Page 32 of The Significance of Moving On

“No. My brother didn’t commit suicide. I killed him.”

“What?” she whispers.

“Feel real safe now, don’t you? Yeah, well, Luke and I, we’d been arguing. I didn’t know he’d tied a rope to his door. We both said hurtful things and I turned around to walk out of his room. I slammed the door shut behind me. He’d tied a knot at the other end of that rope and slipped it around his neck when I left. When I slammed the door, I killed my brother. People tell you they love you, but it’s all a big lie.”

She sits there with her mouth hanging open for what feels like an eternity and I can’t look at her anymore. I stand to stomp off to my room when Tal jumps up from her spot on the sofa and throws her arms around me. Her tears dampen my shirt. Why is she hugging me? Doesn’t she realize how unsafe she is? I’m a monster.

“God, you big idiot.” She cries harder, burying her face deeper against my chest.

Her touch is too much to handle, a touch that burns both pain and pleasure straight through me. I push her off and veer from heading to my room to grab my keys from the hook next to the front door and get the hell out of there. I can still hear her crying as I shut the door.

The only place I have to go at this time of night is D’s apartment. He won’t mind me crashing there again while he’s gone. Sleep comes rough when it comes at all. I spend much of the night tossing and turning or fluffing and pounding the pillow. My phone rings unexpectedly early for a Sunday morning. I’m thankful that when I answer, it’s my boss.

He needs me on—get this—an emergency landscaping job. Who has emergency landscaping needs? Apparently one of his friends pulled some strings for a tryout for some big-wig golf pro that lives up in Traverse City. It’s a hell of a drive, a little less than three hours, but my boss says that this could open up major opportunities for our company and I’m the best at what I do. No formal training, I just have an eye for landscape design. Been trying my hand at it for some of the neighbors of the doctor that I bought the Rabbit from.

The timing couldn’t be more perfect as a week away from home means a week away from Tally.

“Job won’t happen without Jesse.” Gotta take care of my boy now that he’s grieving a broken heart.

“Agreed,” he says. “You work well together, but I want you as project manager.”

A title. I’ve never had a title before. This could be the beginning to something big for me personally. Since I left my house last night without packing, I walk into D’s room and borrow some of his clothing. We’re pretty close to the same size. I dress quickly and throw what I’ll need for a week in an overnight bag I grab from the closet.

The toiletries, I’ll have to forgo—toothbrush, deodorant, razors—and buy them new when I get to Traverse City. Every place has a Walgreens or Rite Aid. I’m not worried about it. Lastly, before I leave, I call Tally’s phone. She won’t be awake and it’ll go to voicemail. I tell her about going out of town, remind her to lock the door at night and then turn off my phone so I won’t be tempted to answer when she calls back. And she will inevitably call back.

I drive to the office to switch out my car for the company van and equipment and head to Jesse’s place where he’s already waiting for me outside his apartment. We hit a drive thru for breakfast before catching the highway—I75 via the I675 connection.

Because it’s damned early on Sunday, there’s no traffic. The song on the radio kind of catches my attention, but for the life of me, I have no idea the name of it or who sings it. Jess has the volume turned too low for me to get a handle on it, thanks to his major hangover care of last night’s drinks and pool with the guys. While he was getting his drink on, I was home telling the best person I know part A of the biggest secret of my life. I should’ve stayed and hung out. He can never know this humiliation which is why we sit in complete silence for at least the first hour of the drive.

Eventually he interrupts the peace. “Hey, man, I gotta piss.”

“Rest stop or food joint?”

“Rest stop is fine. They’ve got vending machines. I need a Dew to wake me up.”

“Can’t believe you drink that goat pee.”

“What the fuck—to each his own. I don’t judge you and your coffee drinks.”

“Maybe you should,” I answer him back, pointing out a rest stop five miles sign out his window.

We’re friends and he doesn’t know about last night, but man, I want to throat punch him when he asks abouther. “How’s it going with Tally?”

How am I supposed to forget about her if he brings her up? “What do you mean bythat?”

“Wow. Chill dude. Apparently not well, then.”

“She’s myroommate. And probably won’t be that for much longer.” I white-knuckle the steering wheel.

“There’s a story there. Unless she’s your way of telling me you’re gay, which cool if you are, we’re still down, I call bullshit.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not that hard up, yet. But thanks for the offer. I’ll call if it comes to that.”

“Shut up.”

He starts laughing, then I start laughing and punch his shoulder, probably harder than I need to, but not harder than I mean to.

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