To See You Again (28 page)

"I've lost two mothers, my dad, and in many ways a
brother, too. James could never cope with my mom's death, not that anyone even
tried to help him…or me," she whispers softly. "Collin became the brother to me
that James never was…or wasn't able to be." She sniffs and looks my way again. "When
I thought that Collin might kill himself, when he was really sick before, that—"
she lets out a mix between a hiccup and a strangled yelp and shudders as more
tears come. She begins to sob, and I put my arm around her and draw her in
close. Another hiccup bursts out of her and I both hear and feel her swallow
hard before she tries to speak again. "That was the most scared I have ever
been in my life. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, or how the hell to
help him. And Lord only knows he didn't make helping him easy! But right now
he's inside there," she turns out of my grasp and points toward Collin's home.
I release my arm from her shoulder. She's suddenly much more in control. "He's
inside there," she begins again, "convinced that he has no one left. I can't
say for sure what else he's feeling, but I do know this much—it isn't good. Neither
of you will tell me what the hell has gone on between you guys. And I have no
clue why he refused to call you when she died. But you know what? I don't give
a shit, because I
did
call you! I called you tonight!" She grabs my hand
and grips it so tightly that it's almost painful. "I called you because that
afternoon when you came over and I told you all about his depression, I could
see how it made you feel. I could tell that you got it. So, when I dialed your
number tonight, I knew you'd show. I remember how you two were with each other,
and whatever that was, I'm sure it's
not
gone. You belong here." I
exhale a shaky breath and suddenly find my throat gripped tight with a
restrained cry. Seeing my distress, Reba continues, "Listen, I get that it's
scary. Hell, he's scary sometimes, but however frightened we feel, I promise
you, he's feeling so much worse. He needs us." She stares deep into my eyes
with a mix of trepidation, hope, and courage—the same courage that I need to
muster, and quickly, because she's laid out a pretty convincing case. I know
she's right.

"Holy crap, Reba," I whisper. We sit in silence
for a moment, and I feel overwhelmed and afraid, but then I think about the
truth in everything she's just said. I consider how much time I've spent
wishing I could've been there for him when he needed it most. An opportunity to
be the friend he deserves is staring me right in the face, and I can't let fear
paralyze me. I have no idea how to help, or if I even can, but I know I need to
try. I stand up and use our clasped hands to pull Reba up with me. "Alright,
let's do this."

"You're in?" Reba questions.

"I'm in."

A huge smile erupts on her face. "I knew you would
be."

I want to smile back with equal enthusiasm, but I
am too freaking scared to do so. "Does he know I'm coming over?"

She smirks at me. "What are you, nuts? Of course
not."

"Great," I mutter.

Reba heads through the door first and I begin
quietly removing my coat and shoes. She reaches to take my purse from me and we
both freeze at the sound of Collin's voice.

"Rachel?" he says, staring down at me. His hair is
haphazard and messy and his clothes are disheveled. On his face he wears an
expression like he's just swallowed something sour. He puts a hand on his
forehead as though it hurts, and asks, "What are you doing here?"

I shoot Reba a lightning quick apology with my
eyes and then answer. "Reba called me. I'm so sorry about your Mom. I wish I'd
known sooner. I would've helped…somehow…" My voice trails off. I already suck
at this.

He shakes his head. "Not necessary," his voice is
barely audible, "and neither is you being here." He splits a not-so-subtle look
of disapproval evenly between us and then walks away. Holy hell.

I turn toward Reba, helplessly, and she gives me a
stern look and nods, urging me to follow him. I take a deep breath and head up
the stairs to his kitchen where he stands, gulping down what I hope to God is
just water.

"May I come in?" I ask sheepishly.

He shrugs. "Not much of a party here, Rachel. I
appreciate your concern, but I'm sure you have better places to be on a Friday
night."

I shake my head. I think about making a joke about
how my life has just imploded in the last two hours, but frankly, my heartbreak
pales in comparison to what he's going through. Besides, Collin doesn't look
like he's up for any jokes, not even the sardonic kind. I turn and look behind
me. I have no idea where Reba has disappeared to, but it sure looks like we're
alone.  I walk over to him and reach up, tentatively touching his bicep. I feel
it tense beneath my hand. He doesn't turn away from me, but he doesn't turn
to
me either.

"Hey," I say. He doesn't answer and I try again,
this time reaching across and pulling on him. "Hey," I repeat. I tug him into my
arms. He's not pulling away, but he's not returning my embrace either. I put my
head on his chest and pull him as tightly to me as I can. Every inch of him is
solid and stoic. "Collin," I whisper, and it's a plea.  Finally, I feel his
arms wrap around me and he shudders an uneven breath. As if it were possible, I
tighten my grip on him even more and he responds, clenching me tighter. We stay
like this for a long time, just holding one another, in the tightest, longest
hug of my life. I'm struck by just how healing touch is. I need this. He needs
this.

Eventually, he reaches down and strokes my hair.
"Still breathing?" he asks.

I shift my head to look up at him. A small smile
is on his face, though his eyes are wet. "Yes."

"Good. I got worried there for a minute that I'd
squeezed all the air out of you." He loosens his grip, releasing me. My arms
are still around his waist loosely for a moment, before I realize, and drop
them to my sides. We're both silent, just staring into each other's eyes and it
feels so intense. Simultaneously, we both look away and then he asks me if I
want some water. I nod and he pours me a glass and we head out to his living
room.

After an intimate embrace like the one we just
shared, it feels weird to sit far away, so I settle in right next to him, my
feet curled up to my side. He's still very quiet, even for him, and the silence
fills me with uncertainty. I glance around the room in a state of nervous
avoidance and my eyes fall to the couch across from us, remembering how I sat
there with Beck just a few months ago. I feel my stomach clench. Just the
thought of how I've lost everything with him in the span of a few hours,
practically gives me vertigo. I can't think of him or anything that's happened.
Not yet, anyway. Not
here
. I reflexively place a hand to my mouth. I
close my eyes and try to center myself on the task at hand, and forcibly
silence all thoughts of Beck and the proposal I destroyed. Instead, I see the
beautiful ring and his broken face. I ruin everything. How can I be trusted to
help Collin? When I open my eyes, Collin is staring at me, looking perplexed,
but also something else? I hold his eye contact and study him. I've seen this
look before. He wants to talk to me. It won't be easy to get him to do it, but
the
want
is there. I can see it.

I smile at him, and the gesture seems to relax me
enough to let a little hope seep in. "So, you've had a few shitty weeks, I
hear."

A smile struggles through to his face and then
quickly recedes. "Yup. You could say that." He eyes me, speculatively. "So,
Reba was worried I was going to go off the deep end again? Thought she needed
to call for reinforcements?"

"Is that what I am?"

He looks at me with great seriousness. "I have no
idea what you are." I feel my breath catch in my lungs, as the tension seems to
hang between us.

After a beat I say, "She loves you, you know. She
just wants to help." He looks away from me and rubs his jeans like he's trying
to iron them out with his hands.

He turns back toward me. "So, how are
you
?
Feeling better, I hope?"

He's such a master at avoidance. I'll let it
slide,
this time
. "Yes, back in good health. Much thanks to you, I might
add." He just smiles. "How is the Marshmen account?" I ask, doing my best to
sound annoyed.

He laughs. "Yeah, about that. Vanessa told me your
boss is crazy. Do you want
me
to tell him I had that one in the bag already
last year? I hate the idea of him blaming you, when your company never stood a
chance."

"Never stood a chance, eh? Geez. Confident much?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "When it comes to some
things, absolutely."

"Jerk," I say, slapping his knee.

He cracks a spontaneous smile. We both laugh.

"I didn't come here to talk about work though,
Collin. I'm worried about you." His smile fades again.

"I appreciate that, Rachel. It's really nice of
you. I'm OK, though." He nods at me, as though doing so will make me take what
he has to say at face value.

I lean toward him and look him in the eyes. "Are
you? Because it would be completely normal if you weren't at all." I lean in
even closer and whisper, "It's OK to be messed up for awhile. I can't
necessarily speak from experience, but I think most people are."

He nods, but doesn't respond. An awkward silence
stretches out between us and then he says, "Can I show you something?" He bites
his lower lip and I can't help but wonder what he has in mind. Trepidation from
him is a rarity.

"Of course."

At my affirmation he hops up and scoots out of the
room and I hear him thump up the stairs. After a few minutes he comes back in,
holding a piece of yellow, college-ruled notepad paper. He sits back down next
to me, closer than we were seated before. "Did Reba tell you about the letters
from my dad?"

I wince as I nod, knowing how private he is, I'm
sure he isn't thrilled.

"That's fine." I give him a skeptical look. "No,
really it is. I don't have to explain it all, now. Anyway, there are a bunch of
them, but I thought you'd like this one." He hands me the wrinkled paper and
written across the center of the page it says:

My Dear Collin,

Don't create because you're trying to make
something great. Create because the act of doing it will BE great.

Dad

I run my finger across the ink, thinking how lucky
I am to still have a dad, imperfect as he may be. "That's beautiful, Collin. Thank
you for sharing it with me. It actually reminds me of you." I hand it back to
him.

"Yeah?" He glances at me sheepishly and then looks
back at the paper, like he's reading it again, searching for a new meaning.

"Definitely. Your art was always so personal, and
whenever you were creating, that's when you were at your best." I smile at him
and feel warmth spread over me.

He stares at me long and hard. "I'm glad you're
here."

"Me, too," I whisper. We sit there quietly just
looking at each other, and all the previous awkwardness has fallen away. It
feels like enough, like just being together is what we both need. I break
first. "Hey, have you eaten any dinner?" He shakes his head ‘no' and I slap his
knee. "Well, let's remedy that." I march out to his kitchen with feigned
confidence. Knowing Collin, there won't be anything frozen or ready-made,
unlike my house. I'll be lost. I turn around to ask where he keeps his pots and
pans and he's already behind me.

"Maybe I should handle this?" He smirks.

"Fine, but you're going to let me help." I force a
firm tone.

He opens the refrigerator and pulls out an armload
of food. He tosses me a pepper and commands, "Chop that up." I obey, grabbing a
knife and cutting board. "Frittata OK?"

"Sounds amazing, Collin."

He sighs, and I can tell his heart is still so
heavy. "It'll do."

A short while later we sit at his kitchen table
and I blow on a forkful of frittata. "If this tastes anywhere near as good as
it smells it will officially be the best meal I've had all week."

He glances over at me. "That's really sad,
Rachel." After a beat he cracks a smile, that for the first time tonight, looks
like it stands a chance at lasting.

I take a bite and moan. "Yep. Best meal all week."
He laughs.

We chat over dinner and I feel him coming a little
more into himself. I know I can't solve his grief overnight. I recognize what a
long road this has been for him, and will likely continue to be, but I need to
believe talking with me is a more healing alternative than for him to just lie
in bed all day and night. When we're both finished I stand and start to clear
our plates. He grabs my wrist and I feel my breath hitch and a simultaneous
flush of embarrassment. I can't believe how much his touch affects me.

He examines his hand on my arm and then looks back
up at me. I wonder how much I'm giving away. "You don't have to clean up."

"You cooked. I'll clean. Fair is fair." I shrug
and smile at his serious face.