Chapter Twenty-Seven
Meghan
“I need your keys,” I say quickly, trying not to let on that something’s so very wrong, but of course, Dad doesn’t buy it.
“Why? What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling them from his pocket.
“Nothing. I just need to leave for a second.”
“A second?” he asks, clearly taking in my tear-stained face and my frantic breathing.
“Maybe longer. Can you get a ride home?” I ask.
“Of course, but are you okay? Did something happen?”
“Something…did. I can’t talk about it. I need to go.”
“Is it Nick? Did he do something?” he asks as he places the keys in my hand.
I take a deep breath. “He didn’t do anything. He’s just…wrong.”
Dad gives me a once-over. “Okay. The key to the house is there too, if you need it. I’ll catch a ride with Grandma and Grandpa,” he says, wrapping his hand around mine. “Everything’s going to be okay, Meggy. I promise.” He pulls me into his arms and gives me a hug. I want to stay, and I almost do. Wrapped in his arms gives off that same false sense of security I get when Nick does it. I feel safe and secure.
But it’s a lie.
“I’ll get your car back to you,” I tell him, pulling away.
“I’m not worried about the car. I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine.” Deep breath. “I’ll be fine.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him…or myself.
Probably both.
But Dad sees through it. If anyone can see past the hurt and fake front, it’s him.
I glance back at the water’s edge, but don’t see anything – or anyone. “Go. I’ll make sure he’s okay,” Dad offers. “And when you’re ready, he’ll be waiting.”
Blinking back the tears, I reply, “I don’t think he will.”
Dad places a kiss on my forehead. “Trust me, honey. He’ll be waiting.”
When I look at his eyes, I see his love – that unmistakable, unbreakable love that only a father has for his daughter.
Except, that’s not true.
I’ve seen that look before.
Twice.
And one’s dead because of me.
I quickly squeeze Dad’s hand and turn to the door. I move quickly, without making eye contact with anyone, and head toward the parking lot. Inside his car, I’m wrapped in comfort and memories. I stick the key in the ignition, and slowly pull out of the parking spot. As I move onto the road, I can’t help but glance to the water. Will he come after me? But I don’t see him.
It’s probably for the best.
I drive without a destination, yet know exactly where I’m headed. I pass the cemetery where my fiancé now rests and head out of town. When I reach the quiet country road, I turn off, and for the first time, wonder if I’m making a mistake.
It’s late.
They’re probably in bed sleeping.
But I keep driving, ignoring my conscience that tells me I should call first.
I pull off the road and into their driveway. There are several lights still on, so I know I haven’t woken them up. As I shut off the car and open the door, a petite figure steps out through the front door and onto the porch. “Meghan?” she asks, her voice exactly the same as I remember.
Shutting the car door, I take a step toward the woman I once considered my other mom. “Hi, Mrs. Harrison,” I whisper, my voice suddenly shaky and filled with emotions.
Josh’s mom takes a step forward, and then another. She comes down the stairs and stands before me, tears welling in the eyes that look so much like her son’s. Her late son’s. Without saying a word, she wraps her arms around me, enveloping me in warmth and familiarity. As soon as she does, it’s like the dam breaks. The tears and the pain just burst from my soul.
“Come inside,” she offers soothingly, placing her hand on my lower back and guiding me up the stairs.
When I step inside the house I haven’t been to for more than two years, I’m assaulted with memories. Christmas dinners, birthday celebrations, random afternoon visits. I glance at the couch that Josh and I used to sit on together and notice it’s different. The brown leather one that was so worn and comfortable is now replaced with a brighter blue piece that fits the ambiance of the room. The recliner that Josh’s dad used to sit in to watch the Sunday afternoon football game is now beige and on the opposite side of the room.
“You changed the room,” I say aloud, mostly to myself.
“I did. It was time. That old stuff was the furniture we bought when Josh was little. The chair would recline well enough, but it took an act of Congress to get the stupid thing back down again,” she replies with a smile.
The old photograph on the mantle catches my attention. I’ve seen it before. So many times. Josh’s photo from graduation. He’s smiling brightly that same smile that I remember so well, wearing a black cap and gown with a green and yellow sash around his neck. I don’t even realize I’ve approached the photo until I’m there, touching it. I run a finger down his face, remembering how familiar that particular face once was.
But when I close my eyes, it’s not Josh’s face I see.
And that makes me feel like the worst person on the planet. I should be locked up with the murderers on death row. Instead of picturing Josh, I picture…Nick.
Guilt riddles my entire body, weighing it down with a thousand bags of sand.
I glance over at the other photos. There’s one of Josh and his parents at their anniversary dinner a few years back. I took that photo. There’s one of a young Josh riding his bike and offering a big toothless grin for the camera.
There’s one of him and me. I remember the day so vividly. We were at Lucky’s after a sisters’ night. My eyes are bright (probably from too much alcohol) and our arms wrapped around each other. I’m smiling for the camera, but not Josh. He’s looking and smiling at me. I reach out and touch that photo too, as if somehow it’ll help me touch the memory. Touch him.
“He sent me that picture the day after you took it.”
“He did?” I ask, turning back to the woman behind me. She’s smiling, but there’s so much sadness in the gesture. It’s that reminder that I’m not the only one who lost him on that cold, rainy February night.
Mrs. Harrison nods and looks at the photo. “He did. It was one of the last ones taken before…” her words drop off, but I know what she was about to say. Before the accident. Before he died.
Slowly nodding my head, I turn away from the photo, away from the painful memories, and face her. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by to see you much.” Guilt fills my soul once more as I think about this wonderful couple who lost their son, but essentially lost me too. I came over a couple of times after the accident, but stopped because it was too painful to be here without him.
“Oh, don’t be sorry, sweet girl. I know it was probably very difficult for you,” she says, pointing to the couch, while she takes a seat next to me. “Why do you think I don’t come over to the house?”
Her question rings loudly with me. “I had a hard time going home those first few nights,” I confess. “But when I did, I just felt…closer to him. Then, for a while, I stayed there because I was waiting for him to come home. Like he’d walk through the door and laugh, telling me he wasn’t really gone.”
The tears are falling in earnest before I realize it. “After the first few months…” It’s hard to swallow. “I realized he wasn’t coming home, and it made it hard to be there. So I started joining groups and doing activities that would keep me busy. Things that would keep me away from the house. I haven’t cleaned it out yet,” I confess, my voice barely over a whisper. “It’s all still there, waiting for him to come home. But he’s not coming home.”
It was the first time I really spoke that aloud, even though everyone probably already knew it.
“I slept in his room for the first six months after he passed,” Mrs. Harrison admits, taking my hand in hers. “So I understand, probably better than most.”
Nodding, I look down at our hands. “I’m sorry.”
“For what, dear?” she asks.
“It was my fault. Everything. The accident. His…you know, it was my fault,” I state, sagging into the couch.
“What on earth are you talking about? Nothing that happened to Josh was your fault,” she insists, her pretty features seeming genuinely perplexed.
“But he was coming to see me. I was the reason he was out on the road that night,” I recall.
“Josh was on that road because he wanted to be. He wanted to be with you. He would have followed you anywhere,” she assures with a soft voice, void of any anger.
“Exactly!” I declare, my hands starting to shake. “He was on that road because of me.”
“He was on that road because he loved you. Nothing is guaranteed, sweet girl. Not life, not forever, not even love. Love is the ultimate risk, and when you love someone, you risk everything. He knew that risk, and took it because he loved you. He loved you until the day he died, and when he died, he went knowing that he lived a happy life. Do you know why?” I can’t breathe, let alone answer, so I shake my head. “Because he loved you, and when he died, he died with your love. You gave him the ultimate gift, sweetheart. He loved and was loved. That’s all I ever wanted for him. We don’t blame you, Meghan. We never did and never will. It was an accident. It took me many months and countless hours of therapy, but I know that now. It was his time, and even though I’d rather him be here with us, I know he’s in good hands, waiting for me when my time is up, as he will be for you. What happened to Josh was not in your control any more than it was mine. Believe that, sweet girl. It wasn’t your fault.”
I break down hard, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. I’ve carried this incredible weight around for the last two plus years. I’ve blamed myself, and thought for sure everyone else did too, but to hear Mrs. Harrison not only admit that she doesn’t hold me responsible, but that she appreciates the love I gave to her son, well, that’s an incredible gift in itself.
“I loved him too. I will always love him,” I tell her.
“I know,” she replies, wiping her own tears before swiping the ones on my cheek, and giving me that smile. The motherly one I always appreciated when I was dating her son. “I know,” she repeats with the slightest of head nods. “Okay,” she says, clearing her throat and patting my hands. “Now tell me about the man.”
If I wasn’t surprised before, I damn sure am now. I glance her way, my eyes feeling like they’re going to bug out of my head. I have no idea what to say, but my mind immediately goes to Nick, and the way I left him earlier.
“Don’t act so surprised,” Mrs. Harrison says with a chuckle. “It’s a small town. People talk,” she adds, shrugging her shoulders. “Tell me about him.”
Suddenly, I’m as uncomfortable as a hooker in church. “Well, uh, what do you want to know?”
“Well, how about his name?”
“Nick. His name is Nick Adams.”
“The dentist!” she exclaims, surprisingly happy by this revelation. “Not mine, but I’ve heard of him. You work for him, right?” she asks, returning to her serious state.
“Yes, but this thing between us, it’s new.” I don’t know why I say it, other than to reassure her that what Nick and I have came way after Josh.
“Oh, I know, silly. I remember how you and Josh used to look at each other. Do you feel that way about Nick?” she asks. Why the hell must she ask the hard questions?
I don’t have to think about it, because deep down, I already know my answer. I know how I feel for him. I’ve just been too scared to see it. “Yes, I think I do.”
She smiles again, and this one isn’t sad. It’s hopeful and full of joy. “Good. I’m really happy to hear that, Meghan. I don’t want you going through this life in the motions. I want to see you live, and yes, even love.”
“But it almost feels…wrong. Like I’m letting go of Josh and replacing him with someone else.”
Mrs. Harrison nods. “I get that, but what you need to know is that the heart has room for more than one love, Meg. Your heart can love one person, as well as another. One love is in your past, but that doesn’t mean you won’t carry him with you for the rest of your life. Loving another isn’t a replacement. It’s a privilege. To find two great loves in your lifetime is something wonderful, Meghan.
“I know I’m speaking for my son when I say…love. If you want to do his memory justice, then live your life and love. If you find happiness with this Nick, then grab onto it and don’t let go. Because we have no guarantees in this life, sweetheart. Tomorrow isn’t a promise, so hang on to today with both hands.”
“Thank you,” I choke out over the massive ball of emotions lodged firmly in my throat. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”
She pats my hands again and says, “I think I did. I did because I needed this too. I’ve missed you,” she confesses. “You were the daughter I never had.”
“And you were like a mother to me. Thank you for that,” I tell her sincerely.
We cry together for a few more minutes, before we hear footsteps on the stairs. Josh’s dad comes into view, looking like the spitting image of his son. My heart starts to pound as he approaches, and I quickly stand up. “Meghan,” he says softly with a smile. “How are you, honey?”
We end up talking for the next thirty minutes, and when I glance at the clock, I realize how late it’s getting. “I should get going.”
John and Angie walk me to the front door. “Please don’t hesitate to stop by anytime, sweet girl. We’ve missed you,” Angie says, wrapping me in a warm hug.
“Yes, please do. I’d happily warm up the barbecue for dinner,” John says as his arms engulf me in a big, warm hug.
“Thank you. I will, I promise,” I reply as I head through the front door, feeling much lighter than I did when I arrived.
“Oh, and Meghan?” Mrs. Harrison asks, stepping into her husband’s arm and standing at his side. “Bring your Nick by sometime. We’d love to meet him.”
I stand there, slightly dumbfounded, for probably too long. “Really?” My voice sounds hoarse, even to my own ears.
“Absolutely! I can show him how to barbecue a brisket,” John adds with a smile. A smile that was his son’s.
Angie nods in agreement. “Yes, we’d be honored to meet the man our Meghan has fallen in love with,” she adds with a wink.
My heart starts to soar, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. “I will. Thank you.”
And I truly mean it.
Before I walk away, I do the one thing I know is necessary to finally move on: I take the ring off my finger. “Here,” I whisper, holding the cherished piece of white gold in my hand, the moonlight reflecting off the diamond.
Angie glances down, her eyes filling with tears once more. “No.”
“Yes,” I insist. “It was your mother’s ring. It should stay in the family.”
She shakes her head, and slowly reaches for the ring Josh gave me – the one he asked his mother for when he was going to propose. “You are family,” Angie insists.
“I know,” I reply with a sad smile, “but I don’t need it anymore.”
They both seem to understand that this is a big moment for me. She takes the ring, gripping it tightly in her palm, and offers me another smile. We exchange hugs once more before I slowly make my way toward the car.
I wave before slipping inside. Suddenly, I’m overcome with the need to see Nick, to explain why I ran, and what I discovered along the way. What I was too scared to face, yet realized it with the one woman I never would have expected.
I need to see Nick.
But, I have one quick stop to make first.