Living With Regret Read online

“Loud and clear.”

  “Good. Now, if you have anything further, you can continue; if not, get out.”

  Elroy’s face reddens as he shakes his head. My dad is a shark, and he knows it. Everyone in town knows it. “Do you remember anything at all from the party that night?”

  “No.” My voice is meek. The tension in this room is too thick. Suffocating.

  Elroy glares at my dad, but his expression softens as he looks down at me. “I’m going to let you get some rest, but I’ll leave you my card in case anything comes to mind.” He pauses, nodding at my dad. “When she’s released, I’m going to want to talk to her some more. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that, though.”

  I close my eyes, wishing I could disappear. That’s all I want … to go wherever Cory is and put an end to this nightmare.

  “I’ll be ready for it,” Dad says, narrowing his eyes.

  “Rachel, I’ll be in touch,” Officer Elroy says quietly as he stands, lightly patting my hand. He should hate me … why is he treating me like a china doll?

  “Through me,” Dad remarks as Elroy disappears out the door.

  Dad’s gaze stays locked on the door long after it closes. Things are uncomfortable between us; just like the other two times he’s visited since I woke up. It’s usually during his lunch break when he knows he doesn’t have much time. It’s an easy out for him. Mom says he’s worried about me, but I wonder if he’s more worried about himself and his reputation. His good name has always meant so much to him.

  He glances down at his watch before giving me the attention I’ve long craved. “I need to get going. I have a case this afternoon.” He leans down, kissing my cheek. “If he, or anyone else from the sheriff’s office, comes back, you call me. Don’t say a word.”

  I nod, seeing a glimpse of sympathy in his eyes. I must be imagining things, though, because that’s not what Dad’s about. He’s a dictator, not an understanding man.

  “I’ll check in on you later,” he says as he starts toward the door. It’s a lie, a nicety he says every time he leaves but never follows through on. By now, he should know I see through it. More empty words … I’ve had a lifetime of those.

  Before he opens the door, I yell out to him. “Dad!”

  He looks back, a curious expression on his face.

  “Dad, I’m scared.” My voice is low yet loud enough for him to hear. I don’t know why I choose to tell him … maybe it’s because I know he won’t do anything with my broken honesty. He doesn’t know how to deal with it.

  “It’s going to be okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he says, looking down at the plain white tile floors.

  I wish our relationship were such that I could tell him that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s not punishment I’m afraid of … it’s life without Cory. It’s living every day wondering what happened and hating myself because I’m responsible for all of this. His death. My pain. It’s all on me.

  “Okay,” I whisper, fixing my attention on the window again. It’s hopeless. Everything feels empty, and broken, and no one seems to stay long enough to help me through it.

  Life is like a sealed cardboard box. Some are full of wanted treasures, but others are just empty. That’s mine. I struggled for years to remove the heavy tape and shook it in hopes of feeling something, but it’s hollow. No feeling. No hope. Just empty.

  June 17, 2013

  I WAS ABLE TO GET out of bed for the first time today. It took two nurses, and more time than I’d like to admit, but I took my first shower and got to use a real bathroom. It wasn’t much, but it was the first hint of normalcy I’ve had in a while.

  Now, I’m back in bed, staring at the familiar walls. This is what prison would be like … nothing to do but get lost in my own thoughts. That’s what the whole punishment is about—making you think about what you’ve done until it completely eats you up inside.

  Mom’s here for her daily visit. I don’t mind it. In fact, I think I’ve talked to her more the last couple weeks than I have the last five years. It’s sad if you think about it. Some days, I wish she would stay longer than just a couple hours, but on others, I look forward to my time alone. It gives me time to sort through my emotions, to try to remember anything about the last day of Cory’s life. So far, I haven’t had any success, but it’s not going to stop me from trying.

  “How are you doing?” she asks, coming to stand beside my bed.

  “Tired. They let me take a shower earlier.”

  “You look good.” She smiles, running my hair between her fingers.

  “Must be the clean hair.”

  “They say you should be able to leave in a week or so. Your ribs are healing, and the swelling in your brain has gone down.”

  I nod. Maybe the news of my impending release should make me happy, but I feel nothing.

  “Madison says to tell you hi. She’s been working and hasn’t been able to make it back up to see you.”

  Madison doesn’t need an excuse. I know she hates me. The whole town probably hates me. Cory was the town’s golden boy. Everyone loved him. I still can’t escape the weird feeling I was left with when she did visit; like there was something she wasn’t telling me. You can sense those things when you’ve known someone for so long.

  “I’ll bring you some of your clothes from home tomorrow. That might help. Did you want any books or magazines?”

  Back in middle school, I used to write poetry, but I haven’t written any in a long time. When weaved right, poetry is like therapy. One line leads to another, much like a therapist leads you to finding your own truth. It’s something I really need to find my way back to right now. “There’s a pink notebook in the table next to my bed. Can you bring it?”

  She smiles. “Of course. By the way, they finally sent your replacement phone.” She pulls a cell phone from her purse, handing it to me. “They even put your contacts in for you.”

  I’ve been addicted to my cellphone since I got it on my twelfth birthday. Now, as I look at it, I don’t see any of its purpose. Cory’s gone. Madison hates me. It’s almost worthless.

  “Thank you,” I whisper as she places it next to me on the bed.

  “Well, I should be going. We’re having a luncheon at the church, and I’m in charge of the sandwiches.” She stands, pulling her purse strap over her shoulder. There’ve been days when I’ve felt she should spend more time here with me, but I understand her need to return to something normal, mostly because it’s something I crave.

  Before she leaves, she adds, “The boy next door asked me about you yesterday. He was dropping off some shelves he did for me.”

  The thought of him makes a lump form in my throat. “Sam?”

  She nods.

  “What did he say?”

  Her eyebrows pull in. Pensive … that’s always how she’s felt about my relationship with Sam. “He asked how you were doing. I told him you’re as good as can be expected, given the circumstances.”

  Sam’s never been the boy next door; in a literal sense, yes, but not figuratively. His dad ran a small woodworking shop out of a shed on their property, and mostly kept to himself, with the exception of his nightly trip to the town’s only bar. Sam didn’t say much about him except for he treated him all right, making sure he was fed and clothed, but he also didn’t spend the time with Sam that he needed. He’d work all day then disappear into a bottle of booze. And when Sam talked about his mom’s death, I felt that maybe my home life wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought. He had it much worse. At least my family pretended to care.

  Sam was rough around the edges, even back then, with a temper that was easily fueled and a heart that was easily wounded. I saw it, little by little, but I understood where it was coming from. He has so much frustration and hurt that he’s never dealt with, but it doesn’t make him a bad person. He was just my Sam—the boy who would do anything for me.

  My mom didn’t like him then, said I shouldn’t spend time with him, but he was different with me. W
e’d talk for hours about our pasts, our dreams for the future. He didn’t shut me out. I was just as much his soft place to land as he was mine.

  While I sat in Sunday school every weekend, he’d work with his dad in his shop. After lunch is when we’d make our escape, meeting in our spot. There were weeks he’d have detention at school because of fights on the playground or talking back to his teacher, and his dad would ground him. Those were his worst weeks … and mine. Those were the weeks my cardboard box stayed empty. Sometimes I think he tried harder to stay out of trouble just to be with me out there. I wanted to save him … he was my purpose. Days I could put a smile on his face were the best days.

  Sam didn’t care for school; it wasn’t his thing. He didn’t care for rules either, especially the ones he didn’t agree with. My parents made a rule the summer I turned thirteen.

  Stay away from Sam.

  He was sixteen. They didn’t think it was right to be around him, and according to them, ‘that boy was bad news.’ It didn’t end our friendship. The field was our safe place. Our solace from it all. I still remember the last time we met out there … before I started seeing Cory.

  “I didn’t think you were going to make it out here today,” Sam says as I walk up behind him. He doesn’t even have to look back to know it’s me.

  “We had people over for a barbeque after church. The last family just left.” I sit down at the edge of the creek, sticking my feet in the warm water. Out here is where all my worries and life’s craziness fall away. That’s even truer when Sam’s with me.

  “Are you ready for school tomorrow?”

  I shrug, digging my fingers into the tall green grass. “Not really. Going to high school seems intimidating. I’m starting at the bottom again, you know?”

  His shoulder brushes mine. “I made it through three years without a scratch. You’ll breeze right through.”

  “You don’t know that.” Sam always acts like he knows everything but he doesn’t. He just likes to pretend he does. Typical boy.

  “Do you remember when your mom took you shopping for your first bra after your tenth birthday? Or when you got your braces on? Oh, and we can’t forget when your dad made you read the law journal after you stayed out here too late. Remember that?”

  I nod.

  He continues, “You didn’t think you’d ever make it through any of that but you’re still perched on the edge of this creek.”

  Rolling my eyes, I watch as the wind creates small ripples in the water. Sam literally knows everything about me. He listens even when I think he’s not. Whether I’m talking about an action packed movie or an outfit my mom made me wear, he soaks in all of it. I do the same for him—hanging on his every word. “Are you ready to go back to school?”

  “Hell no!” he shouts, tossing a small rock into the water. “I’m ready for this year to be over. So I can go on with the rest of my life.”

  “Yeah? What are you going to do?” Sam hates school, but he also hates working for his dad. I don’t think he even knows what his future looks like.

  “I have nine months to figure that out.” My eyes are still on the water but I feel him looking at me. I take a few seconds before meeting them with my own. The way the sun hits his face makes his brown eyes sparkle. They’re easily my favorite things about Sam. “You’ll be here for another four years so that gives me something to look forward to.”

  The way he looks at me is different, or at least, I’m reading it that way. His eyes hold me. I couldn’t let go of his stare even if I wanted to. I should say something, break the spell, but I can’t.

  He leans in slowly. The closer he comes, the more I think he might kiss me, and I quickly realize that I want him to. I like Sam. He’s one of my best friends, but there’s something deeper I have missed until just now. The longer he looks at me, the more I feel it in my veins.

  Sam Shea is my everything and maybe more.

  Before we touch, he stops, reaching up to brush my hair behind my ear. “Is that better?” he asks, leaning back.

  A ball of disappointment wedges itself in my throat. I wanted that kiss, like really, really wanted it, but Sam didn’t feel the same. Maybe I imagined everything. The way he looked at me. The lust in his eyes. Maybe I’m just too young for any of this.

  I nod, biting down on my lower lip to push back tears. I hate being a girl sometimes.

  Cory and I started dating shortly after. That’s when things changed because Cory and Sam couldn’t exist together. Now, I regret ever losing Sam as a friend. He became an acquaintance, someone I said Hi to whenever we crossed paths. He became a painful memory – not because of what happened between us – but what I lost when I left him behind. Young love clouded my judgment, and I’d do anything to have Sam back in my life. I need someone who will listen to me, and who won’t pass judgment along the way.

  “All right, honey, I’m going to head out. I’ll stop back after dinner,” Mom says softly. She gently squeezes my hand then disappears from the room.

  After a few minutes of staring at the door, I pick up my phone and scan my contacts. Toward the top are Cory, Madison, Kate, Mom, Dad, and as I scroll down, I see Sam’s name. I haven’t talked to him in a long time. I don’t even know if he still has the same phone number, but I yearn for a piece of the past. I crave something normal and simple, and thinking of him reminds me of a time when things were just that.

  He brought me out of my darkness back then, and I wonder if he ever misses those times, because I think I brought him out of the darkness, too. I wonder if he thinks about me at all. When you’re young, the phases of life change so fast. Immaturity overrides common sense. Looking back, I wish I’d still made time for Sam after beginning my relationship with Cory. He meant too much for me to just leave him behind.

  My phone rings for the first time since I’ve been here, startling me. I pull it from the bedside table, seeing Kate’s name on the display.

  I answer, bringing the phone to my ear. “Hello.”

  “Hey, Rachel. It’s so good to hear your voice,” Kate says. She sounds like she could cry.

  “It’s nice to hear yours too.” I mean it. Kate reminds me that some of the better parts of life still exist. I met her before college started. Our friendship didn’t get off to a great start because she initially thought I was dating the guy she loved. After we cleared the air, we became great friends. She’s kind and doesn’t get into all the bullshit that some girls our age get into. She’s also the only person who might get what I’m feeling right now.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I talked to your mom right after the accident. She’s been keeping me up to date.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I haven’t felt much like talking anyway,” I say honestly.

  “I’d ask how you’re doing, but that’s probably a stupid question.”

  “Thank you for the flowers.” I stare at the purple flowers she sent me. They’re different than the daisies that fill my room.

  “You’re welcome. I’m just glad you got to see them finally.”

  Just like that, a new idea hits me. Maybe Kate was with me that day … before I left school. Maybe she can tell me something that would help explain how I got here. “Did you see me that morning?” I ask, feeling a little hope. If someone could just fill in some of the missing pieces.

  “No,” she replies, sadness etched in her voice. “I wish I could help.”

  “It’s okay. I just feel like I’m sitting around waiting for something that may never happen. It’s so frustrating.”

  “It’ll come with time.”

  “I hope so.”

  We talk a few more minutes, about my prognosis mostly. I can tell she’s purposely avoiding anything that has to do with Cory, and for that, I’m grateful.

  “I need to get ready for work, but I’ll call again soon.”

  “Thank you … for everything, Kate.”

  “I’m here no matter what. You’d do the same for me.” And I would.

  Aft
er I hang up, I look around the room for something to do, to keep my mind off things. This morning, Mom brought me the pink notebook I asked for yesterday. It’s setting on the table beside my bed, begging to be picked up.

  After she left to go run a few errands earlier, I flipped through it, reading old poetry I’d written years before. I see now that I wasn’t very good at it, but it always made me feel better, a way of healing my heart in the privacy of my bedroom. At times when I felt like I had no one, I could arrange words on paper and feel like someone was listening.

  I’d written them after fights with my mom and dad.

  When Sam was grounded and couldn’t meet me on our days in the field.

  The day Toby ran onto the road in front of our house and was hit by a truck.

  A lot of pain and bad memories are held in this notebook.

  Finding an empty page, I pull my pen off the table and stare at the thin blue lines. I write one word then cross it out. It’s hard to find the starting verse for this one. This isn’t just another situation I need to sort through … it’s a turning point, a life changer.

  Closing my eyes, I try to pull my thoughts together. They don’t come—only tears. I remember the way Cory smelled of spice and citrus. I used to nestle my nose in the crook of his neck and breathe him in. He had this thing he liked to do where he lightly tugged on my hair to get my attention. I’ll always remember the little things. He made me feel cared for and loved. Always teasing. Always smiling. That was my Cory.

  When I hear the door open, I don’t bother opening my eyes. So many people come in and out of my room every day that I’m immune to it now. It’s usually Mom or one of the nurses. Dad was just here yesterday so I know it’s not him; he fulfilled his obligation for the next couple days. I feel a cool brush of air against the tearstains on my cheeks as the sound of rubber soles on the floor becomes louder—something else I’m used to now. Maybe I should wipe my tears away, but I don’t. At this point, I don’t even care who sees me like this.

  My ears follow the footsteps until they stop near my bed. I’m expecting to hear the customary “How are you feeling?” from one of the many medical personnel who comes in and out of my room almost hourly. Instead, a warm, calloused hand covers mine. Suddenly, I’m that eight-year-old girl back in the fields. It’s been years since I felt his touch, but I remember it like it was yesterday. He always held my hand to help me climb out of the creek after we’d been swimming. There were also a few times, while we stared up into the night sky, he had wrapped his fingers around mine as we talked for hours. His skin was rough from hours in the shop, but it felt right.