23
Wyatt
2017
Ishould tell Erin the truth; confess to her that it was me who killed her husband. That I took him away from her, and I stole his life too. She’s peeling potatoes at the sink and looking over at me grinning. She’s frail, and her movements are slight. She can’t walk a few steps without having to sit down and take a breather. She’s strong too; she refuses to stop doing the things she loves, like cooking. I look at the bouquet on the kitchen table. It’s a sunflowers and roses arrangement, and every time I look at it, I can’t help but smile.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I got it from a flower shop in Seattle.”
“You were in Seattle?” I cock a brow. She was beyond stubborn.
“I needed to get out,” she says. “I hate the thought of being trapped here for what's left of my life.”
“Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine.”
She stills and looks out the window.
“No! I’m not. I’ll never be okay. Why can’t you see that?”
“Because I don't want to!” I slam a fist against the wooden table, and she shudders.
I stand, my chair screeching against the hardwood floor. I wrap my arms around her small waist and place my chin on her head.
“You’re not supposed to go this soon.”
She sighs and turns in my arms, placing her head on my chest.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you.”
“Me too. It’s impossible to think of a life without you.”
After dinner,we’re sitting on two rockers on our porch overlooking the small garden that looks so much more attractive than the first time I saw it years ago. I worked on it when I settled back here with Erin. I hold her hand and squeeze it.
“I haven’t been honest with you.”
She glances at me, the moonlight casting a glow on her face, making her hollow eyes seem more sunken. I wonder if this is the right time, and then I remember that time is a slave unto nobody. We cannot chase it or slow it; we just have to seize the moment as it comes.
“I don’t know where to start,” I’m honest.
“Wherever feels right,” she encourages, squeezing my hand right back.
“I was there the night Josh died, and he did save my life, but not in the way you think.”
She sits up, bringing her throw close around her.
“We’d been drinking around the campfire. We hardly did that sort of thing, but we’d had a good few weeks, and we thought we were out of immediate danger. I left the fire early. I’ve never been good at handling my alcohol. I left Josh and some friends singing softly and made my way to our tent. I heard some noises in the early hours of the morning, and I tried to wake Josh up, except he wasn’t there. The other guys were on their mats, but he wasn’t.”
She looks as if she’s holding her breath. I know I was. I’ve carried the truth about what happened for years, and it weighs on my spirit heavily.
“I— I swear I didn’t know it was him.” I feel the tightening in my chest, and I struggle to get the words out. I swipe at the guilt-ridden tears I’ve held back from her for so long. “I couldn’t see it was him. They all attacked so fast, I reacted.”
She gasps and closes her eyes. She never let’s go of my hand, and the silence between us stretches like a cavern.
And then she sighs, and she looks at me, and in that one glance, I feel my breath return to me.
“Did you only tell me this now because you thought I’d blame you?”
I scratch my head. “I don’t know, honestly. I just couldn’t say the words out loud, that I’d killed my best friend.”
