Four Months Later

 

Leah

 

“Great job!” I fist bump the teenager seated in front of me. “I told you that you could do it!”

“No summer school!” he replies with a grin. “Thanks Ms. Bolt.”

“Don’t thank me. You did all the work.”

I sit back and enjoy the satisfaction I feel when he leaves my office.

I’ve only been working as a counselor at Middlehawk Middle School for a few months, but it’s like I’ve been here forever. It’s difficult sometimes to hear the stories some of these kids tell, and to learn about the things they’ve suffered, but I know I’m helping and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.

Middlehawk is a special school for children with emotional problems, and most of those stem from some sort of abuse in their past. I know how to relate to them and I try to teach them to channel that pain into positive things that will help them succeed.

I also love that I get my summers off which gives me time to write. My first book didn’t go the direction I intended, but it has been a success nonetheless. Instead of submitting to publishers, I self-published. Even with a great marketing company backing me (Derek’s doing. There’s no keeping him out of my business) I didn’t expect the response I got.

Growing Up Me made the USA Today bestseller list and stayed there for a few weeks. The majority of the reviews were fantastic, and sales have been steady. I’m not exactly rolling in money, but between my writing and counseling, I make a good living.

After saying goodbye to the students and staff, I pack up my car and head back to my apartment. I only ended up staying at Derek’s for two weeks before I found a place. A cute little duplex in a nice neighborhood with an elderly lady living in the other half. It’s quiet and very conducive to writing.

Since today was the last day of school, and therefore work, I’m now free for almost three months and I have at least two book ideas I’m dying to work on, but it isn’t going to happen today.

I have a girl’s night planned with Ayda, Zoe, and Sadie.

And tomorrow night, for the first time since I moved out, I have a date.

I met Quinn at the Post Office a few weeks ago. I had a trunk full of boxes loaded with signed books and he helped me lug it all inside. We started talking and I found out he’s also a writer, studying journalism. We’ve spent the last three weeks chatting over text and messenger until he finally convinced me to go out with him.

My heart isn’t in it, but I know I need to go. I think about Tucker all the time and I feel like I’ve been mourning the loss of something I never really had. Tucker was never mine, but it didn’t stop me from falling for him anyway.

I thought I was okay when I left. I knew I was doing the right thing, and I figured I’d move on and my infatuation with Tucker would fade. Instead, I missed him more every day. Whenever Derek or Ayda spoke of him, usually when they thought I was out of earshot, I’d hang on every word. I wondered how he was doing, if he was lonely now, and the thought of him in that big house alone tortured me.

Ayda saw my reaction and tried to get me to go talk to him, but I wouldn’t do it. She doesn’t know why he can’t be with me, and I can’t tell her. She thinks Derek is our only obstacle and it’s just going to have to stay that way.

Girl’s night is being held at my place this time so I give my apartment a quick once over with a broom and dust cloth before digging out the blender and the ingredients for margaritas. Ayda recently stopped breastfeeding so she can actually drink with us this time. The plan is to have a few drinks, then hit the club before crashing back at my place for the night.

I can’t remember the last time I went out dancing so I’m really looking forward to it.

“Come in!” I yell, when I hear a knock at the door.

I’m expecting the girls so I’m stunned to see Tucker’s large frame filling my living room doorway. “Really? You just leave your door unlocked and invite people in without checking?” he demands.

My lips pop open with a soft “puh” but that’s the only sound I seem capable of making, which seems to amuse him. “Tucker—I wasn’t expecting it to be you,” I stammer.

“Clearly.”

That’s all he says, just that one word, and I gaze at him, noticing how tired and pale he looks. Something is wrong.

“Come in. Sit down. I’ll grab us something to drink.”

“Something strong if you have it,” he murmurs.

Luckily, I have a bottle of bourbon that Derek drinks when he visits sometimes, so I pour him a glass and sit beside him on the couch. He drains it and turns to me. My stomach knots at the pain in his eyes.

“Tucker, what’s wrong?”

“Does something have to be wrong for me to visit you?”

“Of course not. I’m glad to see you, but I can tell something is eating at you. You can tell—”

“She died,” he interrupts.

I’m not sure I heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, what…”

“Kathi died. This morning.” He gets to his feet. “I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know why I did. I need to go.”

My comprehension finally catches up and I grab his arm. “No, sit with me.” He may not know why he came, but I do. He’s in shock and none of his other friends even know about Kathi. He needs someone.

He doesn’t reply, just stands there as if he’s considering it. I wrap my arms around him and he stiffens at first before relaxing into my embrace. “I’m so sorry, Tucker. At least she isn’t suffering anymore.”

I feel his body shake with a suppressed sob. “Come home with me. Just for tonight.”

“Of course. Let me get a bag together, okay?”

Nodding, he steps back and leans against the wall.

I type out a quick text and send it to Zoe, Ayda, and Sadie.

 

So sorry. Work emergency. Going to have to postpone girl’s night. Next weekend?

 

Sadie and Zoe both respond with an okay, but Ayda calls.

I answer, keeping my voice down as I pack an overnight bag. “Hi, sorry. I know it’s last minute.”

“Is everything all right?” Ayda asks.

“Yeah, just, it’s the last day of school and there’s more to do than I expected.” I hate lying to her, but I don’t know what else to say. “Can we do it next weekend?”

“Sure, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Really. But I have to go.”

Tucker looks up when I return with a small suitcase and I think I see the corner of his mouth twitch up. “Do you ever travel light?”

The truth is I packed enough for a few days including clothes for a funeral, because there’s no way I’m letting him do this alone. “I’m a woman. We never travel light,” I reply, grabbing my keys and purse. “I’ll drive.”

“Then I’d have to leave my truck here.”

“I’ll drive your truck. You look exhausted.”

With a shrug, he hands me his keys. Yeah, this isn’t the Tucker I know who would’ve fought me to the death over this just a few months ago.

“Let’s go,” I tell him.

He takes my bag and tosses it in his truck and we hit the highway toward his house. “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask after a few minutes of silence.

“Not yet.”

“Okay, well, have you eaten today?”

He turns his head and stares out the window. “Don’t think so. Haven’t been to the supermarket in a while.”

I take the exit for the grocery store once we get close to his place and make a quick trip inside while he waits for me in the truck. He’s barely holding himself together and I just want to get him home where maybe he’ll feel secure enough to talk about it.

I can’t imagine what he’s going through. He told me that she’s been dead for four years, that he’d mourned her, and I’m sure he believed that until now. It’s different when you know for sure you’ll never see that person again. I’ve never dealt with a close death, but in my line of work, grief is a common enemy. I just hope I can help him through his.

I’m amazed to see how much the farm has changed since I’ve been gone. The trees felled by the storm have been cut up or burned and a new swing hangs from a different tree. Furniture in different stages of assembly is scattered under the carport. Tucker has obviously been staying busy.

We don’t speak while we carry the groceries inside. Tucker grabs a glass of whiskey and sits at the counter, watching me as I prepare a pot of chili for dinner. Once it’s simmering, we head to the living room.

I can’t help but remember our time on the couch when I sit next to him. All the times he sat and watched TV while I wrote, when we cuddled there through the storm, him sliding inside me as the cushions slid out from under us. This isn’t about me, though.

“Were you there when she passed?” I ask.

Sighing, he sits back and nods. “I knew she was getting close. They told me months ago. Her mother found a place she thought could help her. She never stopped looking for a way to bring her back. That’s why I was leaving and looking for a housesitter when you moved in; her mother was going to move her across the country. The plans fell through once she took a turn for the worse, and she had to stay where she was.”

I finally understand why he was so upset when he returned. “I shouldn’t have insisted on staying. If I’d known what you were dealing with, I wouldn’t have gotten in your way.”

His eyes resemble pools of mercury as they meet mine. “You weren’t in my way. You being here helped me more than I can explain. The same way it’s helping me tonight.”

I slide my hand into his. “I’m here for as long as you need me. I can help you make funeral arrangements tomorrow.”

“Her mother is handling it. She has made it very clear I have no rights here and to tell you the truth, I’d rather let her do it. Kathi and I never discussed what we’d want done in the case of our deaths, and by the time she got hurt, it was like we barely knew each other. Her mother would know better what she’d want.”

“Okay.”

There’s not much else I can say. All I can do is be close to him and hope that brings some kind of comfort. He changes the subject, and we talk about other things. My new job, his furniture business and a few assignments he went on for Striking Back. When the chili is done, we eat and then sit on the porch to watch the sun go down.

Tucker suddenly laughs aloud, and I smile at him. “What?”

“She used to fart herself awake.”

What?

“Kathi, she used to fart in the middle of the night then sit up and say ‘What?’ Used to crack me up.”

His laughter ceases and he wipes a few tears from his cheeks. “She sounds like she was a lot of fun. I’m sorry I didn’t know her.”

“She would’ve liked you,” he says, getting to his feet. “I think I’m going to go to bed. I have the guest room made up for you.”

I understand he needs time alone, so I just hug him and let him go. “Come get me if you need me, no matter how late.”

With a nod, he heads inside.

I sit on the porch for the next hour or so, listening to the sounds of the forest and thinking about how quickly things change and how helpless we are to stop it. No matter what happens, no matter how much you hurt or struggle, no matter what is going on in one person’s life, time just keeps marching, dragging us along with it.

Tucker has been through so much. I hope he can move on now and heal.

Finally, I return to the kitchen to clean up, and give the living room a quick tidying up as well. Old habits die hard.

I take the guest room across from Tucker’s in case he needs me. It’s been a long, emotional day and I’m asleep in minutes. At some point during the night, I wake to find strong arms wrapped around me and I turn into him, holding him tight. We don’t speak, just hold each other until we both succumb to sleep again.