Chapter Four: Hailey

 

I was with Wyatt when he got the news.

His mom called while we were at dinner. We were laughing about something stupid, I can’t remember what, when his phone rang.

He was still chuckling softly when he answered. His voice was light-hearted and full of happiness when he said, “Hello,” into the phone.

I watched as the smile faded from his face and his shoulders slumped forward. We had been dating for over three years and I had never once seen him look like that.

His brown eyes darkened until they were almost black and he nodded slowly, listening to his mom’s voice. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I could hear the rise and fall of her voice.

Whatever was going on, it was bad. Really bad.

I watched Wyatt closely, straining my ears to hear what his mom was saying. All I could hear was her occasional sobs and a soft whisper. My eyes were glued to Wyatt’s face, but he didn’t look at me until he hung up the phone.

As he set the phone down on the table, his eyes rose to meet my gaze. I reached across the table and took his hand in mine. He let me, but he didn’t move to return my hold. His fingers were cold and limp in mine.

He looked like a statue, sitting there with wide eyes and a vacant expression. Deep down, I knew what the news was, but I waited for him to tell me. I didn’t want to assume the worst until I knew. Until he said the words.

It was minutes before Wyatt moved again.

Slowly, he began to shake his head side to side. Our waiter came over to bring us the check. I took it and waved him away impatiently, my eyes never leaving Wyatt’s face.

I wanted him to know I was there. I wouldn’t speak. I wouldn’t move. Not until he did, but I would be there with him.

I would sit at that table in that restaurant all night if that was what he needed.

While Wyatt processed the news, his expression slowly began to change. He no longer looked empty, he looked sad and determined. Then thunderous.

His eyes hardened and he looked at me with a steely glint that made me want to turn away from him.

I didn’t.

Not now when he needed me.

I held his gaze and waited for him to speak. When he finally did it was just two words. Just two words that would change his entire life and I didn’t know it yet, but mine too.

“He’s gone.”

The words hung in the air between us for several moments.

The air between us seemed to still even though the rest of the world continued to move around us. My vision was blurred around the edges, the only solid thing was Wyatt. Sounds – the click and clatter for cutlery being used, laughter and incoherent conversations - became muted as if coming from a great distance.

I nodded slowly and held his hand tighter in mine. We were frozen in time as we sat there. Wyatt didn’t move. I rubbed my thumb back and forth across the back of his hand and waited.

I would wait as long as he needed. And longer still.

He suddenly stood up. His chair scraped loudly on the floor. The sound drew the attention of some of the other diners but I didn’t care. My sole focus was Wyatt and what he needed.

Our hands broke apart with the move, the connection between us severed.

I followed his movement and tried to grab his hand again. He didn’t let me.

“I need to get home,” he said in the way of explanation, the words emotionless.

I didn’t know it then, but these were the last words he would speak to me in quite a while. Wyatt didn’t say anything again until we were at his house.

He didn’t look at me, opting to train his eyes over my shoulder. He just turned and walked out of the restaurant.

I made to go after him but the sight of the waiter reminded me of our bill. I paid the charges and ran after Wyatt.

Wyatt was waiting for me next to his car. In the empty parking lot, he was a desolate figure.

“I can drive,” I said softly when I caught up with him.

He held the keys in his hands, but he was shaking. I was afraid he was too upset to drive. I tried to take the keys from him, but he jerked away from me and shook his head.

I backed off and let him climb into the driver’s seat. Walking around the other side, I took a few deep breaths and tried to hold myself together.

I had met Wyatt’s dad plenty of times before, but he was away so often that we hadn’t gotten a chance to bond. Still, I felt his loss like a brick in my stomach.

I couldn’t imagine how Wyatt must have felt in that moment or how his mom would survive it. All I could think about was how to be there for them both. I pulled open the car door and climbed inside, determined to do whatever I could to help.

We drove quickly through town.

Wyatt didn’t slow down until he pulled into his driveway. He ran inside and I followed.

Wyatt’s mom was sitting at the kitchen table. She had her cellphone in front of her, but she wasn’t looking at it. Instead, she stared out of the kitchen window with silent tears streaming down her face.

All I could think when I saw her was that she was the picture of heartbreak. If an artist tried to capture the image of a broken heart, Mrs. Murphy would had been it.

I ached for her. I took a step forward, but Wyatt was faster. He flew across the room and knelt down beside his mom. She didn’t speak, but she turned to look at him. Wyatt pulled her against him and held her while she cried.

My eyes were glued to Wyatt’s face the whole time. I could hear Mrs. Murphy sniffing and sobbing, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away from her son. Wyatt was my boyfriend and I loved him. It was his job to take care of his mom, but it was my job to take care of him. The only problem was I didn’t know how.

Slowly, I moved across the kitchen and began brewing a pot of coffee. I didn’t know why, it was just an instinct. In moments of crisis, people need something to do with their hands. Wrapping them around a warm coffee mug seemed like a good idea.

I made the coffee and carried three mugs to the table. I poured coffee into each mug and slid two across the table to Wyatt and his mom.

“Thank you, Hailey,” Mrs. Murphy said weakly.

She didn’t touch the coffee, but my feelings were not hurt. I didn’t expect her to drink it.

When she finally pulled away from Wyatt, his eyes were still dry. His face was set and hard, not a single sign of pain or weakness shone through. I knew he was putting on a good face for his mom, but I wasn’t sure how long it would last. I wanted to be there when he broke. I wanted to help him through it.

“Why don’t you go home?” Wyatt said not unkindly. They were not kind either. His words were firm and he still refused to look directly at me. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I can stay,” I said quickly. “I don’t mind.”

“No,” he shook his head. “We’re fine.”

“But-”

I started to protest again but he cut me off.

“Go home, Hailey,” he repeated, voice harder now. “I don’t need you here.”

I jerked as if he had struck me. I reeled from his sudden lack of patience with me. From his words. He had never spoken to me like that before.

It felt like a physical blow.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” he continued, but he wasn’t even looking at me now. He turned back to tend to his mom.

I hesitated still but couldn’t find the words to make this better.

“Okay,” I nodded eventually, not knowing what else to do.

My word was said to his back.

He didn’t look back at me again.

I stood up reluctantly, and took a few steps toward the front door. I didn’t want to leave. It was the last thing I wanted, but I knew better than to start an argument with Wyatt.

He was going through enough. I thought he would need me, that he would want me around to hold him when he finally broke, but I was wrong. All he wanted was for me to leave.

I loved him enough to give him the space he needed even though it was breaking my heart.

He didn’t call in the morning like he promised.

***

The funeral was hard.

Bradberry’s one and only church was positioned in the center of town and it was packed that day. People crammed themselves into the pews and when those were full, they stood against the walls. The doors remained open throughout the service so more people could listen from outside.

I sat with Wyatt and his mom in the front row. I held Wyatt’s hand while the preacher spoke about Mr. Murphy’s attributes. He went on and on about Anderson Murphy being a war hero. His medals and accomplishments were listed in chronological order and everyone murmured their appreciation.

I nodded along with them, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. My tongue felt like it was cemented to the roof of my mouth. I knew if I forced it free, I would start to cry. The last thing Wyatt needed was to feel like he needed to take care of me too.

He had his hands full with his mom. He didn’t need to take care of anyone else.

The service ended and everyone moved along to the burial.

I forced myself to hold it together while we traveled to the cemetery. Mrs. Murphy was handed a folded flag, and she succumbed yet again to violent sobs. Wyatt held her tightly and I stood beside them, silent as ever.

For a week, I tried everything I could, to be there for Wyatt.

I asked him if he wanted to talk, he didn’t.

When I sat with him in silence, he told me to leave.

I brought food but he didn’t eat it.

No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough for him to let me in. I felt useless and devoid of hope, but I pushed on. I knew Wyatt needed me, even if he couldn’t say it. I promised myself I would be there, silent and ready whenever he finally came to me.

He never did.

As the funeral ended, the guests began to file out of the cemetery. Wyatt and I watched while they all got into their cars and drove away. There was going to be a wake at Wyatt’s house, but he wasn’t in any hurry to get there. Mrs. Murphy left with her sister, leaving Wyatt and I alone at the gravesite.

I held Wyatt’s hand tightly. He stared at his father’s casket without speaking. I glanced over at him and was surprised to see he had finally succumbed to tears.

He was crying silently while the cemetery personnel lowered his father into the ground. They told us we didn’t have to stay for that part, but Wyatt didn’t move so I didn’t either.

I wrapped my arms around Wyatt’s waist and rested my head against his arm.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked softly.

“No,” Wyatt said. He wiped away the tears impatiently and turned to face me. “But, there is something I need to tell you.”

“Okay,” I said with a frown. I couldn’t imagine what was so important that he needed to tell me then, right after his father’s funeral.

“After graduation, I’m leaving for basic training,” Wyatt said.

His voice was even, devoid of any emotion.

“What?” I blinked, doing a good imitation of an owl.

I had heard him wrong. There was no way…

“I enlisted in the Army,” he explained. “With my undergrad degree, I can be a medic. Not a doctor, but a medic.”

“What about medical school?” I asked blankly.

With tempest of thoughts whirling around my head, it was the first one I could grasp clearly.

I couldn’t believe what he was saying. He was leaving. His father just died. We were set to graduate in December and he was leaving. Joining the Army. Going off to a war his father had just become a causality of.

“I’m not going,” he answered simply.

“But it’s your dream,” I said lamely.

“Dreams change,” he said. He looked away from me and watched while they poured dirt over his father’s casket. I followed his gaze, not wanting to look into his emotionless face any longer.

I didn’t know what this meant for him, or for us. Would we stay together? How long would he be gone? Why was he doing this?

Deep down, I knew why. His father died in combat. Wyatt thought enlisting was the best way to honor his memory. I understood it. I followed his thinking easily, but I didn’t agree with it.

From the time I met Wyatt, his dream had been to become a doctor. He never once mentioned joining the military. In fact, he used to complain about how often his father was away from home.

“He’s never around, but we’re supposed to be okay with it because he’s a war hero,” he would say scornfully.

I knew he didn’t mean it. He just missed his dad and wanted him around more, but it still knocked the wind of me to find out he was following in his father’s footsteps.

“When do you leave exactly?” I asked. There was a lump in my throat and I tried to swallow it down, but I couldn’t. I spent the past week trying to stay strong, but I felt the repressed tears finally threatening to escape.

When long minutes passed without him speaking, I grabbed his hand.

“Wyatt, please talk to me. This is a big decision. We should sit down and properly think this through. I don’t-”

Shaking off my hold, he looked back at me. I almost stepped back, the cold fury in his eyes hitting me like a whip.

“There is nothing to discuss. It is my decision,” he hissed between his teeth.

Anger leaked into my tone. “And what about us? What does your decision mean for us?”

The wind picked up and threw my words around us.

I had tried to be understanding but him shutting me out like this was unacceptable. This hurt.

He didn’t say anything but I felt him pull away from me even more.

“Please don’t do this, Wyatt. Don’t shut me out like this. I love you. I only want to be here for you.”

My tone was gentler this time, my anger falling away as quickly as it came.

I reached for his hand again.

He stepped back.

“We should go,” he said suddenly. “They’ll be expecting us at the house.”

He turned and walked to the car without another word. I watched him go, wondering if he even heard my question or if he cared. I watched while he climbed into the car and started the engine. My feet wouldn’t move. My entire body was in shock.

When I finally followed him, I felt like he was already gone.

Days later, he really was.