The End of All Things Beautiful (3 page)

The
day finally comes to an end well after seven and I’ve now left Carson sitting
at the restaurant alone for far too long. I run a hand through my hair and let
out an exhausted sigh. It will piss him off, but there’s not much I can do at
this point.

I
didn’t intend to work past six, but circumstances beyond my control arose and I
had to deal with a financial issue before leaving. I’ve explained to Carson
that I didn’t get where I am by working nine to five or by cutting out early.
Most of this is a lie. This job comes easy to me and like I said, it leaves me
emotionless.

I
step into the restaurant and scan the room for Carson and find him almost
immediately. He has a presence about him, he can captivate a room and it’s not
just because he looks like he was made for movies. Chiseled jaw, perfect nose,
beautiful brown eyes and a body that could make any woman weak. But combine all
these things with his infectious laugh, brilliant sense of humor and charming
personality, and he’s hard to say no to. I obviously couldn’t.

While
I know he loves me, I don’t love him. It’s not that I despise him or anything
even close to that; I just can’t bring myself to love him. Eventually he’ll
leave. We can’t possibly carry on the way we have been. I give him nothing in
return. Cold and unfeeling most days. It’s been two years and while we have our
moments where the sun peeks through, those are few and far between. Recently,
we’ve been happy, but it’s a cycle and we’re reaching a peak. It’s downhill
from here.

The
accident has made me a wholly negative person. I find it hard to see the good
that life can offer; especially when the perfection I once loved and knew, was
ripped out from under me without warning. I’ve felt empty ever since.

I’ve
considered therapists and medication and all the recommended cures for what
controls my life, but in order to do that, I have to admit what happened. I can’t
do that. This doesn’t just affect me. It’s not my story to tell alone.

Carson
signals to me from across the room, his hand in the air, a smile on his beautiful
face. And when I make eye contact with him, all I can think is,
He’s the opposite of Benji
. Maybe that’s
why I chose him. There are no similarities, nothing to remind me.
 

As
I make my way through the crowded restaurant, I notice the table where Carson
is sitting is occupied by more than just him and I let out a loud huff along
with a quick closing of my eyes.

His
sister, her boyfriend,q and her best friend are all with him and he’s smiling
and laughing as they sit and talk.

Michelle
is Carson’s sister and well, she hates me as does her best friend, Allison.
Carson should’ve ended up with Allison or at least that’s what Michelle thinks.
I watch Allison lean a little too closely to Carson for my liking; her hand
subtly brushing his arm and the jealous side of me wants to claw her eyes out. The
only saving grace of this situation is Michelle’s adorable boyfriend, Quinn: a
bike messenger without a care in the world. How the hell he ended up with
Michelle is beyond me.

I
plaster a smile on my face and take a seat next to Carson.

“Hi,
baby,” he says, beaming. He kisses me and because I know it pisses Michelle off
I kiss him back for just a little longer than necessary. I don’t want to be a
bitch, but she makes it far too easy.

I
greet everyone at the table after we separate and Michelle’s response is cold
as usual. A few seconds later Michelle looks over at Quinn and then at Carson,
a self-satisfied look on her face and simply states, “Well, dinner was great,
thanks again, Carson.”

I
roll my eyes at her blatant attempt to piss me off.

She
turns her attention to me as she’s standing at the end of the table. “We ate
without you, Campbell, seeing as you were so late.”

“Funny
thing, Michelle,” I respond back, accentuating her name and shooting her a
filthy look. “I didn’t even know you were going to be here.”

“Must
have slipped Carson’s mind,” she says, intentionally impolitely.

“Yeah,
something like that.”

As
much as I enjoy Quinn’s company, I’m happy to see Michelle and her overly
friendly bestie be on their way. But as soon as I look back over at Carson, I
kind of wish they would’ve hung around.

“Can’t
you be just a little nicer to her?” he asks as he shakes his head like he’s
chastising a child.

“She’s
really unpleasant.”

“She’s
my sister.”

“I
know that,” I say, raising my eyebrows, wondering if he’ll ever side with me.
But he drops the conversation there and signals for the waitress.

“You
hungry?” Carson asks, never making eye contact with me.

“Not
really, considering you ate without me.” My feelings are hurt and I don’t know
why. I run so hot and cold with him that I should expect that sometimes he’s
not going to wait around for me.

“Then
I’m going home,” he says, emotionlessly.

I
watch him walk away before I order a drink and wonder how I’m going to fix
this. Maybe if he knew why I was cold with him he’d understand. But I wouldn’t
dare share it with him.

The
waitress brings my drink and immediately my mind begins to wander to that day.
How normal everything seemed, but how it also felt completely foreign. It was
one of those moments you can’t explain, but it just wasn’t right.

I
thought by now the effects would have lessened, that I’d be able to go on
living a normal life, but each day, each month, each year that passes, it gets
even more difficult. The guilt is haunting.

Nine
years is a long time, but not long enough.

I
pay my bill and head home to try and correct my massive fuck up with Carson.
Being late, being a bitch to his sister, shutting him out; it’s going to take a
hell of an apology and with the exact time of the accident growing closer, I’m
not sure I have it in me.

I
walk into the house a few hours later to find Michelle sitting on my couch with
Carson and all I can think is,
What the
fuck?

“Are
you kidding me?” I ask out loud, probably too loudly.

“Don’t
give me that shit,” Michelle responds rudely.

I
can’t even acknowledge her because I’m certain what will come out of my mouth
will be anything but kind. “Did you seriously call her over here?” I ask Carson
and his lack of response says more than enough.

“He’s
tired of being treated like shit,” Michelle says, the insinuation in her tone
is completely unnecessary.

“Oh
my fucking god, Carson, did you bring your sister here to break up with me?” I’m
appalled at his behavior as he just stands there staring at me. “Grow the fuck
up, Carson, and Michelle, get the fuck out of my house.”

Michelle
widens her eyes at me, but says nothing.

“I’m
serious, Michelle, get out. You’re not welcome here. This is between me and
your brother, who by the way is a grown ass man.”

The
seconds tick by as both of them stand looking at me but not speaking. And I, in
turn, say nothing more.

Carson
is the first to speak and I’m not at all shocked by what comes out of his
mouth.

“I’m
going to stay with John for a few days. I think you need some time to yourself
and I don’t think I should be here right now.”

 
“Good choice,” I answer back, leaving
both of them in the living room as I storm out of the room.

The
hours tick past and I’m lying in bed staring up at the ceiling wishing I’d have
drugged myself so I could sleep through all of this. I look at the clock; each
minute that disappears bringing me closer.

It
wasn’t late when the accident happened; it felt late to me back then, but when
all was said and done, it was only a little after eleven. If I’m being exact,
not like I could ever forget, it was 11:17 p.m. The time is seared into my
brain as if it were branded there; it was the last thing I saw when I climbed
out of the car. Disoriented and confused, but certain about that one thing, that
one detail, it was so minute but so huge at the same time. The clock on the
dash was flickering a dull red and I paused for just a second as I watched it
fade away, eventually turning black.

11:17
p.m.

The
road that led back to campus was deserted, or so Benji told me when we tried to
rehash what exactly went wrong. He said that we hadn’t passed a car for miles
and considering the tourist season was long over, I wasn’t surprised. But then
out of nowhere, a Volvo station wagon came around a curve and since Sam was
drunk, he took the curve too quickly, crossing over into the other lane,
striking the oncoming vehicle.

The
four of us knew very little about what actually occurred. Kelly was passed out
and I was on top of Benji. Tommy was the only one aware of what happened and he
claimed not to see any of it. I always felt like this was a lie. How could he
have missed it? It literally crashed right into us.

I
never pushed or pried him for information. I eventually assumed he knew exactly
what he saw, but the tragedy was far too extreme to talk about. And I don’t
blame him.

When
Kelly killed herself, the university wasn’t nearly as sympathetic as I would’ve
thought. They told me that I would have to stay in my dorm room despite the fact
that my roommate’s dead body hung from the rafters just hours before, because
they didn’t have any open rooms. They asked me if I had any place else to stay
until they could make other arrangements. I simply nodded and packed a bag for
Benji’s place, but that proved just as difficult.

Benji
and Sam shared an apartment and while I was lying in bed next to Benji that
night, I asked, “How can you stay here?”

His
response was completely devoid of emotion, and it was only after his words that
I knew I couldn’t stay any longer. “How come you can’t just get over it?”

I
left the next morning without saying goodbye to him or Tommy.

I
can’t believe it’s gone on this long. They say time heals all wounds and with
the passage of time, memories fade. I know this to be untrue. No matter how
much time passes or what has happened since that day, my memories hold firm.
There are some things that can never be erased.

When
I roll over and look at the clock for the millionth time, it stares back at me
bold and illuminated.

11:17

It’s
then that I feel the first tear fall, and all the others that come after it are
the reason I finally fall asleep.

The
next morning I wake with a pounding headache and swollen eyes, and when I sit
up, I’m met with a wave of nausea that has me scrambling from my bed. Clutching
the sides of the toilet, I heave, but nothing leaves my stomach. This is the
way I’ve woken up on the day after for the last nine years and you’d think I’d
have gotten used to it, but it still hurts just as bad.

Wiping
my mouth, I pull myself up off the floor and into the shower. The water is scalding
as if I can burn the horribleness out of my body. It’s strange though, life
that is, you think the world stops when something awful happens or at least you
think your life should stop. But for the last nine years my body and myself
became two different things. My body began to go along doing what I normally
would while I followed unwillingly. Sleeping and waking, eating and drinking,
bathing and using the bathroom, as my life fell apart; my body betraying me
every single day and it still does.

I
go through the motions and arrive at work without remembering how I even got
here. I’m sitting behind my desk, hazy and confused as I attempt to navigate my
way through a conference call. I’m certain my name is said a total of eight
times and I probably only heard it said once. I end the call by faking an
illness and then I have my assistant cancel any other meetings I have scheduled
for the day. I’m utterly useless.

This
is the worst it has been since the accident happened. I can usually carry on
once I’m at work, but there’s something different about today. I begin to
wonder if it has something to do with my fight with Carson coupled with the
anniversary.

I’ve
scheduled an appointment to get a massage and as I’m packing my things up, my
assistant comes into my office.

“Hi,
Claire,” I say greeting her, yet still wondering why she’s here.

“Campbell,
there’s a woman here to see you.”

“You
canceled my meetings today, right?” I ask her and she nods.

“I
did, but she isn’t a client. She says she’s a friend of yours from college.”

“I
don’t have any friends from college,” I blurt out and Claire gives me a strange
questioning look.

“What
would you like me to do?” she asks.

“Um,”
I stutter out as I try to process who could possibly be looking for me. I left
Michigan my sophomore year and finished school back in Chicago where I made no
friends.
There is no one from college
,
I think, before eventually saying, “Send her in.” I can’t help but be fearful
with what I’m about to be confronted with. This person apparently has a
connection to my past, to everything that has happened and it scares the shit
out of me.

A
woman about my age with blonde hair and a slight tan enters my office a few seconds
later. She’s well put together, wearing a black trench coat and a pair of black
patent heels. She removes her sunglasses exposing her swollen and red-rimmed
eyes. Wetting her lips, she’s the first to speak. “Are you Campbell Forester?”
she asks, as she looks me up and down.

“I
am and you are?”

“You
don’t know me, but my name is Samantha Allington…” she trails off when she
watches me stumble backward, my hand instinctively covering my mouth in shock
as I collapse into my chair. “You know who I am?” she asks.

I
nod and swallow hard as I try to process what is happening.

“You
have something to do with Tommy,” I say, the words leaving my mouth on a long
exhale, and this time it’s her who nods.

She
pulls an envelope from the pocket of her coat and hands it to me. My name is
written on the front and when I turn it over the back says,
Please do whatever you can to find her.

“It
wasn’t very hard,” she says as she watches me read the back of the envelope. She
waits a moment, pausing as if she’s trying to think of what to say next. “I’m
Tommy’s wife.”

I
don’t know what to say and I don’t have to think about it anymore because in
the next breath Samantha lays into me.

“I
don’t know what happened between the two of you, but it ruined him. He never
told me and now he won’t ever be able to. Because thanks to you, he’s dead.”

I
gasp out loud and the nausea that consumed my morning has taken over again. I
shake my head over and over again. This can’t be happening.

“He
died yesterday,” she says, spitting out her words and I want to tell her I’m
sorry, but nothing comes out. “He loved you and I couldn’t compete with that. I
tried to save him, but every day was a struggle. He never recovered from
whatever happened between the two of you, but clearly you have.”

I
can’t continue to let her berate me; she’s misinformed, but how can I tell her
this without confessing.

“He
did love me, but it wasn’t like that,” I explain, but it falls on deaf ears.
She’s hurt and angry and grieving, nothing I say will matter.

“It’s
over. You’ve got your letter,” she says hatefully as she begins to leave my
office.

“Wait,”
I call out and she stops just short of my door. “I loved him too,” I whisper
and after that my voice fails me and suddenly I can’t speak.

“But
it never occurred to you to find out if he was okay?” She doesn’t give me the
opportunity to answer, not that I deserve it. I can only imagine what she
thinks has happened between the two of us. With her hand on the doorknob, she
turns away from me and hisses, “Obviously it didn’t, and you seem to be doing
just fine.”

She
leaves me standing stunned and speechless clutching the envelope in my hand,
but I can’t let it end this way. I chase her out into the lobby, my assistant
watching me the entire time.

“I’m
not okay!” I shout, startling everyone within an earshot. Samantha turns and
looks at me, the tears have already begun to fall, my voice shaky and weak. “I’m
not okay,” I say again and her only response is, “Neither was he,” as she steps
into the elevator and leaves.

I
scramble back to my office hoping that no one has noticed that I’ve come
completely undone. Falling into my desk chair, I bury my face in my hands and
sob, my eyes burning and hot with a mass of tears that won’t seem to stop. The
dull ache in my chest that has never faded has now ripped wide open, painful
and hopeless. The guilt I feel is unreal, and while I know his death isn’t my
fault, I can’t help but feel somewhat responsible.

My
heart breaks for his wife and what she had to deal with; I can’t even imagine
how difficult it was to be married to him if the life I live every day is any
indication. Tommy, Benji and I each coped in our own way, but all equally distraught
and self-destructive. And while we haven’t been together in years, I know that
we will never be alright.

The
letter is lying on my desk, Tommy’s handwriting on the front a reminder of what
we once had. He loved to leave me notes; he’d been doing it since we learned to
write. Small things, really, just simple words to make me smile or laugh or cry
sometimes. He was one of the most thoughtful and selfless people I know, always
concerned about everyone but himself.

There
are times I often wonder why Tommy or Benji never reached out to me, but I
never did either and when I left, I made it clear that I wanted nothing to do
with them. Now that Tommy is dead, I wish I would have. I wish I wouldn’t have
spent so much time trying to forget and more time trying to save us.

I
turn the letter over, reading the back once again.
Please do whatever you can to find her.
It wasn’t like I hid from
him or anyone else; I just became personally invisible after walking away from
them. No social media, email address, listed phone numbers or things to link me
back to Michigan, the accident or my past. Though I knew once my career began
to flourish I would be easily reachable and in a way I guess I hoped I’d hear
from one of them. That they would be the one to take the first step in
repairing what we once had. I never expected the first step to come in the form
of what I can only assume is a suicide letter.

I
can’t bring myself to open it, the pain far too great at the moment and I know
the letter will only intensify what I’m feeling. I stuff it into my laptop bag
just as a knock comes on the door to my office. I quickly wipe at my eyes like
that’s suddenly going to make me look like I haven’t spent the last ten minutes
crying. I need to pull myself together.

When
the door opens it’s the last person I expect to see.

“You
okay?” he asks, but his tone is formal like always. “Claire said you were
upset.”

My
boss, who also happens to be my brother, rarely mixes our personal lives with
our professional and the fact that he’s standing here nearly knocks me on my
ass.

“I’m
fine, Jack,” I respond just as formally.

While
we grew up together, we were never close, but when he began his company he saw
something in me that he knew would contribute to his success. I’ve been working
for him since I graduated from college with degrees in business and finance and
we’ve been nothing but professional. I never wanted anyone within the company
to think I achieved my position because of my connection to Jack. It has been
easy to remain professional, partially due to the fact that Jack and I have
very little in common and because I’ve kept everyone at arms length since the
accident, including my family.

“I
don’t know what’s going on, Campbell but things have been off for the last few
days.”

I
let out an annoyed sigh. Things have been off? Ugh, I want to tell him to fuck
off, because I’m still bringing in revenue better than anyone else at this
company and that should be all that matters. My personal life is none of his
concern.

“And
I was just informed that you closed the deal with William Walters, but not
before telling him you give amazing blow jobs.” Jack glares at me with a look
that screams disappointment.

“That
guy’s a prick,” I shoot back.

“They’re
all pricks in this business, Campbell, yet I still expect you to treat them
with the utmost respect.”

“Got
it,” I say, but never looking up from my desk; my eyes focused on the calendar
sitting in the center. If I look up he’ll know I’ve been crying, not that he
doesn’t know already.

“Why
don’t you call it a day and come back tomorrow rested and back to normal?” He
states it like a question, but I know it’s more of a request than anything. It
takes everything in me not to ask him what normal is. I haven’t been normal in
nine years and after my encounter today, I’m certain I won’t know normal ever
again.

“Sure,”
I answer sharply, packing up my laptop bag and slipping on my coat. I walk past
him, but Jack reaches out and takes hold of my elbow, stopping me before I can
leave.

I
look up into his eyes and what I see is sympathy, pity for what he knows I’m
feeling but can’t fully grasp.

“You
know you can talk to me, Campbell.”

“No
I can’t,” I say not trying to be ambiguous, but speaking the truth. I don’t
know what more to say so I leave. I feel like that’s all I’ve been able to do
when it comes to my life.

Leave.

Walk
away.

I
arrive home to an empty house with the letter burning a hole in my laptop bag,
but I still can’t bring myself to read it. Fearful of what it might say, what
it might do to my already unstable life, so I leave it in the bag.

I
reach for my laptop and type Tommy’s name into Google. I have no way of
contacting his wife and while I know it’s far too late for any salvation or
apologies, I feel compelled to find out if funeral arrangements have been made.

In
my short search I find out that Tommy’s wake and funeral will be held only forty
minutes from where I live, just west of the city in a suburb just like the one
we grew up in.

The
wake is tomorrow, but I won’t attend. I know I’m not welcome and I wouldn’t
dare show up and have his wife and family upset by my presence. Before everything
happened, Tommy’s mother and father adored me, but I’m certain their sentiment
has changed. I just disappeared, never saying goodbye and now after his death,
I’m certain his wife has filled them in on her assupmtions.

Growing
up next door to each other, we became fast friends at a young age and our
friendship, for some reason, lasted long after most girl and boy friendships
would’ve faded. While I fell in love with Benji, I loved Tommy in a way that
was completely unconditional, like family. I remember walking out of school on
my first day of third grade, the first year that I didn’t have Kelly, Sam, Benji,
or Tommy in my class and he was waiting for me. I started crying. At the time I
didn’t know what that feeling was or why it upset me, but looking back on it
now, it was that feeling of empathy he had for my situation. It was a selflessness
that came completely natural to Tommy. He knew I would be upset and made sure
his was the first face I saw at the end of the day.

I
locate the address of the church and the cemetery knowing I can easily attend
and remain unnoticed this way.