Chapter 33
33
HUDSON
How long does it take to get over a broken heart?
I typed the words into my search bar and scrolled through the results until I found research from 2007. It was a little old, but it would probably meet Claire’s standards.
Skimming through the research, I came up with an answer of ten weeks. Almost three months. And what if the woman who broke your heart lived a single floor away? I doubted there was research to answer the question, but I couldn’t imagine proximity would speed up my heart’s recovery.
I clicked my phone off, setting it in my lap, then clicked it back on, opening the text app to prove what I already knew. Claire hadn’t texted. She hadn’t called either, and now I found myself sitting on a street corner in little downtown Bridgeport, which was very sleepy at 11:22 PM . I opened my rideshare app, which revealed another fact I already knew. The car would be here in four minutes.
I’d already been sitting long enough to search not only for how long it would take to heal from heartbreak, but also how long it took to fall in love. If studies on the internet were to be believed, it was too soon to fall in love and I’d be back to myself in three months. I couldn’t stop myself from memorizing the actual statistics in case I saw Claire again. I assumed I’d be doing that for the next ten weeks.
A car pulled up and I stood, opening its door and slipping in the back. “How’s it going?” the driver asked. He was very cheery considering his job had to mostly consist of driving drunk people home. “You’re headed to Cranberry Falls?”
“That’s right,” I replied. I couldn't stay at the Davis house another night, or in Claire’s room at the B&B, silent and cold, pretending nothing was wrong, but I also couldn’t find a way home. That was a job for the morning. So, for today, I was heading to a place I knew would always have me.
I hit the button on the doorbell at 12:07, and the answer, which came almost immediately, was tinny but familiar in a way that made my chest ache. I missed it more than I realized. “Hudson? Is that you? What the fuck are you doing here?” The questions came rapid fire, broken up only long enough to squeeze in a few irritated little huffs. It made me smile.
I didn’t have time to reply before the door swung open, and I was face-to-face with a scowling Sammie. “Hey, Sam,” I said.
“Get in here, you’re letting the bugs in,” she grunted, but she threw her arms around my waist as soon as the door clicked behind us. “Are you okay? Did that woman turn out to be crazy? I thought she might be crazy. I mean, who would invite someone they just started dating to travel with them? A crazy person.”
Sammie seemed to be handling both sides of the conversation just fine, so I didn’t interrupt. I gave her a hug, dropped my bag on the floor, and then watched her ramble to herself, my lips kicking up in a weary smile.
“Why are you not saying anything?” she demanded finally.
I shrugged. “Didn’t look like you needed my help.”
She punched my shoulder ineffectually. “Are you even going to ask why I’m home so early on a Saturday night?”
I glanced at my watch with a chuckle. “Is it early? I’ve gotten old.”
Sammie grunted, leading the way through her tiny rental into the living room, then sitting down on the couch. “You should tell me everything, from the beginning, but I know you won’t.”
She was right, although more because I couldn’t bear to relive it right now than because I didn’t want to share with Sammie. “In a nutshell, I really like Claire, but she’s been burned in the past, and she can’t see me—or any man, I think—as anything other than temporary. She can’t trust me.”
Sammie rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh my God, give me her number and I’ll tell her you’re boring as hell and a hopeless romantic to boot.”
My eyebrow twitched irritably. “I’m not…either of those things,” I muttered, though my hesitation may’ve given away the fact that I was second-guessing myself. Maybe she was right and I was both.
“It’s not a crime to admit you like the idea of cuddling on the couch watching Netflix until death do you part.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words that popped out were, “Have you seen The Tinder Swindler ?”
“Everyone’s seen The Tinder Swindler . Nobody’s even talking about The Tinder Swindler anymore. Except you, probably because you watched it with this woman. Am I right?”
I didn’t answer her, but years of interactions had taught Sammie silence was as good as admission.
“So what are you going to do?” she asked.
“I was hoping to sleep and rent a car to go home tomorrow,” I replied.
Sammie looked at me thoughtfully. “I’ll do you one better. I have to drive into the city on Monday for work. If you don’t mind hanging in town for an extra day, you can drive with me.” She grinned. “We’ll bond and you’ll save a hundred bucks.”
Sleep didn’t come easy, but I still didn’t feel like getting up the next morning. Had Claire stayed in the B&B alone? Was she staring at a strange ceiling now, missing me the way I missed her?
I grunted, looking at my watch. Probably not. She had to be up for the morning-after brunch. It was the last event before she drove home this afternoon. I imagined she’d be embarrassed to attend without me, but I couldn’t worry about that right now.
“Jesus. Are you just staring at the ceiling? You’re a mess.” I looked up to see Sammie standing over me, grimacing.
“I was just getting up,” I mumbled, sitting up and rubbing both hands over my face.
“I’m going out to brunch,” she said, sitting next to me and patting my knee. “I’d invite you, but I don’t want you to come.”
I snorted out a laugh, though Sammie’s bluntness rarely surprised me. “Thanks, Sam. You really know how to make a guy feel better.”
“It’s my weekly girls’ brunch,” she said defensively. “It’s in the name. If we start bringing men it’ll become some co-ed bullshit. I didn’t sign up for that. Anyway,” she continued, “half my friends have a crush on you, and that’s gross.” She put a single hand up as if she were stopping all possible discussion of her friends’ interest in me, huffing irritably.
“Maybe I could use a rebound,” I joked. I’d known most of her friends since childhood, and had no interest in them, but Sammie was fun to mess with.
She stood, hanging her hands on her hips. “Don’t be repugnant. Why don’t you go visit Mom and Dad or something?”
I’d already thought of how I wanted to spend my day, and it didn’t involve my parents or a gaggle of girls getting drunk on Sunday morning mimosas. “I’m going to go see Amy.”
Sammie’s hands dropped from her hips, her eyes going wide. “Why? What are you going to say to her?”
“Mom says she’s engaged.”
Sammie’s frown deepened. “She is, Hud, and she’s doing better. It’s not fair of you to screw that up.”
I inhaled deeply, knowing Sammie’s heart was in the right place. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I was going to give her my blessing.”
Sammie’s brow winged up. “She doesn’t need your blessing.”
“Fuck, Samantha, I know that,” I snapped. “Mom said she’d appreciate it. I was trying to do something good for a change. Instead of fucking everything up.”
“You don’t fuck everything up, Hudson,” she said quietly.
I’d fucked up things with Claire, and with my family, and saving Lawrence. It was a nice thing to say, but we both knew it wasn’t true, and I rested my arms on my knees, sighing.
Sammie hiked up her long dress and knelt down in front of me, the way one might squat to talk to a toddler. “Hud,” she said gently, and I looked up to meet her gaze. “Except Amy, no one on Earth was closer to Lawrence than you, I know that, but it tore the whole family apart, losing him, you know?”
“I know that,” I ground out, my voice strained. Of course I knew that. Not one day went by that I didn’t think about the way that night had broken my whole family.
She tipped her face, silently demanding I maintain eye contact while she spoke. “Because I think there are a couple things you’ve never understood.”
My breath came in ragged gulps, but I held her gaze, bracing myself for whatever revelations were forthcoming. She had the right to tell me the truth.
“Me, Mom, Dad, Amy—we know you would’ve done anything to save him. We know you would’ve killed yourself to save him if that beam hadn’t stopped you.” Her voice sounded hoarse, and tears burned at the backs of my eyes. I looked down at my knees.
“And Hud, losing Lawrence was the hardest thing to happen to any of us, but if we’d lost you, too…I don’t think Mom and Dad would’ve survived that.” She sniffed hard, but even as I looked down at my knees I could see her gaze never wavered. “Sometimes I worry you think you should’ve died that night. Like you owed that to Lawrence. And I don’t think you realize how grateful we are to still have you.” Her voice broke, but I couldn’t fill the silence, because tears clogged my throat, flowing freely from my eyes to make little wet circles on my pant legs.
She leaned forward, wrapping me in a hug, and though I wanted to say thank you or I love you, all I could do was cry.
“This family needs you— I need you,” Sammie choked out.
“Okay,” was all I could say, and hopefully she understood.
Hudson: Are you free today? I’d like to talk
Amy: ok
It was hard to read into the two little letters, and I stared at the phone, questioning this idea, not for the first time today.
Amy: 785 George Street
Hudson: Noon ok? I can bring lunch. You still like Filone?
I could so easily picture Amy and Lawrence sharing sub sandwiches from the little shop downtown.
Amy: That would be good. Thank you.
It was almost eleven already, so I began the walk that would take me from Sammie’s little apartment to the downtown.
It was a bit of a hike, but the day was cooler and a slight breeze ran through my hair. The sky was the most vibrant blue—an absolutely perfect day—in complete contrast to the emotions that roiled violently in my stomach.
I’d tried not to think about what Sammie said, but now, with nothing else to think about, my brain tried to make sense of the information. I’d blamed myself for Lawrence’s death since the first instant I awoke in the hospital. It was only logical that everyone else saw the night with the same clarity. The idea that Mom and Dad might be relieved to have one of us—well, even if it were true, I couldn’t help but think they’d rather it have been Lawrence.
I picked up the sandwiches—a veggie sub for me and an Italian for Amy, then walked to the address she’d given me. I got there at five till twelve, but didn’t bother to stall.
Amy answered after a single knock. “Hudson,” she said on a breath, her brow creasing.
I regretted coming instantly. Surely Mom was wrong about Amy wanting to see me, and that was okay. “I’m sorry, Amy. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Don’t go. I just—God, I forgot how much you two looked alike,” she said, regaining her voice, though a tremble remained. “Come in,” she said, stepping back and out of the way.
I followed Amy into a tidy kitchen, sitting down opposite her at the kitchen island. “Your mom said you moved into the city.”
“I did,” I agreed.
“You like it there?”
I ripped my sandwich in half, picking up the larger side. “It’s good. I got a job as a paramedic. It hasn’t been easy—because of COVID, you know—but I like it.”
“I’m glad. I know your mom misses you, though.” She took a dainty bite from the edge of her sandwich.
“I miss her, too. I miss the whole family.”
“You should visit more then,” she replied, and I frowned.
“I don’t—I don’t like to be here.”
“Because of the memories.” It wasn’t a question. If there was anyone in the world who understood how I felt, it was Amy. And yet she stayed in Cranberry Falls. “It gets better, Hud, if you let it.”
A week ago I wouldn’t have believed her, but in the past few days I’d made new memories in Cranberry Falls. My mind drifted to Claire, as it had at every opportunity over the past eighteen hours. And then the irony hit me—and I almost laughed out loud—because now Claire was just one more painful memory.
“My mom told me you were getting married,” I said, needing a new topic.
Amy looked down at her sandwich, then back up at me. She’d barely eaten. Needing something to do, I took another bite. “Are you angry?” she asked quietly.
I hadn’t expected her to be quite so blunt, and I wasn’t sure of the answer. I didn’t like it, but was I angry? “No,” I replied. “It’s just…hard. Do I know him?”
When she looked down at her sandwich this time she didn’t look up again, a sure sign I knew the man she was marrying. I braced myself. If I was sure of anything, it was that Lawrence would’ve wanted Amy to move on and be happy. “It’s Mike Kramme.”
I clenched my teeth, fighting the rage that roiled in my stomach. “Mike Kramme from our company?” Mike had been a couple years older than Lawrence, and though he’d worked a different shift from the two of us, he’d worked Engine 416, same as Lawrence.
Amy looked up, challenging me to reply, and I inhaled deeply. “How’d you meet?”
She snorted softly. “At the grocery store. I didn’t know he was a firefighter, or I wouldn’t have given him the time of day.”
I nodded, knowing I should say something more, or give her my blessing like Mom wanted, but I couldn’t speak—didn’t know what I would say, and I took a bite of my sandwich to fill the void.
“Do you think I want you to be unhappy?” Amy asked, surprising me out of my thoughts.
“No,” I answered automatically.
“Mike asked me to marry him almost a year ago, but I said no, because I thought you’d be upset.”
“Amy—” I protested.
“I felt like you’d given up so much, and if I moved on and was happy, it wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“I want you to be happy, Amy,” I said, but the words didn’t have the emotion I knew they should.
“Do you feel like that, Hudson, like if you’re happy you’re betraying everyone who loved Lawrence?”
Anxiety snaked through me, cold and oppressive. Of course I felt like that, but it wasn’t something you said out loud. I wasn’t going to martyr myself on Lawrence’s memory.
“I know you do,” she replied before I could answer.
“It was my job to save him,” I said through gritted teeth.
“No, it wasn’t. You had an order to pull out. Lawrence shouldn’t have turned back.”
I shook my head, my teeth clenched so tight my ears rang. “He turned back to save that boy.”
“The boy died,” she said softly. But I knew that. Of course I knew that. “And Lawrence died, and it was a miracle they were able to get to you, Hud. The three men who pulled you out had families.”
“Stop. I know that shit,” I demanded. She was telling me like the guilt didn’t eat at me every damn day.
“I loved Lawrence with every fiber of my being. I still love Lawrence,” she said, and the tears burned at the backs of my eyes, just as they had this morning. “And I knew him better than anyone on Earth.”
Not better than me. My jaw ticked.
“Except maybe you. You knew him,” she said, as if she could read my damn thoughts—probably because they were written all over my face. “So you know as well as I do how impulsive he could be. How reckless. How much he lived for the adrenaline high.”
“He was a good firefighter,” I gritted out.
“He was,” she agreed. “But he made a bad call, and that’s not your fault. No one blames you.”
I did. I blamed myself every minute of every day. “Amy—” I choked out, but I didn’t know what more to say. I wanted her to stop talking.
She sighed. “And you don’t have to make yourself unhappy for me or anyone else. You don’t owe anybody that, and Lawrence wouldn’t have wanted it. It would’ve broken his heart.”
I pressed my palms to my face, but I didn’t stand a chance of stopping the tears that came, tears that shook my whole body. Amy must’ve stood, must’ve walked to me, though I didn’t see her, because her arms were around me, and she held me, and for a long time we didn’t speak.
And then, finally, I said, “I’m sorry.”
And she said, “I know.”