Living With Regret (19 page)

The room is quiet for the most part, with only the occasional snip of scissors filling the space. I catch Ms. Peters looking at me every now and then, but she doesn’t say a word. That’s very unlike her. She usually has directions to give, or little tidbits on history and flowers to speak about.

After she finishes the last wreath, she holds it up, making sure everything is perfect and symmetrical. I can always tell if she likes it by the look on her face … she must like what she’s done because a bright smile forms. “All ready to go,” she announces.

“I’ll start bringing them out to my car. Do you have instructions on where they need to go at the cemetery?”

“Of course. Take this one first, and I’ll get the delivery slip for you.”

The smell of fresh roses fills my nose as I step back out into the sun. Having a car that permanently smells of fresh flowers isn’t bad either.

When I walk back into the shop, she has the other wreath tucked away in a box with a delivery slip attached. On top is a bouquet of Gerbera daisies in a variety of colors. I look up at her, confused.

“You said they’re your favorite. Take as much time as you need.”

My eyes tear up. I’m speechless. I’ve experienced more kindness the last few months than I did in all the years before combined. “You didn’t have to.”

“There are lots of things people don’t have to do. The ones who do them anyway are the ones who can make a difference. Always remember that.” She squeezes my shoulder and disappears behind the cooler door. I wish there was something I could give back to her. A way to repay her for all the good things she does, even though I know she doesn’t expect it.

I tuck the second wreath and the daisy bouquet into my backseat before climbing into my car and making my way to the edge of town. I’m so caught off guard by today’s assignment that my hands grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary. I planned to come out here again at some point, but not today. Maybe it was meant to be.

I pull my car along the curb and put it in park, scanning the cemetery to see if anyone else is around. It’s quiet today, with the exception of one landscaper in the distance. After taking a deep breath, I step out of the car and pull the first wreath out of the backseat.

The cemetery isn’t large, which makes it easy to find the gravesite for the couple. I lay the first flower arrangement down and walk back to my car to get the second one along with the flowers Ms. Peters sent just for me. The whole time I’m thinking about what I want to say to Cory that I didn’t get to say last time. That time had been about leaving a piece of us with him, but this time, I feel like I have to take a piece of myself back. I was the one given a second chance, and I can’t let it waste away. It’s not fair to either of us.

By the time I reach Cory’s grave, my body’s wound so tightly I feel sick. I’m nervous about what to say. I’m worried that his mom, or someone else, is going to pick this time to come visit him. For this, I just need it to be him and me. I need him to hear me … only me.

Kneeling in from of the large stone that bears his name, I run my fingertips over each letter. “I know it’s been a few months since I’ve been out here, but I had some stuff to sort out, mostly because I’ve been missing you so much.”

My fingertips trail the date next. “I don’t know if you can see me, but if you can, I need you to know that just because I’ve started living my life again, doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about you. You’ll always be a part of me, no matter where this life takes me.”

A gust of wind blows through, spreading leaves across the grass. I sit back, letting my hands fall into my lap. “Anyway, I needed you to know that. If I had a choice, it would always be you.”

Not able to help myself, I run my fingers across the cool stone one more time, branding the pattern to my skin. “I love you, Cory Connors. Don’t you ever forget that, no matter what.”

Closing my eyes, I say a silent prayer, begging for more forgiveness and for God to look over him. It’s the first time I’ve asked for anything as a true believer; I hope that counts for something.

“I have to move on, Cory. I thought about it a lot, and if it were you in my place, I’d want you to be happy. I hope you understand … it doesn’t mean I love you any less.” I probably don’t need to explain my feelings for Sam, but it makes me feel better about it.

Before I get up to leave, I pick up the daisies from the ground and set them carefully in front of his grave. It’s a piece of me I’m leaving here while I take a bigger piece of me back, a part I want to be able to give someone else someday. I always thought I’d find that one person I love and love them all my life. Not all stories are meant to be fairytales—I get that now—but it’s been a hard pill to swallow.

As I walk back to my car, I look at the dates on the tombstones I pass, noting that many of the people buried here lived a long life. Cory’s will always stand out. He’ll always be among the youngest, and I’ll always be the reason for that.

Sam and I made plans to meet tonight after dinner, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it—not right away. I had too much on my mind from my trip to the cemetery this afternoon, and I was back in a place where I felt guilty about moving forward. The whole reason for going there was to let go, but instead I poured antiseptic over an open wound. I’ll heal faster because I did it, but right now, it burns worse than it has in months.

I was supposed to meet Sam at eight.

My eyes didn’t sway from the clock until 8:20 when my cell phone buzzed. It’s him, asking if I’m coming. I begin to type a reply but toss my phone back on the bed. There’s a tiny voice in my head that’s still begging me to go out there, to let the guilt go. But it’s not that easy.

I become my own therapist, going through the reasons why and why not. In the end, there are more reasons why I should. Most of them revolve around Sam. He makes me feel like there’s still something worth living for. He’s my firefly, my ray of hope.

At exactly 8:35, I slide out of my bed and grab a sweatshirt from my closet. Something tells me tonight’s going to be a long night. I have a lot of things to explain, bridges to mend.

I manage to slip through the living room without alerting my mom who’s curled up with a book. I half expect her to come running out the door after me to ask where I’m off to, but I make it through my yard without question.

I venture through the path I have carved in the cornfields, not stopping until I’m standing at the edge of the grassy area that Sam and I frequented as kids. The sun is just starting to set so it’s not hard to spot him sitting along the edge of the creek. A vision of a Midwestern boy in a red and blue flannel and faded blue jeans. My heart lurches at the sight of him, and while part of me wishes I hadn’t come out here tonight, the other screams because I didn’t come sooner.

Most see him as a tough, hard-nosed guy who will never go anywhere in life, but I see something else. He’s broken, withdrawn from most of the world. He’s afraid of letting others see his weaknesses so he tucks them away. I’m a master at hide and seek … I see them and most of the time; he doesn’t even try to hide them from me.

He sits on the bank of the water, one arm wrapped around his folded knees and the other by his side, a beer bottle resting firmly between his fingers.

Seeing him like this is pure agony, but I know it’s thoughts of me he’s running from tonight. I want to catch him, to assure him that everything is going to be all right, that I’m going to try my best not to let him down again.

I take quick steps toward him, waiting for him to hear my footsteps. He either doesn’t hear me, or he doesn’t care. When I’m standing right next to him, I get my answer. His eyes don’t leave the water, and I know I’ve poked holes in the foundation of the relationship we’d just started to build. He’s had enough pain to last the rest of his life so I hate that I did this. I hate that my own selfish need to deal with my feelings alone brought him here.

“Sam,” I whisper, sliding down next to him. His silence is deafening, saying more than his words ever could. I glance over at him, but he looks in the opposite direction, doing everything he can to avoid my eyes.

Without any choice, I continue to do all the talking. “I’m sorry I’m late. Something happened today, and it didn’t feel right to come out here, not before working through the stuff in my head first.”

“Was your cell phone broken?” he asks, still not looking at me.

“Don’t push me away,” I plead, hesitantly placing my hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t waste a second before shoving it away like an insect. I feel the rejection deep down in the pit of my stomach, a pain and sickness mixed into one.

“I’m not,” he answers, his head snapping to face me.

“What is this then?” My voice is timid, a mirror of the uncertainty I feel inside.

“This is you pushing me away. This is you trying to convince yourself that you never deserve another good thing in your life. You’ve punished yourself enough, don’t you think?”

I nod, wrapping the long, green grass around my fingers to keep them entertained … to keep them off him. “I went to the cemetery today.”

“I know.” He swallows hard. I easily follow the path of his Adam’s apple, up and down, giving me somewhere to focus besides his disappointed eyes.

“How?” I ask, unconsciously narrowing my eyes at him. He’s not the stalking type, not that I know of anyway. That’s the thing about small towns. Things travel like the telephone game from one neighbor to another. Eventually, it would get to him.

“I called the shop to see if you wanted to meet me for dinner before coming out here. Ms. Peters told me she’d sent you on a delivery to the cemetery.” He watches me, but I remain still, terrified about where this is going, not so much because of where I was or what I was doing but because I don’t know why this is such a big deal to him. I was late getting out here, and I’ll admit to my doubts, but now that I’m here, he’s it. He’s my whole reason for being here.

He shakes his head, momentarily breaking eye contact, before finding me again. “I thought you were ready to put your feet in the water. I feel like you’re pulling back on me again.”

I can’t look away. His eyes translate so much of what’s going on inside him—sadness and hopefulness wrapped in a heavy coating of fear. The latter is something I’ve never really seen in him.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice a hair above a whisper.

He closes the space between us until only inches separate our mouths, his brown eyes all I see. “You. I’m only going to get one chance to make you mine, and I want it to count. I need your heart to be in it so I can make it count. I need to know I have all of you.”

“I thought we already agreed to this. Slow, right?”

“I’m going slow, but I need to know you’re moving right along with me.”

“That’s what I was doing at the cemetery today … moving. I took a part of myself back because I want to be able to give it to you. I want you to be the next phase of my life. You have to remember, even if the past is behind me, I’m still going to think about it from time to time. People will trigger it. Places will trigger it … he was a big part of my life. He’ll always be a part of who I am.”

“I want to be who you’re with. I’m not a guy who needs a lot of reassurance, but I need to know that I’m not pushing you. I don’t want this to end because of a stupid mistake.” His words trail off at the end, his hand reaching to cup the side of my face.

Tears well in my eyes, taking mere seconds to fall over the edge. “I’m with you now, aren’t I? If you push me, I’ll push back, and for the record, nothing about you has ever been a mistake.”

“I hope you always think that way.”

“Ball’s in your court, Shea.”

The sun is setting, but I see a smile forming on his face under the orange glow. “I like having some control.”

“I’ve known you long enough. You don’t have to tell me … just don’t let me down.”

“Never,” he says, right before his lips brush across mine. “But I think I should get one kiss for every minute you left me waiting. That’s not pushing it, is it?”

“No,” I whisper, biting down on my lower lip. “I’ll even let you add one for good measure.”

“This is already the best relationship I’ve ever been in.”

I laugh, quickly brushing the last of my tears away. “That’s not saying much.”

His fingers clasp my chin, his face as serious as I’ve ever seen it. “It’s says everything.”

“Show me,” I mouth, my eyes zeroed in on his lips. And he does … once for every minute I left him waiting out in the fields. By the time he pressed his lips to mine for the bonus, I never wanted to leave … not him anyway.