Without You Here (8 page)

"Are you saying I've hurt her with my words?"

Lauren just shrugged.

Blake ate his sandwich and was almost finished when Ettie walked in. She paused and then dropped her backpack by the door.

"In your room, young lady," Lauren said.

Ettie rolled her eyes, grabbed the pack off the floor and marched across the apartment to toss it in her room. Lauren took Blake's plate and her own to the kitchen. Then she went into her room and shut the door.

Ettie sat on the couch where Lauren had been. She propped her bare feet up on the coffee table. Blake slid his arm along the back of the couch behind her and angled toward her. "You ready to talk?"

She rolled her head toward him. "I said what I wanted to say on Friday."

He nodded, patiently. He was always patient. This time he was even compassionate because she looked more miserable than he'd ever seen her. Her eyes were puffy from too much crying. Her skin was devoid of its usual high color. He sighed. "And then you left and didn't hear what I had to say. Which is that you're wrong. I do respect you. And I do like you just the way you are."

"Wednesday when we went to Kenny's party, all you did was elbow me in the ribs to get me to shut up. And when you came to pick me up, you made me change my clothes three times."

"So because I believe in adhering to social rules involving polite conversation and proper attire, that means I'm repressing your free spirit, is that it?"

"It wasn't just that one night. You know it wasn't. You're embarrassed by me and I don't see why you even want to be my boyfriend."

He sighed and rested a hand on her knee. "Ettie, I'm not embarrassed by you. I love you. You're fun and exciting and I can't believe my good luck in getting to you first. I'm not losing you because you're insecure—“

"I'm not insecure!" She sat up and glared at him. "You really don't know me at all if you think that. I don't give a shit what you or anyone else thinks of me. I like myself and I'll take my own company alone before I'll change who I am to suit someone else. This is the twenty-first fucking century, Blake! There are no rules. We can be what we want. Who we want."

"Fine," he said, patting her knee and speaking in his most soothing voice. "Okay, you're not insecure. That was a poor word choice. But listen. Think about what you and I have. How good we are together. I don't want to lose that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And this is the longest relationship you've ever had, admit it."
Because I'm the only one who'll put up with your shit for more than a week
.

"Just because no one else wants me doesn't make you my only option. I know how to be alone, Blake. I'd rather that than be with someone who doesn't respect me."

He closed his eyes and breathed through the frustration. He'd have to give her what she wanted. "I'm sorry," he said. "I suppose in a way, you're right. You're so different from me. So different from the girls I'm used to. And I love that about you, Ettie, I honestly do. It's just, we need time, you and me. If you go running off every time we have a conflict, you're never going to experience the love of a deep, committed relationship. You want that, don't you? Long-lasting...true love?"

She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

"Then that means working through our problems and forgiving each other. I love you, Ettie. Let's get through this and be stronger for it, okay?"

She was looking at him kind of funny. He was expecting, at this point, for her to be ramping back up to her enthused, energetic self. But instead she looked...apprehensive.

"Blake," she said. "I cheated on you this weekend."

His jaw dropped and for a moment he lost that firm hold he generally kept on his emotions. "You did what?"

She scooted back and wrapped her arms around her middle. "After we fought I went to a bar for a drink. And there was this guy."

"And he hit on you?"

"No, I hit on him. I totally picked him up. We spent that night together. And Saturday night and Sunday morning, too."

Blake stared at the space in front of him. He didn't even know how to react. He hadn't thought, impulsive though she was, that she was capable of this level of betrayal. "This isn't like you at all," he said.

"That's...that's all you have to say?"

Blake huffed and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm shocked, I guess. Did you use protection?"

"Did I use protection? That's all you want to know?"

"It's a pretty important detail."

"My God, Blake!" She stood and paced. "Yeah, okay. We used protection. Jesus Christ!"

Well it was a relief, though a minor one.

"Don't you want to know if it meant anything to me?" she asked.

"You picked up a stranger in a bar. How much could it have meant?"

She stopped and gaped at him. "It meant everything to me. I've never been treated so good in my life. I've never felt so...so whole as I was with him."

"You're just being melodramatic."

"No I'm not! Stop condescending to me! You think you know so much. You think you're so much better than me!"

Blake shot to his feet. "I don't go around fucking strangers in bars, so yeah, right now I guess I do think I'm better than you. How the fuck could you do this to me?"

She shoved her hands in her hair and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Christ, Ettie," Blake murmured. He breathed in and out for a few moments. He sat back down on the couch and rested his face in his hands. He could figure this out. This was actually kind of a good thing because now she felt guilty. She'd stay with him, now. Unless, "Are you going to see him again?"

She sat on the floor against the wall and hugged her knees to her chest. "No," she said softly. "It was just the weekend. It's over."

He relaxed some. "Can you promise me it won't happen again?"

She looked up at him, incredulous.

"Can you?" he asked again.

She stared for a long moment and he couldn't read her expression. Finally she nodded.

"Good. Then we won't speak of it anymore. We'll start from here and we'll keep working at this relationship."

"How can you still want me after this, Blake?" she asked.

"You really don't listen, do you? I love you. Don't you know what that means? Don't you know that I'd do anything to keep you?"

He waited for that look of hope and gratitude to enter her eyes. She always came around to realizing how lucky she was that he was so patient with her. But this time she just looked tired. And sad. At last she sighed and gave him a pathetic little smile. She came back to the sofa and snuggled up beside him. He held her and wondered if he'd just gotten her back, or if he was destined to lose her for good.

CHAPTER SIX

Wyatt worked through the exhaustion, mainly because farm work didn't go on hold just because you missed your wife--or the strange girl you found yourself inexplicably falling for. But by Tuesday evening, he realized he should have just stayed in. He kept getting distracted and losing track of the chores.

Stan, his brother, must have been the one elected to talk to him. He followed Wyatt home and they opened a six-pack on the back porch. "I've been meaning to ask, but didn't want to get punched in the face," Stan said, "is that a hickey?"

Wyatt smiled sadly and stared out into the darkening sunset. "Yeah." He was pretty sure she'd wanted to make sure he remembered her. As though he could ever forget.

"She was a good time, huh?"

Wyatt rolled his eyes and downed half a beer.

"It's just, you seem—“

"She was great, okay?" He would just give Stan what he wanted so he wouldn't have to bumble through a bunch of awkward questions. "And now I can't get her out of my head. She's all I think about. But she's twenty-two, and I'm hardly fit company for a woman of any age. So I don't know. I don't know what to do."  

Stan was quiet for a long moment. "Can't you see her again? I mean, did she—“

"She said she wants to be my girlfriend." He smiled, again, feeling like an idiot for it. "I told her I wasn't looking for that. I just wanted to get together again and have some fun. She didn't seem to think she could handle that. So we said goodbye."

"And now you're second guessing yourself?"

"Shouldn't I be? I mean, how often do you meet someone like that? She just...she came right on to me and just didn't stop. I felt so...when I was with her I just felt...," Happy. He couldn't say the word. That was the whole problem. He didn't deserve to be happy.

"Horny?" Stan said.

Wyatt snorted. "That too. But twenty-two is way too young. I mean, she's Blake's age. That's just too young. And I just couldn't do that to Amberlee. I'm not ready...I mean, I'll never be ready for that. I'm waiting to be with Amberlee again. That's how it should be."

"You know damn well that's not how it should be. She put that in your head and you, for some reason, won't let it go. Sounds to me like you need to get your shit together and call up this girl before she gets away from you."

"I appreciate the advice," he said drily.

"Wyatt, you've put your life on hold for too long as it is. We've all been worried sick about you, especially your son and your mother. Let go and let yourself be happy again. Let yourself imagine your life with this girl you like so much. It wouldn't take very much at all to get yourself ready for her."

Wyatt swallowed and pointedly kept his eyes on the skyline. "What would it take?" he asked hesitantly. "What would I need to do?"

"I think you know. You know you need to start packing up Amberlee's things. Stop disappearing for long periods of time, spending nights at her grave, drinking, whatever it is you do. Start living in the here and now."

"She wanted me to bring her here. This is Amberlee's home, I can't—“

"Then make it your home again. Make it yours. Because Amberlee doesn't need it anymore. Make it your own and then bring that girl here."

Wyatt swallowed down the lump of pain and panic that suddenly filled his throat.

"Wyatt, maybe Mom and Diane are right. Maybe you should talk to that therapist."

At this, Wyatt burst into laughter. "For fuck's sake.
Et tu
Stan? My own brother?"

"It's just what you're going through seems extreme. And it kind of seems like you don't know how to get out of it."

Wyatt just shook his head.

"They have support groups, too—“

"For God's sake."

"...and you could get some ideas about how people deal with their loved one's things. How they get to the point where they can, you know, sleep with someone else. It might help."

"Would you ever go to a fucking support group?"

"Yeah," Stan said without hesitation. "If my own, macho brother, who was brought up by Major Dad, and taught never to acknowledge his own emotions, came to me and told me I needed to get help...I think I'd take his suggestion seriously."

Wyatt shook his head again. There was no way in the fiery blazes of hell that he was stepping foot in a psychiatrist's office. But maybe Stan was right about putting away some of Amberlee's things. Maybe if he started small. Like the vase of fake flowers on the table. They were all dusty, but he'd kept them there for her because she'd wanted everything left the way she had it. He didn't know how to get the dust off without moving them and then not being able to put them back the right way. This sounded crazy even to him. So maybe he would start with that.

But when he went inside that night, he stood there staring at the ugly flowers. He couldn't seem to reach out and touch them, let alone move them. To do so would take away a little piece of his wife. And if he took away enough pieces of her, then it would be just like she'd said. He would forget all about her.

He couldn't do it. So he went to his room and opened up the closet. Maybe he could pack up some of her clothes. He could acknowledge that it was truly ridiculous to keep using that closet space for her clothes. Unfortunately, the minute he removed a dress from the hanger, he felt sick and desperate; he heard her words coming back to him, saw her dying eyes pleading with him.

He quickly put the dress back on the hanger and hung it up. The panic subsided. He took a breath. "You have to do this," he muttered. "You can't keep going on like this." He thought of Ettie and how heartbroken she'd been when they'd said goodbye. Maybe he could just organize Amberlee's clothes. Sort them out.

He started moving them around, putting the dresses that were just worn out and useless off to the far right. The ones he might give to the Mission he put in the middle. And off to the left, the one or two he wanted to keep, though he wasn't sure where he should keep them. For now they weren't leaving the closet.

He stepped backwards and sat on the edge of his bed. He waited to see how he would feel about this new development. It turned out he was okay. A little sad, but okay.

That night he went to his parent's for dinner. He wasn't invited. Didn't have to be. If he showed up, his mom would feed him. She was awesome that way. It was just the three of them, which was good, but Wyatt waited until Charles went out to put the chickens in their house.

"Mom, about that girl."

She was washing dishes. He saw her smile in profile. He leaned back on the counter. "The one you met this past weekend?"

Like she had any doubt. "Yeah. She's twenty-two."

"I believe you mentioned that."

"That's pretty young."

Liza shrugged.

"I wouldn't want people to think that I’d just been biding my time so I could chase after a younger woman. Or that I'm some creep having a midlife crisis."

"What people, dear?"

"People. Any people. You guys."

"Well, were you just biding your time to chase after younger women?"

"Of course not."

"Are you having a midlife crisis?"

"I'm forty-two. Don't I have a few years?"

"Then what's the problem?"

He swallowed. He honestly didn't know what the problem was. He didn't know what all these feelings were or how to express them.

Liza turned off the sink, dried her hands, and turned to face him. "You're going to feel guilty, Wyatt. From what I understand, that's completely natural. But you absolutely must lay Amberlee to rest. You think you're doing all this for her, but sweetheart, she's gone. If there's a heaven and Amberlee is there, then she isn't worried about you anymore. And if there isn't, then it doesn't matter anyway. You need to find a way to have a life again."