
She can’t turn back time and completely erase the rape.
She can’t bring Asher back.
How is she supposed to fix me?
“I’m just taking it one day at a time right now,” I reply, trying to get comfortable in my chair.
“What’s a normal day like for you?”
I glance at the ceiling, trying to configure what a day is really like. I live it without thinking about it much. “I go to work most mornings. And when I get off after lunch, I usually go for a run. The rest of my day is spent reading or watching TV with my mom when she’s home.”
“How is your relationship with your mom?” She leans in closer, tapping her pen against her chin.
“It’s better than it was. She works a lot, and for a while we just weren’t communicating like we should. We�
�re working on that.”
“Has your relationship always been a challenge?” What do any of these questions have to do with why I’m here?
“No, I started to pull away when I was sixteen,” I answer.
“And why was that do you think?”
“I think it was a combination of growing up and pulling away. I pulled away from almost everyone,” I admit, resting my elbow against the side of the chair. I don’t know if the chair is uncomfortable, or if it’s just being here that makes it feel that way.
“What caused you to pull away?” she asks, tilting her head. Dr. Karcher has an interesting look about her with frizzy brown curls and glasses that are slightly too large for her narrow frame.
I focus my eyes on the diplomas that hang on the wall. There are at least six of them, but they don’t impress me. It’s all just paper to me until I see something come out of this.
“Something happened a few years ago, and I just couldn’t find a way to deal with it.” I stop, lifting my legs up in the chair so that I can wrap my arms around them. “Why should anyone else have to deal with them?”
“And when you think about it now, how do you feel?”
This I have to think about before answering. It’s definitely less painful to think about than it once was, but it still affects so much of my life. It holds me back and threatens me.
“It still hurts. It will always hurt, but the ache gets easier to deal with as the days pass.”
“And what are you doing to deal with it?”
“Trying to face some of my fears head on,” I answer honestly.
“Let’s talk about that . . .”
For an hour, we go back and forth, playing a game of tug of war with our words. I tell her about my childhood. I tell her about growing up without a dad when everyone else around me had one. I tell her about Beau and how close we were growing up. And when we get to the point where she asks me why it all changed, I have to make a decision. Am I going to tell her why things are so different for me now, or is that something I should save for another time?
“Why aren’t you and Beau as close as you used to be?” she asks, leaning forward in her chair.
I tuck my hands between my knees and lock my eyes on the bookcase on the right side of the room. I know she’s not going to tell anyone, but she’s still very much a stranger to me. Something about it just doesn’t feel right yet. “Kate, your secrets are safe with me. Let me help you,” she says quietly, twirling her watch on her wrist.
“How much time do we have?” I ask nervously. Maybe our session is almost done, and I can just leave and decide what I want to do later . . . if I actually decide to come back.
“You’re my last appointment today. Take as much time as you need.”
Another fork in my road . . . another moment where a decision can change everything.
So I talk. I tell her about the night my life changed, and when I call myself naïve, she stops me and tells me it wasn’t my fault. I know that’s true, but I also know I could have changed the way things ended that night by not going into that house and not trusting Drew.
“Do you ever think you’ve overcompensated? Are you pushing everything and everyone away because of this one twisted guy?”
I shrug. “Sometimes. I pushed Beau away, and he’s the nicest, most honest person I know. I didn’t feel normal and couldn’t grasp why anyone would want to hang out with me.”
“Have you ever loved someone who’s changed? Did you still love them after?” After thinking about it, I realize most people in my life have changed. We all change.
“Yeah,” I whisper, feeling the tears building in my eyes.
“Why would Beau be any different?”
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t know. Maybe it was all me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t think I deserve him anymore,” I cry, puncturing my own heart by saying the words.
“And what happened to make you feel that way?” she asks, setting her notebook on the small table in front of her. My whole body aches as I relive the moment that changed my life.
“I was raped,” I sob, curling my legs into my body.
“How was that your fault?”
I cover my face with my hands and rest my elbows on my knees. This is draining me completely.
“Kate, you can talk to me,” she whispers, running her hand up and down my back.
“I didn’t do anything to deserve it! Okay? I was there because my friends were there. I just wanted to talk and have a good time.” I run my sleeve across my eyes. “He tricked me. He robbed me.”
“And why would Beau think any less of you?”
I internalize her words, and when I’m done, it’s a slap in the face. I was wrong. I’ve been wrong for almost three years, and it’s time to fix it.
Chapter 29
Beau
“Can we talk?” Kate asks.
The last thing I expected today was to have her knocking on my door. But she did, and now she’s standing right in front of me, looking up at me with those big green eyes I love so fucking much. Every time I look at her, I’m reminded of why this girl owns my fucking heart and why I can’t get her out of my head.
After I left for college, I tried to tear my heart away from her. It’s been almost a year, but I haven’t been able to let her go. Not with how deep she’s twisted inside of me. I’ve tried, Lord knows I’ve tried, but I don’t think I can ever get her completely out of my head. I love her.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask, looking past her to the quiet street we’ve lived on for almost fifteen years.
She eyes me nervously, biting her lower lip. It drives me crazy every time she does that. “Actually, I was hoping we could go out to the lake,” she pauses, clasping her fingers in front of her. “We haven’t gone there at all this summer.”
I hesitate because every time we’ve gone to the lake it has ended badly. I don’t know what it is, but that place no longer holds the good memories it did when we were younger. The last time we were there, I laid my whole heart out for her, and I’m pretty sure it’s still there, buried in the sand. “I should stay home and work on packing my stuff. I leave for school again in a few days.”
“You’re leaving already? School doesn’t start for weeks,” she blurts, sadness lining her eyes.
“Yeah, I got an apartment with a couple other guys. They’re letting us move in August first because it’s been empty all summer.”
“Oh,” she says, looking down at the ground. “I’ll let you pack then. I just thought that maybe—”
She starts to back away, but I stop her. “Kate, wait,” I say quickly, running my fingers through my hair. The way she’s looking at me, you’d think I just ran over her puppy. I hate seeing that look on her face. “Give me ten minutes to change.”
She nods and I feel relief as I watch her face relax.
Every time I look at her, I remember the day she moved next door. My mom saw her first and told me to go introduce myself. I thought it was stupid because I hated girls, but I’ve never regretted it. All of my best memories involve Kate . . . and some of my worst.
I’ve stuck by her even when she has tried to push me away. I love her, and I’ve tried to tell and show her over and over again, but nothing works.
The day I left her at the funeral hurt. I wanted to stay with her, but she was grieving over someone else. Her eyes once sparkled when she looked at me, the same type of sparkle I saw that day when she was with Asher in his car. I saw that look on her face many times up until a couple of years ago and then she changed.
The glimmer in her eyes was gone.
And I had no idea what changed.
I throw on a pair of swim trunks and a shirt before making my way back down the stairs. There’s an unsettled feeling in my stomach. If she didn’t mean so much to me, I’d walk right out there and tell her I don’t have time to deal with this today.
Instead, I open the front
door, getting a glimpse of Kate sitting on my front steps. “Ready to go?” I ask, slamming the old screen door shut.
She turns around, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear her whole body is shaking. I don’t know why she’s so nervous. Sure we haven’t seen each other much this summer, mostly because I’ve been avoiding her, but we’ve hung out thousands of times. Things shouldn’t be this way. It’s not how it was meant to be, or how I wanted it to be.
“I’m ready.”
I walk past her, making my way to the truck. Jumping in, I refuse to look back at her. When she’s ready, she’ll come on her own. I keep myself busy, rolling the windows down and turning on the radio. Hey Pretty Girl by Kip Moore is playing. It’s funny how it’s everything I wanted to say to Kate for so long, but waited until it was too late.
This is all that’s left of us. We’re two people who aren’t happy when we’re apart, but can’t seem to get things right when we’re together.
The door of the old Chevy creaks open and I watch out of the corner of my eye as she climbs in. After she slams her door shut, she rests her head against the back of the seat and holds her fingers outside the window like I’ve watched her do many times before. I like that she’s the only girl I know who doesn’t mind the wind blowing through her hair. It’s when she looks her best.
“What do you want to do at the lake?” I ask, pulling out of the driveway.
“I thought we could talk. Summer’s almost over, and I’ve barely seen you,” she says shyly, fidgeting with string on her shorts.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Can we wait until we get to the lake? I’m not ready yet,” she says, her voice cracking slightly.
“You’re scaring me, Kate.” I steal a quick glance in her direction to see her head resting against the window. She looks absolutely miserable, and I swear to God I’m not leaving here until I find out what’s causing it.