Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hate and Love are Buds
EMILY
T he ride down the mountain was a blur—partially because the snowy hills and dark asphalt highway all streaked together thanks to the tears I didn’t seem to be able to stop, and partially because of the constant noise in my head.
Why did I tell him at all? I was going home. He never needed to know...
But I loved him. I knew it with a certainty I’d felt about very few things in my life before. That writing was my calling. That one day I’d leave San Diego. That the texture of yogurt was disgusting. And now? I knew that I loved Archie Kasper, a man whose name I’d known far longer than the man himself, a man who was nothing like the monster I’d imagined him to be.
And because of that, telling him had been the right thing to do. The only thing. But I couldn’t help mourning the loss of the opportunity for a future between us. As long as he hadn’t known, he’d looked at me in a way that told me our feelings were mutual. He’d even spoken the words—words I’d longed to hear my whole life.
Now?
It was gone.
The spark of connection in those deep blue eyes had been suffocated the second I’d uttered the words, told him who I really was.
An irrational part of me insisted that it should drive us closer—we’d both known Jake.
I knew, however, that it was the deceit that had made that impossible. Still, if I’d told him the second we met, I knew there would have been no chance at all.
I dropped my head into my hands as I sat on the plane. I hadn’t gone there to fall in love with Archie Kasper, or to make him fall in love with me.
I’d gone to prove to myself that people were just people, that blaming a stranger for an accident didn’t do anything to help alleviate the pain of the accident having occurred. It didn’t bring my brother back. It didn’t make my family whole.
Hating Archie Kasper was every bit as painful and hopeless as loving him.
I spent a miserable night at my apartment, nursing my wounds, and then went to my parents’ house Tuesday afternoon, planning to share as little as possible.
The landscape around the little house looked unchanged—nothing unusual in Southern California. But it was odd because the landscape inside me was a completely new terrain, changed fundamentally by the time I’d spent in Colorado.
“There she is!” Mom lifted her head from the flowerbed she was tending in front of the house, her blue floppy hat vibrant against the stuccoed white wall behind her. “I’m so glad you’re home.” She rose, and came to meet me, pulling me into her for a hug.
Mom smelled like sunshine and earth, the way she’d always smelled since leaving the professional kitchens that had infused her with the scents of lemon and garlic most of the time. She was a little taller than me still, and when she released me and stepped back, still holding my shoulders so she could look into my face, her smile fell.
“Oh no,” she said. “What is it, honey?”
I shook my head, working to affect a lightness I didn’t feel. When had my mother become so perceptive? Or was my heartbreak that obvious? “Nothing, everything’s great. How’s Dad?” I pulled my purse back up my shoulder after it had slid down during our hug.
“Your father’s pretty much the same. He’s been a little more worked up, knowing you were...traveling.”
“Right.” I didn’t want to consider how much more upset he’d be if he knew the whole story.
Mom turned and gathered her spade and clippers into a bucket, then set those next to the front steps as we headed to the front door. Before we went inside, she stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “Is everything really okay? Or did something happen there? With him?”
“Everything’s fine, Mom.” Really, everything would never be fine again, but I didn’t want to give my mother anything more to worry about. She’d lost a son. It was my job to be light and bright—I didn’t get to have problems. My parents had been through enough.
Mom blew out a breath, as if she’d been holding it the whole time I’d been away, waiting to see if the monster might steal yet another child from her grasp and relieved to find me whole.
The thing was, in some ways, Archie Kasper had changed my life as irrevocably as he’d changed my parents’ lives. None of us would ever be the same.
“Honey, Em is home,” Mom called to my father, who sat staring at a golf match with an annoyed look, as if he’d only just realized it wasn’t enough action to distract him from whatever was going on in his head.
“Glad you’re back,” he said, not turning to look at me.
So he was still angry at me, then. Not that I was surprised.
“We’ll have dinner in a bit,” Mom told me, angling her head in a way that told me she was actually telling Dad. “Drinks on the patio first?”
“I’ll be out in a bit,” Dad said, glancing at us and then turning back to the sprawling greens of whatever golf course he was watching.
I followed my mother through the kitchen, and soon we were sitting out back, the glittering expanse of the Pacific Ocean dominating the view before us as the setting sun sparked on its surface. I released a sigh as I sat, taking in the view. It always calmed me, connected me to something I didn’t understand. I knew that even if I lived somewhere else, somewhere dominated by land or trees or rocks, I’d always need to return to the ocean at times to feel centered and grounded. It was part of my soul. And this ocean, in particular, was part of my family.
Staring out at the Pacific was, in some ways, visiting my brother again. We didn’t discuss it, but I knew my parents felt it too. How could we look at the expanse of that deep, cold ocean and not think of the part of our family who would remain there forever?
We sat, and as I stared out at the landscape ahead of us, the sadness and pain crept back in, finally catching me despite my efforts to pretend it wasn’t there. I wasn’t going to cry in front of my mother—nothing good would come of admitting what had really happened in Kasper Ridge.
“Tell me about the trip,” Mom said, touching the lip of her wine glass to mine.
I took a sip of my wine and then did my best to gird myself, to drop the shields over the very tender wounds I was nursing.
“The place is incredible,” I began. “Have you ever been to Colorado?”
“Once, driving through the very southernmost part,” she said, crossing her long legs and smiling at me.
“It was really beautiful.” I described the ever-ascending ride up to the resort, told her about the wood and glass hotel that both stood out and blended so naturally into the mountain where it sat, and about the dark, close beauty of the trees that towered over you wherever you went. “It was one of those places where you could feel nature’s power,” I said, letting my eyes drift shut for just a second as I remembered the wide expanses of jagged rock jutting from hillsides, the temperamental nature of the weather. “Kind of like the ocean, I guess. Mountains like that make you feel small, remind you that humans are just one part of everything, you know?”
Mom nodded, a wistful smile on her face. “It sounds like maybe you fell in love a little bit.”
Oh god. If only I could tell her. My heart winced with pain, as if hearing the word “love” was a physical assault.
“And the best part,” I went on, nodding a hello to my father as he stepped down the back stairs and joined my mother on the couch, a beer in his hand and a scowl on his face, “was that we actually solved the treasure hunt. I got my story, and I’m just waiting to hear whether it will land the cover.” The excitement I should have felt was muted. Did it even matter anymore?
“What was the treasure?” Mom asked, leaning forward slightly.
“Uh . . . love? I guess.” My heart withered even more.
Dad made a face. “What? How do you hunt for love?”
How could I explain the whole thing without going into a detailed description of Archie’s family history? Without talking about Archie himself?
“The man who built the resort fell in love with his best friend’s fiancé. And when she loved him too, they ran away together and never looked back.”
“Sounds like kind of a bastard,” Dad said.
“There was a lot more to it.” I felt suddenly defensive of Archie’s uncle. “The uncle and his best friend had both sworn not to do anything about the feelings they had for this woman.”
“Like...bros over hos?” Mom asked, earning a frown from my father and making me laugh.
“Exactly,” I told her. “But Rudy broke his promise and proposed, and made the girl think that the other man—Marvin—didn’t love her. So she accepted.”
“Ohh,” Mom said, understanding lighting her smile.
“So when the girl reached out to Marvin to tell him she wasn’t going to marry Rudy even if her love for Marvin was unrequited, they ran away. To Kasper Ridge. And the whole place was kind of built on this love that they shared. The hunt was kind of a tour of family history for the niece and nephew to discover, and the goal was for them to understand that human connection and love were more important than any physical treasure.”
I raced through the last part, the pain of remembering my own connection to the place, to the people, almost too much to bear. I gritted my teeth and got it out.
“That’s lovely,” Mom said.
My father had nothing to say to that, having long-since abandoned the philosophy that love ruled in favor of hanging onto hatred instead.
“And the man? The pilot?” Mom asked softly, knowing my father would ask eventually, whether he wanted the answers or not.
I dropped my gaze to my lap for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts about Archie. I’d known I couldn’t avoid talking about him forever. What did I need to tell them? What did my father really need to know?
“He’s not a monster,” I managed. “But he’s held onto the pain and guilt over Jake since it happened.”
“He told you that?” Dad asked, suspicious.
“Not in so many words.”
“Of course not.”
“He hasn’t forgiven himself,” I said, defensive of Archie now. My father had no conception of the dark shadow Jake’s death had cast over Archie’s life, no understanding of the pain he carried around every day, believing it was his due.
“Nor should he,” Dad spit out.
I put down my glass and dropped my head into my hands for a moment, exhausted.
“Honey, are you all right?” Mom asked.
I stood, walked to the edge of the deck and stared out at the darkening blue of the ocean. I shook my head. And when I had steeled myself again, I turned to face them.
“No. I’m not all right. None of us are. As long as we live our lives blaming someone who doesn’t deserve it, all we’re doing is stalling. We’re putting off the work of actually dealing with our emotions and—god forbid—moving on with our lives, all in tribute to Jake, who would never have wanted this for any of us! I’ve said this before, but you never hear me.” My voice had risen by the end of this, as if I had to shout to make sure the words came out, hit their target.
Dad stood as if readying for a fight. “You don’t know what Jake would have wanted because he’s not here to tell us, thanks to that man you’re so busy defending.”
Mom watched us, and I realized she was crying, silent tears tracing down the pink skin of her cheeks.
“You didn’t raise my brother and me to be vindictive, hateful people,” I told Dad, figuring I’d come this far—if he never spoke to me again, at least I’d have said the things I needed to say. “You taught us to listen, to give people a chance, and to do our best to be empathetic. You taught us to forgive those who’ve wronged us, to remember that we’re all carrying different loads and to give people the benefit of the doubt. You taught us that everyone is doing the best they can and that there is more goodness than evil in the world.”
Dad opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The anger blazing in his eyes had begun to morph to something more like sadness.
“Jake and Archie were friends, Dad. How would Jake feel, knowing we’d spent these last few years demonizing someone he’d called a friend? What do you think Jake would tell Archie if he could? Would he scream and yell, blame him for what happened? Never forgive him? Is that the man you raised?”
My father’s face was red, but it was also beginning to crumple in on itself, the sadness inside him warring with the anger he held onto to protect himself.
“Jake was a good man. The best. You made sure of it.” I was crying now, my voice shaking as my throat clogged with love for my brother and for Archie, and a deep sympathy for both of them made it difficult to continue. “And he would never want his friend to live the rest of his life as half a man, living a constant vigil in Jake’s name. He would tell Archie that if he owed him anything as a result of the accident, it would be to spend the rest of his life living enough for both of them, don’t you think?”
Mom let out a sob, and stood to take me in her arms. I let it all go then, letting my head fall onto my mother’s familiar shoulder, breathing in the comfort she always represented. And we cried together as I watched my father stand there, shaking as if waging a war inside himself.
“You’re right, honey. That’s exactly what Jake would have said,” Mom said, her voice full of pain.
She reached an arm out to my father, who stood still for a moment longer, fighting, struggling with the hate he’d carried so long. Finally, he took a step, then another, and then he wrapped his arms around us both, and a strangled moan escaped him and something in me shattered.
Finally, four years after my brother’s death, my family mourned.
After years of resistance, my family cried together for what we’d all lost when my brother had died in that accident. And I thought there was a chance that my parents joined me in the other grief I felt too—grief for the man whose life had stopped that day, even though he’d gone on living.
Eventually, we retook our seats, a dull quiet blanketing the patio. I struggled to pull my emotions back under control, and when I glanced into the faces of my parents, I knew they were doing the same. Even though the moment had been difficult, I could already feel something loosening between us, a wall that had stood around each of us crumbling down.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked, looking between them.
Mom looked at me, a soft smile on her lips. “Of course.”
“Did Archie Kasper write you a letter?” I wasn’t sure why I needed to know, but this felt like the final piece of the closure my family needed.
Mom shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, honey.”
“He did.” Dad’s voice was raw, rough.
I turned to look at him. “Did you read it?”
“No.”
“Gabe,” Mom said, her voice almost a whisper. “You didn’t tell me?”
Dad looked at Mom through eyes full of pain and exhaustion. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t face it.”
“Did you...do we still have it?” Mom asked.
My father dropped his eyes to the deck and nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Maybe we should read it now,” she suggested.
“Soon,” Dad agreed.