Living With Regret (12 page)

Being with him also makes me feel more like my old self. Like maybe everything my life revolved around the last several years wasn’t taken away … just thinking like that makes the familiar guilt come back.

“I should probably get back home,” I say, carefully pulling my hands out of his.

He glances back, his eyes trying to read mine. Sometimes when he does stuff like that, I feel things I don’t know if I should be feeling. It’s different than looking into anyone else’s eyes, I guess, and with the way he’s touched me today, I feel uneasy. Like this is all too much, too soon.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I lie. “I just haven’t been out much yet, and I’m getting tired.”

He watches me a little while longer, then nods, walking back to the blanket. “Why don’t you go sit in the car, and I’ll grab this stuff.”

“I can help,” I reply, tossing the empty containers into the picnic basket.

He shakes his head. “You’ve always been stubborn.”

“I wouldn’t be any fun if I always did what I’m supposed to do.”

Neither of us says another word as we finish cleaning up, or on the quick drive back to my house. I like the short moment of silence because it allows me to separate my thoughts into safe little compartments. Tonight, I feel more normal than I have in weeks, and the only thing holding me back from really, truly enjoying it is my guilt. And just like that, with too much time to think, my mind drifts away. Should I be out having fun when Cory can’t do the same? Do I deserve a night like this?

I’m so lost in my own little world of thought that I don’t realize we’re in front of my house until I hear Sam shift into park. “Am I going to see you again soon?”

Shaking my head, I ask, “What are we doing, Sam?”

“I just want to be your friend.” His voice is low, but sure, with absolutely no hesitation.

“Is that all this is?” I stare at him, but he looks straight ahead. I’d do just about anything to see his eyes, to receive some of the easy comfort they give me.

His face finally shows, the corner of his lips turned upward. If only I could believe it when I look up into his eyes. “It has to be, doesn’t it?”

I nod, biting my lower lip. There’s more I want to say, more I want to explain, but it’s been a long day. “I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

As I shift to open the door, his fingers wrap around my forearm, halting me in place. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” I say, forcing out an artificial smile. “And thank you for tonight. It meant a lot.”

He winks, letting me go. “Only for you.”

WHEN I WALK IN
the house, there’s a box waiting on the table, my name scribbled on the top in thick, black permanent marker. I slowly walk up to it, like it might explode if I make a single sound on the old hardwood floors. I just stare at it, unable to bring myself to actually look inside. For God knows how long, I stand there, lightly tracing my finger over each letter of my name. I know exactly where it came from; I’ve been waiting for it since I saw Cory’s mom in the cemetery, but finally having it in front of me fills me with an incredible amount of angst.

Being this close, running my finger over every curve, I can practically hear Cory’s voice saying my name in his low, husky way. Having something that came from him—his house—makes me feel close to him yet again. It’s a feeling that can’t last forever because time steals away the powerful emotions that arise from our memories.

When I come back to reality, I push against the cardboard to gauge how heavy it is. Realizing I can carry it, I pick it up and bring it to my room. Once it’s there, beside my bed, I just stare at it again. From the interest I’ve taken in it, one might think it is something more than a plain box—a plain box that came from Cory’s house with my name scribbled on top.

Maybe I should be more anxious to open it right away, but I’m too nervous about what’s inside. Is it just a bunch of Cory’s things his mom thought I should have, or is it something else?

Feeling tired and worn out, I decide to save it for the morning.

As I wake up, I stretch my arms up and the first thing that crosses my mind is the box. I fell asleep last night thinking about it. It only makes sense that it would be the first thing on my mind this morning.

I wait until my mom leaves to run her daily errands in order to avoid any interruptions. No matter what’s inside, I’m going to feel it. It’s going to bring memories to the forefront that I’ve slowly begun to bury … there’s no way around that.

Sitting on the floor, I pull the box in front of me and carefully rip the tape that holds the top together. I hesitate, knowing that what’s inside is probably going to pour salt into a wound that’s just begun to heal. Yesterday was the first time life felt like a shadow of normal, and I don’t want to lose everything I’ve gained.

My fingers tremble as I reach inside, ready for whatever it holds for me … ready as I’m ever going to be anyway.

The first thing I pull out is a stack of pictures carefully tied together by a rubber band. Quickly thumbing through, I notice most are copies of photos I already have. Ones I’d taken of the good times we shared in the four plus years we were together. The only one I don’t recognize is one of Madison and myself in our caps and gowns on graduation day. Cory must have taken that one when I wasn’t looking.

Reaching in again, I come up with a stack of old notes and cards. That was the way I preferred to communicate my feelings to him when we were in high school. Immaturity can cause a person to do some stupid stuff, and we both did our fair share.

I unfold a piece of notebook paper and read the bubbly script written in the purple pen that was my favorite.

I remember that day like it was yesterday. Cory drank a little too much at a party, and when I begged him to let me drive him home, he refused. I was tired and pissed off, so when Sam showed up and offered to give me a lift home, I jumped at the chance. It seemed innocent enough … I trusted Sam. He’d been one of my best friends for years.

And that was all it was. Sam took me home; it was the first and only time I’d been in Sam’s Camaro during high school. I learned quickly how big of a deal that was for Cory, that I’d taken a ride in someone else’s car—especially Sam Shea’s. I never did it again. Looking back, I should have stood my ground. It was selfish of Cory to essentially make me cut him out of my life. It was pathetic of me to let him.

Next, I pull out a sweatshirt with our high school mascot, The Wildcat, on the front and Cory’s basketball number on the back. He had it made for me with my last name scrolled across the back. I wore it all the time but must have forgotten it at his house at some point. It still smells just like him—a mixture of faint spice and citrus cologne and fabric softener. I used to bury my head in the crook of his neck and inhale it until the scent was permanently stuck in my nose. Thinking about it now brings tears to my eyes … those moments are when I felt the calmest. He was a familiarity. He was my home.

After wiping my eyes, I reach to the bottom of the box and find a lacy black bra that I don’t recognize as mine. It’s confirmed when I look at the size on the tag. My mind races in a bunch of different directions, but I tell myself it’s nothing. It must belong to one of his sisters, or maybe it’s his mom’s way of getting even with me for killing her son. As much as I try to convince myself, I know that not even his mom is that callous. She’s got too much going on inside her own head to do something like this. And his sisters—they’re tinier than me, so the chance of this belonging to them is slim.

Still, I have to believe that this is some sort of mistake. I have to believe that because my sanity can’t afford to take another blow. In my mind, Cory’s always been on a pedestal … I want to keep him there. He’s earned it after what I did.

For the second night in a row, Sam and I are spending time together out in the field. It’s relaxing and serene in the daylight, but at night, it’s even better. The cricket song is lulling, and while we can’t see the black creatures in the darkness, they provide a sense of companionship. It’s the most peaceful thing in the world if you stop to think about it.

“Are you okay? You’re kind of quiet tonight.” Sam’s voice breaks through the beautiful song nature’s creating.

“I just have a lot on my mind, trying to decide what’s real and what’s not. It’s exhausting.” I haven’t stopped thinking about the last item I pulled from the box this morning. It might be nothing … it’s probably nothing … but I can’t stop thinking about it.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No. This I just need to sort out on my own.”

Everything goes still, neither of us moving. It’s good until I start to think too much … that’s when my heart turns a deep, cold shade of blue. It’s when I wonder if I really had everything I thought I did or if I was just clinging onto something I should have let go of a long time ago. It’s when a distraction is the only way to escape my thoughts.

“I love that sound,” I whisper, scooting closer until our shoulders touch, just barely. It’s how I know he’s still here when we’re lying quietly, listening to the sounds that surround us in the darkness.

“Me too,” Sam says, resting the side of his head along the top of mine. “Do you see the fireflies up there?”

“Yeah.” A few of them glow up above us. It makes me think back to when I was a little girl. I used to try to catch them in my hands to see them glow up close. Now, I’m content just to look from afar. They’re amazing little creatures.

“The light they shine is supposed to bring us back to life, to give us hope.”

Wrapping my fingers around his, I ask, “What makes you say that?”

“It’s just something I read once. Their light illuminates from the inside out. It takes a lot of strength on their part.”

“I’m trying to find the strength. I really am.” All I’ve been thinking about since this morning are the contents of that box. For the most part, it contained what I expected, but it also reminded me that things weren’t always perfect. Our relationship was filled with so many moments that made me smile, but there were also struggles. Ones I tried to bury under a big, heavy rug so no one would see them … so
I
wouldn’t see them. What if those struggles were bigger than I even realized?