Come Back To Me (37 page)

Before I can stop myself I hit delete.

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COME BACK TO ME

From:
Jessa Kingsley

To:
Kit Ryan [email protected]

Date:
February 17

Subject:
news

Dear Kit,

I wanted to write and let you know that Jo had the baby. He

was born two days ago, weighing in at a healthy 9 pounds.

Jo’s named him Riley Kit Kingsley.

I was at the birth. It was amazing, Kit, the most incredible

thing I’ve ever experienced. I was so scared that he would

look like Riley and that I wouldn’t be able to look at him or

hold him because of it. And he does and it’s so wonderful.

He looks exactly like Riley. The same eyes, the exact same

expression – you know how Riley used to look when he was

pissed at something? (Jo says it’s wind, but I swear he’s

inherited Riley’s personality.)

It’s the most amazing thing, Kit. It’s like he’s given us all

a new start. Even my dad is totally in love with him. You

should have seen him hold him for the first time. He cried.

My mom is even smiling again and is almost back to

normal.

And that’s why I’m writing really. It’s not just to tell you

about Riley, but also to tell you that this is the last email I’m

sending you. I can’t keep writing into the void.

I don’t know how you’re doing – your dad says he

doesn’t hear from you either. I wish I could see you, speak

to you face to face, but I have no idea when or even if

you’re ever coming home.

I know you must be hurting and I wish there was some-

thing I could do to make it better. But I’m hurting too, Kit.

He was my brother. And I didn’t just lose him. I lost you too.

Part of the grief process is letting go. I’ve finally let go of

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Riley and am moving on. And now I need to let go of you

too.

I’ll always hold you in my heart and think about you

but this is the only way. Thank you for all the beautiful

memories.

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Kit

I stare at the computer screen, my heart beating in my

throat, nausea bubbling in my stomach. The hiss of static

fills my ears and my eyesight starts to blur. For a moment

it feels as if I might be having another panic attack, but

after forcing myself to breathe and count to ten, the sound

starts to fade and my eyesight returns to normal.

The words on the screen unblur and I read them again,

swallowing hard when I take in the news about the

baby’s name and then gripping the arms of my chair

when I reread the last paragraph.

Finally I tear my eyes away and stare at the wall. What

did I expect? I shake my head, snorting air through my

nose. What the hell did I expect? That she was going to

wait for me to get my shit together? That after treating

her so badly, after ignoring her for so long, she was going

to wait for me and accept me back into her life with open

arms?

It’s been almost six months. Six months of silence. I’ve

only got myself to blame.

I look back at the computer. If I was any sort of man at

all, I’d email her right now and tell her how sorry I am,

I’d beg her forgiveness, I’d tell her that I understood and

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wish her well, but I can’t. Because as I already know – as

has already been discovered – I’m no sort of man at all.

I stumble to my feet, pushing my chair to the side, and

am about to turn off the computer by pulling the plug

when I change my mind. I sit back down and with a shak-

ing hand, the static starting to buzz in my ears again, I hit

delete on the email and then on the dozen other emails

from Jessa that are clogging up my inbox.

Jessa’s right. It’s time for a new beginning. The best

thing I can do is let her go, stop thinking about her, move

on. I left it too late. I’m one big fuck-up.

After I’ve deleted all the emails, I glance at the clock.

It’s almost five. I grab my stuff and walk out the door,

heading in a daze back to my room on the other side of

the base. Once there I quickly get dressed, pulling on my

jeans and a T-shirt, and head straight back out again.

I make a beeline for the nearest bar. It’s a sleazy faux-

Irish pub with floors so tacky with spilled beer my shoes

stick to it as though they’re trying to stop me getting to

the bar. There’s a pool table in one corner and a dozen or

more booths ringing the room – all empty for the moment

– though this being Guam and there being nothing else

to do on the island, it won’t be long before the place is

heaving with marines coming off duty.

I sit down on a stool at the bar and signal to the

barman. He ambles over and asks what he can get me. I

stare bewildered at what’s on offer: beer, spirits, soft

drinks. I don’t know what to ask for. I just know that

tonight I want to drink myself into oblivion.

‘Whatever is going to get me drunk quickest,’ I answer.

The barman’s eyebrows shoot up. He flips the tea

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towel he’s carrying over his shoulder, turns to grab a

glass and fills it with some amber liquid from a bottle

before setting it down in front of me.

‘Woman trouble?’ he asks.

I pick up the glass, eyeing the contents. A voice in my

head is yelling at me to put it down, turn around and

walk away now, before it’s too late. I think of my dad and

his drunken rages − his purple face, his slurred words,

the time I found him passed out in a pool of his own

vomit on the sofa – but then I shove the memory away.

Who’s here to see me get drunk anyway? What does it

matter if I drink myself into a coma? Or pass out in a lake

of my own vomit? Who’s going to care?

I down the contents of the glass in one go. It burns my

throat and makes my eyes water, and when I slam the

glass back down I feel a rush as the alcohol immediately

lights a fire in my stomach.

‘Another,’ I say, wiping the back of my hand across my

mouth.

The barman sighs but then, seeing the tattoo on my

arm just visible beneath the bottom of my sleeve, decides

not to argue. I’m guessing he’s seen more than his fair

share of angry servicemen and knows the best bet is just

to give them what they want.

He pours me another drink and I down that one too

and then a third. My head starts to spin a little. My limbs

loosen up. The hard knot in my stomach starts to relax.

When the door slams behind me I don’t even jump. I

laugh under my breath. Wow. I can’t believe it’s taken me

six months to realize that getting drunk is the answer.

I pull out my phone and start scrolling through the

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photo album. My fingers are clumsy and slow but I feel a

startling mental clarity, and when I get to the photos of

Jessa – the ones she sent me of herself topless and the

ones I took of her in her underwear – I know exactly what

I have to do. I haven’t looked at them in six months –

couldn’t bring myself to before now – and now I find

myself unable to look away. Even though my breathing

has stalled and it feels as if someone’s stabbing a skewer

between my ribs, I can’t stop looking.

Her smile. That’s what strikes me first. It’s hard to

believe she was smiling like that because of me.
For
me.

Has she smiled like that since, I wonder? The pictures

become blurry and I realize it’s because I’m crying.

Angrily I hit delete.
Delete. Delete. Delete.

Stumbling off my stool, I signal the barman to get me

another drink. He eyes me nervously, looking at the

phone in my hand as if it’s a gun or a bomb.

‘She’s gone,’ I say to him. ‘I deleted her.’

A look of pity crosses his face before he nods and picks

up my glass. I start laughing. And then I down the fourth

double shot. The room lurches sideways. I collapse down

onto the stool and rest my head on the bar with a sigh.

I’m not sure how long I stay sitting like that drifting in

a welcome fog, but suddenly I feel someone put their

hand on my shoulder. I jerk upright, half falling off the

stool, grateful to the bar for catching me. My eyelids are

heavy as lead. Someone’s standing in front of me, but it

takes a while for my eyes to pull focus.

‘Dad?’ I say, thinking I must be hallucinating.

My legs give way. My dad catches me as I stumble. The

bar stool tumbles sideways and hits the ground.

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‘Dad?’ I say again, and through the fog in my head I

can hear that my voice is broken. It sounds like I’m

crying.

‘I’m here, son,’ my dad answers.

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Jessa

‘Your parents are going away for the weekend, I hear.’

I glance sideways at Todd. He’s opening the micro-

wave door, trying to look nonchalant, but I know what

he’s implying and my pulse elevates.

‘Yeah,’ I mumble, busying myself with unloading the

dishwasher. ‘It’s their anniversary. I think my dad’s try-

ing to make up for being a total asshole for the last eight

years. It’s all part of the recovery process.’

‘Yeah? That’s great,’ says Todd. ‘I was thinking maybe I

could . . . um . . .’ He clears his throat. ‘Maybe I could stay

over.’ He shoots a nervous look my way.

I pretend not to notice while trying to figure out what

to say. It’s been two months. I guess I can’t keep putting

him off. And it’s not like I don’t like him. Todd’s been

good for me. He’s been there for me. And so what if I

don’t feel the same way about him that I felt about Kit? So

what if I don’t get the same level of butterflies? Maybe

that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s what happens when

you grow up. And at least Todd would never have the

capacity to hurt me like Kit did.

Todd takes the bottle from the microwave and tests the

temperature of the milk against the inside of his wrist. I

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smile at him and kiss him on the lips as I take the bottle

from his hand.

‘OK,’ I say. ‘Yeah, sure.’

His eyes go wide. He has so much more of the kid

about him than Kit ever did, but I guess he’s three years

younger.

‘Seriously?’ he asks. ‘You’re sure?’

I nod and he grins. My stomach sinks a little and I try

to ignore it.

Todd puts his arms around my waist and pulls me

nearer so he can kiss me. I let him, trying to summon

some enthusiasm. When Todd first asked me out I said

no. We met again at college, were taking some of the same

classes and started off as friends. Then one day he invited

me to the movies and I went, not expecting it to be a date,

but it ended up being one all the same. I think I saw him

as a way to get over Kit, because even though I had

emailed Kit and told him we were over, I still couldn’t

stop thinking about him. I thought Todd might help me

forget about him. So far, no luck, though maybe after

the weekend that will change. Todd’s good-looking, he’s

sweet, he’s smart. He’s not as funny as Kit and the chem-

istry isn’t as electric, but there’s the added bonus that my

parents love him. And now I’m an only child, I feel the

pressure of wanting to please them even more than I did

before. It’s part of the reason I enrolled at USD.

Just then baby Riley starts crying. I pull out of Todd’s

arms and walk into the living room where Riley is sitting

in his bouncy chair playing with a rattle that Didi bought

him. Picking him up and settling down on the sofa with

him, I marvel at how much a baby can totally and utterly

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turn your world upside down. Before Riley, I honestly

didn’t know how I’d ever learn to smile again. I didn’t

think I’d ever be happy. And now I’m the happiest I’ve

been since it all happened.

I look after Riley whenever I can, and my mom and

dad babysit while Jo’s at college. Everyone’s happy with

how it’s worked out. Riley grabs for the bottle out of my

hands. For a three-month-old he’s remarkably clear about

his needs, and just like his dad he goes after what he

wants with a directness that makes us all laugh and recall

the way Riley pursued Jo.

After his bottle, Riley does his usual routine and spits