Page 115 of A World Without You
“You still think those lights aren’t tacky,” I say, laughing internally.
“What?” he asks, wincing at my entire being.
“The colored lights are tacky...we talked about it...you know, never mind,” I let out a breath after rambling. “Are you okay?”
His brow furrows, and he sets his beer bottle on the counter. “Are you?”
I get it instantly. I’m the crazy one. The unexpected guest. The one who doesn’t belong. But, God, do I want to tell him I love him and that in another world, Josie—his daughter—is perfect. That I fall for him over and over, night after night, even when this world steals me away.
There are piles of boxes marked storage in the corner, and my gaze follows him as he hobbles with a cane to the counter. He favors his right leg, and I want to know the details of where it hurts. I want him to tell me so I can make it right. I want to make him feel better and provide the ointment for whatever wounds have been inflicted on his skin.
I don’t, though, nor do I answer his question, and instead ask, “What are you doing for Christmas?”
He holds up his beer. “A drink for Krista and a flight for Josiah.”
“Josiah?”
“Our baby.”
I swallow my tears, remembering how they thought it was a boy and surprise! Their sweet Josiah became Josephine. His Josie. His best girl.
“Why are you crying, Liv? It was five years ago.” I’ve never heard his voice so cold, not even during drunk Celine Dion karaoke.
I swat at my wet cheeks. I didn’t know I was crying, but now that I’m aware of the tears, there are a million reasons I’m crying.
“Can I have a drink with you for Krista, too?” I ask, barely able to keep my tears at bay.
He stares down at me with the same amusement, confusion, and affection I’ve grown to know. Then he nods and opens the fridge, fetches me a beer, and pops off the top before handing it to me.
I search my mind for the memory of the night and how it all could have gone down. There was probably blood on the dash and screaming and crying in the snow. There’s a fuzzy memory generating in my mind of Bennett yelling at me at the hospital, strapped to a gurney and his leg in a brace, but I can barely remember it. The memory is fuzzy—almost a figment of what could have happened. Then it all hits me.
Colin came to Roslyn to pick me up. I told the sweet little town goodbye and we rode into the sunset over the mountain pass when Bennett texted,I heard we’re doing Christmas Eve like old times.I called him on the Bluetooth and said, “Colin and I are coming to get you and Krista.”
And we did. We picked them up and blared Mariah Carey and Bing Crosby. I took over driving because Colin was too tired from working all day and then coming to get me. I didn’t mind. I was just relieved to be home for Christmas.
We were rushing to my parents’ house, where the Hollands had already arrived.
The snow was falling, and the windshield wipers swatted at it relentlessly. I was excited and ready to be home. I was only going two over the speed limit but Bennett told me to slow down from the backseat. I told him the roads aren’t that bad and I wasn’t going that fast.
We hit black ice. We fishtailed and as I tried to regain control, a semi jackknifed and hit us on I-5. The memory comes in flashes—like a preview for a movie that starts in tragedy.
We were all rushed to the hospital. Colin and I escaped with concussions and bruises. Bennett had a shattered femur and woke from his surgery to learn he had a deceased wife. She was pregnant with Josie. He came out of surgery in a rage, and his leg was never the same—the limp tells that entire story, but his heart—his perfect, precious, loving, kind, good-natured heart—never healed.
I throw myself in his arms. “I’m sorry.”
“You and Krista weren’t close,” he says, his arms still at his sides. “Why are you being like this?”
“Because you and I were close...or we were supposed to be. You told me that. You said I’ll always do anything for you, kid—middle of the night or the middle of a storm. Then you lost everything, and it’s my fault, and I—” My chest heaves. I’m certain I’m about to have a panic attack, so I back out of his arms with slow steps until my back is against the wall and I slide down. “I know I was driving, and I should have been more careful. I should have—”
He follows me and stumbles on his bad leg to reach my level. I breathe deeply, fully aware I’ve made his grief and loss about me, but it’s still a shock to my system realizing it for the first time.
He cups his hand around my jaw, tilting my face to look at him, as he shushes me and says, “You need to breathe, Liv.”
My heart swells as he calls me Liv. My hands cover his as he holds my face.
“I need you to know I miss you,” I respond and he nods once, looking away.
“Why?” he asks after a moment.
