Reclaimed (32 page)

“Sometimes. And sometimes everything that happens is a direct result of a decision. All of my choices were bad ones.”

I didn’t want him to regret us. I didn’t. “All of them?”

He took my hand again. “I’m a selfish bastard, so I don’t regret falling in love with you. But because of it, you got hurt, and I regret that very much.”

Luke’s leaving was going to hurt more than any physical injury. That kind of healing would take time.

He reached up and brushed my hair back from my face. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. Ian says he’s sorry too, even if he won’t come out of his room.”

I jerked back. His eyes were full of remorse.

“He’s still talking to you?”

Luke blinked in surprise, then gave me my favorite crooked smile. “Of course. He can’t stay mad at me for long. We’re brothers.”

Driving away from the hospital—and Luke—was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I wanted as many moments as possible before those moments were gone. But I wanted Luke to heal, however that had to happen. His grief and guilt were so large that I knew it was going to take more than a summer, more than me, to help him figure out how he fit into the world again.

I drove straight to the one person who would be able to understand without me having to explain. I couldn’t put how I felt into words—how could I explain that my body was being ripped into pieces of joy and sadness, longing and hope? Because I felt all of those things, and I didn’t really know what to do with any of them. With Mops, I wouldn’t have to worry about that. She understood without having to know everything. Because I wasn’t ready to tell everything.

Becca was due home in a few days, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to keep my entire summer a secret. Not that I wanted to. But there were some things that were too sacred to share, and Luke was one of them. Becca was my best friend, but there were some things she just wouldn’t understand. There were some things I still didn’t understand. I was pretty sure it was going to take a lifetime before I could see how everything fit together.

I parked behind
Reclaimed
and let myself in the back. Mops was whistling loudly, and badly, as she dug through one of the many boxes we still needed to get to. Pops’s boxes sat in the corner, their lids sealed tightly, unopened but not forgotten. I remembered Luke carrying them out to the Bronco at the beginning of the summer, but he wouldn’t remember that, because he’d been Ian then. I hurt for Luke, for the half-life he’d been living. He’d made so many mistakes, but he deserved a second chance. Maybe we all did.

Mops turned around and saw me frozen in the middle of all the discarded items, some to toss, some to resell, some we weren’t sure what to do with. My life illustrated—there was so much I wanted to let go of, so much I was terrified of losing, so many new things I wanted to find but other things I wasn’t ready to release.

Mops didn’t say a word, but I saw understanding in her face before she wrapped me in her arms. She smelled like powder and lavender, and I was glad I hadn’t outgrown her hugs.

I hated tears. Crying never solved a thing, but I was too tired to hold them back anymore. Mops stroked my hair and let me cry. She didn’t try to soothe me or stop me, just let me cry until her shoulder was damp and I had run through them all.

Mops gripped my shoulders and pulled away, her eyes reading my face in the way only she could. She didn’t ask what was wrong or what she could do to fix it. She just gritted her teeth and made her assessment. “You need a glass of tea,” she said.

It was a start.

She put her arm around my shoulders and steered me toward her apartment stairs. The bell above the front door jingled.

“Go on up,” Mops said. “I’ll deal with whoever it is.”

“Mom?” My mother’s voice floated through the store, and we both froze. I listened as her heels tapped hesitantly on the concrete floor. That was new. My mother had always strode with purpose.

Mom stepped into the back room and stopped. Her pencil skirt and silk blouse seemed out of place among the discarded junk.

Her chin wasn’t as obstinate as it normally was. Though Mom stood straight and tall, there was uncertainty in her face.

“Hey,” Mom said, her eyes darting between Mops and me.

“Vivian.” Mops wasn’t angry, but I could tell she was surprised. I couldn’t remember the last time Mom had been in the store.

“I brought clothes to change into,” Mom said, holding up a bag. When neither one of said anything, she set her shoulders. “I thought we could go through Daddy’s boxes.”

Mops nodded, and Mom went upstairs to change. Mops turned to me and smiled. “It’s a start.”

The wooden box was sitting in the Bronco, and I knew what it meant. Luke was gone. He hadn’t even said goodbye.

The box was amazing. I ran my fingers around the sides, touching my name and my mom’s. Luke had built the box with our height charts. The lid was reclaimed cypress, honey-colored with dark and smudged nail holes, and the grain of the wood was intricate and delicate. He’d used an old hinge to attach the lid, then fitted it with an old-fashioned lock, complete with skeleton key. The key lay next to the box, a large blue ribbon tied around it. I touched every part of the box, imagining his hands constructing it and sanding it smooth. Picturing him placing it in the Bronco. Every tiny piece of me screamed at the injustice of it all. I lifted the box to my face. It smelled like Luke.

I slid the key into the lock and turned, listening to the click. I opened the lid. There was an envelope with my name on it, a small sheet of paper tucked inside.

I called Mops and took the day off work. I drove to the hardware store and bought paint—blue. I took a picture of my ceiling, then covered it completely. I was tired of living underneath someone else’s words. I was going to write my own.

Fall always felt like starting over. That first breath of dry air after an oppressive Southern summer was an unburdening. Even the trees applauded its arrival, their leaves welcoming the crisp air with gorgeous color. They had no idea that a week later they’d be raked up and set on fire. Sometimes an ending was really just a beginning.

Becca waited just outside the security checkpoint, and she squealed loud enough that several people turned to stare. I didn’t care. She waved her arms through the air and practically jumped on me when I made it through.

“I changed my major,” she said, taking my carry-on and dragging me to the luggage carousel.

“Again?” Becca was in her third semester at the university and had already changed her major four times.

“I’m sticking with this one,” she promised. “Anthropology.”

“What are you going to do with that?” I sounded just like Mom had when I’d told her I was majoring in English. She’d said English majors wait tables. I’d said that was perfect because I had a lot of experience in that area.

Becca raised her eyebrow at me. “Become Indiana Jones.”

I grinned. “Well, you do look good in leather.”

“And I already have the hat.”

God, I’d missed her. I was glad she was picking me up at the airport. Mops was too busy cooking Thanksgiving dinner, and Mom was supervising. It made delaying a little easier.

I hadn’t seen Becca since May, when I’d come in for a quick visit between terms. I’d only stayed a few days before heading back to Colorado, but it had been plenty of time for my mom’s behavior to tie me into knots. I’d told her that, until she stopped drinking, she’d have to deal with a long-distance relationship. I hadn’t been back since.

Becca pulled out of the airport and onto the highway, cutting off a green truck and waving when he flipped her off. Same old Becca.

“When did you get in?” I asked.

“Just last night. Early enough to get the budgeting lecture.” She rolled her eyes, then turned to smile at me. “Did you bring it?”

I nodded. I had three copies of the student literary magazine tucked into my carry-on, my short story, “Lost and Found,” residing on page fifteen. My words. My name. My vulnerability bared to the world. I was nervous that people I knew were actually going to read it. Especially Mom. She’d always been hard to impress. Mom had never read anything I’d written before, and while I didn’t need her approval, I wanted it.

Becca filled me in on parties she’d crashed and new friends she’d made. My stories involved a lot of miles run and words written.

“I think you’re working too hard,” she said.

There was no such thing. And I liked being busy.

“You should come out with me while you’re here,” Becca said. “One of my roommates is visiting her brother in Middleton. He goes to the community college and is yummy as hell.”

“No.” This was a short visit, and going out was the last thing on my mind.

Becca’s face softened. “You could try.”

“No,” I said louder. She didn’t push.

Becca didn’t know everything that had happened the summer she was away, but she knew enough. I kept his name tucked deep inside. I hadn’t spoken it out loud since he’d left. Becca had helped me fit together the slivers of my heart that had sheared away that summer, but I was still trying to find all the other pieces.

Driving through Solitude was a completely different experience now that I no longer lived there. I felt a nostalgic tug, rather than the suffocating grip it used to be, as we passed Repete’s and the pharmacy. Nothing had changed, but everything felt different.

My house looked the same as Becca pulled into the driveway. My stomach lurched. I hadn’t seen Mom in six months, even though she’d been sober for three. I wondered if I could tell a difference. Mom said she’d changed, but I didn’t know if I believed it yet.

“Aren’t you coming in?” I asked Becca.

She smiled and shook her head. “It’s going to be okay.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. Funny how she could still read me. Maybe things weren’t all that different. “Besides, Mom would have a fit if I didn’t get home in time to make my cranberry sauce.” She leaned over and hugged me tight. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said, pulling back. “But you call me if you need anything. I can be here in ten minutes.”

She’d proven that before. I wasn’t sure I would’ve made it through my senior year with my sanity if it hadn’t been for Becca and Mops.

I slung my carry-on over my shoulder and hauled my suitcase out of the trunk. “Tell your parents I said hey.”

“Will do.” She put the car in gear and started backing out of the driveway. She was almost to the end when she slammed on her brakes and leaned her head out the window. “I’m glad you’re home.”

I smiled and waved, not knowing if I was or not. Becca blew me a kiss and pulled out into the street.

I took a deep breath as I stepped onto the front porch and opened the door. Mops hurried out of the kitchen, apron firmly around her waist, and tried to squeeze the life out of me. “I don’t think that coach knows what he’s doing,” she said, brushing my hair out of my face. “Because I don’t think you’re eating enough.”

“I eat more than the entire cross-country team put together,” I assured her.

But she clucked her tongue anyway. I set my bags at the bottom of the stairs and wondered what sleeping in my room would feel like. When I turned around, Mom had come into the living room. She smiled at me from behind Mops’s back.

Mom looked different. The shadows under her eyes weren’t as dark, and her smile seemed to come easier than it used to. But there was still hesitation when she hugged me, a pause that let me know she was wondering if I’d forgiven her. I squeezed her shoulders. I was wondering the same thing myself.

“It smells good,” I said.

Mops smiled. “Come on, let’s fatten you up.”

It was just the three of us for Thanksgiving, but we seemed to fill the entire house. Pops was there too, his memory so present at the table, it was as if he were actually sitting there. He was in Mom’s smile. In the food Mops made. She still left the onions out of the dressing because Pops had hated them. But his presence didn’t feel haunting, and we no longer tried to step around his memory. Mops told the story about the time Pops caught me trying to smoke his pipe.

“He even helped you light it,” she said.

“And then rubbed my back while I threw up,” I finished. “I never tried it again.”

Mops laughed. “Exactly.”

Mom smiled at me. “He would have been so proud of you.” She said it without tears. But her hands shook a little, and I knew it wasn’t as easy as she was trying to make it seem. I smiled back and reached over to hold her hand. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could give.

Mom lay down for a nap after lunch, and I helped Mops clean the kitchen.

“She always like that?” I asked, pointing toward Mom’s room.

“It’s been a rough three months,” Mops admitted.

“I’m sorry I’m not here to help.” Guilt caused me to say the words. I should have been around to hold Mom’s hand more often, but I was relieved I wasn’t. I’d decided two years ago that I was going to love my mother but live my life.

“You
are
helping,” Mops said, handing me a dish to dry. “She’s so proud of you, even if she won’t say it.” Mops smiled. “We both are. And you’re the only reason she’s trying at all.”