The Rules of Regret (36 page)

“
What
’
s this all about, Torin?
”
I scanned the memorial of sorts in
front of me and my eyes locked in on
Lance
McIverson
like it was written with blood rather than lead.

“
Back before you left
—
before you took off
—
you said we are all
responsible for one another.
”
He must have remembered another name because he added it to the list.
“
And I told you that was a
responsibility I couldn
’
t
bear. Which is true. I couldn
’
t
be responsible for keeping all of these people alive. And these are just the
people that I
knew
that had died
—
the ones I
’
d had some sort of relationship with.
”
His explaining didn
’
t really feel like explaining,
because the words he spoke didn
’
t
clarify anything about this cryptic display.
“
Tony Gonzales,
”
he said, running his pencil over the
tacky paint.
“
Forgot
him. Anyway,
”
he continued.
“
This
is my list.
”

“
It
’
s a long list. I
’
m so sorry, Torin.
”

“
Right. It is.
”

“
I don
’
t think my list is that long.
”

“
I think you
’
re wrong,
”
he said in a no-nonsense kind of
way.
“
Your
list is probably exactly the same length as mine. Maybe even longer since, as
you say, you grew up in civilization. More paths to cross. More interactions.
More opportunities to change the course of someone
’
s life.
”

I
combed my fingers through my hair, the nervous energy taking form in my anxious
hands.
“
That
really doesn
’
t
make any sense, Torin.
”

“
It doesn
’
t? You sure about that?
”

“
I don
’
t get this metaphor. The paint one of
mine, that kinda made sense. But this? This doesn
’
t make sense to me.
”

“
Good.
”
He snapped the pencil between his
hands, shards of wood splintering onto the floor.
“
Because I want you to see just how
crazy a statement like that is.
”
Dropping both palms onto my shoulders, he all but shook me as he said,
“
The thing is, Darby, we never know
how an interaction with someone will change the direction of their life, but
inevitably, it will change it.
”

“
If you are doing this to make me feel
less guilty about Lance, I appreciate it, but I don
’
t know that it will change things. I
’
m still part of the reason for his
death.
”

“
I
’
m doing this to show you how I think
we
’
re
meant to live. I don
’
t
think life should be full of what ifs.
What
if
we hadn
’
t
left a day early out of Boston?
What if
you
’
d
left the light on for Anna?
What if
you
didn
’
t
pick up the phone that night he called? You
’
re giving the what ifs too much
power.
”

“
I don
’
t know how not to.
”

“
You focus on the things you know. The
opposite of the what ifs,
”
he said.

“
What is the opposite of
if
, Torin?
”

“
Truth.
”
It didn
’
t take him any time to answer, like
the response was waiting and balanced right there on the tip of his tongue.
“
And the truth of it is, we all play a
part in all of this. We
’
ve
all been assigned our roles. I think we
’
re
responsible for the living part, not for the dying part. You can
’
t look at each interaction as a
possible turning point toward death. You have to look at each interaction as
something that adds to life.
”

“
How do you think like that?
”
I shook my head at him, completely
awed.
“
Like
how does your brain even work that way?
”

“
Don
’
t know. Honestly, sometimes it hurts,
”
he admitted, rubbing his scalp with
his fingers.
“
But
I knew I had to think this for you because you wouldn
’
t allow yourself to believe it if you
came up with it on your own.
”

“
That
’
s probably true.
”
For only knowing me a short while,
he knew me so well. Probably more than I
’
d
ever let anyone know me before. I wondered if that meant that I was giving all
of myself to him, at least as much as I had to give. I hoped that
’
s what it meant.

“
I
’
m going to paint over this now.
”
He motioned back toward the wall
while turning at the waist.
“
I
just really wanted you to try to see things from another perspective. Don
’
t live in the what ifs, Darby.
”

“
I
’
m trying not to.
”

“
I know. Me too.
”

And
with a roll of the brush, the names were gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

One
week later

I
desperately did not want to be that girl again. That girl that stumbles into
depression and doesn
’
t
really ever come out of it, just wallows through it, sometimes with greater,
more stable strides, sometimes with visible falter. I would not wade through
depression like I lived there in its murky waters. I would cross through it. I
would come out on the other side.

I
had to.

I
had to focus more on the living, less on the dying. That was good advice.

Lance
’
s physical body was no longer here,
and neither was Anna
’
s,
nor Randy
’
s,
nor the hundred-some-odd other names hidden under the most recent layer of
paint in the townhouse. But their memories were still alive, and how they
impacted this world was still present in the form of recollections and
footprints and conversations and stories.

Interactions.
When it came down to it, that was all life really was. Sets of interactions. Me
interacting with you. You interacting with me. You interacting with someone
else. That someone else and the someone else next to them. We were all just a
bunch of someone else
’
s
strung together in a network of interactions. Like that whole Seven Degrees of
Kevin Bacon thing, only much, much bigger. More like Seven Billion Degrees of
Someone Else
’
s.
That
’
s
what we were, and we tangled into one giant, messy web.

The
truth of it was, we
were
all
responsible for one another, just not like I
’
d thought. Maybe not in the dying so
much (though inevitably we did hold some responsibility there, even if we didn
’
t want to believe it, because life
ultimately pointed toward death), but in the living. The way I lived affected
the way you lived, and the way someone else lived affected others because that
’
s what we did. We interacted and we
lived our lives and we rubbed off on others and hoped that the mark we left was
a positive one.

That
was why I couldn
’
t
allow myself to drown in the depression of grief. Because I would continue
leaving my mark
—
even
if I tried not to
—
and
I wanted it to be more than I
’
d
left these past six years. I had to work at leaving a better mark.

“
I still think about her everyday.
”

“
I know.
”
Mom took another sip from her
martini glass, swishing the cool contents in her mouth, her eyes held shut.

It
was ten o
’
clock
in the morning.

“
Does that help?
”
I waved a hand toward her glass and
could see the reflection of Sesame Street playing for my littlest sister on the
television in the adjoining room. Big Bird
’
s
long neck looked even longer, and his oversized beak appeared even more pointy
and sharp like a razorblade. I felt drunk just looking at it, and I
’
d only had a glass of orange juice.
“
Drinking... does it help?
”

Mom
let out a soundless huff of a laugh.
“
No,
Darby. Nothing helps.
”

“
Why do you do it then?
”

She
tipped the empty glass to her lips and sighed so loud I worried she
’
d momentarily run out of air.
“
Because it allows me to hide, Darby.
”
It was an honest statement, and I
wondered if whatever she
’
d
been drinking gave her the ability to speak it so freely.
“
It hides me from the things in my
life I don
’
t
want to face.
”

Sitting
across the kitchen table from my mom, watching her drain her liquid courage, it
dawned on me that maybe that
’
s
what we all did. We hid behind famous people
’
s words and the buzz of alcohol and
even another person
’
s
memories because we were afraid of what would happen if we didn
’
t provide some type of shield against
the hurt that would, inevitably, come our way again. So we crouched in our
corners and drew up our defenses and cowered from the things that scared us.
Losing Anna scared me, so I didn
’
t
allow myself to lose her. I held onto her with all I had.

And
holding onto Anna when it seemed like everyone else was letting her slip away
was the only way I could protect myself from the hurt of that reality. That
life moved on. That people died, and yes, it was sad, but people also lived.
And moving on, and even forgetting to an extent, was part of that living.

I
thought, finally, that I really wanted to start living. And I thought, maybe,
that letting go of Lance might be the right, and only, thing to help me do
that.

“
I
’
m so sorry, Darby.
”
Mom twirled the stem of her glass
back and forth between her fingers, studying the drop of clear liquid that
pooled at the lip of the rim. It matched the ones that balanced at the edge of
her eyes.
“
About
Lance, about your sister. God. It
’
s
all so awful. It
’
s
like the universe randomly drew your name and you
’
ve been dealt these horrible cards.
”

“
It doesn
’
t feel random.
”
I knew when I spoke it that I was
beginning to sound an awful lot like Torin, but I was okay with that. I was
okay with believing
—
however
guardedly
—
that
maybe it wasn
’
t
random. And it didn
’
t
make me feel depressed or anything, it just made me feel like maybe there was a
picture. A bigger blueprint. There was comfort in thinking that, and more than
comfort, there was reason. A reason why some people experienced so much
tragedy, while others skated through life without ever really living in the
valley. I
’
d
been in the valley for longer than I liked. I was ready to reach the summit.

“
I met a guy.
”

I
expected a 'Seriously? Already?
’
but instead Mom just said,
“
What
’
s his name?
”

“
Torin.
”

“
Goofy name.
”
She laughed, and I realized how much
I missed the sound of her laugh because she didn
’
t allow herself to do that much
anymore.

“
So is Darby.
”

She
smiled, another thing I missed.
“
What
’
s he like?
”

It
really had only been a month since Lance died, but my mom didn
’
t make me feel horrible for talking
about Torin. I didn
’
t
think I
’
d
ever be able to show her how grateful I was for her not judging me for that.

“
He
’
s quirky. He quotes movies and
philosophers and books.
”
I
’
d never really described Torin to
anyone, but the characteristics came out effortlessly.
“
His brother died when he was twelve.
”

Mom
nodded knowingly, like that statement spoke volumes. I supposed it did.
“
He sounds good for you, Darby.
”

“
He gets me, and right now, I think I
need someone in my life that gets me.
”
I paused.
“
But
I still miss Lance.
”
I had to add that. I was pretty certain I
’
d
always be adding that.

Standing
up from her seat at the table, Mom came behind me and wrapped her arms over my
shoulders.
“
You
will always miss Lance, sweetie. He was a huge part of your life. Like family.
”

“
We didn
’
t end things well.
”
I really didn
’
t like admitting that out loud. It
was easier to pretend that I was the grieving girlfriend that had lost her
knight in shining armor. That
’
s
what others believed and that
’
s
what I wanted them to believe. Just because he wasn
’
t perfect, it didn
’
t make it necessary to tarnish his
image that way. Allowing people to think that he was nothing but a stand-up guy
felt like one final gift I could give him. Maybe I couldn
’
t save his life, but I could at least
save his image. Deep down, I knew he
’
d
have done the same for me, and I think my own image needed just as much saving.
“
We didn
’
t end things well. We both made a lot
of mistakes. Honestly, we probably should have broken up years ago, just so we
could have ended things better, you know?
”

Mom
squeezed me tighter, then drew in a sharp breath.
“
Did you know that Anna and I had a
huge fight that day?
”

I
shook my head, surprised by the turn in our conversation and her tone.

“
She had been asking all day to take
her to get something she needed for an assignment that she
’
d waited until last minute to start.
”
Mom
’
s grip lessened and she stood back a
few feet. I rotated in my chair to face her, feeling like I was looking at my
partner in crime. Like she was confessing to part of the responsibility I bore
on my own for all those years.
“
I
was so angry that she
’
d
procrastinated and Joey had a game and Sarah had ballet and then there was
dinner and baths and bedtime for the little ones. I yelled at her and told her
she wasn
’
t
the only child in this family.
”
The tear that refused to fall earlier skimmed down her cheek.
“
The last words I said to her were,
‘
You need to understand that the world
doesn
’
t
revolve around you.
’
”
Mom closed her eyes and paused
before saying,
“
That
was the last thing I said. What mother says something like that?
”

“
Every mother on the planet.
”
Which was true. I think it was in
some script that they
’
d
all been given with comebacks and one-liners that would stand the test of time.
“
Seriously, Mom. I think every single
mother has said that.
”

Mom
sighed.
“
It
doesn
’
t
make it right.
”

“
No, but it makes it okay. I think
there
’
s
a difference.
”
I reached out to take her hand in mine. It was so much more frail than I
’
d remembered. The knobby bones of her
knuckles dug deep into my fingers and her once-manicured nails were jagged and
rough.
“
Maybe
it
’
s
not right to say or think things like that, but it
’
s okay to do things that aren
’
t right sometimes. We
’
re human.
”

“
Yes we are.
”
Mom shook my hand free and grabbed
my head and kissed me on the crown of my hair.
“
Being human is hard.
”

“
That
’
s an understatement.
”