We walk on, quietly, and before long I realize we’re headed to the same spot beside the lake where we saw each other before. When we reach it, Brady takes a deep breath and gazes out at the sparkling water. I settle onto the ground and watch him take in his surroundings. It’s nice to watch someone enjoy something I hold so dear.
“I think my soul needs water,” he says, and his face looks peaceful. He picks up a rock and slings it. We watch it skip over the surface once, twice, three times before sinking below. He turns around, and when he sees me sitting he walks back and sits beside me.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I waited for ten months after Warren slipped into the coma. I don’t know what I was waiting for. We were told he probably wouldn’t wake up. But how does a person move on from something like that? Things were bad for a little while. Constantly crying, and then that turned into darkness. This weird nothingness. I felt like a robot. I made the motions every day, but nothing went below my surface. Warren would’ve hated it. So, I started trying. There’s nothing so brave as getting back up, Brady. Nothing.”
Brady nods in encouragement, but he must sense I’m not finished, because he doesn’t say anything.
“When Warren’s family saw me getting better, they became angry. I think they knew what was coming, and they knew it meant one more part of Warren’s life was going to slip away. But what was I supposed to do?” I shake my head, still unable to believe the way they treated me in the end. “Right after Warren and I were engaged, Warren’s parents came to me with a business proposition. They offered to purchase an empty space and turn it into a bakery, if I would run it and pay them rent after it started turning a profit. It was my dream set-up. Very little risk for me, and it seemed as if there was only upside. It was going well for awhile, but after the accident, things went downhill. I told them I was going to spend some time in Oregon, visiting my grandma, and that the store manager would be perfectly capable of running things in my absence. They called me a coward and said I was a disgrace to their son’s memory. They closed the store without telling me. TheFor Leasesign in the window and the padlocked front door did the talking for them.”
A soft, incredulous sound slips from between Brady’s lips.
Oddly, I feel defensive. Maybe it’s really Warren I’m defensive of, because his family is an extension of him, a representation. “I know it sounds awful. It wasn’t right for them to do what they did, but they were hurting too. I was an easy target for their anger and sorrow.”
Brady’s forearm brushes mine as he shifts and draws his knees into his chest. I like the feeling, like there’s someone else beside me now. I was an only child and wished desperately for my parents to change that. That never happened, and eventually good friends stepped in and filled the void. Then I met Warren, and he occupied every space my friends couldn’t fill. And in an instant, my Warren vanished.
“It’s the little things,” I say, lifting a handful of rocky sand. I flip my hand over and watch it fall back onto the ground.
“Like what?” Brady asks, not questioning what it is I’m referring to.
I take a deep breath, letting the memories wash over me. “He’d leave used paper towels all over the kitchen. Not really gross ones, but ones that were only a little used. He said they weren’t ready to throw away just yet, but it drove me nuts.” I used to glare when I’d see them, but now I’m smiling at the memory. “I like a clean kitchen, and those balled up paper towels looked like little snowballs.”
Brady laughs. “I bet you never thought you’d find yourself missing that.”
“Never,” I agree, chuckling at the picture in my mind.
“How long were you together?”
“Two years, and then he proposed. And soon after…” My sentence trails off into nothing. I don’t want to cry, but I can’t help it. All the crying I did in the beginning was over Warren. And all the crying I’m doing now? That’s for me.
I close my eyes and lift my face to the sky, letting the sunshine fall over me, inviting warmth into my sad, bleak heart.
Then I feel his arm, heavy and firm, across the top of my back. His hand slips over my shoulder, cupping it. His fingers squeeze gently, conveying his message.
He knows how it feels to be left behind.
11
Brady
For a guywho likes taking action, sitting back and watching Addison cry is tough. I want to help her, but how? There is nothing I can do that will make this situation any better. The most I can do is be there for her, but that feels like so little.
On our walk back to the main house she said she’s considering the idea of entering the contest. She seemed hesitant, but I encouraged her. What better way to get her mind off Warren?
Speaking of, I can’t figure out what to call him.
Is he her ex-fiancé? Her current fiancé? How do you officially break up with someone in that state? If they were married, she’d have to legally divorce him. Relationships aren’t binding, not legally anyway. They certainly are binding in many other ways.
Addison’s life is in shambles, but I don’t mind it. Maybe that’s because my own chaos recognizes the chaos inside her. We are both so broken, so lost.
Today at the lake she’d raised her face to the sky, and the sun shone through her tears, lighting them up as they slid down her cheeks. Each drop turned translucent, and in them, I could see her grief.
I don’t cry over Lennon the way Addison cries for Warren, but I won’t deny that I’ve shed some tears. I’m lucky though. Lennon is still alive, still vital. She’s down there in Arizona, helping Finn care for his uncle. She’s smiling for Finn, and laughing at his jokes, teasing him when he broods the way he does. She’s lying beneath him at night,in their bed,and the I love you’s on her lips are meant for him.
I’m here in Oregon, running from a life I don’t recognize, because it hasn’t gone the way I expected it would. All I ever wanted was Lennon. I didn’t get her. All I ever wanted was to be a lawyer. I got that, and it wasn’t anything like I thought it would be. How can my expectations be so different from reality?
My phone rings and I look to where it sits on the porch railing of my little cabin. It’s my mom. Sighing, I reach for it. I don’t want to answer, but she called yesterday, and I let it go to voicemail. Honestly, I’m surprised she left me alone for this long. I haven’t talked to her since the day before I left Chicago.
“Hi, Mom.” I sit back in my chair and cross a knee over the opposite leg.
