10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Faith
T he last thing I want to do is get out of bed. Saturdays in the ER are always hell, but when I remember it's Sunday, part of me perks up, and before I know it, I'm making coffee downstairs.
Sundays are my reconnect day. They hold a special place in my heart, a time when I feel closest to Chelsea. The closest I can get is speaking to her headstone, sitting beside her as if she's still here. These visits usually bring a sense of peace, a way to connect with her memory. But this Sunday is different. Today, I'm consumed by a stale, gnawing frustration about Derek that I can't seem to shake. The weight of it presses down on me, and I need to unburden myself. She's still my best friend, "dead or alive."
Like I do every week, I throw on my warmest winter boots, coat, and beanie before making the drive to the cemetery. It sounds silly, but every time I make the drive, it somehow feels like a standing coffee date with her. Every week, it's penciled in as time to catch up or just to talk.
On my way, I stop on the side of the road to pick up the tallest yellow wildflower I can find, as the rest of them are dying out with the colder weather, before carefully setting it on the passenger seat and driving off again.
By the time I pull into the cemetery parking lot, snow is just starting to fall, dusting the headstones in a light blanket of ice as my boots crunch under the cold grass when I make my way to Chelsea's grave. Tucked under a tall oak tree, I find her headstone, a cold, gray reminder that she's still gone but still here at the same time. I rest the flower just under her name and sit down, my back propped up against the oak tree, her oak tree, and let out a heavy sigh.
"Chels, I don't even know where to begin," I start. The icy ground made me wish I had brought a blanket to sit on, so I hugged my knees to my chest for warmth.
"I know I normally talk to you about good things going on in my life, but I just need to vent, if that's okay," I start. "I know you loved him, but Derek has turned into the biggest prick you've ever known. You wouldn't even recognize him. Hell, I barely recognize the guy. I still can't believe how close the three of us used to be, and now we've turned into… a fucking shit show."
I wait for something to happen, a response from beyond the grave, but not so much as a sudden breeze passes by, so I keep going.
"I know I've shared snippets about how he's been throughout the years when we've run into each other, but this latest episode takes the cake," I say, catching her up on what happened at the holiday party. "I can't believe how much his words still hurt me after all these years, so I… Well, I decided to fight back a bit finally. I figured a kick to the crotch would do, but when he wasn't his usual six-foot four height, I threw in a punch to his eye for good measure."
Reflecting on that night fills me with deep sadness and achiness in the pit of my stomach. It's natural for women to overthink and seek validation for every word and action. I envision Chelsea standing there, watching Derek's actions unfold and affirming my feelings. She would have agreed that he deserved what he got, maybe even pushing me to act more forcefully or sooner. Yet, despite this imagined support, Derek's words still pierce through my thoughts, causing the same relentless pain. The sorrow they bring is a constant companion, never allowing the wounds to close.
She'd be on my side and agree that Derek had it coming. Part of me wonders if Chelsea would have told me to hit harder or have done so sooner because, in my mind, what I did was deserved and long overdue. But still, his words stay with me and cause the same pain as they always do.
"But the words I'll never forget are yours, Chelsea," I say, and I can feel my throat tighten. "I know you asked me to keep him, to look out for him, but he wouldn't let me. Damn it, I tried too. I tried so many fucking times, but he's just so…. Ugh, stubborn!
"I've thought about telling him the last thing you said, but I know he would never believe me. I could tell him the sky was blue, and he'd call me crazy. I want to make things right with him, but I need to figure out how. He's a totally different person."
The words alone hurt, but they hurt even more when one of my favorite memories of him comes to mind, and I still can't help but smile when I think of it.
"Do you remember that one Valentine's Day when I didn't have a date? I was so depressed that year for some reason; I can't remember why. But I remember Derek sent you and me flowers, but my flowers got to me before yours did," I say, my chuckle taking me by surprise. "And he didn't send roses like every other guy does. He asked you what my favorite flowers were and sent me yellow tulips instead. You have no idea how many times I've wished I could return to when things were good. I miss the Derek I used to know, but he's long gone, like out of the ballpark over the fence gone. I wonder if he misses the old Derek, too, you know?
"I wish you were here to tell me what I should do or give me a sign. Please, girl, show me a sign, and I'll do it. Put it right in front of me, please." I felt the tears start to gather, just staring at her headstone.
They say that those who are quiet enough to listen can learn from what the dead have to say, so I sit so still that my breath is the only sound coming from me. Once again, I wait for something—a breeze, a twig snapping, anything—but for a while, nothing comes.
It's not until I hear something stirring behind me and I turn around that I find Derek himself, leaning against a nearby tree, flowers in hand, watching me with a bruised eye. I get to my feet, and I'm already filled with the anger I felt the last time we met.
"What? Are you going to kick me out of a freaking cemetery too?" I snap at him.
"No, nothing like that," he says calmly as he makes his way towards Chelsea's grave. "I thought I'd give you some space so you two could talk," he says as he lays Chelsea's favorite flowers, daisies, next to mine.
"Well, we're not done talking," I insist. "I still haven't told her all the horrible things you said before you got that shiner."
I wait for him to bark back, to jump into his verbal attacks like he always does, but his face remains uncontested from anger. Instead, a small smile looks down on her grave.
"You talk to her like you've done this before," he says, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.
"It's because I have. Every Sunday," I answer. "Wait, how much did you hear?"
"Basically all of it," his voice carrying a hint of understatement. I was walking up the second you sat down. It sounds like you got a lot off your chest."
"I did," I answer, bracing myself for the inevitable onslaught. But he stands there, silent. My heart sinks as I realize he’s not reacting. "You're not going to snap at me for it? You're not going to yell at me? How dare I come here and blah, blah, blah?" My voice cracks with the weight of my own expectations. The emptiness of his reaction is almost worse than the anger I expected.
"That's the last thing I'm going to do," he says, his gaze drifting around. "There's a lot more trees here than there were before."
"Uh, yeah," I agree, remembering how bare things looked a few years before. "When was the last time you were here?"
"Her funeral," he admits, and I can hear the pain in his voice when his eyes roam her headstone. "It just didn't seem right. She was always so much more than her name and a couple of dates. I didn't want this to be a memory of her."
I can't help but agree with him. It's sad. The most bright and vibrant people in life are reduced to the most cold, gloomy image in death—a rock with a name and some dates. I used to think Derek thought the sun rose and set on Chelsea, so it makes sense he'd have a hard time coming here.
"I think that's why people make sure their loved one's grave is always decorated," I say, pointing to the ones dawned with fake snow, jingle bells that chime in the wind, and gold and silver garland. The best season is Halloween. There are a lot of people who celebrate Day of the Dead, and this whole place is like a sea of marigolds."
"I guess with such a gloomy place like this, it's a necessity to bring some color with you," he says, pointing to the yellow wildflower.
"I'd take this memory over the accident any day," I mumble. "What made you decide to come down here anyway?"
"Would you believe me if I said I came here because I kept hearing her voice telling me to? I wouldn't have come if it weren't for that," he asks, his dark eyes locking with mine. "I always dream of her, but I never hear her voice nagging at me during the day," he chuckles.
"They say the sound of someone's voice is the first thing we forget when they die," I reply.
"That's why I knew there was something important for me here," he says. "You could imagine my surprise when I saw you."
"Likewise," I reply, but we both stand silently for a moment, staring at Chelsea's grave, unsure of the other. "So, what now?"
"Well, you asked her for a sign on what to do with me, if I heard correctly," he says. "What do you think her sign meant?"
"I'm not sure myself, honestly."
"I think maybe… this might be a chance to apologize for what happened at the party," he says. "I shouldn't have said what I said to you. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair to me. I'm sorry."
I'm so taken aback by his words that part of me thinks I should pinch myself just to make sure I'm not dreaming. For years, he's held so much animosity towards me that hearing the words I'm sorry to fall out of his mouth is almost impossible to believe.
"Well, I'm sure the holiday drinks didn't help," I say. "I guess I should apologize," I say, pointing to his shiner.
"No, no, you shouldn't," he half grins, shaking his head. "This, I deserved."
"To be honest, I only intended to kick you in the groin. When I saw how low you hunched over, that was just extra."
"Again, I deserved it," he says. "Can I ask you something, though?"
"Sure."
"When you told Chelsea you missed the old me, what did you mean?"
Suddenly, his eyes strike me like those of someone asking for the truth but afraid to hear it.
"Well, besides sending me flowers on Valentine's Day, you were always there whenever someone needed you," I start. It didn't matter who called or what was going on. You were there. I remember that was something Chelsea and I admired most about you. I used to tell her that if I could find a man and copy-paste your personality to him, then I'd find my prince charming," I say, feeling slightly embarrassed by my own admission.
"Come on, you're making that shit up," he chuckles.
"Nope, unfortunately not," I insist. Once I finally got away from Ryan, I found myself wishing for someone who treated me the way you treated Chelsea. It's weird, but you became the yardstick that I measured all other men by—not to inflate your ego, of course."
"Just slightly," he smirks. "I didn't know you two talked about me."
"Uh, all girls talk to their best friends about their boyfriends, duh," I chuckle. "She loved that the three of us were as close as we were. That's what I meant when I said I missed the old you."
"Yeah, I'm missing the old me too," he says quietly, his eyes falling to Chelsea's grave again.
"Seeing as this is the first time in four years that we've been able to talk like mature adults, can I propose something?" I ask.
"Sure."
"I know things aren't perfect, but can we at least agree to be polite when we see each other now?" I ask. "I'm not sure about you, but I'm exhausted walking around on eggshells waiting for a screaming match."
"I can do that," he says. "I think four years is long enough."
"Does that mean you've forgiven me?" I ask.
He hesitates, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding mine until a strong breeze kicks in, and I can't help but feel it's Chelsea telling him to pull his head out of his ass.
"I'm getting there," he says, forcing the words out.
"I can work with that," I gently say, and a bit of relief flashes across his eyes. "Forgiveness isn't for the other person; it's for you. Remember that."
"I know," he says.
"I think I've filled our girl in enough for today," I whisper, "I'm going to head back home and get some things done."
"Drive safe," he nods.
"Always," I say before saying goodbye to Chelsea I can feel myself holding back tears. As I start to walk behind his back to my car, he reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me back towards him. Instantly, I brace myself; this is it he's going to unleash on me now.
A flood of emotions comes over me, and I feel the tears drop off my cheeks. Derek raises his hand, and I flinch back. Gently, he wipes the tears from my face, then slowly braces my face between his hands. "Faith, I really am sorry." Face to face, we stood. The wind picked up, whipping around us so vigorously that I stumbled on my feet into him. The shock sored through my body as I found myself wrapped in his arms, a bear hug tight and warm; I returned his gesture and wrapped my arms around him, digging my head into his chest, crying.
He wasn't pushing me away; he was just holding me, letting me release my built-up anger, hurt, and tears on him.
As I started to pull back from him, he placed a kiss on my forehead. "We will be okay," he said. I smiled and nodded without saying another word and headed back to my car. There, I watched Derek crouch down and sit back against the tree, having a conversation that I'm sure is long overdue.
Things with Derek aren't perfect. They aren't what they were before the accident, but things are better than they were before the party. Our conversation felt awkward, but the relief it gave us, or me at least, was something I never thought I would have again. I didn't know the two of us could ever have a conversation that didn't turn into a screaming match of blame games and guilt trips.
Somehow, in the span of twenty minutes or so, the man not only visited her grave for the first time in years but was also able to put his anger aside and start to make things right. I still can't believe it, so when I get to the next red light, I pinch my arm just to make sure it's all real. I get even more assurance when I turn on the radio and Chelsea's favorite song starts playing.
"I got it," I say as if Chelsea is beside me. "I hear you loud and clear."