30. Beckett
30
beckett
NEW YEAR’S DAY
Six days ago, Willa walked away, leaving me brokenhearted and alone.
She sent a brusque text message letting me know she had arrived home safely. Three words.
Home. Thanks again
I wanted to do so much more than text back, Thanks for letting me know. You’re welcome, but I didn’t. I can’t let myself be pulled under her spell any more than I already am. She made her choice, and we both have to live with it.
It’s stupid to think she would have made a different choice. She didn’t have a different choice to make. I didn’t give her another option. To ask her to stay would have been asinine. She couldn’t stay. I don’t even know if she would have stayed. Or come back had she needed to go home and get some stuff and return.
Six days I’ve been miserable. I’ve tried to work her from my head—with physical labor at the shop and in the gym. No matter what I do, she won’t leave. Her memory’s here to stay for the foreseeable future, which makes it hard to move on.
Because that’s exactly what I need to do—move on. Let her go. Banish her from my life. Pretend we never met.
I don’t want the last one. Not even a little. As much as life sucks this week without her, not having met her would be worse. I loved the time we spent together, am glad I got to experience the week with her, help her get out of her funk. I wouldn’t trade the time with her for any amount of money in the world.
As if that’s an option.
“Uncle Beck! Are you even listening to me?” Shania’s face fills my hazy vision.
“Ever hear of personal space?” She steps back, and I chug the last half of my beer. “What do you want?” The question is laced with frustration. It’s not fair to take my bad mood out on her.
“Just wanted to show you my new sweatshirt. Jeez. Who set your Christmas tree on fire?”
Any other day, I’d commend her retort, but I’m not in the mood. Even more so when my eyes spy the image on her sweatshirt. The logo for Hidden Clues bookshop stares back at me. My stomach roils. I’d blame the beer, but it’s heartache.
“I like it.”
Shania beams, missing the indifference in my tone. “It’s the best. Willa’s the best. She sent all the books in the series, some stickers, Vellum pages, and cool fan art.” I don’t know what half those things are, but the way she’s carrying on about them, I’m guessing they’re good. Of course, Willa followed through with sending stuff.
“That’s cool.”
“The coolest. The kids in my English class are going to be so jealous I met Evelyn Ravenhurst. I can’t wait to rub it in.”
I go to correct her, but I don’t have the energy. It’s not Shania’s nature to make other people jealous, so for this one time, I’ll allow it. She deserves the best things in life, and this tops the list for her .
Wish I could say the same for myself.
Because I wasn’t miserable enough, I read all the books. Twice. I wrote questions in the margins, wanting to know how she came up with some things. When it hit me I’d never be able to ask her the questions and get the answers, the stupid cycle of depression started again.
“Want to go to the bar?” my brother prods.
“Not particularly.”
“Get a bite to eat at the diner?”
“No.”
“Go for a drive?” he tries.
“We’re not a couple.”
“Hit the strip club?”
“Is it even open on the holiday?”
Dax takes my question as interest, looking up the info on his phone. “No. Rats. You need to get laid, my friend.”
“Language, Dax,” our mother chides. “Little ears.”
“It’s okay, Gram. Uncle Beck does need to get laid. Though with the way he hasn’t shaved or taken a shower in however many days, no women will be lining up to do the deed.” Seven pairs of eyes swing Shania’s way. She holds up her hands and shrugs, like she’s an adult and speaks this way every day. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Except no one does.
Fuckers. All of them.
“I do not need to get laid.”
“Yeah, brother, you do. Willa did a number on you. You gotta fuck that girl out of your system.”
Now it’s Dad’s turn to reprimand Dax. “This isn’t appropriate language for Shania’s ears. Nor for New Year’s. Be respectful.”
“Uh, sorry, Shania.”
“No worse than what I watch on Outer Banks. ”
This conversation is going nowhere fast. Standing from the couch, I’m a little unsteady on my feet. I lost track of how much alcohol I consumed since I arrived. “I’m going to take off. Early morning at the shop tomorrow.”
Dad stands up. “I’ll drive you home. Come back for your truck tomorrow.”
“Solid plan.” I swipe the half-empty bottle of wine from the counter for later. I haven’t tried drowning my sorrows in wine. Perhaps that’s the solution.
ONE WEEK LATER
Drowning in alcohol isn’t the solution. Unless my goal is alcohol poisoning, then I’m achieving it. But trying to banish Willafred Gibson from my head isn’t being accomplished.
She’s there when I wake up, when I’m working, when I’m cooking dinner, and as I drift off to sleep. The term “invading my waking hours” doesn’t do how often I think about her justice. She’s constantly on my mind. I don’t know how to get her out of it.
Alcohol isn’t working.
Going out to the bar to pick up a woman isn’t working. Wouldn’t you know the first woman I talked to was named AJ? Yeah, because that’s not a sign or anything.
Getting myself off a few times a day is only making my hand chafed.
Nothing is helping. Not even a little.
I refuse to disturb her, though I’m now following all her social media pages.
Stalking. I’m stalking her. It’s mostly stuff about her books, no personal life updates, but it’s something. If memory serves, she might not even write the posts, but my wounded heart doesn’t care. It needs a Willa fix and if this is the only way to get it, then so be it.
The decorations are down, and now Main Street looks pitiful. It happens every year when the lights disappear, but this year hits harder. Between watching them dismantle my design and sharing the holiday with Willa, they might have well cut off a limb with how much life sucks right now.
Did I mention I’m dramatic when I’m sad? This is why I don’t do sad. I’m pathetic.
“Call her.” That’s Autumn’s advice. “Stop being a miserable fuck. Grow a pair of balls, tell her you miss her, and go see her.”
“Ha. Like it’s that easy.”
The comment earns me a harsh stare.
When she left, it was understood we were cutting ties. I won’t be the one to break the unspoken vow.
“Then at least be a miserable fuck at your own house.”
She earns a finger, but ten minutes later, I walk home. I hoped the frigid air might take away some of the miserableness, but alas, it does not.
There’s no place in my cabin that doesn’t hold a recollection of Willa, which makes it hard to be home, too. Work isn’t tainted with her memory, and neither is the cabin’s garage, so I spend a lot of my time in those two places. Even when I should sleep, I’m out in the garage, tinkering on the car. Restoring my granddad’s Mustang is a passion project Dax and I have been working on for years. Whether it’s tracking down the right parts or trying my hand at rebuilding the engine, it’s consumed many hours of my life. Last night I thought it would be wise to sleep out there, hoping I could get rest. I’m not planning on that again. The cement floor is way too unforgiving on my back.
“Have you showered today?” Heidi wonders, stirring something on the stove. She’s got her hand on her stomach like I’ve seen pregnant women with a belly do. It’s weird because she’s not showing at all.
“Does last night count?”
She studies me, looking for a clue or something. “If it’s true.”
I flip through the last few days. “It was last night or the night before. Can’t be one hundred percent certain.”
“I could understand your behavior if she broke your heart. ”
“She did,” I exclaim, meaning it. My heart cracked in the parking lot of the tavern. Even gorilla glue can’t mend this tear.
“It was a week. You went out with Luna for years and carried on like business as usual when she up and moved across the country, leaving you for another man.”
“I didn’t love her.”
If I had given prior thought to what I was saying, I wouldn’t admit that. But can’t take it back now.
Heidi’s brow raises, but that’s her only reaction. If she’s surprised by my comment, she hides it. “I repeat. A week. You can’t fall in love with someone that fast.”
“You can when she’s Willa. Besides, love at first sight is a real thing. Lenny, back me up.”
“Hated Heidi’s guts when I met her.” He laughs, cut off by his wife’s glare.
“Dad knows. Ask him. He’ll tell you it’s a thing.” I sound like I’m nine, arguing with her about the best way to string lights.
Heidi contemplates my statement. It will be hard to refute. We’ve memorized the story of how Mom and Dad met in high school when Dad’s family moved to Winterberry. Mom’s family practically founded the town, and Dad wanted to make a name for himself here while trying to impress her. To do so, he entered the town’s holiday lights contest. It was the first year a transplant to the town had won. Mom’s been smitten ever since. As she tells it, it wasn’t so much the win as his tenacity to design something majestic enough to dazzle the judges.
“What makes you so sure it’s love?” she asks.
I wave my arm over myself. “Why would I look like this? Why else would I be, in Autumn’s words, ‘a miserable fuck’?”
“Dude’s got a point. On Christmas Eve, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. And he had the look. Like he would do anything for her.”
“Thanks?” I muse. Is that a compliment?
“Then call her. You have her number. Use it. Maybe she’s miserable, too. You can be miserable together instead of apart. ”
“If we were together, I wouldn’t be miserable.”
She points a wooden spoon in my direction. “Even better.”
“What if she’s not miserable? What if she’s destined to find someone better than me?”
“You’re a pretty good catch, Becks. She’d be lucky to be on the receiving end of your affection.”
I’d like to think that’s true, and she’s not one to blow smoke up people’s asses.
“What if what we had wasn’t real? It’s not like our time together was ‘real life.’ She was on vacation, it was Christmas, I was on my best behavior, wanting to impress her.”
“Valid points.”
I wish she’d elaborate more, but she goes silent. I retreat into my head, thinking about Willa and how much I miss her.
“What if this is fate? Like you were destined to be on call that day she crashed?”
“Uh, I’m usually on call. Doesn’t seem very fateful to me.” Dax is supposed to share the duties, but nine times out of ten, calls default to me.
“What if it was fate that made her crash her car in Winterberry?” she tries.
It’s a theory I’ve worked through in my mind. She ended up here for a reason.
“What if it was only to give her the closure she needed?”
“What if you stop playing the ‘what if’ game and Call. Her?”
“I don’t like your tone of voice, young lady.”
“My tone of voice has nothing on your appearance, Elfie.”
I cringe at the nickname Autumn bestowed on me when I was a baby. Despite not wanting to go home, I stand up. “I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll see myself out.”
“Make yourself useful and take the trash out, would ya?” Heidi taunts.
“Bring me a plate later. I’ll be hungry then.” Not letting her argue, I pop a kiss on her cheek and take the bag out of the can, depositing it in the bin outside before getting into my truck .
Could it be as simple as “call her”?
What if she doesn’t answer?
What if she’s already forgotten about me?
What if . . .
I shake out of my stupor. “This is getting you nowhere. Man up and call her or let her go. What’ll it be, Beckett?”
Can’t wait to find out myself.