Vital Sign (25 page)

“I can’t,” I whimper
, my chest heaving in and out, giving in to my building sadness.

             
“Yes, you can.” She nods her head, reassuring me like she used to when I was a little girl.

“Mom,” I beg, clutching the basket like a life raft
and I’m adrift in stormy seas. I cling to this stupid basket like the world may crumble away beneath my feet if I’m not careful.

“You have to let him go, Sadie.”

“I-I-I’m scared to lose him.” I confess. “What if I forget everything?”

“You’re not scared of
losin’ him,” she points out softly. “You’ve already lost him and we both know that. You’re scared of findin’
you
. You don’t know who you really are without Jake. I get it, okay? But you can’t stop living out of fear of what you may end up seeing.”

Mom holds her hands out to me like a peace offering or a saving grace. Maybe both. It’s enough to coax me away from where I stand. I sink to my knees with the basket resting in my lap, reach
ing in to pick up the softball jersey. I bury my soaked face into the fabric. I inhale deeply, seeking Jake’s scent, but it isn’t there anymore. Not there. Goddamn it, it’s not there! Not there. Never again. I’ll go the rest of my life wandering through this world trying desperately to just
smell
him. His fresh, manly sort of scent has become as good as a myth in my mind. The search for it doesn’t wane. It only taunts the whimpering shell that remains of my terrorized soul. My endless hunt for remnants, flickers, fleeting glimmers of Jake is a lost cause and yet I can’t stop. I plead with myself somewhere deep inside to stop. I scream at me to stop, but I can’t. It’s the most dismal feeling. I find it impossible to describe and even more impossible to withdraw myself from. Like a drug addiction of the most treacherous sort, my tenuous heart longs for that high. I yearn for that feeling of relief that I want so badly. With my eyes closed, I inhale slowly, deeply, hoping against hope that I’ll find what I seek.

The shirt just smells like the closet, a mix of leather and rubber
-soled shoes with faint traces of laundry detergent. No proof of Jake except for the laundry basket itself, which now seems to be the only vestige to prove that he ever even existed. I’ve just wrecked everything else. Grief clenches around my wounded heart, sucking the air from my lungs as it tightens down around me mercilessly.

Mom gets to her knees in front of me. Her fingers tangle in the shirt I’m holding so tightly in my hands. I reflexively pull it to my chest. I don’t want her to take it
, but at the same time, I want this ache to be gone. I want to free myself from this prison made of sweet memories and tragic circumstances. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t live.

“He’s gone, Sade,” she whispers coaxingly as her fingers gently tug at the shirt. I shake my head in resistance. “Say it.”

“Please, no,” I whimper, inaudibly gasping for air through my tears.

“It’s time to let him go, Sade. Say it with me
,” Mom pleads. “He’s gone.”

“He’s gone.”

“And he’s not coming back,” she leads me in a sort of mantra.

“And h-he’s not—
not coming back.” I hiccup.

“Come on honey, let go,”
Mom insists softly.

My grip on the jersey loosens just a fraction
, but it’s enough for the fabric to slip from my fingers. I watch, my vision blurred, as Mom shoves the jersey and the basket aside, scooting closer to me. Her arms envelope me and I’m pulled to her chest.

“Shush, honey. It’s all over now. It’s all over,” she coos tearfully in my ear, rocking me to and fro
like a child. My body quakes and trembles against hers as interminable tears of release bubble to the surface and overtake me.

I haven’t allowed myself this. I haven’t given in to this kind of resignation
to the truth. I’ve done quite the opposite for two years. I’ve fought so hard against this in some strange attempt to protect myself against more pain. Maybe somewhere in my tormented brain I thought that I could deny the grief and somehow I could keep Jake alive that way. Once you grieve for someone, it’s like that’s it—they’re really,
really
gone at that point. A person is born, lives, dies, and the people who love them grieve until the grieving is done and that’s it. I’ve never wanted to have a “that’s it” where Jake is concerned. Even though it has ripped my life apart, hurt the people around me, ended my potential career, and dashed my hopes of being with Zander, I’ve denied mourning because, in my mind, that would’ve been the end of Jake. I had no way of knowing that resisting grief also meant resisting life. My therapist might’ve told me something like that, I think. I heard him but I wasn’t listening.

I’m listening now.

I know more clearly than ever that I’ve grieved not just for the loss of Jake and the history that we shared…I’ve been grieving for the loss of myself too. I was no longer a wife, no longer one of a pair—who the hell was I?

When Jake died
, I think I lost a major part of my own identity right along with him. His heart stopped only for a while before it was forced to beat again in its new home. Zander’s chest. That heart that I had drifted off to the unremitting thrum of so many times was going to beat on. It was meant to thrive. It had so many more beats left in it and yet…my own heart seemed to seize. It locked down like a petrified artifact from some long lost chapter in time when I was happy and my heart was full. My own heart, at least figuratively, had become static within me. It was lost without Jake. All of me was lost without Jake. I had become my very own Atlantis.

I miss him.

I miss me too.

I miss Zander most.

***

May 10, 2013

Talking to the real estate agent was far more difficult than I had anticipated. I can’t sell the house. I don’t know what in the hell I was thinking.

Once I’ve pu
lled my car into the driveway and put it in park, my head falls forward to rest against the steering wheel. The last couple weeks’ events have pushed me to the pinnacle of my breaking point. I seal my eyes tightly shut and fight against the tingling sensation in my nose that tells me tears are forming. I fight hard and try to play Jake’s words in my head. I know which ones I’m searching for. I’ve played them back to myself more times than I could possibly count. I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter and grip the steering wheel as if holding on for dear life. I wait to hear his voice. I wait to hear the words from my first love as a monsoon of emotion is dangerously close to ripping through my resolve to be strong. That’s all I want. That’s all I need. I have to hear those words he used to say to me.
Please,
I beg inwardly.
Tell me to be strong.

“
Read the letter, Sadie. It’s time.”

Words come
, but they aren’t the ones I know. They aren’t Jake’s words. They’re Zander’s words. The weight of exactly how much I’ve missed him bears down on me and in one gasping cry outward, all strength abandons me. My head lifts of its own volition, directing my blurred vision skyward, eerily similar to the day Zander found me in the water, and for me, it’s like Jake has died all over again. Except I know I’m crying for the loss of both men. I’m crying for the loss of myself, for the loss of my will to live life, my will to be happy. I’m crying because I know Zander is right. It’s time to read Jake’s letter. I can’t avoid it anymore.

My sobbing reverberates throughout my car. My diaphragm cramps painfully
, but the aching does nothing to slow my tears. I cry harder and harder until sheer exhaustion has won the battle I just waged with myself. My red, puffy eyes become an inconvenience to keep open. Somehow I grip the handle of the door just enough to unlatch it, swinging it open, giving me an exit. I clamber out of the driver’s seat, dragging my purse with me. Thank God the walk to my front door is a short trip, because my meltdown has thoroughly exhausted my body.

I collapse on the couch
on my left side, facing my purse, which is on the coffee table near the window. I watch the purse numbly. I guess some dormant part of my conscience is urging me to reach inside the pocket and get out the worn envelope with Jake’s handwriting on the front. I know I need to, but I’m scared. I’m so damn scared. Reading his letter makes things so…
final.

Be strong, Sadie.
I recite to myself the words that Jake told me so many times.

It’s time, Sadie.

I add Zander’s words, because they too have meant so much to me. He’s so much of the reason why I want to imagine my future in a positive light. He’s given me so much more than I’ve given him. Looking back on the awful way I acted when we first met gives me the incentive to make the final push towards closure. I leap forward off the bed and snag my purse. Without thought, I pull the letter from the side pocket that it has sat in for so long and slip my index finger beneath the flap. I slide my finger along the seam of the envelope, breaking the adhesive seal as I go. With one deep breath, I brace myself for a second goodbye. A final farewell.

Sadie,

Most would think that writing this letter is morbid and it may be. But not writing it is something I can’t do.

If your beautiful eyes ever meet this page
, it’s because something has happened to me. I hope that life has something better in store for us, but things happen in my line of work, so there are things that I must make sure you know. I could never have the right words to tell you what you mean to me, but I’ll try.

You are my rock
, Sadie. You are my safe place in an unsafe world. My heart finds sanctuary in you. It always has. It always will.

You are my purpose in life and I am a lucky man to have made you my wife. Please know that no matter what life may bring us
, my goal has always been to see you smile. No matter the cost, your smile is worth it. So promise me that you’ll smile. That you will laugh. That you won’t take life too seriously. That you’ll have babies if we don’t have the chance to. That you’ll invest in your work and in yourself even if the world seems like it won’t. You’ll win them over—you always do. Promise me that you will do your best to show everyone you meet how big your heart is and how tender your touch can be.

Promise me that you’ll allow yourself to be happy. You’re stubborn. No one knows that better than me
, so I beg you to promise me that you’ll find love again. When the right one comes along, you’ll know, just like I knew you were the one. Don’t be afraid. Let him in. Let him have all of you. If not for you, do it for me. Know that you are never alone. Not now. Not ever. I’m beside you. I’ll always find a way to be with you, Sadie. I’ll come back to you. Somehow, I’ll be around.

Promise me these things even if they seem impossible. Even if it hurts. It’s all I ask of you. It’s all I could ever want
, to know that the love of my life is happy. 

All my love,

Jake

“I-I promise. I promise, Jake.” I bury my face in the now crumpled notebook paper and cry softl
y into my husband’s sweet words with renewed determination to do what I set out to do.
  

July 3, 2013

I tug the door on my mailbox open, noting that the hinges could use some oil. It’s just something else to keep me busy and my mind off of Sadie. I lean forward to look inside the box, expecting junk mail and maybe a few bank statements. The sight of a brown paper package has me scrunching my brows and wondering who the fuck has mailed me something. It could very well be my mother. She mails shit to me all the time to make it seem like she cares.

I right myself and glance around to see if there is anyone ar
ound. No one. I snake my hand into the galvanized metal box and pull out the package and a few ads. Flipping the small brown paper package over, I notice the return address right away.

Sadie Parker

803 Chestnut Lane

Atlanta, GA 30331

I flip the package over and over in my hands, inspecting it carefully. I haven’t heard from her. I haven’t seen her. I’ve spent every second since she walked out of my life searching for a way back in, but there’s simply no room for me. Her heart belongs to him and I have to find a way to come to terms with that.

Tucking the package under my arm
, I begin my walk back into the house, Sadie on my mind. I wonder how she is. I wonder where she is. I wonder if she’s safe. I’d give just about anything to see her walking down that beach toward me one more time. I’d give just about anything to go back in time and start over with her, to pull her from that water and be more careful with her in hopes that she wouldn’t have to do what she did.

I suck in a breath through my clenched jaw and shake my head. It’s no use. Even if I could go back in time
, it doesn’t change a goddamn thing. I am who I am. She is who she is and I could never love her enough to see her out of that kind of loss—not with my fucked up situation. If she needs closure, she can go looking for it. I’ll wait here for her like I said I would. Maybe that’s my way of loving her enough. It’s all I’ve got at this point. I just hope it’s enough. I hope she finds her way back to me like she said she would. It’s all I think about.

I toss the ads in the garbage and walk over to the fridge. I lay the package on my counter then dig out a glass. I pour my daily vegetable juice over ice and eye the package from Sadie like it may bite me. I lean against the counter and take a long draw from my glass that I still wish I could add
vodka to. Tomato juice just isn’t the same without it. Another long gulp and the ice cubes slide to the edge then plink to the bottom of the glass as I set it down. I snatch up the package and rip it open, deciding that I should just get it over with.

What the fuck?

There’s a cell phone inside, wrapped in a thin scrap of bubble wrap. I slide it out of the package onto my counter, peeking back inside the package to find a note.

Zander,

No amount of explaining could make what I did hurt any less. Please know that I had to do what I did. I had to leave. I never wanted to hurt you. This is Jake’s cell phone. Dial one for his voicemail. The password is the month and year of our anniversary. 1109. Just listen. In spite of myself, you are my truth. You are my constant. You are my proof of life. You are my vital sign. With you, I more than breathe—I live. Please forgive me.

-Sadie

I pick up the outdated cell phone and peel away the bubble wrap. I look it over. The screen has some scratches on it. There’s a ding or two around the edges. Signs that it did belong to a man at some point. I hold down the power button and wait for Jake’s phone to power up. The welcome screen comes up, displaying the symbol of the cell phone maker. A little wheel spins and says “searching.” The phone chimes once and then a picture of Sadie fills the small screen. God, she’s beautiful. Her smile is bright and her eyes are so alive. It only makes my love for the woman that I never should’ve fallen for grow. Seeing her like this makes me want to be the one who has lit up her smile. Her brown eyes are full of that magic that makes a man willing to give her the earth, moon, and stars. I want to put that look in her eyes and that smile on her face. I want to give her the moon.

My eyes focus on the little service symbol. She never had Jake’s cell phone disconnected.
I take in a deep breath and sigh at just another thing that Sadie did to hang on to him. It makes my stomach turn and my chest ache. I press the little phone symbol and then the voicemail symbol. Bringing the phone to my ear, I wait for it to connect.

“Please enter your voicemail
box password followed by the pound sign.”

With one more glance at the note
, I punch the password into the phone.

“You
have no new messages. To listen to saved messages, please press one.”

I shake my head and press one not knowing what the hell I’m suppose
d to do here.

“March, 29, 2011.” Soft crying fills the line and my entire fucking body tenses.

Sadie. 

I run my hands through my hair as I listen to soft whimpers on the line. She isn’t saying anything just weak little sobs. “Fuck
,” I groan, feeling like someone has just punched me in the gut. The message ends and the robotic voice instructs me to press seven to go to the next message. The time stamp greeting goes on to give the date for the next voicemail.

“April 4, 2011
.”

“Jake. Jake
, please get better. Please don’t give up. Don’t leave me. I-I can’t…” she trails off tearfully and the message ends.

I press seven.

“April 19, 2011.”

“Jake. Jake please wake up. Please. I don’t want to believe them. You have to show them all that they’re wrong. I know you’re in there. I know you can still hear me. Please, Jake.”

Seven
.

“April 27, 2011
.”

“Jake
!” A guttural groan comes from the phone and I flinch at how awful it sounds. “Jake! I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready. I’m not ready!” More animalistic groaning and gasping comes down the line before it clicks off and I jab my finger at the phone to go to the next message.

Seven.

“May 11, 2011.”

“No one understands. I’m so lonely. I miss you. Can you hear me?” Sadie whispers between hiccups.

Seven.

“June 18, 2011
.”

“Happy birthday. I love you
.” She hangs up and I’m beginning to understand that this must have been her own form or therapy. It has been her way to vent and a way to hear his voice when she needed it most.

Seven.

I press the number with shaky fingers, both nervous and anxious to hear all of the messages.

“July 4, 2011
.”

More soft
crying, followed by garbled words, then the phone clicks off.

Seven.

“August
12, 2011.”

“I’m so alone. I hate everyone. Sometimes I think I can feel you around me. Am I crazy?” Her monotone voice lacks emotion and I can picture a dazed look on her face when she made the call. It makes me grimace.

Seven.

“September 19
, 2011.”

“Group therapy is a fucking joke. I hate them. All of them. I just want to punch someone.”

Seven.

“October 2, 2011
.”

“The holidays are coming. I’m scared to face them alone. I wish you could come back to me
, Jake.”

Seven.

“March 17, 2012.”

“We have a nephew.
Jackson was born this morning. He’s beautiful. I left after holding him for just a minute or two because it hurt. It’s not fair. I can’t blame Mom and Jenna for being pissed at me. I’m pissed at me too.”

Seven.

I go through three more messages with just the sound of Sadie crying, intermingled with emotional sighs, weepy pleas for the impossible, and hissed angry words directed at everyone. I’m ready to end the call. I can’t hear her cry anymore. It makes me want to go find her and kiss it all away. It makes me want to go back in time and soothe her. It makes me want to give back what was taken from Jacob Parker.

“March 21, 2013
.”

“I’m meeting a few of the transplant recipients. Why can’t I be glad that you saved someone’s life?”

Seven.

“April 16, 2013.”

“A man named Alexander McBride got your heart. I’ll be meeting him soon. I hate him already. Does that make me crazy?”

Seven.

“April 20, 2013.”

“I met Mrs. Hampton the kidney lady and Terry Jones the liver guy. They were nice. She apologized a lot. He bought me dinner. His wife made me cry. I hated all of it. I may skip on meeting the guy who got your heart. I can’t take this.”

Seven.
“April 22, 2013.”

“I met him. I met Alexander McBride. I miss you.”

Seven.

“April
23, 2013.”

“Jake. Jake. Jake
,” she says into the phone like a prayer. It breaks my heart a little more. She doesn’t say anything else.

Seven.

“April 24, 2013.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never should have let him touch me. I never should have
wanted
him to touch me. Jake…” Her violent crying fills my ear and have my eyes stinging with brewing tears of my own. I take a deep breath and swallow hard to keep it together.

Seven.

“April 27, 2013.”

“I messed up. I messed up so bad.
There isn’t room for both of you. I wish I knew if you could hear me wherever heaven is.”

Seven.

“April 30, 2013.”

“I don’t know what to do
, Jake.”

Seven
.

“May 10, 2013
.”

“I read your letter. I’ll keep my promise. I swear it. Thank you, Jake. Thank you for being you. Thank you for the letter. I wasn’t ready for it up until now. I’m scared
, but I’m ready.”

Seven.

“July 1, 2013.”

“This—this is the last time.
I cancelled the cell phone service finally. I have to go after him. I have to get him back. I’m going back to Tybee. Jake, I—I love him. I love Zander. I want to invite him in. I just hope that I can explain—that he can forgive me for staying away. That he’ll still want me. I have to let you go now. I have to let myself live. I love you always, Jake. Always.”

The call ends and the robotic greeting begins.
“You have no more saved messages. Press—”

I end the call and just stare at the phone like it’s a
fucking mystery. I’m shaking. What the fuck just happened? My mouth is hanging open a little and I feel like I’ve swallowed a fistful of wet sand.

“She loves me?” I mumble to myself, testing the words like they may evaporate before they even pass over my lips.