Page 56 of Perfect Tragedy
He sighs and relents, “Treehouse, tomorrow? Meet me at six o’clock? I have some things I have to take care of most of the day. Does that work for you?”
“Yes. I’ll be there.”
He walks away and for the first time in a long time that mustard seed of hope has sprung back to life inside me.
13
I’m early. I got out of work as fast as I could, drove to the house, and without a word to dad or Jack made my way to the treehouse. I haven’t been up here for years - I couldn’t bring myself to come up - it felt too painful to do so alone.
There’s dust in all the corners and the hatch creaked so loud when I pushed it up I’m sure people a town over heard it open. But otherwise, not much has changed. For a short minute I revel at how sound and secure dad must have built it and that he must have preserved the wood to withstand all of the elements this many years. It must have meant as much to him to have provided this for us, as it did for us to have access to it.
I’ve been a nervous wreck all day. Work kept me busy which meant I was distracted and unable to obsess about it all day, but thoughts still tried to creep in anyway. I couldn’t even let myself enjoy the fact we had a great day of production; I was sweating about meeting Blake. About what to say and how to say it. And if I would know if I even should. At some level I am wanting to clear my head and heart. To say all the things I’ve never gotten a chance to say. Would I really be brave enough to say them now?
“Sienna?”
His voice calling for me makes goosebumps break out over my whole body and tears come to my eyes. How I had missed something as simple as him saying my name. I don’t think I realized the full extent of how much I missed having him in my life until the emotions knocked me over like a bulldozer after seeing him again yesterday.
“Hey,” I respond and look down and see him through the many leaves and branches between us. “I’m here.”
“Can you come down?”
My brow lowers in confusion at the fact that he’s not coming up. “Sure.”
I open the hatch again, grimacing at the sound again, then make my way down carefully. When I’m close to the ground, he reaches up and helps me the rest of the way.
“Thanks,” I smile at him brushing my hands together once my feet are on the ground.
“I, um, wasn’t thinking when I said to meet here. It was just automatic, I guess. I brought a blanket. I thought we could sit at the base of the tree.”
“Okay,” I nod and help him spread out the blanket when he pulls it from under his arm. I watch as he sits and then seems to struggle a bit with his leg, which I find confusing and want to ask about, but I’m so nervous and know I need to wait for him.
He stares out toward his property and I look in the same direction. Rows and rows of wheat blow in the slight breeze. “I would dream about this place when I was away,” he says his voice so soft I lean toward him to hear him better. “The funny thing is that my dreams would include things like the wheat field, the treehouse, driving up your driveway, and when I dreamt about having dinner as a family it was with your family - not mine. Jack would be there all the time,” his eyes met mine before looking away again, “and you. You were always there.” He pauses, swallows, runs his hand through his hair. “It never made me feel bad before, knowing that when I thought about belonging, about family, that it only makes sense that I would think about the place where it always felt like home to me. But now, with mom…”
“Blake,” I whisper wishing to offer comfort but not knowing how.
“You shut me out, left me,” he says suddenly and it takes me off guard. “I used tolivefor your emails - your letters when you’d write them. They seemed to come at times when I needed them the most. When I had moments of regret for joining the Army at all. When I missed home. When I wasn’t sure I could do the next task, conquer the next challenge. When I would have given anything to come back. When I was in a god-forsaken country that became the thing nightmares are made of and saw things I’ll never be able to unsee - I would have given anything to have received a single email from you.”
“I’m sorry,” I choke, his words shocking me with their honesty. “I just-”
“I know. I know you were angry, you were hurt, you were protecting yourself, and I have tried to understand over the years, but hell, Si, I’m fucking pissed off too and I’m not going to pretend not to be.”
“I loved you,” I choke out and almost immediately I wish I could grab the words from the air and shove them back into my mouth. Especially when his gaze collides with mine. But I push through, “I didn’t just love you. I wasin lovewith you. And my heart broke over and over.”
“I didn’t-”
“Mean to? I know. But when I saw Hailey,” my throat closes up and I feel the words get trapped. I can still picture that night and I need to clear my throat a couple times to continue. “When I saw her,” I say again, “it broke me. In that instant I knew that in order for me to really move on, to let go, to stop holding on to my unreasonable dreams hoping for something that was never going to happen, I needed to cut and run.”
“And how did that work out for you?”
I laugh bitterly, “I never really did escape you.”
He looks deeply into my eyes and pushes the hair blowing in my face behind my ear. The touch of his fingertips against my skin, makes me tingle. I feel his touch there after he pulls his hand away.
“What, um, what happened with Hailey? I had heard you aren’t together,” he looks at me curiously, “I overheard my parents talking about it once, but I don’t know what happened. Jack said that you have a daughter.”
He laughs and it takes me off guard, “There’s a lot you don’t know, Si.”
“Then tell me.”
