Текст книги "Swelter"

Автор книги: Nina G. Jones

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

It only took a few seconds after I woke up for me to start shouting for Bobby.

A nurse ran over to me. Told me it was the middle of the night and I was disturbing the other patients.

“Bobby—Robert—Lightly. Is he okay?” I pleaded frantically.

“I don't know who that is ma'am,” she answered stoically.

“Please . . . call the police or the—someone must know in this hospital,” I cried.

I glanced out the window behind me at the ink black night. I didn't know how long I had been sedated.

“Your sister is on her way. Please calm down.”

“I don't want to fucking calm down!” I shouted. “Bobby Lightly. Bobby Lightly. Bobby Lightly!” I chanted his name over and over. As if I could summon him. Other nurses hurried over and held me down. “Let go!” I shouted. I flailed as they strapped me to my bed. I didn't feel the prick of the needle this time, but a warmth came over me. Under any other circumstances, it would have felt nice, to have that tingling in my veins, lulling me into my own personal night. But I didn't want to waste time if Bobby was still alive. I needed to be by his side.

“Bobby . . . Lightly . . . Bob . . .” I muttered before the warmth cloaked me in darkness.

Opening my eyes hurt this time. The sun was bright and a stark contrast to blackness that had been my world since I collapsed on the motel parking lot. I squinted at the blurry figure sitting to my left. I made her out slowly as the fuzzy edges sharpened. Pinned-up ashen blonde hair, freckled cheeks, hazel eyes. My sister and I were so different, even down to the way we looked. Me, with my chestnut hair and copper brown eyes. Though I had a few freckles, I browned in the sun. She was always one to sit in the shade. She couldn't last ten minutes without turning red.

“Julia?” I choked out.

She leaned in. “Shhhh . . . I'm going to get a nurse,” she whispered softly.

I gripped her forearm, and she looked me, shocked. I remembered the restraints and wondered why they were no longer on. I assumed it was Julia's doing.

“Bobby . . . is he okay?” I asked.

“I should get a doctor first.”

“Tell me,” I demanded through a clenched jaw.

My sister looked at me with tender eyes. It was a rare moment. She shook her head.

“No. No. No. No . . .” I sobbed. “It can't be true . . . you're lying . . .” I cried. I hoped this was some ploy to separate us.

Julia quickly looked around, hoping to get a doctor's attention as my fingers sunk into her arm with no concern for her comfort. “He died in the ambulance. I’m sorry.” She grimaced from a mixture of physical and emotional anguish.

I wanted out. Out of this hospital. Out of my skin. Out of this world. I wanted not to be myself. I wanted to be wherever Bobby was.

I jolted up, reaching for the IV.

“No!” Julia shouted, grabbing for my hand. “I need a nurse!” she shouted. She hushed her tone and looked me in the eyes. “Lilly. Lilly. If you don't calm down they will tie you and sedate you again.”

“I don't care!” I screamed as nurses made their way to me.

“Just – just give me a second,” my sister commanded. She had a presence about her. Serious. Authoritative. It was one of the reasons she and I rarely clicked. Sometimes she felt more like a mother than our mother did. The nurses paused. “Lilly, please just breathe,” she begged.

But I didn't want to breathe. I didn't want to exist. I wanted to go back into the darkness. To the warm hug of the sedatives. Maybe I would see Bobby there.

“I want to see him!” I shouted, trying to leave my bed. The nurses swarmed in and gave me what I needed.

“From what we can tell, it's still the case . . .” The doctor's hushed voice lulled me out of my sleep.

I watched his tall blur, in a white coat, speaking down to Julia, her dress a fog of blues, reds, and purples.

“I'm not sure we should tell her yet . . . she's in no condition,” my sister suggested.

This time when I tried to sit up, the restraints were still on. “What?” I croaked.

They both looked down at me.

My sister let out a big sigh and marched over to me. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Tell me what?” I asked, fighting to stay focused amidst the haze.

“You should rest. There's no rush.”

“I'm not an idiot,” I snapped. “Doctor—what is still the case?” I asked.

He gave my sister a look of concern. She nodded subtly. He turned to face me with his arms crossed and cleared his throat.

“I, um . . . you were brought to the hospital because of some vaginal bleeding. We performed some tests and discovered you are pregnant.”

I heard the breath escape my lungs as I sank further into the bed as if I was a spectator outside of my own body. “Are?” I asked.

“Yes. Your bleeding was heavy enough to be cause for concern. However, it is not unusual for women this early into pregnancy to experience some form of bleeding. There was no tissue in the blood, which is what we see with a miscarriage. You also haven’t bled since. From what we can tell . . . you are still pregnant. But it’s very early. We cannot hear a heartbeat yet. And we aren’t one-hundred percent sure why this happens. Some women just have a scare, sometimes it’s indicative of something serious later in the pregnancy. The head trauma and the stress of your recent experience may have exacerbated the issues. You will need to see your regular physician to monitor this pregnancy closely. Any early bleeding puts you in a higher risk category, which is why I want to make sure you understand while our tests show you are pregnant, we have to be cautious here.”

“How early?”

“Well, the heartbeat comes in at around six weeks. Examining you, I’d guess at most, four weeks. Probably three. But there’s no way to be sure.”

I did the mental math. I hadn’t completed sex with Rory since before my last period about a month ago. My chest collapsed when I realized what this meant. What I already knew but hadn't allowed myself to take on because of the magnitude of the news, until the doctor confirmed it. No matter how much I gasped, the air that left my lungs would not come back.

“Please . . . I can't . . . breathe . . .” I stuttered. Maybe Julia was right. Maybe I wasn’t ready to learn this information.

The doctor waved over some nurses and together they released me from the restraints and sat me up.

“Oh . . . Bobby,” I cried, as if he could hear me. This should have been good news. But this was all wrong. We were supposed to be celebrating this together. Planning our lives around this blessing. Instead, I hadn't even fully comprehended the news of his loss. He didn't feel gone. I felt like I could get in my car and drive to the lake house and he would be waiting there for me with a smile on his face. And I would jump into his arms and tell him I had a surprise. And we would laugh and then cry tears of joy.

But I was in a hospital bed, and Bobby was lying in a morgue with two holes in his back. He left with all the good parts of me. I was just a shell. How could I do this alone? How could I raise our child? How could I live a million lives for us when I didn't even want to live this one any longer?

I finally caught my breath, which only allowed me to sob. “He's not dead. He's not dead.” I chanted to myself. I believed once before he was, and he showed up at my door. And when I first saw him I told him he should have stayed dead. Now, I would give anything for him to come back to me.

Bobby beat death to see me again. To tell me he never left. That he never stopped thinking about me. That I was what brought him back. If I brought him back once, I hoped my tears could do it again.

I slumped back into the bed. I didn't want to hear anymore. I didn't want to speak. I just wanted to soak in this despair. This pain that connected me to him. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, to the only living part of Bobby in this world, hugging myself and the life inside of me. I hoped wherever Bobby was he could feel me hugging him, willing him to return.

But people don't come back from the dead once. And they sure as hell don't come back twice.

For two nights I cried. I cried more than I thought a person could cry. It felt like I could flood the lake with my tears for Bobby.

My sister sat there for most of the day and didn't say a word. There was nothing she could say. I didn't care yet about Stan or Rory. The sorrow was so all-encompassing that it stole all the space inside of me. There was no room yet for anger or vengeance.

Just sorrow.

Sorrow so deep it was like a mirror reflecting on another mirror. Infinite. Boundless. Endless. Sorrow that hurt my bones. Gripped at my heart with angry claws. Wrung my stomach into misshaped knots. Made my eyes raw.

It took my breath away at random moments. There were times when I thought I might suffocate, like Bobby stole the air right out of my chest when he left this world.

I had no room to even love the life inside of me. Because I gave all my love to Bobby; I left it with him, soaked in his blood in that parking lot.

People try to separate emotional anguish and physical pain as if they are different. But anyone who has ever experienced a loss this tragic understands you feel that pain everywhere. You carry it with you in every cell. It's invisible. There are no cuts or bruises. But every breath aches. Everything hurts.

The nurses gave me mild sedatives, but whenever I woke, I couldn't take my first breath without weeping. Even they pitied me. When my sister had to leave at night, one of them came and stroked my hair as I sobbed Bobby's name over and over. Throughout the night, I begged for him to come back, but each morning, I woke up and he was still gone. That gentle gesture from a stranger, I am convinced, kept my heart beating, because I was sure this grief would eventually stop it. I didn't think the heart could survive a hurt this strong.

But underneath all the pain, something started to stir. It was so minuscule—A speck of strength compared to the monolith of devastation. It was Bobby. Inside of me. He did find a way to live. And he needed me to keep him alive. He said he would never leave me and he kept his promise.

I would get to see him again in eight months. I owed it to him to be strong and carry on his memory through our child.

So that morning, when my sister came, I decided to stop crying, at least for a while.

“Do they have Stan?” I asked.

She sat up in her chair, becoming overly attentive to my voice. “Yes.”

“And Rory?”

“The police have him too. They found his car at a bar a few towns over, where a bunch of people had seen him with Barbie. The police want to speak to you, but I told them you weren't ready.”

“I am now. I want that coward to pay for shooting Bobby in the back. And . . .” I didn't know what I wanted for Rory. I knew his brother's death due to his cowardly actions would be a level of incomprehensible hell.

“Okay. Well, I'll call them later. It's a mess, Lilly, and I think you should take it easy. The doctor says you need a lot of rest. With the bleeding so early on, you have to be cautious.”

“I'm not worried about this baby,” I said stubbornly. “She's got Bobby in her.”

“She?” Julia asked.

“She,” I confirmed.

Julia nodded in concession. I don't why I always referred to the unborn child as her. But I had a certainty from the start. Maybe Bobby whispered it to me in my dreams. I think that’s why I was also sure she would be alright.

“What about mom?”

“She's with dad. He can't travel, but she's been driving me crazy, calling the hotel every night.”

“Is she mad?”

“Mad?” Julia rubbed her furrowed brow, exasperated. “God Lilly, we're past mad. Mom's devastated. She was close to their parents and we just lost them a few years ago. And now? This whole thing is just . . .” she shook her head, and looked out the window, biting her lip to hold her composure.

I watched my sister, sometimes as hard as stone, grow weary. And I felt compelled to ask her about the thing we silently agreed to never discuss. The thing that never happened. “Julia?”

“Mmmhmm,” she replied, keeping her eyes affixed on the window.

“When you walked in on us before the wedding...why did you...why didn't you stop me from marrying Rory?”

She shook her head subtly and sighed mercifully. “Lilly, Bobby was a playboy. He wasn't serious. You were young and naive. I thought you were testing the waters. Getting a taste of the other Lightly boy. The one who everyone wanted a taste of. Growing up the way you three did, I thought it was only natural you might have been curious . . . Bobby back then, he would have broken your heart. He would have ruined you. He wasn’t ready to share a life with someone. Rory made sense. He was the safe bet. He was ready to settle down. He had the job and the plans. He would take care of you.”

Never had the safe bet been more dangerous.

She leaned forward, making sure to get her plea across. At some point, I think she stopped trying to convince me, and was trying to justify her actions to herself, knowing she was complicit in helping her little sister weave the grandest of lies.

“You never said you didn't want to. It was your decision to make, not mine. It was my job to get you down the aisle. There was no time to work out wedding jitters or curiosity. It was my job to make the decision to leave hard. If you wanted it, I mean really wanted it, it shouldn't have been so easy to stop you. Making a mistake shouldn't be so easy.”

“Oh Julia,” I said ruefully, “making the mistake is the easy part.”

She shook her head, and sat back in her chair, the conviction in her earlier defense dissipating into despair. “I didn't know,” she whispered under her breath.

I let out a thin sigh. “Julia, it was serious . . . me and Bobby. It was so much more than a little fling.”

She swallowed hard, and looked me in the eyes. “So tell me.”

Julia and I never talked about boys or crushes. Never bonded over such things as some sisters do. She married when I was fourteen. And she went away to school when I was about eight. For the first time, I was able to share the story of the love of my life. Turn this dirty little secret into my truth. To speak of Bobby proudly and without shame or manufactured contempt. Tell the story to someone who knew him and wouldn’t judge him just based on one decision. It was agonizing, but it also made me feel Bobby's presence. When I had to stop, I stopped. When I had to cry, I cried. Sometimes she did, too. I got to see a side of my sister I had missed all these years.

Julia had known the Lightly boys much of her life, too. Though she more often babysat them than socialized with them. Her pain was different; distant and vague. Dull. Not sharp and splintering like my pain. Her life hadn’t upended the way mine just had. I think she still thought of Bobby as a foolhardy boy, never having seen the man he had become. Nevertheless, the Lightly boys were golden. Full of so much promise. This was not how things were supposed to end for them. There was tragedy in that fact alone.

Julia’s motherly instinct towards Bobby and me had been reinvigorated by this tragedy. It showed in the way she sat vigil by my bed. It showed in the way she began making arrangements for my hospital leave. She would make sure that our child and I would be safe. If Julia did anything well as a sister, it was taking care of business. She loved not with hugs but by being there when she was needed.

When we were done, I could tell something weighed heavily in Julia's thoughts.

“Bobby's funeral is tomorrow.”

There are some things that even when you know they are coming, they still blindside you. Bobby's funeral was inevitable. But there was still some fantastical side of me that held on to some hope of magic. But the magic had died with Bobby.

“Rory's out on bail. And he'll be there.”

“I don't want to go,” I said. I didn't want to see Bobby like that. Bobby was burnt orange and blush sunsets on the lake. He was laughter so hard it hurt. He was the cool grass between my toes on a stifling day. He was homemade cherry pie. He was dancing barefoot on a creaky wood floor to an old record.

He was not a funeral. He was not a corpse.

Most importantly, I didn't want Bobby's funeral to be reduced to a spectacle. By now, everyone knew what had happened. How a quiet suburb in the Midwest had become the scene for illicit affairs, drunken car crashes and murder during a sweltering couple of days in mid-July.

No, instead, I would use that time to follow his wishes. But I needed my sister's help. And I hoped after telling her our story, she would understand.

“I need to make a phone call,” I said. “It's important.”

Will was silent for a while after I told him the news. I waited patiently on the other end. Bobby wasn't just important to me. Bobby helped Will heal from the loss of his brother. And while he couldn't replace Curtis, he helped patch the hole that was left behind. In just a few years, Will lost another brother.

He broke the silence. “I'm so sorry, Lilly. Oh man,” he gasped.

“Thank you,” I sobbed.

“He knew . . .” he rasped.

“What do you mean?”

“He would say to me that he felt that he was supposed to die. That he eked out some extra time, but he felt it was a gift. A gift Curtis gave to him by standing where he stood. Had their order been reversed . . .” Will paused to collect himself. “I told him not to be so damned morose. But he told me that he thought it was so he could see you again. Fix the things he messed up.”

I clenched my throat around the knot that formed. If I let it rise, I wouldn't be able to speak. “He said that to me. When he was on the ground, in my arms. And he made me promise to call you. He cared about you so much . . .” I had to stop to fight the eruption threatening to escape my chest.

“I know he did. And I loved him like a brother. You know that. But it's not just because of that,” Will replied, his throat thick with emotion. “A couple of days ago he called me. He told me he was headed out west and that you weren't coming. I didn't ask. I knew what that meant. But you know, he always walked around with this idea that he was on borrowed time so he made me make some promises, too. He kind of implied that now that he kept his promises to Curtis, and you weren't coming, maybe his time was up. At the time I gave him the usual crap I did. Told him he was gonna be fine. And he said maybe, but he wanted to make sure you had some things. I guess in case he never got to give them to you himself.”

“Things?” I asked.

“Yeah. He mailed me a package. I just got it today . . . when I got it, I thought he was still alive,” he uttered in disbelief. “His instructions were to hold onto it. And if anything ever happened to him, or if you ever needed help, I was to make sure you got this. Maybe I would have sent it back when I found out you decided to go with him, but when he thought you were staying behind, this is what he wanted.” Will took a deep breath. “Lilly, I think a lot of that talk was just him missing you. If it's any consolation, I think you coming back to him . . . his last day was filled with hope. He saw you as life. His lucky charm. He must have been so happy to have you with him again.”

“Thank you. He was,” I affirmed in a weak voice. In a way it did console me. I was happy to have those last moments with Bobby, that he was full of hope before those bullets ravaged his body. But a lucky charm, I was not. Bobby came back for me. He found himself in Stan's path because he loved me too much to keep driving west without me. So in other ways, those final moments of glee made the tragedy more profound. Maybe he was better off driving away in misery. “His funeral is tomorrow,” I said.

“He wasn't much of a fan of those types of affairs.”

“No, he wasn't. He wouldn't want a fuss made. And . . . I'm not going. I don't want to be with those people. I can't see him like that . . .” I choked on air as the sobs finally broke through.

“What do you need from me? Bobby wouldn't care about me going to his funeral, but he would want me to take care of you. Be there for you. I made him promise the same about Sasha.”

“Can you come? Bring the package?”

“Of course.”

“And um, I'd like to go to the lake house . . . no one will be there. That's where I know I'll feel him.”

“Sweetie, whatever you need. And this won't change my answer, but does your family know? If they think you've gone missing and find a black man—”

“Yes. My sister knows. She understands.”

I didn't tell Will everything. I didn't tell him about the baby. I thought the news of Bobby's death was more than enough news for one phone call. I wanted the pregnancy to be good news. And when the news was delivered with Bobby's death, it turned it into something tragic. So I held onto that bit of hope for a better day.

The day of Bobby's funeral was the day the hospital discharged me with instructions to rest, not get stressed, and take it easy. That was an impossible prescription.

The bleeding had stopped, the headaches from the trauma had dulled, but rest? Take it easy? I couldn't sleep without waking up every hour reaching for Bobby. I couldn't just sit around on the day Bobby would be laid to rest.

Will and Sasha waited outside for me, their expressions full of warm sadness. My sister politely left for the funeral after the introductions. We embraced tearfully. Already, being around Bobby's chosen family, I felt him. Like he had just stepped away for a moment and would pop into the car and wink at me. I sat in the back, and as soon as the car took off, Will looked at Sasha and tilted his head to her. She nodded and bent over, picking up a small cardboard box.

“This is for you,” she said.

I took it from her hands, and cradled it on my lap. I knew inside I would hear from Bobby again, but I wasn't ready to do it here. I wanted to be where I would be closest to him. At my favorite place in the world.

The lake house had never felt so quiet before. Even when it was just Bobby and me, there was laughter or shouting or splashing or tools clanking. But all I heard when we stepped out of Will's car was the soft swooshing of trees. Not a bird. Not a grasshopper. There was an unprecedented stillness around us. And I knew it was Bobby showing me he was still here.

I handed the keys for the main house to Sasha. “I think I'd like to go down to the dock alone for a bit.”

“Sure, honey,” she said, running her hand over my hair.

She voiced something inaudible to Will before they looked back at me, smiled, and gave me my time alone with Bobby.

I stood at the edge of the dock, at the spot we jumped from on that night when we had finally confessed how we felt. I closed my eyes as a strong wind came through as a flock of birds all launched from the lake at once. I smiled. It was a strange reaction, but for a fleeting moment, I felt the good times. They still lived here. They still lived in me.

I slid off my shoes, placed the box on the ground, and sat on the dock's edge, dipping my toes in the cold water. The weather was perfect, the heat had finally broken to a pleasant warmth.

I pulled the brown paper wrapping off the box. Affixed to the top was a notecard. I scraped the last bit of strength I had from the bottom of its well, and pried the note open.

Lil,

I don't know when you'll see this. I hope that you never have to or that it's when your hair is grey and you're watching your grandchildren laughing and running around, but if it's sooner than that, I am so sorry.

I don't think I am supposed to be here very long. Sometimes I think I was given a little extra time to make things right with you. I think—I hope—I've done that. You not coming along affirms my hunch. Like my mission might be complete. I hope you understand that any mistakes I made were because I was trying to do the right thing. And I know I hurt you, but I tried to do the things I thought would give you the best life.

I'm just a few hours from heading out west, and I hoped it would be with you, but we can't have everything we want.

I want you to understand that I'm not angry at you for staying. My only hope in coming back was to let you know that you were the love of my life and that no one else could ever take your place. That I left precisely because of that. Everything else that happened upon my return was just a bonus. So the times we did spend together have been the most incredible moments of my life.

I've been all over the world, met so many people, seen so many things. And yet, I understand why the lake was your favorite place on earth. I laughed you off when you told me that the night before your wedding. But I was just a nineteen-year-old trying to sound worldly when I didn't know anything yet. The truth was it was already my favorite place because it was where I got to spend the most time with you.

Anyway, the contents of this box were something I held onto. I mailed these to a PO box thinking one day I might give them to you. But then, when I saw you, I didn't want to wrap us up in the past. Seeing you only made me think of possibility. Of a future I didn't even allow myself to consider. That maybe I was given the chance of an entire lifetime with you when I got a second chance up on that hill.

But I think you should have these. You should know what you meant to me all those years we missed in between then and now. And the other stuff, it's just my way of taking care of you even if I'm not around any longer. I just want to make sure you have all the things you need to be free if you so choose. And if this finds you later in life and you don't need it, please pass it to someone else who you think will. I trust you'll put it in good hands.

I might be gone, but I'll never leave. Ever. You have a piece of me. You always have. Since before I could understand what that meant.

I hope your life is filled with joy and wonder. And I hope we'll find a way back to each other as we did once before.

– Bobby

I took a while to get to the box. I just sat there for a while, holding his final note to me close to my heart, and then I slid it down to my tummy, so our baby could be close to her father. So she could feel his love, and what an incredible person he was. I ran my fingers along the letter, touching something he touched. I only wished his fingers were on the other end instead of paper and ink.

I placed the letter to my side and opened the box. At the top was a stack of envelopes bound together, bent and foxed from wear. I pulled on the twine and flipped through them. I pressed them to my lips and nose, taking in the scent of the old paper. Trying to find a way hug Bobby's words. I had assumed he tossed them or lost them when he was taken. When he first told me about them, I was too bitter to ask.

I choked on tears of melancholic joy. Bobby was dead, but there was still part of him left to discover. I once thought I would have a lifetime to study him, to learn something new every day, even after all the years we had known each other, but I lost that. At least this was better than what I thought I was left with.

I hesitated to open the first one. There was something precious about the way they were still sealed. But they were sealed for this purpose. So that they would be safe until they reached me when I needed them the most.

I devoured the letters. Crying. Laughing. Snorting. Snickering. Swooning.

. . . I've only been here a few days, but I met this guy named Curtis. He talks A LOT. But he's really funny. The kind of guy that makes you want to laugh when you're not supposed to. Almost got me in trouble with the SGT when I had to hold in a laugh. What a clown . . .

. . . We're getting sent to South Korea tomorrow. I'm going to be honest with you and tell you I'm nervous. I know that's not what I'm supposed to say. But I keep thinking, what if I don't come back home and I never see you again? I should have stopped by. I should have said goodbye. But I didn't want to be a disruption . . .

. . . Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I wonder what you're doing. If you're thinking about me. If what happened between us is just a silly thing that you've gotten over. Because I haven't, Lil. I thought running off would make me forget how it felt. But all it does is make me miss you more . . .

. . . This is a little bit embarrassing. Remember Curtis? He and I have gotten really close. You'd love him. He has a girl, and well, I told him I did too. You, Lil. I know it's silly, but I tell myself that I have you waiting for me at home. Maybe I do, not in the way that I'd like, but in a way I can accept. I want to see you again, so bad . . .

. . . I saw something awful today. No, awful's not the right word. This kid, Jimmy, from Kansas. He was kind of quiet, but really nice. And right next to me, just feet away, there was an explosion and he was in pieces. Pieces all over me. And when I looked, he was still alive. But he was blown in half. And I held his hand until the life left his eyes. There are times when I want to give up. It's so cold, and I'm so tired. And there's so much noise. It's so loud. And when I get a moment of quiet, I think about your laugh. I think about you. About that night. How I thought I would never know what it would feel like to feel your lips on mine, to run my hands over your soft body. And yet, there you were, like a wish fulfilled. I know it's wrong, because you're with Rory, but I need those memories. They are the only things that keep me going. Do you think about me? Do you relive that night over and over like an obsession? I want to tell myself that it's not just me romanticizing it because I'm trapped in this hell. But you said you loved me. So I have to believe that you still go back to that night in your dreams like I did . . .

. . . Today was hard, Lil. That's all I can even put on paper. Just hard . . .

. . . So I found out about mom and dad today. You know, I thought it was going to be them getting the news about me. But here I am, bombs and bullets flying overhead, and it's them who die in the tranquility of an afternoon drive. I never wanted them to get that visit at the door. And now I'm thankful that if I go, they won't. But I also realized, that truly, there's nothing to go back to. I've created an entire world where we are together. An alternate reality where it was just you and me. What kind of asshole pines over his brother's wife? I kid myself about these fantasies of you waiting as I come off a ship, in a pretty dress, jumping into my arms. But I know it's a fantasy. Because you have Rory and he has you. And I have no one to come back to. Not even mom and dad. So I think I'm going to stop the bull. Because the truth is I lost you. And writing letters won't change that. And looking at the stars and wondering if you still think about me doesn't change that. I wanted to disappear after the wedding. And I sort of did. Dropping out of school, traveling the country. But mom and dad kept me grounded. Now that they're gone, I can truly vanish. Maybe that's for the best . . .