Living With Regret (16 page)

After she’s on the right path, I ask her what I’ve really been wondering. “How did you know it was the right time to move on?”

Without warning, she pulls over to the side of the road, putting the car in park. Her whole body turns toward me, looking at me like she’s going to tell me the most important thing I’ll ever hear.

“I think my heart knew it long before I convinced my head. Mine was a different situation, though. I knew death was coming, and by the time it did, I’d already gone through some stages of grief. I had time to process it way before it became reality. I’m not saying that it will take longer for you; I think it all depends on how much of you Cory took with him. How much do you have to get back before you can feel whole enough to give a part of yourself to someone else?”

I blow out the air I was holding the whole time she spoke, looking away to try to escape her knowing eyes. I swear she was born with a special ability to read people. Sometimes I think she knows what I’m thinking before I even say it. “I feel things for him. Things I felt before I started dating Cory. Things I felt with Cory … it’s so confusing, and if I didn’t already feel guilty enough about what happened, it’s making it worse. When I want to be close to him, when he makes my heart race, all I can think about is how it wouldn’t even be happening if Cory were still here.”

“If Asher were still here, I probably wouldn’t be with Beau. And if Asher hadn’t gotten sick, he probably wouldn’t have come to Carrington. If I really think about it, I wouldn’t be with Beau if it weren’t for Asher. He saved me.”

“What are you saying?” I hear everything she’s saying, but I’m not sure what it means for me.

“Quit thinking about the what-ifs and live with what you have. If you’re ready to move on today, then by all means do it, but don’t let anything but what you feel in here guide you,” she says, placing her hand over her heart.

I lean back against the headrest and let her words sink in. Just because I think Sam might be the guy I move on with doesn’t mean it has to happen now. If the things he’s said to me are true, he’ll wait … he’s been waiting.

“Thank you,” I say, tears filling my eyes.

“I’m here for you. No matter what.”

Without hesitation, I pull her in for a hug. She’s given me a clearer picture of the future than I’ve had in a long time. It may not be right in front of me, but it’s definitely something I’m walking toward. There’s a whole lot of living to do along the way.

All I’ve been doing since Kate left yesterday is thinking about what I’m supposed to do with the rest of my life. The talk we had on the way to the lake opened my eyes in a way they hadn’t been in months. Our situations aren’t exactly the same, but she still understands better than anybody. An afternoon with her was exactly what I needed, and by the time she dropped me off at home last night, I had a new resolve to figure out why I’m still here. For whatever reason, I survived that crash, and it wasn’t to sit here and do absolutely nothing.

At one point, I had my whole life mapped out, a path from birth until the day I die. Something came along and flooded it, making it impossible to stay on course. I guess that’s what happens when things are too perfect. Actually, the more I look at it, the less perfect it all seems. It’s beginning to look more like a façade of perfection.

Tonight, I just want to forget about my crazy life and escape to the fields to watch the fireflies and stare at the night sky. They’re two things that make me think of happier times and forget everything else.

I grab an old flannel blanket from the closet and head outside, carefully closing the door behind me to not rouse my parents. I’ve considered getting my own place since I’m not returning to school this semester, but in order to do that, I need a job. That, I don’t know if I can handle yet.

My flip-flops make a rhythmic sound as I walk across our property toward the fields, the grass brushing against my feet. The air smells of the horses my neighbor raises mixed with fresh cut grass. It’s quite possibly the best combination ever.

I find my usual spot where the grass is so long that it’s impossible to see me, and lay the blanket down. The minute I’m comfortably seated, I kick my sandals off and cross my arms over my legs. There’s a light breeze tonight, which blows my long blond hair behind my back. When the crickets begin their song, I lay back and close my eyes. I breathe in, holding it for five seconds before slowly letting it out again. I repeat it, over and over, until I feel so calm it would be easy to drift off to sleep. It’s in these moments that I get to know myself. Often times, I think we get caught up in getting to know everyone around us and forget that we may not know ourselves well enough to know anyone else. I’ve been working hard at this because I think it’s the only way for me to rewrite my life in a way that will give me some semblance of happiness. I’d do anything to get a peek at it every now and then.

As I file my thoughts away, the cricket song fades, and I know he’s here.

Keeping my eyes closed, I listen for his footsteps in the grass. Soon they come, each a little louder than the one before. My heart rate increases just thinking about him being near. I know what he means to me, but I’m trying to forget. Someone should have warned me that it’s impossible to forget Sam Shea.

The footsteps stop above me, and I feel him lowering himself to the blanket. He never asks for permission.

Even when I feel the warmth of his body next to mine, my eyes stay closed. When his fingers wrap around mine, I take a deep breath through my nose but don’t give anything away. His bare arm brushes against mine, and I feel him looking at me. His eyes set fire to my cheek.

“I’ve been out here every night since that day in the shop,” he says, so low it takes all the concentration I have in the stillness of the night air to hear him. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I’ve had time to put things into perspective.”

“Yeah? And what did perspective show you?”

I open my eyes and turn toward him. It’s hard to make out the expression on his face, but I’ve known him long enough that my imagination is just as good. “That I have two choices.”

He waits patiently for me to go on. “I can either swim in this pool of regret for the rest of my life, or I can take the steps necessary to move forward.”

“What did you decide?” he asks. Sam Shea, one of the surest people I’ve ever met, sounds so unsure.

“Life’s too short, and we all deserve a second chance.”

“So you’re moving forward?”

I’ve thought about this for hours over the last week, and if the tables were turned and Cory was still here, I’d want him to be happy. I wouldn’t want him to walk around with guilt on his shoulders.

“It’s not going to happen overnight, but eventually I’ll find a way to live normally again. I like you, Sam, but I don’t know what that means for us. I mean, it feels wrong to act on it right now.”

The space around us is quiet, only the sound of the crickets filling the air. “So you’re not saying no?”

“I’m saying not right now. I need some more time to think about what I want. Where it’s going to bring me. Until just a few months ago, I thought I had it all figured out. Starting all over isn’t that easy.”

“Even if we’re not together, I don’t want to lose what we have. The last few weeks have felt so good … I didn’t think I’d ever have you back in my life again.”

I stare up at the stars in the sky, trying to find the words that will show Sam that he means more. “I’m here. I just haven’t decided what version you get.”

“I’ll take whatever version I can get.” His warm hand covers mine, his thumb brushing over the top of my hand.

Simple. Uncomplicated. That’s what I want my life to go back to.

“Sometime, I’d like to sleep out here under the stars,” I announce out of the blue.

“We can make that happen.”

“So, you’ll go camping with me, Sam Shea?”

He sits up on his elbow, staring down at me with only the moonlight above us. “I’ll go camping. Sweetheart, I’ll even share my sleeping bag with you … whatever you want me to do as long as I’m with you.”

Smiling, I bite down on my lower lip. “I kind of like that idea.” I kind of just like the idea of Sam.

September 15, 2013

IT’S BEEN FOUR MONTHS
since Cory died. Every day I feel a little less sadness and have a slightly better view into normalcy. He lives inside me, and he’ll always have a piece of my heart; but I’m realizing little by little that I can’t let my guilt control me.

If I could just remember everything that led up to the tragedy, I’d feel better about moving forward, but that may never come. The more time that passes, the less hope I have that I’ll ever regain any recollection of that day. I’m just going to have to deal with it the best way I can.

Unfortunately, the better I start to feel the more life with my parents is starting to bother me. Before I left for college, I was too busy with Cory and normal high school things, but now, I notice how distant the two of them are with each other and me. I think you have to feel true loneliness to recognize it. You can have all the people in the world around you but that doesn’t mean you have anybody.

Since I decided not to go back to school this semester, I’ve been applying for jobs. There’s not much for the taking in a small town, and given that I’m not really the town prize right now, I’ve been struggling. Until yesterday, however, when Ms. Peters, who owns the town’s only flower shop, called me and said she needed someone to help with deliveries in the afternoons. It’s not much, and it doesn’t pay more than minimum wage, but I lost my right to be picky a long time ago.

I dress in a nice pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, remembering that I’d have to wear an apron while I worked. I actually take the time to straighten my hair and put on make-up, wanting to be prepared in case she has any deliveries for me on my first day. If I’m going to face the town, I’m going to put my best foot forward.

When it’s finally time to leave, doubt consumes me. What if I’m not ready for this? For years, I hid behind Cory. Not intentionally. It happened gradually. I liked him so much I wanted to make him happy. I did what he wanted to do, and after a while, his hobbies became mine. I saw his friends more than my own. I lived in Cory’s shadow, and now, it’s time to step out from under it.

When I walk into the kitchen, Mom’s standing in front of the sink, rinsing the dishes from breakfast. She’s not too excited about me starting this job. I think she’s told me over ten times that I don’t need to work, but that’s not what this is about.

“Do you want something to eat before you go?” she asks, wiping her hands.

“I had a big breakfast. I’ll just bring a snack for later.” Someone might as well staple my mouth shut when I’m nervous. I couldn’t eat if I tried because I’m worried about how today will go. I’ve never had a real job before.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

“I might need my car for deliveries.”

She nods, folding her arms over her chest. “I know. I just worry about you.”

The hardest thing about people who aren’t always genuine is deciding when they are. I know she loves me. I know she worries about me, but there’s this little voice in the back of my head that’s always telling me she’s more concerned about the social damage it would cause if it happened again … if I disappointed her in some way. I hate that I even think like that.

I pick a red apple from the bowl on the counter and a cold bottle of water from the fridge before taking one last look at her. “I’ll try not to get into any more accidents.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” I say softly as I walk out the door. The air is humid, and the sun instantly heats my black T-shirt. With any luck, there will only be a couple more weeks of this weather before fall rolls in. I quickly make my way to the new “safe” car my dad bought me a few weeks ago. It’s white, small, and made in the USA. Most importantly, it gets me from one place to another.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, I wrap my fingers around the hot steering wheel and take several deep, cleansing breaths. Driving sucks. Every time I do it, I have a tiny seed of fear buried within me. I imagine it would be even worse if I could remember anything about the accident.