Bent not Broken (116 page)

I swallow hard past the lump that has formed in my dry throat. “You think it was a mistake to buy this house?”

“I think it was a wise business decision to buy this house. What I don’t think is wise is that every time you walk out that front door, you’re going to be smacked right in the face by a house that sits just across the street that holds a shitload of painful memories for you. What if she doesn’t come back? What if it never works out? Do you want to look at her bedroom window every time you walk out of your front door? You will never move forward if you see that, if you think about her every single day.”

I don’t even know what to say. Looking away from my dad, I fix my eyes on one of the huge trees in the backyard that you can see through the large window from the kitchen. Luke has quietly stepped out and removed himself from the kitchen, leaving me alone with Dad. When I shift my gaze back to my dad, he’s leaning up against the counter with his arms across his chest and a concerned look on his face. Once I make eye contact with him, he starts to move towards me, placing himself directly in front of me.

“Gabriel,” he says in a quiet voice, his tone calm. “You have to let her go. You have to build your life for you. If she is going to come back, she will, but please don’t hold onto something that may never happen.”

“It’s too soon, Dad. I’m not ready to let her go yet.”

With a nod of his head, he pats my shoulder and leaves me standing in the kitchen. If my hand hadn’t just healed, I’d punch the fucking wall. Instead, I just stare out the kitchen window into the large backyard that is shaded by two large oak trees. I see the flowerbeds that have been taken over by foot-tall weeds and the patio that needs to be redone. Maybe my dad is right.

Locking up, I sit down on the front steps and glance across the street and down two houses to the right. Her bedroom window looks the same from here as it does from my parents’ house. Luke steps down off of the porch and onto the stairs, sitting down next to me.

“I heard Dad. It’s only been six weeks. You’ll know when it’s time to let go. Take the time you need. Dad means well. We all love you and just want you to be happy again.”

“I know,” I reply quietly.

“Let’s go, man. Mom made
pozole
for dinner, and I’m starving.” Luke stands up and waits for me to join him. Pozole is one of my favorite Mexican stews, and I haven’t eaten well in weeks. Greeted by the aroma when we get to Mom and Dad’s, my mouth starts watering. For the first time in a long time, I’m actually hungry.

“Ah, my boys are here!” Mom exclaims, walking over to both Luke and me, wrapping us in warm hugs. I haven’t spent much time over here since Jess left, and I feel guilty for not stopping by more often.

“Sit down. Eat.” Mom pulls both Luke and me by our arms towards the kitchen table and pushes us towards the empty chairs. Dad is already sitting at the table, devouring his stew and reading the newspaper. Luke and I settle in and make small talk while Mom is busy bringing over bowls of soup, tortillas, and bread.

“So your dad tells me that the house needs a lot of work,” Mom says, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s an understatement,” Luke mutters, shoving a spoonful of
pozole
in his mouth. Narrowing my eyes at him, I turn to Mom.

“Yeah, it needs serious work, but I’m excited about it.” Dad has set his newspaper down to join in our conversation.

“Work has been slow lately. We need to get a few permits, but as soon as those are secure, I can have a demo crew over there the next day. We’re not changing anything to the structure, correct? Not moving walls or anything?” Dad asks.

“No. I like your idea about expanding the laundry room and adding more closets. But everything else should stay as is.”

“Good. I’ll submit the paperwork to the city first thing on Monday,” Dad says, finishing his bowl of soup and leaning back in his chair.

Mom has been eyeing me since Luke and I arrived. “Are you working this weekend?” she asks.

“Yeah. It’s my scheduled shift. I picked up some overtime earlier this week now that my hand has healed and I’ve been cleared to return to work.”

Mom nods her head at me. “You work too much, you know. You need to rest. Ava is coming home next weekend, and I hope you’re not planning to work while she’s here.”

“We’re both off, Mom,” Luke interrupts. “We’ll be around when we’re not slaving away on Gabe’s house.” He offers me a sarcastic grin.

Pushing myself away from the table, I stand up and carry my bowl to the sink.

“Leave it,
Mijo
. I’ll take care of it when I’m done.” Mom smiles at me.

“Sorry to eat and run, Mom, but I’m gonna head back over to the house real quick to make sure it’s locked up, and get my truck.”

Mom meets me at the door, offering me a hug goodbye. “I’m very proud of you, sweetheart,” she whispers.

“Thanks, Ma.”

Walking back to my house, my eyes can’t help but find their way to Jess’ window. I can’t tell you the number of times I have sat and stared at her window, wishing she was asleep behind those blinds, curled up in her bed, or sitting at her desk. I just want to know where she is and that she’s safe.

Chief’s truck is gone, as always, and something inside me pushes me across the street and up the front porch of her house. Pulling the hidden key from its hiding spot in the hanging planter, I insert it into the front door and turn it lightly. Hearing the click, I turn the doorknob and step into the quiet, dark house.

There is no trace of her here anymore, not that I was expecting one. I had just hoped to see a jacket on the couch, a book on the sofa table; anything to remind me she lives, or lived here. I walk the path I’ve walked so many times to her bedroom. I just need to see her room. I need to feel her presence one last time. The bathroom is empty of anything related to Jess. There are no hair products, brushes, jewelry, or lotions scattered across the counter.

Swallowing hard, I turn the knob to her bedroom door. Stilled by the quietness, I look around at the room that was so full of life, so full of Jess. Taking three long strides across her room, I find myself standing in front of her small desk. There is a large fabric-covered bulletin board hanging above that she has filled with pictures. Many of the pictures have been removed with the exception of a few she left behind.

I pull the thumbtack holding the black and white picture of Jess and me sitting on the beach in Santa Barbara. Holding the picture, I’m flooded with memories: Jess on the beach, in the pool, making love to her all over that hotel room. I run my finger over her cheek in the picture, wishing she could feel my touch, wishing I could feel her.

Sitting down on the edge of her bed, staring at the picture, I can’t help but hear the words my dad said earlier. “You have to let her go.”
Let her go
. No matter how long I continue to love her, there comes a point in time when I will have to accept that she may not love me back. She’s been gone for six weeks, and she stopped answering text messages long before that, and even my letter went unanswered. I truly believe, even though I want to deny it with every ounce of my being, she is gone and has no intention of coming back. Letting go is the only option I have to maintain my sanity at this point. With one last look at the black and white picture, I stand and pin it back on her board.

Crossing her room, I take a deep breath, hoping I might be able to smell her. I shut the door to her room, let go of the doorknob, and walk back through the living room and out the front door. Walking away from her house is very symbolic for me. Sometimes shutting doors and letting go is the most important step in healing your heart. She shut the door and let go. A small sense of contentment washes over me at this realization; maybe Jess leaving wasn’t about me, but maybe it was what she needed to do to heal.

Chapter 38

Jess

Setting down the handset on my sterile gray desk phone, I catch the time on the digital display: 6:38 p.m. I’ve been at work since seven this morning. I’ve been putting in almost sixty hours a week since I started at WXZI, and it doesn’t appear it’s going to slow down anytime soon. I’ve been squeezing in lunchtime appointments with Dr. Peterson twice a week and feel like I’m making some progress. My stomach growls loudly just as Lindsay’s blonde head pops up from over the cubicle wall we share.

“You almost ready to go?” she asks with a little too much energy. Lindsay never tires, never slows down, and at times, her boundless energy is exhausting.

“Do you ever get tired?” I ask, my words dripping with sarcasm.

“Nope, and you’re not getting out of this. I don’t care how tired you claim to be,” she fires back at me.

“Parties aren’t really my thing and all…considering I’m only nineteen,” I respond, hoping my age will remind her that I’m young and boring, and she should find friends that she can go out to bars and go clubbing with.

“You’ll be twenty next week, and that means you’re basically twenty-one.”

I actually burst out laughing at her logic. “Yeah, well, the law doesn’t see it that way. Ask your brother,” I say jokingly.

“Speaking of my brother…” she says, shaking her eyebrows at me.

“Don’t. There’s nothing there.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you for weeks, what happened when he came to check on you. I’ve been waiting for you to offer up the goods, but you’re holding out on me.” Lindsay laughs, tossing her purse over her shoulder. “Plus, you guys have been spending a lot of time together.”

“We’ve gone to a movie and to dinner, once,” I snap back at her accusations.

“I think you’re forgetting about him bringing you coffee and lunch. And didn’t you go to the gym together last week? Those all count as dates.”

“You kill me, Linds. Kill Me.” I laugh at her.

Reaching down, I shut off my computer monitor and grab my cell phone, stuffing it into the outside pocket of my purse.

“And about that night, there’s nothing to tell. He came by, checked on me, and left.”

“Right. You can keep lying to me, but I know he stayed with you that night.” Lindsay grins at me and rolls her eyes. “Let’s go,” she says, hooking her arm through mine, dragging my lifeless body out of my cubicle.

“I hate parties,” I grumble. “And I’m hungry.”

“You love parties and, you know what, maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll feed you,” Lindsay says, squeezing my arm. “Let’s do this.”

****

Standing against the wall in the kitchen full of drunk people that I don’t know, people I don’t care to know, I spy a single French door that must lead to a patio. Slithering through the mass of sweaty bodies that are standing in small groups throughout the house, I excuse myself, bumping into everyone along the way to my escape. There have to be fifty people at this party, and they are all standing between that door and me. In my past life, parties with people I didn’t know were fun. It was exciting to meet new people and talk to strangers. Now, I don’t give a shit.

Lindsay is across the kitchen, tending to the thirty liquor bottles that have filled up the entire granite island. It’s hot and sticky in this house, and everyone reeks of booze, including me. I just need some fresh air. Reaching the door, I open it slightly and squeeze myself out, trying not to draw attention to myself in the process. It’s pitch black out on the patio, with the exception of a few landscape lights that light up the bottom of a few trees.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can see there is a large pool that is surrounded by reclining patio chairs. It’s unseasonably warm for this time of year in North Carolina, and I’m still not used to the humidity. The air hangs thick, causing my clothes to stick to me. Kicking off my shoes, I walk to the side of the pool and sit down. I slowly dip my toes into the cool water. I let them fall further until the water is midway up my calves.

Kicking my legs slowly, the cool water and the fresh air relax me a bit. Over my shoulder, I look back at the house and watch the party continue. People are talking, laughing, and enjoying themselves. That used to be me. God, I want to be fun again. I lift the red plastic cup to my lips and toss back the remainder of my vodka cranberry. I can feel the effects of the alcohol after tossing back three cups of the sweet concoction.

“Watcha doin’, baby girl?”

I hear his voice behind me and I snap my head around to find where he is, but I don’t see him.

“Landon, is that you?”

“Better be, unless someone else is calling you ‘baby girl.’” He snickers and finally shows himself as he walks toward me.

“What are you doing? You know it’s a little creepy, you hanging in a dark backyard by yourself, sneaking up on people,” I snap at him.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing? Sitting out here by yourself.”

“Touché, but I’m not sneaking up on anyone.”

He crosses the large paved patio and sits down next to me. He’s wearing tan cargo shorts and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

“I wasn’t outside creeping. See those doors over there?” he says, pointing to the far side of the house, which is pitch black.

“Where? I can’t see them,” I say as a hiccup escapes me.

“Well, those doors lead to my bedroom. I was in my room and decided to come out here to get some air. Looks like you had the same idea.”

I shake my head in agreement. “Yup. I don’t do well in large groups of people that I don’t know,” I quip. At least not anymore, I think to myself.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I have to ask.” There is a long pause as he contemplates asking me whatever is about to piss me off. “Why are you so pissed at everyone? It’s like you have a stick up your ass. You’re pissed at the world, Jess.”

“I do not have a stick up my ass, and I’m not pissed at the world,” I protest. Now he’s laughing harder.

“Every time I’m with you, there are these moments when you close yourself off. You shut down and become very cold. I just know you’d be so much fun if you just relaxed a little, that’s all. I can see it in you.”

“See what?” I ask as I contemplate what he’s just told me.