Crossing Paths (30 page)

“I wish I had your same passion for friendships. I know you always hated how I didn’t like to go out or have people over. I’m sorry I took that away from you. We should have gone out to dinner more. We should have had date nights with our friends. We should have invited more people over and enjoyed their company.”

I need to stop making small talk and just say what I came to say. I’ve run through the words a million different ways, but I know our families are outside the room and probably listening in, so it makes it that much harder to say.

“Julie…oh god, Julie. I should have talked to you about this sooner. Please understand. To be honest, I never thought I would need to talk to you about this. I never thought I would find love again. You were it for me, Julie. You know that. You stole a part of my heart before I was old enough to know I could give pieces away. I miss you. I miss you every day, every damn day. But I have to do this.”

I find her cold and limp hand wrapped underneath all the blankets, and I cover it with mine. I hold it to my chest and hope she can feel my beating heart.

“You have to know that this woman I met is wonderful. You would like her. She is kind and sweet and fun. She has ambition, like you, but she is so different from you, too. I want you to know that if you were here, I would love you forever. Even when you are gone, I will continue loving you. But since you are leaving and you won’t be here any longer, I need to move on. I need to love again. Please, please understand.”

I feel the first tears stream down my cheeks, and then they are followed by countless more. I sit and watch Julie’s chest rise and fall. She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t squeeze my hand. She lies motionless, except for her breathing.

After a few minutes, my mom walks into the room. I can see her out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t acknowledge her presence. She comes to the side of the bed and gives Julie a kiss on her forehead.

“We love you, Julie. We will always think of you,” she says.

Is she trying to kill me?
The sobs rush out of me, and I begin to cry out, throwing my hands over my face as my elbows rest on the bed.
My life is not supposed to happen this way.

“Oh, Cohen. Baby, I am so sorry.”

Soon, I am surrounded by my mom and dad and Julie’s parents. They all look at me lovingly, and I want to slap them.
This is my fault.
I continue to cry as that night crashes back into my mind.

Julie needed some ingredients to finish baking something. I didn’t even know what she was baking. That was how much attention I was paying to her that night. She told me she wasn’t feeling well, but she looked fine to me. I said I was tired and needed to finish up some research for work, so she left by herself.

I went to the bedroom and got comfortable on my side of the bed. I fell asleep with my laptop open to my personal email. I woke up hours later to a call from the local hospital. When they told me what had happened, I felt an instant panic. I knew I would never forget that phone call.

While Julie was driving the four-mile trip to the grocery store, something happened that caused her to cross the median into oncoming traffic. She was hit head-on by a school bus—a school bus of all things. A symbol of innocence and childhood fun was the vehicle that destroyed my life. The police never figured out what caused her to cross the median, but they assumed she either passed out or swerved to avoid something in the road. The bus driver was fine, but Julie suffered injuries to many parts of her body, including her head, and she was never the same. We all held out hope for a long time. The doctors even said she had a chance for a meaningful recovery, but when it came down to it, her brain was too damaged.

For those first few weeks, I spent every waking moment at the hospital. I was at her side, making sure I never missed a doctor’s visit. I was exhausted, but I felt like if I left, then I was giving up on her.

After about a month, her parents and I agreed to have the feeding tube in her nose replaced with one in her stomach, so she could get nutrition more easily. Julie and I had never discussed if she would want this type of thing, but she didn’t require any other kind of life support, so we all thought a more permanent way to provide nutrition was for the best.

Once Julie was medically stable, the doctors said we had to figure out where she would be taken care of after she left the hospital. Her ability to control her bodily functions was so limited that she was unable to participate with therapies, so she couldn’t go to a rehabilitation facility. Her parents didn’t want her to live in a nursing home, but I couldn’t quit my job, and with our insurance, I definitely couldn’t afford in-home care.

Neither of us had the forethought to get disability or life insurance. We hadn’t thought it was important at our young age. I wasn’t even sure what I would do with her bakery and all the accrued medical expenses.

Since I couldn’t care for her in our home, her parents were adamant to have her home with them. Julie’s mom stayed with her, and they hired a caregiver to come in a few days a week.

For several weeks, I would go visit, but I would only stay a few minutes. The guilt of what I had done was too hard to bear. Julie would keep her eyes open, but she didn’t seem to know when someone was in the room. Loud noises would startle her, but she wouldn’t even respond to her name.
I did this to her.

Days turned to weeks, and then months turned into two years. During those two years, I had started to get back into the routine of my new life. I woke up, went to work, went to bed, and then started over again the next morning.

As time passed, people grew less and less interested in how I was holding up. I was still dying inside from losing her, but I had to pretend like I was moving on.

Sitting now beside her bed, I look into our parents’ eyes, and I am scared. When she dies, that will be my fault, too. As if reading my mind, Julie’s dad comes to my side. Kneeling next to me, he takes my face in his hands.

“It’s okay, Cohen. We know you loved her with your whole heart. You gave her the best years of her young life. She loved you so much, and she would want you to move on. She wouldn’t want you to feel this guilt. You didn’t do anything wrong. You aren’t doing anything wrong now.”

With the exception of a few sniffles, everyone is quiet for a few minutes. I know I need to go back to my room, but leaving her side for possibly the last time creates an emptiness in my chest. I feel this deep hollowness in my soul, like a dark cavern without an exit, and I begin to wonder if it will ever be filled again. I can’t speak another word tonight.

The nurse wheels me back to my room. My mom and dad say good night, and I curl up into a ball on my hospital bed. I click the button to turn out the overhead lights. My phone vibrates on the table next to me, and without thinking, I grab it to see who it is.

June? Why would she want to talk to me?
I don’t read the text. I’m afraid of what it might say, afraid that I have ruined yet another wonderful thing in my life. As tears fill my eyes again, I close them, hoping to shut out my life.

It doesn’t work.

Sunday

I wake up early to the quietness of Caroline’s house. I know things were weird and tough yesterday, but I’m hoping that Caroline will come out of her funk since she saw that her brother is doing okay. I rub my eyes and yawn so big that I feel like my jaw might unhinge.
Why do we yawn?
Unless they serve a purpose, I find unnecessary things to be annoying. Yawning is one of those things. If someone could tell me the point of a yawn, I might reconsider my frustration.

I walk down the hall and open a door. I thought I was walking into the bathroom, but when I open my eyes and they begin to focus, I realize I must be in Vivian’s office. Bookshelves line every wall, overflowing with books of all sizes and colors. I walk toward one of the shelves and admire the worn covers. I wonder what Vivian would think if she knew I was in her office. Some people are freaks about other people entering their space, but surely, she would have locked the door if it were that important to her. I turn and place my hands on the back of her large leather chair.

Vivian is a successful realtor in the Seattle area. I never thought having a realtor in my corner could be helpful.
Boy, was I wrong.
When Caroline and I were ready to get our own place at college before our sophomore year, Vivian was on top of things. She contacted several realtors in the area and made sure we got a wonderful place in a clean neighborhood with a landlord who wasn’t a total pervert. She also made certain that things like lawn work and household repairs were included. I would never have thought of all the things she did. Of course, when we moved to Houston, she helped us out there, too.

Glancing over her clean desk, I see several pictures gathered at the far right corner. I sit down and lean forward on my elbows, gazing over the pictures of Caroline on vacation in different beautiful locations. I notice a younger man sporadically included in these photos.
He must be her brother.
I pick up a dark wooden frame in my hand, and after staring at it for a second, I almost drop it to the ground.

If these are family pictures, then what is Cohen…
he has to be a family friend, right?
I pick up another frame showcasing four smiling people. Cohen is wearing a cap and gown as he stands beside Caroline. Caroline’s parents flank them, and as I look at the proud smiles plastered across their faces, I realize they’re not just Caroline’s parents. I place the photo back on the desk and sit in a daze. Everything in front of me is a blur of confusion.

All at once, I am moving with purpose down the hallway. I storm into Caroline’s room and find it empty.
She and Liam didn’t waste any time making up, I see.
I rush down the steps to the basement, moving so quickly that I almost lose my balance toward the bottom. I catch myself against the banister, making a loud thud, before I flip on the lights.

“Rise and shine, everyone!” I say, feigning happiness.

“What the crap, June?” Liam says with a groan.

“I think we should save the
what-the-crap
questions for our good friend, Caroline. What do you say, Caroline?”

“June, what are you talking about?” She goes from a sleepy-eyed look to a more concerned demeanor in moments, revealing she already has some idea of what this is about.

I don’t feel like beating around the bush. “What’s your brother’s name?”

I stare at her, holding her gaze, until she looks down to her feet. I see another framed image of Cohen on a shelf in front of me. I pick up the frame and shove it into Caroline’s lap, so she can’t avoid my question or the obvious answer. Sitting up from the couch, Liam looks at me and shakes his head. I am contemplating his look of frustration when Caroline finally speaks.

“Cohen,” she says, her eyes focused on the carpet fibers.

The room is silent. I didn’t think this through very well. I knew, coming down here, that I was mad. I feel even angrier now, but I’m not sure how to respond. I thought she might try to lie or maybe try to explain why she hadn’t told me.

“How long have you known? Did you know he was leading me on?”