21
It Will Get Easier
~Claire~
February 14, 2011
Noah,
I have not passed the angry stage, but I thought, as today is Valentine’s Day, I should write in remembrance of happy times. Our first and last Valentine’s day: breakfast in bed, lilies, piano playing at dinner, and dreams that that night would be our night. Alas, you held out for months and months later. I thank you for that.
Thank you for all those precious memories. I have a lifetime of forever to look back on and to share each beautiful memory when the time is right. I will never forget our Valentine’s Day.
I think I will hold on to my anger for a long time to come. I can’t move on to bargaining when I have no idea why.
Why did you leave? Are you really the coward I now think you are? I can’t believe that. And I can’t move to depression because I am already there, have been there since you never showed up that night, have been there since before you never showed up.
How could you [ …]
Claire
It’s been three months since Noah disappeared. No sign of him from anyone—anyone. Not his parents, nor Mark, Katy, and Kyle. Not his friends, his bandmates. No one. Why? Is he in trouble? Did he run away from me? From us? Did he somehow get amnesia? I have no answers, just his beloved guitar and a crushed lily outside my door. But I do have a world of pain in my soul.
I know he left town. I called his parents the next day, and they said it looked like he quickly packed up his clothes, his backup guitar, and took his bike. His mom, Sarah, told me that his room was trashed. They didn’t even hear him come in.
His band members are angry that he left them to fulfill shows with no lead man. Chris is especially livid since it left his family short a man at the auto repair shop. He has been by my place on a regular basis, making sure I’m okay, asking if there has been any word, holding vigilance, it seems. We both call and call Noah, until one day, his phone is disconnected. Last connection to him … gone.
The heartache is nauseating. Most days, I get so sick at speculating what went wrong, why he would run, that I can’t keep anything down. Headaches bombard me daily, increasing in intensity, debilitating me to the point I moan and writhe in bed, trying to run away from my own body. Sleep doesn’t even ease the pain because the headaches don’t allow me to sleep.
However, as people always say, time heals all wounds. That may be true in some aspects, but the pain from the hole I feel in my heart won’t lessen. I haven’t even taken a deep breath since the last time I saw him. And I don’t think that is going to change any time soon.
You know what I don’t get? I haven’t cried. Not once. I used up so many tears for my mom that I don’t have it in me to cry anymore. It’s like I simply accepted that life sucks, and we were put on this earth to deal with it, bear it, find the moments of happiness and simply savor them, because life … is pain.
And the more I think back on that, the more I realize that I felt that pain, the loneliness, the isolation all my life. I forgot about it the year I was with Noah … up until Trevor Jameson came to my door. Now … Now that my year of happiness, my year of perfection, my year that, looking back, feels like a forever yet forever ago is over, all those memories and feelings have come back.
Life is so very painful, but I am grasping the moments when I can laugh, smile, feel my heart lighten a bit. I hold them in my heart, savoring the feel of something other than pain.
With no more unanswered phones calls to Noah that leaves me to taking up my mom’s medium of contact—writing letters upon letters to him. My mom poured her heart out in those letters to me, writing like it was more of a diary than to her daughter. I don’t think she ever expected me to read them.
Now I write the same way, addressing the letters to Noah, but writing more for myself, fearing Noah will never read them. He will never want to. He will never look back and think of me. If he will, then he wouldn’t have left in the first place. Regardless, if he does one day, then he will know my heartache. He will see a journey I went on without him.
I never thought Noah was a coward before. He was always ready to face any obstacle; get in the face of any adversary and fight back. Never would I have thought he would run from me. But he must have. There is no other explanation. It’s too much of a coincidence that he would run the same day Troy came to visit. And now I must face what fate has thrown my way alone.
I hate you, you cowardly bastard. I hate that, when I need you the most, you’re not here. All those dreams, all those promises, and you left, damn you! What am I supposed to do now?
Well, I guess this is going to be another hate letter, then.
I bang my head several times on the kitchen counter before resting it there, taking several deep breaths to control my newfound anger. I don’t know what to do. I want to escape my own skin.
I feel someone stroke down then up my back before strong hands knead my shoulders. “It will get easier, Claire. I promise you; it will get easier.”
“When, Dare?” I ask with my head still resting on the kitchen counter. “Why did he leave?” It’s the same question I ask everyone.
“I don’t know, sweetie. But when I get my hands on him, I will rip his cock off, and then get the answer for you.”
I laugh at the venom in her voice. Dare, my cheerleader, and the very best friend I have ever had … Well, besides Noah, who turned out not to be such a good friend after all. She has been such a rock for me.
“I want to rip his … cock off myself,” I admit timidly, not comfortable with the use of that word.
Dare starts to pull all my hair back and braid it. “That’s my girl. But, since he’s not here, we can burn his guitar and everything else you have of his. That’s what you’re supposed to do once you hit the anger stage.”
I sigh, finally lifting my head up and staring at the words of my most recent letter to him. “I can’t. I have to keep everything.”
Now Dare sighs, hers more out of anger than my melancholy. “I know, I know.” Braid done, she wraps a hair tie around the end. “It was just a thought … and a wish.”
“I wish, too.”
A knock on the door interrupts our conversation.
I look at Dare in desperation, telling her, “Not today.” I don’t want anyone else giving me the pitying looks. I have had enough of that from everyone, even my own father.
“I’ll tell them you’re sleeping,” she assures, patting my shoulder before turning toward the door.
I smile, feeling so grateful for my cheerleader. “Thanks, Dare.”
She looks over her shoulder at me from the door, hand on the handle, and smiles. Then she cracks the door open and asks who it is.
Hm, so it’s not someone we know. That makes me curious, and then I hear his voice.
I jump up from the chair and rush toward the door as Dare starts to tell him I’m sleeping. I grab the door and swing it open, finding not only Max, but Cyn, too.
Me and Cyn squeal and laugh, throwing ourselves into each other’s arms. I am wearing the biggest smile on my face, and it feels so good. That bubble of happiness seeps into my chest, warming my heart and covering over the hole that Noah left behind. I know it’s only temporary, that as soon as the adrenaline and surprise is over, the hole will appear again. For now, though, I savor the warmth, exhilarated that two people who mean so much to me are here.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I release Cyn and move to hug Max, comforted by his large, protective frame.
I missed Max. The big teddy bear is a wise, wise man, and one of only few who I know will do anything for me. Just as I would do anything for him.
I guide them into the apartment and shut the door as Cyn says, “We told you we would visit. And, well, after … you know … we made it a priority. As soon as Max could get away, we left. Sorry it took so long.” Cyn gives me that pitying smile I’m used to.
I ignore the smile and shrug with one shoulder. “I’m glad you guys finally made it.” I beam another smile, not wanting them to see how much I still hurt, not wanting them to bring it up.
Think I’m happy and don’t mention the bad, I silently tell them.
I introduce them to Dare, who has been at my side, smiling at us. Then we all sit around and talk. I ask them if they want to stay here, but they already checked into a hotel. I ask them what’s been going on back home, and they fill me in, telling me about work, Cyn’s new band, how Kyle comes by often. The boy has gone wild with tattoos, getting a new one almost every week. I ask about Sassy because I can’t help myself, and they tell me she got married last week, which throws me off.
After a couple of hours of talking, Dare excuses herself. She has orchestra practice tonight in preparation for the spring recital, another something I was pushed into an understudy role.
I swear, my life is falling to the pits. With everything that hit me this school year, I am genuinely thinking about dropping the program for a while. Everyone thinks I should, including my program chair and school counselor. I can’t put all the focus I need into my work. My grades are better, more than better; but rehearsals … I’m not there. It’s like my voice is gone. My concentration is shot.
When Dare leaves, Max gets up and makes some excuse about needing to run errands. I know this is a setup. He is leaving so Cyn and I can talk in private, which makes me fear they know something about Noah.
I look at her warily as I make my way back to the couch and curl up in the corner, pulling a throw blanket over me.
She maneuvers herself into the same position, then bluntly asks, “How are you really doing?”
I sigh and close my eyes. Then I open them and ask outright, needing to get this over with, “Have you heard from him? Know something about him?”
Cyn immediately shakes her head, taking away my fear. “Not a word. Nothing.” She clears her throat and sits up straight, indicating whatever she is about to say is important. “Max has been scouring databases, trying to get a hit on him. No traffic violations, no credit hits—”
My mouth drops open before I yell out, “He broke into his bank account?”
She scoots up the couch, making her way toward me, and grabs my cold hand. “Claire, Max is pissed. And confused. This is hitting him hard … The way the two of you were, and with how this happened, it doesn’t make sense. Plus, the man is really big on devotion and brotherhood.” She rolls her eyes.
“Anyway, he’s torn between foul play and …” She doesn’t finish, just shakes her head. “Either way, he’s angry and wants answers—for you, for himself, for everyone involved. It doesn’t make sense.” That’s what I have been thinking for months. “So, yes, he is using any means necessary to track Noah down. You want to know why, right?”
“Of course, but not at the risk of Max getting in trouble.”
Cyn smiles. “Max is too good for that. He’s using a detective he knows for that kind of information. They are old friends from college. Max does all his tats.”
I sigh in relief. “Good grief. I thought he was some kind of hacker or something.” Wouldn’t surprise me.
“No,” Cyn says. “The man is genius material, but networking genomes is easier for him. His friend lets him use the FBI database. Anyway, we want to ask you if you know how Noah is getting around. If you are aware of how he is paying for stuff.”
I have no clue. Noah always had money, but I don’t where it came from. I always assumed it was an allowance or savings or something. And he got a job with Chris when we moved here. Plus, he got measly pay for playing at bars and clubs around town.
When I tell her this, she says, “Claire, the morning after he disappeared, he withdrew ten thousand dollars from a bank across town.” As I gasp in shock, not realizing he had that kind of money, she continues, “He’s been gone for three months, so Max figures, if he’s paying cash for everything, he will run out soon and make another withdraw. Max will be ready to drive to wherever that is and track him down. However, if you can tell his parents about this, we hope they may be able to freeze his account, forcing him to come back. Well, if it’s not foul play. Which brings me to telling you that we don’t think it was.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the bomb I know she’s been hesitating to drop. I can see her reluctance.
“Claire, Noah is sitting on a lot of money. It’s not a fortune, but if he wants to, he can live off it for quite a while.” She pulls out a slip of paper from her pocket and hands it to me. The dollar amount on it surprises me.
How did I not know this? Why didn’t he tell me?
“If this was foul play, wouldn’t the culprit have had him withdraw all the money?” Cyn asks rhetorically.
All I can do is stare at the figure; more evidence that Noah left of his own free will. More evidence that he did abandon me. Still, it’s not evidence that he left because of me. It could still be because of something else. But what? He was fine at the show, and then came home before he disappeared. All my instincts tell me this is because of Troy. He saw something or heard something that made him run.
After Cyn leaves with plans to meet up in the morning for breakfast, I call Sarah, telling her what Max found. But I don’t tell her about the plan to freeze his accounts. I’m not about to let him starve and be homeless. I adore him too much for that. I love him enough to accept that he left and let him go physically, but never emotionally. There is still too much between us to do that.
Before I even ask about where it came from, she tells me the money was his inheritance from her father, something she regrets releasing to him now since it gave him the means to disappear. But, like me, she can’t deny him. I’m surprised she knew, knew that is what he is living on. I’m hurt she didn’t tell me.
It doesn’t change anything. Noah left, and I’m not about to force him to come back.
He needs time. He just needs time, I keep telling myself.
February 28, 2011
[…]
Do you realize how worried your parents are? Yeah, I know. It’s a surprise to me, too. But there it is. Your parents have been really supportive, actually.
I’m being kicked out of school. Well, kind of. Earlier today, I had a meeting with my counselor, when she “strongly recommend I take a break [ …]” I was planning on it, anyway.
I lost my voice. I have no concentration. Therefore, I have until the end of the semester, and then I will be home. Not the place I want to be, especially under these circumstances.
Like I said earlier, your parents are being supportive. Your mom is retiring early and opened their home to me. But I can’t do that. I can’t be anywhere where there are reminds of you. See? Still in the angry stage. And I am depressed … all the time. [ …]