by Mila Gray
I love you. Always.
Kit.
P.S. Thanks for the photos of the baby.
P.P.S. USD huh? What happened to USC and acting?
I sit back in my chair taking a long, deep breath, staring at the words on the screen, my heart beating in time with the cursor. My hands are shaking slightly. Down the corridor I hear a door slam and I jump. Sweat snakes down my back. Fuck. My eyes blur as I reread the email. What the hell am I thinking?
Before I can stop myself I hit delete.
From: Jessa Kingsley
To: Kit Ryan
[email protected]
Date: February 17
Subject: news
Dear Kit,
I wanted to write and let you know that Jo had the baby. He was born two days ago, weighing in at a healthy 9 pounds. Jo’s named him Riley Kit Kingsley.
I was at the birth. It was amazing, Kit, the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced. I was so scared that he would look like Riley and that I wouldn’t be able to look at him or hold him because of it. And he does and it’s so wonderful. He looks exactly like Riley. The same eyes, the exact same expression – you know how Riley used to look when he was pissed at something? (Jo says it’s wind, but I swear he’s inherited Riley’s personality.)
It’s the most amazing thing, Kit. It’s like he’s given us all a new start. Even my dad is totally in love with him. You should have seen him hold him for the first time. He cried. My mom is even smiling again and is almost back to normal.
And that’s why I’m writing really. It’s not just to tell you about Riley, but also to tell you that this is the last email I’m sending you. I can’t keep writing into the void.
I don’t know how you’re doing – your dad says he doesn’t hear from you either. I wish I could see you, speak to you face to face, but I have no idea when or even if you’re ever coming home.
I know you must be hurting and I wish there was something I could do to make it better. But I’m hurting too, Kit. He was my brother. And I didn’t just lose him. I lost you too. Part of the grief process is letting go. I’ve finally let go of Riley and am moving on. And now I need to let go of you too.
I’ll always hold you in my heart and think about you but this is the only way. Thank you for all the beautiful memories.
48
Kit
I stare at the computer screen, my heart beating in my throat, nausea bubbling in my stomach. The hiss of static fills my ears and my eyesight starts to blur. For a moment it feels as if I might be having another panic attack, but after forcing myself to breathe and count to ten, the sound starts to fade and my eyesight returns to normal.
The words on the screen unblur and I read them again, swallowing hard when I take in the news about the baby’s name and then gripping the arms of my chair when I reread the last paragraph.
Finally I tear my eyes away and stare at the wall. What did I expect? I shake my head, snorting air through my nose. What the hell did I expect? That she was going to wait for me to get my shit together? That after treating her so badly, after ignoring her for so long, she was going to wait for me and accept me back into her life with open arms?
It’s been almost six months. Six months of silence. I’ve only got myself to blame.
I look back at the computer. If I was any sort of man at all, I’d email her right now and tell her how sorry I am, I’d beg her forgiveness, I’d tell her that I understood and wish her well, but I can’t. Because as I already know – as has already been discovered – I’m no sort of man at all.
I stumble to my feet, pushing my chair to the side, and am about to turn off the computer by pulling the plug when I change my mind. I sit back down and with a shaking hand, the static starting to buzz in my ears again, I hit delete on the email and then on the dozen other emails from Jessa that are clogging up my inbox.
Jessa’s right. It’s time for a new beginning. The best thing I can do is let her go, stop thinking about her, move on. I left it too late. I’m one big fuck-up.
After I’ve deleted all the emails, I glance at the clock. It’s almost five. I grab my stuff and walk out the door, heading in a daze back to my room on the other side of the base. Once there I quickly get dressed, pulling on my jeans and a T-shirt, and head straight back out again.
I make a beeline for the nearest bar. It’s a sleazy faux-Irish pub with floors so tacky with spilled beer my shoes stick to it as though they’re trying to stop me getting to the bar. There’s a pool table in one corner and a dozen or more booths ringing the room – all empty for the moment – though this being Guam and there being nothing else to do on the island, it won’t be long before the place is heaving with marines coming off duty.
I sit down on a stool at the bar and signal to the barman. He ambles over and asks what he can get me. I stare bewildered at what’s on offer: beer, spirits, soft drinks. I don’t know what to ask for. I just know that tonight I want to drink myself into oblivion.
‘Whatever is going to get me drunk quickest,’ I answer.
The barman’s eyebrows shoot up. He flips the tea towel he’s carrying over his shoulder, turns to grab a glass and fills it with some amber liquid from a bottle before setting it down in front of me.
‘Woman trouble?’ he asks.
I pick up the glass, eyeing the contents. A voice in my head is yelling at me to put it down, turn around and walk away now, before it’s too late. I think of my dad and his drunken rages – his purple face, his slurred words, the time I found him passed out in a pool of his own vomit on the sofa – but then I shove the memory away. Who’s here to see me get drunk anyway? What does it matter if I drink myself into a coma? Or pass out in a lake of my own vomit? Who’s going to care?
I down the contents of the glass in one go. It burns my throat and makes my eyes water, and when I slam the glass back down I feel a rush as the alcohol immediately lights a fire in my stomach.
‘Another,’ I say, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth.
The barman sighs but then, seeing the tattoo on my arm just visible beneath the bottom of my sleeve, decides not to argue. I’m guessing he’s seen more than his fair share of angry servicemen and knows the best bet is just to give them what they want.
He pours me another drink and I down that one too and then a third. My head starts to spin a little. My limbs loosen up. The hard knot in my stomach starts to relax. When the door slams behind me I don’t even jump. I laugh under my breath. Wow. I can’t believe it’s taken me six months to realize that getting drunk is the answer.
I pull out my phone and start scrolling through the photo album. My fingers are clumsy and slow but I feel a startling mental clarity, and when I get to the photos of Jessa – the ones she sent me of herself topless and the ones I took of her in her underwear – I know exactly what I have to do. I haven’t looked at them in six months – couldn’t bring myself to before now – and now I find myself unable to look away. Even though my breathing has stalled and it feels as if someone’s stabbing a skewer between my ribs, I can’t stop looking.
Her smile. That’s what strikes me first. It’s hard to believe she was smiling like that because of me. For me. Has she smiled like that since, I wonder? The pictures become blurry and I realize it’s because I’m crying. Angrily I hit delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.
Stumbling off my stool, I signal the barman to get me another drink. He eyes me nervously, looking at the phone in my hand as if it’s a gun or a bomb.
‘She’s gone,’ I say to him. ‘I deleted her.’
A look of pity crosses his face before he nods and picks up my glass. I start laughing. And then I down the fourth double shot. The room lurches sideways. I collapse down onto the stool and rest my head on the bar with a sigh.
I’m not sure how long I stay sitting like that drifting in a welcome fog, but suddenly I feel someone put their hand on my shoulder. I jerk upright, half falling off the stool, grateful to the bar for catching me. My eyeli
ds are heavy as lead. Someone’s standing in front of me, but it takes a while for my eyes to pull focus.
‘Dad?’ I say, thinking I must be hallucinating.
My legs give way. My dad catches me as I stumble. The bar stool tumbles sideways and hits the ground.
‘Dad?’ I say again, and through the fog in my head I can hear that my voice is broken. It sounds like I’m crying.
‘I’m here, son,’ my dad answers.
49
Jessa
‘Your parents are going away for the weekend, I hear.’
I glance sideways at Todd. He’s opening the microwave door, trying to look nonchalant, but I know what he’s implying and my pulse elevates.
‘Yeah,’ I mumble, busying myself with unloading the dishwasher. ‘It’s their anniversary. I think my dad’s trying to make up for being a total asshole for the last eight years. It’s all part of the recovery process.’
‘Yeah? That’s great,’ says Todd. ‘I was thinking maybe I could . . . um . . .’ He clears his throat. ‘Maybe I could stay over.’ He shoots a nervous look my way.
I pretend not to notice while trying to figure out what to say. It’s been two months. I guess I can’t keep putting him off. And it’s not like I don’t like him. Todd’s been good for me. He’s been there for me. And so what if I don’t feel the same way about him that I felt about Kit? So what if I don’t get the same level of butterflies? Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s what happens when you grow up. And at least Todd would never have the capacity to hurt me like Kit did.
Todd takes the bottle from the microwave and tests the temperature of the milk against the inside of his wrist. I smile at him and kiss him on the lips as I take the bottle from his hand.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Yeah, sure.’
His eyes go wide. He has so much more of the kid about him than Kit ever did, but I guess he’s three years younger.
‘Seriously?’ he asks. ‘You’re sure?’
I nod and he grins. My stomach sinks a little and I try to ignore it.
Todd puts his arms around my waist and pulls me nearer so he can kiss me. I let him, trying to summon some enthusiasm. When Todd first asked me out I said no. We met again at college, were taking some of the same classes and started off as friends. Then one day he invited me to the movies and I went, not expecting it to be a date, but it ended up being one all the same. I think I saw him as a way to get over Kit, because even though I had emailed Kit and told him we were over, I still couldn’t stop thinking about him. I thought Todd might help me forget about him. So far, no luck, though maybe after the weekend that will change. Todd’s good-looking, he’s sweet, he’s smart. He’s not as funny as Kit and the chemistry isn’t as electric, but there’s the added bonus that my parents love him. And now I’m an only child, I feel the pressure of wanting to please them even more than I did before. It’s part of the reason I enrolled at USD.
Just then baby Riley starts crying. I pull out of Todd’s arms and walk into the living room where Riley is sitting in his bouncy chair playing with a rattle that Didi bought him. Picking him up and settling down on the sofa with him, I marvel at how much a baby can totally and utterly turn your world upside down. Before Riley, I honestly didn’t know how I’d ever learn to smile again. I didn’t think I’d ever be happy. And now I’m the happiest I’ve been since it all happened.
I look after Riley whenever I can, and my mom and dad babysit while Jo’s at college. Everyone’s happy with how it’s worked out. Riley grabs for the bottle out of my hands. For a three-month-old he’s remarkably clear about his needs, and just like his dad he goes after what he wants with a directness that makes us all laugh and recall the way Riley pursued Jo.
After his bottle, Riley does his usual routine and spits up on my shoulder when I’m burping him.
‘I’m going to take him upstairs to change him and put him down for a nap,’ I tell Todd, who’s sitting at the table in the dining room working on a term paper.
Just as I get to the stairs the doorbell buzzes.
‘Let’s get that, shall we?’ I murmur, shifting Riley onto my clean shoulder. I answer the door and my heart skips a beat at the sight of Kit standing on the doorstep.
For several seconds I can’t speak. My whole body goes rigid with shock. I can’t even breathe. He’s leaner, older looking, tanned and healthy looking – that’s all I notice. That and the fact he’s wearing the same pair of jeans he wore the night we first made love. My heart has wedged into my throat like a chicken bone and a storm of emotions whips up in my stomach, making me feel instantly sick. I’m torn between wanting to throw myself at him, hurl myself into his arms, and wanting to slam the door in his face.
‘You cut your hair,’ he says to me.
I stare at him. That’s all he has to say? That’s the first thing he’s going to say to me after nearly nine months of silence and dozens of unanswered emails?
Eventually I nod because I don’t know what else to do.
‘You look like Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby,’ he adds.
I can feel my face getting warm as he stares at me, and I look away. I cut my hair short on a whim, shortly after I started dating Todd. I couldn’t stand the way he’d brush it behind my ear because every time he did I’d be reminded of Kit doing the same thing, and now that Kit’s standing in front of me that’s all I can think of and I’m suddenly regretting cutting my hair.
In my arms Riley suddenly gurgles. I see Kit’s eyes fall on him, the bright glare of tears before he hastily blinks them away. Those eyes – the blue of a summer’s day – how could I have forgotten just how blue they are? ‘Can I . . . ?’ he asks, swallowing hard.
I turn Riley to face him and see the wave of emotion wash over Kit’s face as he meets his godson for the first time. He reaches out a hand, tentatively, and rests it on Riley’s head, stroking the dark thatch of hair before chucking him softly under the chin. I watch Kit’s face transform, just as everyone’s does when they see Riley for the first time, at the shock of seeing this mini-version of Riley and the wonder of it.
As momentous as this moment might be, though, I’m just not ready for it, so I swap Riley into my other arm and take a step backwards, suddenly aware that I have baby vomit on my clothes.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, finally finding my voice.
‘I’m back on leave,’ Kit answers.
‘I can see that.’
‘And I wanted to see you.’
I press my lips together. My stomach keeps rolling over. Whether it’s the sight of him after so long, or the shock, or the fact that I’ve just remembered Todd is in the house, I don’t know. But anger has started to flow through my veins. He can’t just show up like this. What is he expecting?
‘Why?’ I ask. My voice has a sharp edge to it, and I see him flinch a little. He studies his feet for a moment before looking up at me again.
‘Because I need to talk to you.’
I shake my head, almost laughing. ‘Now you need to talk to me?’ I ask. ‘It’s a little late, Kit.’
He frowns and bows his head, and for a moment I’m thrown back to that last day – the day of the funeral when he refused to look at me after we had sex. Does he remember that? The memory hits me as hard as a punch to the gut – it’s something I’ve worked hard to forget. I tried to erase it just like I erased the pictures of him on my phone. But then Kit looks up and I see, in that brief moment of eye contact, all his regrets, all his pain, all he’s suffered written clear as chalk on a board. I see how hard it’s been for him to get to this point, the awful journey he’s been on, and how much it’s taken for him to come here today to face me. Even so, I quickly squash my sympathy.
‘It’s too late,’ I say again.
‘I thought you might say that,’ Kit says, nodding. ‘But I needed to try anyway.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘I’m staying at my dad’s. If you change your mind—’ He stops abruptly and I see he’s staring over my shoulder.
&nbs
p; I whip around. Todd’s standing behind me. He’s wearing the formal expression I often see him wear around my father. He curls his fingers around my neck in a way that always makes me tense and stiffen my back, but doubly so now. Shit. I don’t want to rub anything in Kit’s face, but I guess, like everything else, it’s too late for that.
‘You OK, babe?’ Todd asks me.
I wince but force myself to smile. ‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Kit was just leaving.’
I turn back to look at Kit, feeling my cheeks burning, barely able to look at him. But Kit’s expression is blank, his eyes arctic cold. He’s staring between us with his lips pressed together and his focus seems to rest on Todd’s hand gripping the back of my neck. After a moment he glances at me and gives me a look that feels like a knife being slashed across my heart, then he nods and starts to walk away.
Flustered, I shake off Todd’s hand and walk back inside the house, kicking the door shut behind me with my heel. My heart is beating so fast and I’m shaking so hard that Riley starts to fuss in my arms, obviously picking up on my mood.
‘What did he want?’ Todd asks me with an unmistakably irritated tone.
‘I don’t know,’ I say.
Just then the doorbell goes again. I look at Todd, seeing the annoyance flare in his eyes. Oh God. Todd opens the door before I can get to it. Over his shoulder I see Kit standing on the doorstep. He looks out of breath, his cheeks are flushed. He frowns at the sight of Todd and tries to peer past him.
‘What do you want?’ Todd asks, edging sideways to block his view.
‘I want to talk to Jessa,’ Kit answers.
‘She doesn’t want to talk to you,’ Todd says.
‘Yeah?’ Kit asks tersely. He glances over Todd’s shoulder at me. ‘Do you love him?’ he asks me, nodding his head at Todd.
The directness of the question stuns me. My mouth falls open. What the . . . ?
‘Do you love him?’ he demands again.