“Just so you know,” he says. “She didn’t say much when I told her you needed some space, even though she had no clue the amount of space I was talking about. But, if looks could talk, you may just be wrong about this one.”
A gnawing feeling floods my subconscious. Pushing it away, I down half of my beer and start to walk out towards the street. Rex’s words begin to make me question my decision for the first time since I made it. But, as we stop for Rex to order another beer off of one of the many open windows on Beale Street, I bury those fleeting feelings deep inside.
I’ve been waiting almost two years to be this close to home. Walking on Beale Street in Memphis, I am almost there and don’t want to be weighed down by memories, feelings, and the idea that I may or may not have just screwed up a love that only comes around once in a lifetime. Looking to the left, and then up the street at the setting sun, I let her memory begin to fade as the sun drops below the horizon and the neon lights of the street start to burn a little brighter.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Eva
Six weeks. Six weeks since my accident, since my whole world changed and I had no say in the outcome. Sitting in my living room with Carly Pearce’s “Every Little Thing” playing on repeat - a soft early May breeze blows in from the open window across the room. Left alone to sulk in what is left of my life, I sit bitterly with my right leg elevated on a pillow, and slowly lift the remote and press the back button for the song to start over again.
I got the last of my casts off this morning. Coming home from the doctor’s office after this appointment was a moment I had been dreading for the last month and a half. Somehow, still wrapped up in the injuries of the accident, I could hold onto him - to us.
The casts, as morbid as it sounds, were the last bit of him that was left with me.
That, and a letter I received the Friday I got home from the hospital.
I pick up the letter sitting next to me and crush the paper in a closed fist. Not having the courage to tear it up or burn it, I open it one more time to read his words through the wrinkled paper.
Eva,
They say all things heal over time. As I sit here in my now empty apartment, haunted by the thought of you and me, I hope that is right.
Your smell still lingers around me. Your laugh fills the room - and closing my eyes, I can still see you sleepy-eyed in the kitchen smiling back at me as you fill your coffee cup in the morning.
I can’t stay here, because I will always be haunted by you long after you leave, and I wouldn’t be the man who loves you more than anyone ever could if I asked you to stay.
Staying here, I will always need to come find you. To hold onto you, onto us, but I can’t. You deserve a chance at your dreams, even if they are not mine. Even if I am not one of them. I have to let you go.
There are some things I have never told you, but I hope you understand that walking away from you is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Staying away is torture, but Darlin’, you deserve so much more than I can give you.
Wherever your life leads, just know I will never forget you, and I will always be thankful for the time we had and how you showed me it was okay to love again.
Loving you was the only thing in my life I ever did right.
I hope you follow your dreams, wherever they lead, just like I hope you understand my need to walk away and only remember us the way we were.
Forever yours,
Noah
His last words sting. The way we were lingers in my mind, circling around every thought and making it impossible to move forward. As I begin to prepare to reread the letter, the locks at the front door click open and I drop the paper immediately, hopeful Gwen doesn’t catch me reading it for the millionth time.
She enters the apartment with an irritated sigh. “Damn it, woman, shut that song off already. I can’t take it anymore.” She makes her way over to the radio under the window and forcefully hits the power button before turning to look at me. She crosses her arms, her eyes fly to my side and she sees the letter I hoped she wouldn’t notice. Thankfully, she doesn’t say a word, only walks a few steps across the room to a chair and drops down in it. I look down at my lap and swallow back the tears that threaten to break free.
“If you are going to insist on playing some sappy breakup songs you could at least play some Miranda. I don’t listen to much of that country bullshit, but if I was in your shoes, ‘Momma’s broken heart’ is better than that whiny crap.”
I look up as she gestures toward the radio and rolls her eyes. I smile a sad smile and look down at my hands again.
I never made it to the interview at the L.A. Times. Even after I had contacted them to let them know what had happened and they had offered to reschedule, I just didn’t have it in me to face a dream that I once had, but now didn’t need anymore. Weighed down by the guilt of the decisions I should’ve made, and hurt by the sadness of the only man I’ve ever truly loved leaving, I threw myself into work at the paper and barely left the house when I wasn’t at the office.
“You know, ever since the accident, you walk around dead to the world.” Gwen sighs. She stands and makes her way to the kitchen. The door to the fridge opens and I hear her pop two tops off bottles before returning to the living room and handing one to me.
“I can’t.” I insist as she offers me a beer. “Not with the painkillers.”
She rolls her eyes and shoves the bottle closer. “I think your liver can handle it just once. Either that, or it will finally do you in and put you out of your misery.”
I cave and take the bottle, rolling my eyes as she sits back in her chair across the room from me. I debate not drinking it at all, but give up quickly as I take a much-needed sip and welcome the ease in my shoulders.
