Without You Here (21 page)

Blake suddenly whirled towards her. "You were covering for them, weren't you? Last night?"

Liza felt sick.

Blake rounded on Ettie. "So your defense for last weekend was that you didn't know who he was. How do you defend last night?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but Lauren clamped her hand over it. "She never said she was with him last night. Do you have proof?"

"They both disappeared from the party at the same time. And this one," he pointed at Liza, "had the knowledge and ability to cover for them."

"Circumstantial, Blake. You can't prove anything."

"I wouldn't have to prove anything if you'd let go of her mouth. She'll spill her guts. You fucked my old man last night, didn't you?" he asked, looking straight at Ettie.

Lauren stepped around in front of her. "You need to step outside and cool off."

He glared at her for a moment. Glanced at Liza. Then at everyone else. "Know what? You're right. I got bigger fish to fry." He turned and stormed out.

Ettie continued to stand on her own, though she was trembling violently. Lauren slid an arm around her shoulders. Everyone was quiet for a long time. But finally Stan leaned his elbows on the counter and fixed his skeptical gaze on Ettie. "Wyatt? Really?"

A half-beat passed and she laughed. "He's cute."

"Is not," Stan said.

Ettie hugged her arms around her middle.

"This isn't a joking matter," Charles said.

"I agree," said Cecily. "I don't see how their relationship will ever recover from this."

Diane went and hugged her husband's waist. "Or this time next year we'll all be sitting around laughing about it. You never can tell how things will turn out."

Ettie gave her an appreciative smile. Then she stood up. "I'm going over there." She took off toward the front door, with Lauren hurrying after her. Liza wondered if she should go, too. But when she caught her husband's disapproving eye, she decided she had enough troubles of her own to handle.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Wyatt had gone straight home to his bedroom, kicked on the home videos, and started in on the whiskey. He couldn't get drunk fast enough. And unfortunately he was only halfway there when the front door slammed open and he heard Blake shout, "Dad?"

Wyatt paused the video he'd been watching and swung his legs out of bed. He stood, steady as could be. Took a lot of whiskey to knock him off balance. He went into the living room and found Blake standing, staring at him. His mouth was half-open like he was about to say something. Then an expression that wavered between sadness and fury, told Wyatt all he needed to know. Still, he was unwilling to speak first. Maybe Blake didn't know everything.

Blake closed his mouth and swallowed. "I get last weekend. I get it. You didn't know she was mine. You didn't technically do anything wrong. But why didn't you tell me about it? When you met her, Friday, why didn't you tell me?"

Wyatt blinked slowly. He dragged his feet to the couch and slumped down onto it. "If I'd known you'd take it like that, I would have. I just figured it was an unforgivable sin."

"Lying to me about it was worse, Dad. And what's unforgivable is you having sex with her even after you knew she was mine."

The last of Wyatt's hope abandoned him. So he knew everything. The whole world seemed to go gray. "I'm sorry," he said, lamely.

Blake rounded the chair he'd been standing behind and sat. "How could you do that?" he asked, softly. Dully. "How could you sleep with a girl you knew I loved?"

Wyatt shook his head. He stared through a haze of unshed tears at the nothingness in front of him.

"Answer me!" Blake yelled.

Wyatt flinched. But still couldn't bring himself to answer.

"Dad, please," he said. "Say something that makes this all okay. Say something that makes it make sense."

"I can't," Wyatt said. His voice sounded distant to his own ears.

"Then tell me the truth. Tell me why."

Wyatt shrugged. He wasn't sure he knew why. But he could guess. "Because I love her. Because she makes me happy. Because...I told myself you wouldn't find out and...and I wouldn't see her again." His chest ached just saying the words.

"You're a selfish son-of-a-bitch," Blake said. Though there was mostly only sadness in his voice.

Wyatt nodded agreement.

Just then, Ettie burst in, followed by Lauren. They both sighed relief, probably at the sight of the two men not killing each other. "Blake, I'm so sorry," Ettie said.

He stood and faced her. "You're sorry, alright. You know, you were always a pretty shitty girlfriend, but you never failed me as a friend. I've never felt so disappointed and betrayed in my life. You and my Dad were probably the two people I trusted and loved most in the world. Well fuck you both. Just get your things and go home, Ettie. I don't ever want to see you again."

Wyatt didn't move. Just stared in front of him and felt his heart breaking. Which was a surprise considering how he'd assumed it had already been smashed into oblivion.

And then Ettie was there in front of him, kneeling between his knees. "Wyatt, please be okay," she said.

He frowned down at her, not sure what she was talking about. Not sure if she was real.

She handed him a piece of folded paper. "Here," she said. "It's just a stupid note I wrote to you. But I want you to have it. Please be okay, Wyatt."

Lauren was pulling at her. Blake was yelling at her to get out. Wyatt could only stare down at the paper in his hand.

"You deserve to be happy, Wyatt. You're good. You're a good man."

And then her friend finally managed to urge her out the door, and she was gone. Blake was pacing in the doorway. Wyatt stared at the note in his hand. Blake stormed over and snatched it away. Wyatt wouldn't have fought him if he'd asked. He just sat there getting that cold, dead-inside feeling.

Blake snorted and grumbled. Then wadded up the note and tossed it on the couch next to Wyatt. "Typical Ettie crap. Full of drama and sentimentality. You think she's something special? She's a flaky, bubble-headed, slut."

Wyatt grabbed the note and read it:

Dear Wyatt,

You asked me why I talked to you last weekend. Well I'm fairly new to adulthood, but I've learned some things about my instincts. I can spot trouble. And I can spot adventure. I can tell pretty good when someone's being honest with me or when they're trying to play me. And I can tell when there are greater forces at work in my life. When I saw you, Wyatt, my world stopped for a moment. Like a skip on a record. And I knew you were important. You're so important to me.

But I know this isn't the right time. And maybe there will never be a right time. I just want you to know how much you mean to me. How much better my life was in the few moments we had together. There's no way to describe it. I want to breathe every breath with you. I want to walk where you walk and sleep where you sleep. I want to hold you up when your troubles are heavy and lean on you when I'm in need of support. I love you, Wyatt.

Yours forever,

Ettie

He was smiling. Nothing big. Just a crinkling around the eyes and a tightness in his lips. But she could do that even in a note. Make him smile. She was a sweet thing. "Maybe you can't appreciate it because you're young," Wyatt said. "It's nothing special to you, all that life and energy. But I think she's a real nice girl."

"She is nice, Dad. And stupid. She's got no common sense. No self-control. She acts like everything's this big, huge ordeal. She's a fool."

He shook his head. "You're missing out, Blake. You should get her back, if you can. And let her be who she is. Relax and just go along for the ride."

"Like I'm going back in there after you've been."

Wyatt stood, anger giving him a surge of energy. "She doesn't deserve that."

"Yeah? What about me? What do I deserve? I deserve to be lied to and cheated on? I didn't do anything to deserve this. Do you have the first fucking clue as to how messed up this is? How this makes me feel? I now live in a world where not only have you and I slept with the same woman, but she openly prefers you to me."

Wyatt was trembling with anger and despair. "I have a pretty good idea how you feel. You think I'm not disgusted? You think I like knowing my son has...has...," he couldn't even say it, "...with the woman I love? She should never have been with you to begin with. I should have found her first. But she was and I didn't and these are the cards we're dealt. Just...don't take it out on her."

"You don't get any say whatsoever in how I deal with her. I've known her for three years. You've known her for a week. Suddenly you've got some sort of deep insight into her soul. Well fuck you, Dad! And fuck her, too. You're welcome to her. I don't want anything to do with either of you ever again."

He stormed down the hall to his room. Wyatt stood there for a moment, the anger subsiding and numbness returning. He was losing his buzz, though. He searched around for the bottle of whiskey he'd brought with him. Found it on the sofa next to where he'd been sitting. He picked it up and drank. And drank again. One more and it was empty.

He went to the kitchen, threw the bottle in the trash, and located another in the cabinet above the refrigerator. He leaned back against the counter and drank again. He reflected on how low he'd been brought. How much worse of a person he'd become since losing Amberlee. She was the only thing that had made him good. Made him useful. Now he was nothing. Nobody. And all he did was cause pain in the people he cared for.

Blake came out with his suitcase and computer bag. "I'm staying up at Grammy's," he said. And then he was gone.

Wyatt looked around at the house. Amberlee's house. Everything just as she'd left it. Except her husband who had failed her in life and failed her worse in death. The guilt was unbearable. Wyatt took another drink. Then he went to his room.

There was a .45 in Wyatt's nightstand drawer. He picked it up and stared at it and thought about the night he’d pulled the trigger. It had been two weeks after burying his wife and he’d wanted to die. But the gun had jammed and he’d passed out from the whiskey and the fear.

Now he didn’t want to die. He wanted to live again, but he didn’t know how to dig himself out of the grief and guilt. So he took another drink of whiskey and walked outside, gun in hand.

Out the door and through the yard. Into the woods. Rain had started coming down in spurts. Sometimes sheets of it swept over him. Then it would be gone with just a few sprinkles left. He walked on until he reached the cemetery and then Amberlee's grave. He sat, leaning against it the way he had that one time before. He drank until it burned through his veins and left him feeling blissfully numb.

He hefted the weight of the gun in his right hand. This time, it wouldn't jam. He'd given it a good cleaning and test-fired it a few weeks back. It wouldn't jam. He tried not to think about it. He figured a good, old-fashioned three count was in order. First a drink. He swallowed down a huge gulp of the burning amber liquid. He almost choked. Then he took a few breaths.

He put the gun to his temple and squeezed his eyes shut. It was different this time. He was driven more by guilt than grief. He didn’t want to live, but he didn’t want to die.

"One," he said. He breathed. "Two...three...fuck!" he jerked the gun away and slammed his head back against the headstone. He stared at the sky that was blurring from his tears. "God, Amberlee," he moaned. He owed this to her. She'd been everything to him. And he couldn't save her. He owed her this.

He put the gun to his head again. "One...two...three...God dammit!" He jerked it away again and brought the bottle of whiskey to his lips. He drank, but it did little to strengthen his resolve. "I'm sorry, baby," he said, his voice weak. "I'm so sorry for everything."

He knew this was the last time he'd come here with that gun in his hand. He wouldn't do it again. His decision was made and he hated himself for it. He stared ahead of him and drank.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Liza called that night. And when she got no answer, three times in a row, she drove over. When she realized Wyatt wasn't there, she decided to wait. But hours passed. She began to fear. Fear grew into panic. She went back home for Charles. Together, they drove out to the cemetery. It was the obvious first place to look. The storm was going full force, now. The night was pitch black except when lightning shocked it into brief and stuttering whiteness.

They arrived at the cemetery and climbed out of the truck, shining flash lights towards Amberlee's grave. A stroke of lightning showed Liza a terrifying vision. Wyatt, unconscious, with a gun near his hand. "Dear God, no!" she screamed, and ran to his side.

She shoved him to his back and pressed her fingers to the side of his neck. She didn't need to feel the pulse, though, because Wyatt groaned and squinted his eyes open. But then they rolled back shut. Still, he was breathing. That was when she saw the empty whiskey bottle next to his hand.

Charles knelt at her side and together they managed to get him to his feet. They dragged him to the truck. They couldn't get him in the cab in the state he was in, so they dumped him in the bed, pushed closed the tailgate, and drove him back to their house. They called Stan, who lived just up the road. Between him, Charles, and Blake, they managed to drag Wyatt into the bathroom. They dumped him in the tub. His head lolled to the side and he snored. One of his legs was crooked over the edge.

"What do we do with him?" Charles asked.

Liza hovered by the door. "I don't know. But I'm not putting him into one of my beds soaking wet and covered in mud."

"Just leave him there," Stan said. "Let him sleep it off."

"Shouldn't we clean him up?" Liza asked.

"We?" said Charles. "You want me and Stan to get him out of his clothes and hose him down?"

Liza shrugged. "Seems like a good idea."

Stan and Charles rubbed the back of their necks in one of those twin gestures that marked them as father and son. Liza smiled.