Forgive Me (2 page)

“Butch and Joanie’s son?”

“That’s the one.” I try to sound nonchalant as a tiny chill runs down my neck.

“I haven’t seen him since Joanie’s funeral. Poor boy. She was lovely. Do you remember her?”

I nod my head and take a bite of the toast. “From Sunday school.”

“Jack, do you remember Joanie Leer? Died of cancer about a year ago.”

“I remember,” my dad says, and appears to be ignoring us, but I know he’s not. He always hears everything.

“If you don’t want to be with Brian, that’s fine, but please not a rodeo cowboy,” my mother pleads, not missing a thing.

“I only said I saw him. What’s wrong with a rodeo cowboy?”

“Nothing. For someone else’s daughter. I really want you to marry someone with a job. Someone that can take care of you.”

“Can’t a cowboy do that?”
From what I’ve seen, he can take very good care of me.

“Charlotte, please tell me you’re not serious. They’re always on the road. Their income’s not steady. It’s a very difficult life.” My mother’s stern warning is delivered while she fills the dishwasher, as if we’re discussing a fairy tale, a situation so absurd it barely warrants a discussion. She’s still beautiful, even when she’s lecturing me. “I know safe choices aren’t attractive to the young, but believe me you do not belong in that world and he’d wither up and die in yours. Do not underestimate the power of safety in this crazy life.”

“How do you know so much about rodeo cowboys?” I ask.

“Yeah, how do you know so much?” My dad asks. He stares at her over the newspaper.

“Is your stomach flipping?” She asks, and gives him her beautiful smile she’s flashed to quell him my entire life.

“Yes,” he says, and winks at her.

N
oble?” I stare out the window as we pass field after field and lose my attention to the crops. I follow them to the horizon, the only boundary between the earth and the sky. The perfect blue meets the green fields as if it’s watching over them. This is Noble’s world.

God’s country.

“Yes?” He brings me back to his truck. I turn to him, and watch him drive with the ease that’s always a part of him.

“Would you say I’m your best friend? That we’re best friends?” Noble takes his eyes off the road to meet mine. I’ve seen this look before. He’s not sure whether to laugh.

“Are you going to give me half a BFF necklace, or something?” He asks as if I am the most ridiculous person he’s ever known.

“I was just thinking about how things change.”

“Charlotte, what’s going on?” He’s listening closely now. We pass the cornfields, almost knee-height. How many corn crops have I passed in my lifetime?

I shake my head. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”
About what?

“You are one of my closest friends. You, Margo, Jenn, and Sam. And at Rutgers I can’t survive without Julia, Violet, and Sydney.”

“Where are you going with this?” Now he’s worried. Noble turns left and a new set of fields draws my attention.

“What happened to the others? Jason, and Ollie, and Possum? Where are Heather Miller and Dana Davino? Why aren’t we friends with them anymore? I went to Jason Leer’s birthday party every year of my life until we hit high school, and then I never hung out with him.”

“Charlotte, things change—the passage of time, circumstances—but people don’t. We’re still friends, just old friends. Jason was into the rodeo, and we weren’t. We just went in different directions.”

Noble turns onto the farm lane leading to his house and crosses the railroad tracks that sever it. An acre and a half back, we pass Jason Leer’s house on the left. His truck is parked near the barn separating his and Noble’s yards. I swallow hard at the thought of my ankle in Jason’s hand.

“Wait here,” Noble says, and pulls up near the side door of the farmhouse.

“Why?” I ask, knowing my cheeks are probably flushed. Noble notices and seems confused for the second time today. I’m not making any sense.

“Because my mother will interrogate you about my love life at Rutgers and we’ll never make it to Jenn’s.” Noble’s easy smile lights up his face.
He is my best friend.
“Just wait here, okay?”

Noble leaves me, and I can’t take my eyes off Jason’s truck. I wonder what he’s doing today, what Jenn and Margo will say if I invite him to the lake house with us. The door to Jason’s house swings open and hits the side of the house. Anyone else exiting a house that way would indicate anger, but Jason smiles as he strides over to his truck. I watch in delight. Everything is so powerful about him, and I can’t take my eyes off him. A chill runs down the back of my neck and I tilt my head to thwart it.

Jason reaches for his truck door and glances back. At the sight of me, he stops. The smile drains from his face. It’s replaced with something else. Something coercive. I should lean down in the truck. Crouch down and escape his gaze, but that would be cowardly and something about Jason Leer brings out the best and worst in me, neither of which is anywhere near fear.

He takes one step toward me as Noble practically skips out of his house. He breezes to the truck and climbs in carrying cucumbers, without even noticing Jason. As he pulls away he waves at Jason, and I sit in awe of him. We drive a few miles, me trying to understand what Jason does to me, and Noble singing along to music without a care in the world. He lowers the volume and examines me.

“Charlotte, what?”

I release myself from all things Jason Leer.

“What if the person you’re supposed to be with you’ve known your whole life? What if they’re an old friend?” Noble’s gaze is serious, and that’s terrifying.

“An old friend or a best friend?”

“Old, either, does it matter?” This line of questioning is not relaxing him.

“Is this about Brian? Are you second-guessing breaking up with him?”

“No. This is absolutely not about Brian.” Noble studies me.

“What you’re talking about will change everything. I’m not saying it never happens, just that if it ends, it never ends well.”

“Have you ever been with someone you know in your heart is the exact right person for you? That everything swirling around you just moves you closer to that person?” Noble takes his eyes off the road and looks at me as if I have a unicorn horn growing out of the center of my head.

“Did you get high before I picked you up?”

“No,” I say, and lower my head. I’m not making any sense today. None of this makes sense.

“You’re scaring me a little.”

“I know,” I say, and drop the subject. It’s a stupid one.

The drive to Jenn’s lake house is about a half hour. Noble and I spend it with the windows down and the music playing. We pull down the long gravel-cut lane winding through the woods and park behind Jenn’s and Margo’s cars.

A day on the lake is the perfect end to June, I think as I jump out of the truck and grab my bag. The cloudless sky agrees with me. This will be the last summer we’re all home together. It seems everyone branches out after their junior year. Jenn has already said she’ll be on a beach somewhere full-time and Margo wants to stay at school and take summer classes. I’m not sure what I’ll do, but it’s not going to be in Salem County if these girls don’t come home.

I hand the bag of cucumbers to Jenn and she starts washing them. “Compliments of Noble Sinclair.” I give credit where credit is due.

“Oh, Mr. Sinclair? You don’t say? I love that you still call him Noble after all these years. Can’t just commit to Nick like the rest of us,” Jenn says.

“She’s stubborn,” Noble concludes.

“It’s nice to know a farmer. I’m going to make you cucumber salad as thanks,” she says.

“I was going to bring some tomatoes too, but they’re about a week out.”

“Let’s meet back here in a week. I’ll make a tomato salad then,” she adds and begins cutting the cucumbers.

“Sam should be here any minute,” Margo says, and grabs a cucumber. “Why don’t you guys take out the canoe? It’s covered in spiders. I couldn’t get within three feet of it.” I look out the window at the lake. It’s completely still, no signs of life.

Noble and I sweep the interior of the canoe for webs before pulling it to the water’s edge and placing the paddles inside. We step into the water and gingerly board the canoe. We almost tip at Noble’s entry, but we right ourselves and set off on our sail with Noble at the bow. His neck and shoulders appear enormous from this vantage point. As he pulls the water with his paddle his biceps bulge. When we exit the shade of the coast, Noble takes off his shirt and I am in awe.

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend?” I ask, and Noble keeps paddling.

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“You wouldn’t keep something like that from me, would you?” I’m wounded at the suggestion. Noble turns around and his warm, inviting smile confuses me all the more. Why is he alone? Or is he?

“I’m just waiting for the right girl,” he says, and paddles with deep strokes that push us from shore. “Until she comes along I’m trying to meet as many wrong girls as possible,” he adds with the naughtiest grin.

“Sounds like a great plan to catch something nasty.”

“That’s very romantic, Charlotte. Just because things aren’t swirling around me, or whatever the hell you were saying earlier, doesn’t mean I’m a venereal disease waiting to be contracted.”

“Says you,” I retort, and continue paddling the canoe. The river is completely empty except for Noble and me. We row close to the shore of a tiny island with no beach. The trees hang over into the water and there are sounds of bugs, and birds, and God knows what else inhabiting it. Noble takes his paddle and pushes us away from the island just as I duck under a branch and we row back to the open water.

“How deep do you think it is here?” I ask.

“I can throw you in so you can find out.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I say, and push my paddle straight down to the bottom. It touches nothing but water. “Deep,” I say, nodding my head. Noble rocks the canoe from side to side, coming within a few inches of taking on water each time. I don’t say a word. I will not give him the satisfaction. Instead I tilt my face to the blue sky and let the sun warm me. It is the most beautiful day. Almost too bright to face it even with my eyes closed. The glare is blinding. Noble bores of tormenting me and begins to row back to the house. I match his paddling and between us the canoe is charging toward home.

I stop rowing as I see Jenn, Margo, Sam, and…Sean standing on the dock.

“What’s your brother doing here?” Noble asks, his voice filled with the doom I feel.

“I don’t know. Keep rowing.” Dread settles at the bottom of my stomach.

When we get close to shore I can see them clearly, each of them staring at me with unspoken sadness. Their faces scream at me to row the other way. Something horrible has happened. I lay my paddle across my lap and listen as the devastation in Sean’s eyes cries out to me. Noble rows us to shore and gets out first, immediately turning around to help me. I run out of the water and face my brother’s stricken face.

“Mom and Dad were in a car accident. A delivery truck t-boned them on the Swedesboro Road. Mom was airlifted and is being operated on now.”
Where’s Dad?
“Get your stuff.”

“I’ll follow you guys,” Margo says.

“I’ll drive, Margo. We’ll follow you, Sean,” Noble says to Sean, and I grab my shoes and climb into Sean’s truck. We pull onto the lane, the one I rode in on an hour ago, and everything has changed. None of it for the better.

I
’m really sorry about your parents,” Kevin says. He graduated with Sean and now he’s an undertaker.

“Thanks, Kevin,” Sean responds, and I barely look at either of them. This cannot really be happening.

“I know they airlifted your mom. We were all pulling for her.”
Shut the fuck up, Kevin.
I roughly run my hand up and down the side of my face.

“Her injuries were too extensive,” Sean says, and pulls out a chair for me. Even with my high wedges on, I’m nowhere near his height. Sean’s a big, burly, Irishman with the same green eyes as my own, except mine look like that of a dead person now.

Sean and Kevin work through what appears to be a list of things people need at a funeral: caskets, obituaries, memorial cards, flowers. I barely listen to a word of it.
What day is it?
I’ll bet it’s written on the top of Kevin’s form somewhere. He seems very organized. I always liked him. Not feeling him today. I try and focus on the top of Kevin’s papers as he plays with his pen cap above them. I wonder if my obvious hatred is making him nervous. None of this is his fault. I smile sweetly and even that seems to make him uncomfortable. If I’m killed in a car accident tomorrow, is Kevin going to have this conversation about me? How many times a day does he have this conversation? He should have studied statistics at Rutgers like me. Rutgers was a million years ago.

“Have you thought anything about the service?” Kevin directs his question to Sean. I am clearly scaring him.

“We’re headed to the church next.”

Great. I definitely want to take this show on the road.

“Are you okay, Charlotte?” Sean asks as he opens the truck door for me.

“I’m dead inside. Maybe it’s shock or something, but I cannot seem to figure out anything but how much I hate people. Kevin seems like a nice guy.”

“He is.”

“It took all of me not to reach across the table and strangle him with his own tie.”

Sean stares at me, completely disturbed by my statement. “Okay…” he manages, and closes the truck door.

“How is it you are so mentally stable? Both your parents were just killed in a horrific car accident. Poof! Gone. What the fuck, Sean?” His eyes widen and I note that I need to take it easy on him.

“I’m working through the process. Planning a funeral, calling relatives, meeting with the police and fire officials, dealing with the hospital and insurance companies, driving my crazy-ass sister around. You know, the process.” Sean starts the truck and looks behind us to back out. We drive the three minutes to the other side of town in a hysterical silence.

Pastor Johnson leads us back to his office and Sean motions for me to take a seat first. This is Kevin’s office all over again, but Pastor Johnson’s office is full of books and it reminds me of the thing I love most about him. He is intelligent. His sermons always make me smarter. Sean and Pastor Johnson speak of memories of our parents as anger burns inside of me. My mom loved this church her whole life, and now it’s betrayed me. She should be planning refreshments for someone else’s funeral. I look up and realize at some point the conversation switched to music.

“She’ll want ‘In the Garden’ sung at the funeral,” I say.

“Who will?” Sean looks like his mute sister just learned to speak.

“Mom. She’d want ‘In the Garden’ sung. It’s her favorite hymn.” I lower my eyes to my hands in my lap. “Was her favorite.” Pastor Johnson pauses, waiting for me to say something else, but I have nothing else in me. It’s all dead, too.

“I want you both to continue attending services,” His directive catches my attention. “It’s important. Not because it’s what your parents would want for you, but because it’s what you both need. In the darkest moments of your life you should not stop worshipping.”
Is this the darkest moment of my life? What does that mean? Is there some qualifying ribbon I receive for hitting the darkest moment?

“Even in this horrible time, God knew it beforehand.” This statement completely pisses me off. My hands begin to shake at the suggestion that my parents’ accident was part of a divine plan. “It’s not a surprise to Him. He knew it before you were born.”

“Oh yeah, well fuck Him and fuck you, too,” I say, anger searing me.

“Charlotte! What the hell are you saying?” Sean is wild-eyed as he yells at me, before realizing he’s now cussing in the Pastor’s office, too. “Sorry, Pastor.”

“It’s okay. Charlotte, it’s okay.” I have no idea what else he’s saying. I can no longer listen to a word of it.

“Would you excuse me for a minute?” I smile out of habit and walk out of his office. I sit on the front steps of the church and wait for Sean. I should be crying. I should be flat on my stomach on the lawn of the church, banging my fists and feet into the ground as I sob uncontrollably. But I’m not. I don’t even feel guilty. I’m not sure I feel anything. Maybe some anger.
That’s a good sign, right?

Sean is pissed, I’ll bet. I remind myself again, I have got to go easy on him. He’s all I have left now.

Shockingly, Sean doesn’t include me in the rest of the planning. Instead I am “watched” by my sister-in-law Michelle, or by my Aunt Diane at all times. It’s like they’re completing a nurse’s log about what I eat and drink, always begging me to eat more and get some rest.
What the hell do I need rest for?
I think I can talk about the shittiness of my parents’ death without a full eight hours.

After two days I abandon my anger. It’s pissing me off, too. I try numb for a while. I walk through the grocery store aisles like a zombie searching for crackers. I pause in the makeup aisle, because I am a masochistic zombie, and remember all the times my mom let me wear makeup as a little girl. I’m sure I was the only first grader wearing eye shadow in the class picture. I can barely concern myself with it now.

I walk down the ice cream aisle and pick out my father’s favorite, mint chocolate chip. My mother used to tease him that he only stayed with her because she kept the freezer stocked with ice cream. I drop it in my basket and lumber to the register to pay.

“Charlotte, I’m so sorry about your parents. We’re gonna miss seeing your mom in here every week,” the cashier says, and I just look at her with my dead green eyes.
Say something, Charlotte.
This interaction is going to be retold seventeen times today.

“Thanks,” I manage, and walk out of the store. I throw the ice cream in the trashcan by the door. Maybe this is why cutters cut themselves? I’ve never understood it, but now I can’t remember what it’s like to feel something.