7. Jeb
Chapter seven
Jeb
I’m stifling gags with every step I take. When we lower the sectional onto the trailer in the driveway, I meet Fallon’s eye. She’s hosing down her porch, and I about double over again.
“Let me get that.” I jog toward her, letting muscle memory take over as I lift my feet off the ground. Minus twice-a-week physical therapy sessions, today’s the first day I’ve been physically active since the accident. I used to jog a couple of times a week. Strength training, conditioning, weekend tennis matches, and biking to work were standard. My muscles will be screaming tomorrow from the exertion, but I’ll relish it.
Mental pain isn’t sufficient penance for me now that I know Fallon’s moving out of the house she shared with him. The home she filled with him. Their future crumbled that day, I know. It’s not a new concept that I devastated many lives that day. I’ve thought about it in depth. I just never thought I’d ever face this reality.
It guts me. All I ever wanted to do with my life was save lives. I joined the volunteer firehouse as a junior when I was fourteen, when all they’d let me do was sweep floors and clean bathrooms. At sixteen, I was old enough to take a basic first responder course. Eighteen is when I became an EMT. At twenty, I finished the paramedic program at Jubilee Community College.
“It’s all right,” she says impassively.
“I’d like to,” I tell her gently. “I’m so sorry.”
She holds out the hose, and I take it from her, noticing a little stepping stone of an angel on the porch.
The water sloshes around, coating the mulch in the garden. I can’t tell if the water is actually working to dissipate the vomit through the tears in my eyes.
I chance a glance back at the … widow? What do they call the fiancée of a dead man? Do they not have a term for that?
She’s giving me a look, like she feels sorry for me.
How is that possible?
“It’s okay, Jeb.” She touches the back of my arm, and I lose it. The tears fall about as fast as the water coming from the hose. I’m not mentally stable enough to stop. I gasp, my breathing shallow and erratic.
“Jeb, the furniture isn’t going to move itself. Wipe your eyes, and let’s go, man. I have Easter dinner to get to,” Corbin yells from the driveway.
I do as I’m told, attempting to be as amicable as possible, lifting the edge of my sleeve to wipe my eyes.
“You do?” Fallon asks her brother. “Are you going to Aunt Gennie’s?”
“No, I’m going to Oak’s. Not il five, though.”
“Oak’s? Have you ever been there for Easter before?” Fallon asks skeptically.
“No, but I agreed to help your ass, and Oak’s family eats later than ours. You can come if you want.” He smiles warmly at his sister.
“No thanks.” She scrunches her face as Corbin walks past us, letting the screen door slam shut behind him.
“I’m sorry again,” I tell Fallon, handing the hose back to her.
“It’s fine, Jeb, honestly,” she says, and I don’t argue with the conviction I hear in her voice.
As soon as we lift the table, my brain enters zombie mode, and I stop thinking for the next hour.
One at a time, we wedge boxes into Fallon’s car. One is labeled Kitchen Utensils , another is marked Fallon’s Winter Shoes . The next box I start to pick up simply says Rhett , and I lose it again. Just like that, my heart thrashes in my chest, and my brain pounds in my skull. All of those memories dredged at lightning speed.
I can’t remove the man’s belongings from his home. He should be crossing the threshold with his beautiful bride in a few months. It shouldn’t be me schlepping his things over the same threshold in a box.
I leave it, scanning the pile of boxes to see how many others I’ll have to avoid, but it’s just this one. One fucking box of Rhett’s things.
The noise in my head roars, and my vision tunnels until that one box is the only thing I can see. My eyes lock on the looped handwriting. Like a toddler, I collapse to the floor amidst a sea of boxes. I snort, choke, and sniffle through uncontrollable sobs.
I deserve this anguish. God knows it. Rhett knows it. That’s why, of all days, I come to apologize on moving day. Not for extra help for Fallon, but because this is what I get for killing a man.
Why me?
“I’ll get that box, Jeb. But there’s plenty more to grab, and I don’t want Fally to see you like this. She’s already cried over this box about a hundred times. She’s doing good today. Now blow your nose in the bathroom and haul a different one.” Her brother heaves the Rhett box to his shoulder.
I have no better option than to do as he says, hiding in the bathroom for a few minutes to calm my mind and gather my bearings. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and find Fallon in the cramped hallway, removing pictures from the wall and placing them into a box. Fuck my life.
For the past six months, I haven’t been able to figure out what I did to deserve this chain of events. I live a simple, quiet life. I work for a living to save people, for fuck’s sake. I was voted Most Likely to Help Someone in Need as my senior superlative.
Why me?
I freeze, fixated on Fallon’s hand as she shakily plucks the next frame from the wall. The picture is one of her and Rhett, of course. They’re standing near the edge of a rocky cliff with deep green trees surrounding them. Rhett has his arms around her, tightly and secured, like a prom pose. She’s laughing, and if his sunglasses were off, I’m certain I’d be able to see the crinkles around his eyes.
I gulp while her delicate hand places the memory gently in the box. She stands on her toes to reach for the next one, and I grab the door frame for support, remembering her brother’s words. Fallon doesn’t need my shit right now. I’ve done enough.
God knows I’ve done enough.
“He pretended to hate the city, but he really loved it. As long as there were no crowds,” she says as she removes the next frame. A picture of Rhett and her in a crowded bar, both sitting on barstools.
Next, one without Rhett. “My family at my mom’s graduation. She got her master’s degree later in life. Speech Therapy.” She shows me the picture, then grabs a piece of newspaper from the floor and tucks them both into the box.
“Rhett hated this one. Always said his beard was trimmed funny that day.” Another pried from the wall and stuffed into the box.
“This was the day we got Gordy, our tuxedo cat. Rhett didn’t want a cat, but they became BFFs almost instantly. I’m not even sure the cat likes me now.” She shows me, then it’s in the box.
“This was the last wedding Rhett and I went to. We talked about what we liked and what we didn’t like so we could plan our own wedding. We agreed to have a photo booth. But not dry cake, pie instead, just to be different. We argued about having a DJ versus a band, but he let me win because DJs can play more of a variety and—” She breaks off, her voice cracking, and we both dissolve into tears.
They won’t have a DJ or a band. They won’t have pie. Or a photo booth. I’ve ruined her plans. Ruined her life.
Fallon drops the picture into the box, face down like the others, as she crumbles to the floor, sobbing.
“I should’ve asked Corbin to take these down. As much as I prepared myself, I should’ve known it wasn’t a good idea to jog down memory lane.” She leans over to hold her head in her hands.
“I’m so sorry, Fallon,” I tell her, my eyes stinging. “Every day, I wish it was me instead. I really do. I honestly would give anything to do that day over again and have God take me instead.”