My answer was a violentnothat shook my whole body. I was so petrified by then I was sure I’d have to crawl off the tracks.
“Okay, okay,” Jason had said, wrapping me in a hug I needed more than my next breath. “You don’t have to jump—”
I’d instantly calmed when my brother rested his chin on my forehead.
“—all you have to do is hold on.” His hands had locked around my back as he flung himself over the edge, taking me with him.
One second, two? That’s how long I was airborne. Fear has a way of freezing time, spinning it into an eternity that the body remembers long after the fact. I remember the endless scream ripping from my throat, the wind trying to tear my hair from my scalp, the air punching against my skin. I remember my brother’s arms, once strong and protective, turning hard and binding as I fought to free myself. I want to shake the memory away, but it just burrows deeper.
I barely remember hitting the water or Jason’s grinning face when I finally surfaced. He’d tried to pump me up, tried to get me to admit that it hadn’t been that bad, but it had. I didn’t talk to him for a week, during which time I tried to convince myself that Jason made me jump only because he thought he was helping me face a fear that he didn’t understand and had therefore minimized. Once he saw how very real that fear had been—and still was—he’d been the picture of contrition. He’d even offered to jump off one of the bridges in Lufkin that was easily five times as high so he could understand what I’d felt if that’s what it took to earn my forgiveness.
So I forgave him. But I didn’t forget.
Heath turns off his engine, and countless little eternities fade away before he gets out and walks around the front of his truck. He stops at the edge of the road, standing in the bright sun and squinting at me through eyes he doesn’t bother shading. We’re far enough away from each other that I can’t be sure if I see his mouth moving, saying words he doesn’t mean for me to hear. He starts walking toward me, each step kicking my pulse higher. I tell myself I’m not standing on the train tracks above the Wilcox River, that no one is lying in wait to force me over the edge the moment I lower my guard, but the vertigo ringing in my ears is louder.
He stops a few yards away, just inches from the shade, seemingly incapable of moving closer.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” he says.
“I was sure you weren’t.”
He might have narrowed his eyes at that; it’s hard to tell when he’s still squinting from the sun.
Minutes ago I was grateful for the solitude I’d found here and the emotional freedom it afforded me. I can feel my eyes shining and still so perilously close to overflowing, and I want it back now more than ever. I don’t know what Heath would do if I did cry in front of him, true tears, not just the promise of them that he’s seen before. Maybe it would harden him enough that’d he’d be able to walk away for good. Maybe they’d fuel yet another accusation that I’m trying to manipulate him. Worse, maybe they’d rouse his pity. That last thought is so abhorrent to me that my eyes dry and the dizziness along with all memory from the train tracks vanishes in a single shaky breath.
I take a step toward Heath only to prove to myself that I can, that I’m not that same fearful, shaking girl I used to be, but I slow when he tenses. For some reason, I’m relieved to see that he’s as unsettled as I am.
When I make no further move, he exhales. “Is that why you came? To make sure I didn’t?” There’s the barest hint of a taunt in his tone, and it makes my chin lift.
“Does it matter? I’m here, you’re here, exactly where neither of us should be.”
Heath shifts his weight. The slight movement triggers an impulse to back up, only the tree is behind me, blocking any real retreat. “Why’d you come, Brooke?”
I feel a flash of hatred for my own name when he says it. “Why did you?”
His expression makes it clear he’s not going to answer first.
“I don’t know,” I say, and it’s only a slight lie. I came because I told my brother I would, and because there was a tiny nagging scrap of doubt in my mind that said if Heath did come, I’d feel worse for standing him up than I would confirming he was a no-show. Only now, with the bark behind me digging into my back and memories I don’t want mingling with the ones I do, I stiffen. If the reason he wanted me here was so I could see what was done to Jason’s name—by his hand or another’s—then I was dead wrong.
“I’m surprised you even know about this place. I’m not used to seeing anyone else out here anymore.”
“I only live on the end of Mulberry, and I used to fish here with my granddad before his hip started acting up. I guess it’s been a while though.”
“Was this you?” I ask, reaching behind me to place my hand over the hacked part of the tree.
His stare follows my hand and I lower it, exposing the gouge marks. Heath doesn’t say anything for a long, long time. Whether he knows Jason’s name was once there or not, it’s obvious now. At last his gaze returns to my face. There’s no triumph at seeing the pain I’m not trying to hide, but neither is there true compassion.
“No,” he says, the word followed by an audible click of his jaw. Forcing it open again, he adds, “I wouldn’t have picked this place if I had.” Which isn’t the same as saying he wouldn’t have done it.
The sound of the cicadas clicking swells in the ensuing silence. All I can think isWhy did you pick any place?Why put us together when you know it feels like this? What can we possibly gain from each other besides more of this?I can’t blame anyone else for what Jason did, but that doesn’t stop that pain of what I’ve lost from surfacing when Heath is near any more than my presence rouses more for him. The only thing left is for him to go. He doesn’t have to say anything else; I know I won’t.
His gaze sweeps over me. The movement is swift and seemingly involuntary, based on the way he jerks his gaze back to my face.
My cheeks flush. That isn’t the kind of scrutiny I expect from him or anyone anymore. I find myself frowning at him, like he betrayed some unspoken rule by looking at me.
“You’re wearing blue again.”
I blink at the random comment.
