Somewhere Between Water and Sky (Shattered Things #2) (44 page)

It
’
s helping.

One week, she asks a question and I flinch. She recognizes the movement and sits back in her chair, gently twirling her pen back and forth between her fingers.

“
What
’
s going on in there, Stephanie? Where are you right now?
”

“
I just don
’
t understand why he left.
”

She nods in understanding and then lets the silence build before speaking.

“
What would happen if you stopped thinking about the why and started thinking about you?
”

I frown.
“
What do you mean?
”

She leans her elbows on her knees.

“
You
’
ve been through trauma together. You guys are irrevocably linked.
”
She opens up her palms in front of her.
“
But how are you without him? Are you better dealing with things now or do you need him to process?
”

I go quiet, thinking.

“
Don
’
t hide from the answer, Stephanie,
”
she says softly.

“
No.
”

“
No what? No you
’
re not better? Or no you don
’
t need him?
”

“…
I think no to both.
”

Her eyebrows shoot up and down quickly and I know I
’
ve hit something. I see her write something down on her notepad and look back at me, her eyes gentle.

“
Go on.
”

I fidget in my seat and pick at the tissue in my hands.

“
I don
’
t think I
’
m better without him. I think about him all the time and I would have hoped our promises meant something.
”

“
But you
’
ve said yourself that promises aren
’
t meant for keeping.
”

I close my eyes.

“
I hoped this one was.
”

“
You
’
re expecting perfection from an imperfect human, Stephanie.
”

I frown. These are the truths I don
’
t like to hear.

“
But I don
’
t need him. At least, I don
’
t think I do. I was able to shoot my dad. He just took that away from me. I
’
m not sure we can work through that.
”

Her eyes narrow and she crosses her legs.

“
You
’
ve said that he told you he didn
’
t want you to have to kill your father.
”

“
Yes.
”

“
Is it possible for you to think of this as noble? Maybe even a sign of his love for you?
”

I sneer and she jumps in quick.

“
Stephanie, if you would have had to pull that trigger
—
you wouldn
’
t have come away unaffected. There would be muscle memory. Scents would be ingrained into your triggers and just the slightest aroma similar to what you experienced that day would send you reeling. You may have experienced regression with the severe PTSD you already possess because of your father. Our brains aren
’
t meant to handle too much at once. We
’
re placed in an emotionally hijacked state for a time. You know this.
”
She tilts her head.
“
You
’
ve experienced it.
”

“
You make it seem like I
’
m walking through some existential crisis.
”

She laughs.

“
You are! Your whole life has been a series of decisions of whether or not you could or should live through a certain moment. Of course you
’
re experiencing some angst where safety and love is concerned.
”

I blink and look out the window in front of me, watching the way the ocean moves and bends. It quiets me for a moment and she takes a few deep breaths, writing more in her notebook. Finally I look back toward her and find her watching me, a small smile playing on her lips.

“
What?
”

“
From everything you
’
ve told me of him
—
your adventures, the way he made you laugh, how he protected you
—
there
’
s nothing in me that makes me wonder if he truly loved you.
”

“
Really?
”

“
Think about this, Stephanie. You guys are what, 18? 19?
”

I nod.

“
You
’
re out of sync. Your brain hasn
’
t even fully developed yet and you
’
re dealing with situations most adults wouldn
’
t even dream of facing.
”
She sets her notebook on the table beside her and then places her hands on her knees.

“
I want you to think about something.
”

I bite the corner of my lip.

“
Um. Okay.
”

“
I want you to think about the fact that Kevin did not come away from this unscathed. I want you to consider his own lack
—
the parents who don
’
t understand, the trauma of false allegations, the severity of taking another person
’
s life
—
all of it, everything he
’
s experienced.
”

My breath starts to quicken and I swallow. I reach for another tissue.

“
Okay.
”

“
What if his leaving was out of self-preservation? What if, in his own finite understanding of love, he thought he was doing you a favor by allowing you the space to live and breathe and figure out who you are separate from any trauma?
”

The tears start to fall.

“
What if,
”
she whispers now, her eyes searching my own,
“
the promise still rings true in a way you never anticipated?
”

I stare at my hands for the remainder of the session, her quiet breathing in rhythm with my own, the tears falling softly on the carpet below.

.::.

I
’
m thinking about this conversation one morning as Jessa and I pound our feet into the pavement toward Santa Monica pier. It
’
s become a ritual of sorts, this running. We do it early, at the first break of dawn before there
’
s really anyone around and everything is quiet.

The Boss suggested I take up running, and when she did, I laughed at her. But it
’
s working. When I
’
m running, there
’
s nothing for me to think about except for the way my feet hit the ground and the way the wind pulls at the tendrils of my hair and how I
’
m able to breathe
—
in and out, in and out.

A rhythm of peace I haven
’
t known until now.

We stop at the corner of the pier, taking our shoes off so we can run toward the shore. As our feet kick up sand around us and the sun starts to break the horizon, I can
’
t help but smile.

There she is
—
right there and so close I can almost reach out and touch her.

Hope.

Nestled between water and sky, as constant as the sunrise.

I sit there and stare while trying to catch my breath. Jessa collapses on the sand next to me and grabs at her ribcage.

“
I think I broke another rib.
”

I kick her foot.
“
Pansy.
”

She scowls and then sits up, resting her hands behind her.
“
So you haven
’
t heard anything. Anything at all.
”

I breathe in. Out. Close my eyes and then open them.

“
You know I would tell you.
”

She throws some sand in frustration.

“
I just don
’
t understand. I don
’
t get why he would just up and leave.
”
She points at me.
“
And don
’
t start giving me words from The Boss. I know. I know he loves you and didn
’
t know what he was doing and blah-blah-blah.
”
She grows quiet.
“
It doesn
’
t make it suck any less.
”

A laugh escapes me and I bend down next to her, kicking the sand around me to form a softer seat.

“
Yeah. Tell me about it.
”

She looks at me.

“
He really said nothing. Left nothing other than that ass-hat note.
”

Note.

I straighten, my body rigid.

“
He left me a note,
”
I whisper.

“
Yeah. I know, Sherlock. We all saw it.
”

I scramble to my feet.
“
No.
Another
note. Before you guys walked out of the hospital room. He slipped me a note and told me to read it later but in between everything that happened I completely forgot.
”

She stares at me for a few seconds before leaning forward and slapping my legs.

“
STEPHANIE TILLER WHAT THE FUCK YOU HAD A NOTE THIS WHOLE TIME?!
”

I laugh.
“
Ohmigod.
”
I grab my shoes and socks and start running for the street.
“
Jessa, I gotta get my purse! I have to read it. Now.
”

She chases after me, yelling obscenities so loud that nearby surfers are distracted enough from their preparation to stop and stare. I laugh even harder, the realization of a note from Kevin heavy on my breath.

He wrote me. He wrote me. He knew. He was trying to tell me something this whole time and I missed it.

With one quick look toward the sunrise, I make a quiet plea that maybe, hope is here to stay.

.::.

We
’
re out of breath when we get back to her place. I rush for my purse and zip open the side pocket, pulling out the creased page and waving it in front of Jessa
’
s face before collapsing on the couch and opening it.

She leans over my shoulder.

“
Is it a poem?
”

I stare at the page in disbelief.

“
Yeah
…
it
’
s
…
it
’
s my poem. It
’
s one I wrote when I first moved here.
”

She wrinkles her nose.

“
How
’
d he get it?
”

I look at the added scrawl on the bottom, the
Soon
—
xoxo, Kevin,
and I sink lower into the cushions.

“
He must have pulled it from the trashcan after I threw it away.
”

“
That
’
s weird.
”

I smile.

“
Not for Kevin.
”