The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (15 page)

I haven’t called to have it installed yet, and come to think of it, I’m not sure who mowed the lawn either. We have a huge property, and a lawn maintenance crew always did it in the past. I’m not sure if they come the same time every few weeks or what. I realize that I need to call Uncle Greg and get more details about the will, about my financial situation and what it all means, what I should be doing.

Just as quickly as the thought comes, the idea of doing it feels exhausting, like too much work and trouble. I’m tired all of the sudden, wind swept from my sails at the idea of actually trying to live again. I can’t do it all by myself. I don’t
want
to. I need help, wanted Zeke’s help because I knew I could handle having him around me so often. I also knew I could help him in return, or at least, I could try.

My heart aches as I think of him, of the grief he must have over Cindy and how he doesn’t even seem to have allowed himself to experience it. He says he channels it all out, but I know all too well that only some comes out and the rest stays within you waiting to explode out, haunting you until it does.

My legs tremble as I descend the hill, soft grass still cushioning my feet, and then they seem to give out once I’m at the bottom of the hill closer to the garden and gazebo. I sink down onto the grass, laying down on my back and closing my eyes for a long moment. Then I open them again and look up at the star-filled sky, the bright light from the huge moon.

I told Zeke that if he wouldn’t help me I would do it on my own, but that was a lie. I know I’m not strong enough, know that without a doubt. If it were that easy to flip the switch and fix myself, I’d have done it long ago. I need someone to push me when I get defeated, to stop me from doing stupid things, to get me out of my comfort zone. I need someone to help push me to push myself, to remind me how to live because I’ve forgotten.

I don’t want to be this way forever
, I think, biting my lip as I feel my chin wobbling, blink rapidly to hold back the tears. I’ve cried enough for one night. But it’s true. I don’t want to be this way forever. And I try to tell myself that the first step of moving on and getting better is acknowledging that. I just have no idea what or how to do anything else, the next step.

A rustling noise sends a jolt through my heart and I jerk upright, staring around wildly in the darkness. Straining my eyes as I look up toward the house, I catch sight of someone caught in one of the rosebushes that line the edge of the flowerbeds against the wall of the house. I relax as I hear the curses that echo through the dark night, recognizing Zeke’s voice instantly. I watch coolly as he finally untangles himself from the rosebush and circles the corner of the house, giving the edge a wide birth from now on. He’s heading toward the deck, but I call his name and see him jump in the darkness.

“Shit, Evie,” he says, coming to stand on the crest of the hill and looking down at me in the dim light. It’s only enough light for me to see the outline of him, the shape of his nose and the dark sockets where his eyes are. “What are you doing out here? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Then why did you come over?” I ask sardonically, raising an eyebrow that I know he can’t see.

Zeke doesn’t answer, just steps carefully down the hill until he reaches me, and then sits down next to me, looping his hands around his raised knees. I breathe in and I catch the unmistakably strong odor of spray paint coming off of him. I know what he did after I left the bridge; there’s no question of it. But I don’t say anything, because he seems so much calmer now than he did in those last few minutes by the bridge. His control seems to be back, and so I don’t question, just wait for him to speak.

He expels a long breath. “I’m… sorry, Evie. I’m sorry I said no, and I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. I just… like I said. Feelings… aren’t my thing.”

“I understand,” I say quietly, resting my chin on my own knees. “I know that it’s hard to, to…” I strive for the right expression. “To go against your own grain.”

Zeke takes a deep breath and rubs his hands against his jeans, as though his palms are sweaty. “I…” he begins, and then stops, swallowing hard. “I didn’t really mean what I said before. I was… sort of losing control. I needed some time. Telling you about the bridge, showing you that, it was kind of a big deal and it turns out I couldn’t really handle it. But I came back… I came back because I
do
want to help you. Sort of.”

My heart flies to my throat in eager anticipation and I have to force myself to keep calm and quiet for the time being and let him continue his halting speech.

“You’re right. I don’t want to be like this forever, even if I
do
want to be like this for right now.” He expels a heavy sigh. “I don’t even know if that makes sense. But basically, I’m all for helping you. You really need to stop, uh, cutting. And stuff. Just know that I’m pretty much… an unwilling participant when it comes to the whole spilling your guts thing. I don’t like doing it. I don’t
want
to do it. But this is pretty much me admitting that I… have a problem.”

He finally stops, and both of us are breathing a little louder than normal, faced with a turning point; we’ve both admitted we need help. We’ve both extended the offer. Now, we have to accept it. And then, the hardest part; we have to stick to it.

“Okay,” I say quickly, on a whooshing exhale. “Okay.”

There’s a long pause where neither of us says anything. I’m not sure what to say, what comes next in this. I feel tense, just sitting next to him with the heavy silence, and so I readjust myself and then lay back down in the grass, because it’s comfortable and comforting at the same time and it’s much easier to talk when I don’t have to look at Zeke. After a long hesitation I hear Zeke moving and then he’s lying down too, his head about a foot from mine.

I sigh, but it’s with a little bit of contentment this time, gratitude for this momentary peace that I’m feeling in the stillness of the night and the comfort of having Zeke nearby. Somehow, like this, feeling like we’re in a faraway, secret world, it’s easier for me to talk.

“Do you ever feel like your whole life is something you can’t change?” I whisper. I look up at the stars, thinking how most of the time it feels like I have as little control over my life as they do over whether or not they fall.

Zeke snorts a little, but it’s tired and as kindly as a snort can possibly be. “All the time.”

I blink moistness away from my eyes as I reflect on my life and what it’s become. “I feel like I’m drowning under all the things in it that I have no control over, that I can’t change, and there’s nothing I can do to fix them.”

“I bet you can change more than you think,” Zeke comments.

“Yeah?” I say, and I sniffle before I can help it, and then quickly pull myself together. The last thing I need to do is scare Zeke off with my tears once again. “You think?”

“I think. Tell me what they are and I’ll be honest about it.”

I’m silent again for a moment, and then I give an incredulous inward giggle. But then the more I think about it, the more I realize how appropriate it is for this situation, for what needs said.

“Do you remember when that kid died at school freshman year?” I ask. “And we all had to visit the shrink, and she wanted all of us to play that game?”

Zeke snorts again, and this time it’s full of derision. “Yeah. That was so stupid.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Tony and his friends turned it into a drinking game.”

He actually laughs aloud. “Wow. And here I thought he was a total, complete waste of space. Who would have thought he had such a sense of humor?”

“He was a waste of space,” I say recklessly, and instantly feel a stab of guilt that I do my best to ignore. “But my point was… the game, lame as it, kind of applies here. Don’t you think?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zeke raise a hand and gesture with it vaguely toward the sky. “By all means,” he says sarcastically. “Let’s ‘The Things We Can’t Change’ away.”

“All right,” I say, and then wait, because I’m not sure who is going to start. I don’t really want the pressure of being the first, but I was the one who suggested it and I already know Zeke sure as hell isn’t going to be the first to open up.

“Uh, you’re going first,” he finally says, and his voice brooks no argument.

“Okay.” I take a deep breath, and my hands are trembling as I cross them over my stomach and focus on the stars again, even though most of them are starting to fade away, the sky turning from pitch black to a more purplish shade. “My dad’s death.”

Zeke’s voice is low and throaty as he murmurs, “Can’t change.”

“Tony’s accident.”

“Can’t change. They already happened, Evie. They’re done deals and events, of course that’s something you can’t change.”

“I know,” I say quickly, and then rephrase the questions to get to the root of the issue. “Feeling like Tony’s accident… was my fault.”

I can hear Zeke catch his breath, as though he has to reign himself in from snapping at me. “Can change, Evie,” he finally says, a note of forced calm in his voice. “Can fucking change. What that asshole did was all his own fault. If he felt he couldn’t live without you, it’s because
he
was weak, because there was something wrong with
him
.”

“Right,” I say, but even though I recognize the truth in his words, it doesn’t lessen any of the guilt I feel.
Rome wasn’t built in a day
, I remind myself. At least I’m admitting it. At least I’m finally talking honestly with someone. Almost honestly. I think of Tony’s message and squirm a little. But time enough for all that.

I’m silent for a while and so is Zeke, and finally I offer up something I do feel but will also maybe make him speak up. “Feeling like I’m to blame for Cindy’s death.”

It’s so quiet after I say it. I can hear wind rustling the trees, swear I hear a leaf hit the ground we’re so quiet. Then he finally speaks.

“Can change. Because it’s my fault, not yours.”

“
What
?” This causes me to jerk up on one elbow so I can actually see his face. “How on earth could it be your fault in any way?”

Zeke’s eyes are closed and he refuses to open them as he elaborates. “I made her use the crosswalk. She could have crossed right when I saw her, jaywalked like everyone else in the world does. But since I’m a freaking hypocrite, I tell her to use the crosswalk and obey the law. And Tony hit her.”

“You were trying to keep her safe,” I whisper, my heart aching as I hear the details I never knew before. “But that’s something you
can
change, Zeke. It really wasn’t your fault. It was mine.” I hear tears in my voice but I can’t stop them this time. “Tony tried to visit me at the hospital right before, and I told him I didn’t want to be with him. He snapped because of it, and it’s my fault.” I end on a sob and cover my mouth with a hand as I try and pull my shit together.

Zeke gives a cold, dry laugh that doesn’t contain an ounce of humor. “We both know this is bullshit. It’s not either of our faults. Tony was a psychotic, crazy guy and it was just a matter of time before he snapped. You were just a catalyst. And Cindy was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He falls silent after the speech and before I can think of anything to say, he picks up again, but his voice is much softer. “The problem is finally making ourselves believe that. And I still could have gotten Cindy to the
right
place,
in
time. But I didn’t. And now she’s gone.”

“You can’t change the fact that she’s gone, remember?” I say softly. “And you can’t change the past. But you can change the present and the future. And you can change—and accept—the fact that you feel guilty, because you shouldn’t.”

“Right,” Zeke says, in a dead-on imitation of me earlier.

Silence falls again. I don’t want to be the first to volunteer information, don’t feel brave or strong enough to do it, but I accepted Zeke’s terms and he seems to be sticking to them; he came, but unwillingly.

“Feeling like I made Tony the way he was.” I finally manage to articulate the question.

Zeke is very still beside me. “Made him… what? Crazy?”

I swallow hard. “Made him… all he was. Is. He… would always blame me. When he hit me. It was always my fault; I interrupted him, or I wore the wrong dress, or painted my nails a color he didn’t like, or wasn’t trying after he told me I had to.”

“Are you serious?” Zeke bursts out, and it’s his turn to pop upward on an elbow. “Evie, since when does painting your nails a color he doesn’t like give a guy reason to
hit
you?”

I remember how he saw me that day at the dance studio, after I’d had my nails painted bright pink and not a dark color. He’d noticed me, and I him, for the first time, the first
real
time then. He’d seen the bruise later. I want to tell him about it, but I can’t just yet and I settle for a half truth, crazily defending Tony and condemning myself.

“It is partly me, though. I would try, most of the time. Try so hard, stroke his ego. I knew tricks to appease him. But then there were times when I would actually be able to hate him, and I would be going crazy being stuck under his thumb, and so even though I know he would hurt me, I would do something I knew he wouldn’t like, just to defy him. What if I pushed him farther along than he already was? What if he only got so crazy because I kept challenging him?”