Page 64 of The Last to Let Go
“But it could’ve been! You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you?” I feel myself start to laugh—needing some kind of release for my frustration.
“What?” he asks me, trying to be comforting but getting frustrated himself. “What are you talking about, then?”
“You, Aaron! It was the worst moment of my whole life. Finding you on the roof. Did you know it was me?” I finally ask the question that has been on the tip of my tongue for two years.
His brow furrows in confusion, as if maybe this is one of his memories that he keeps locked away.
“You do know what I’m talking about, right?” I ask when he doesn’t answer.
He hesitates. “No. I mean, yes, I know what you’re talking about. I didn’t know it was you, though.” He brings his cigarette to his mouth again, looking out across the street, and says absently, “I don’t really remember much about what happened.”
“Well, I can’t forget it,” I tell him. “I think about it all the time. And I think about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t come up and found you. And I get scared it could happen again—I’m scared about that all the time.”
He nods, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s so quiet I can hear the paper and tobacco sizzle as he inhales deeply. “Can I ask you something stupid?” he finally says, his voice amplified by the cold and the snow and that silence they create together. I nod. “Do you...” He stops to laugh at himself. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Why, do you?”
“Sometimes I think I’m being haunted. Possessed or something.”
“By who?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“I can hear his voice in my head. Always there, pushing me around. ‘Loser,’?” he mimics, almost perfectly, Dad’s deep baritone voice. “?‘You little girl, you stupid idiot, be a man.’?” I watch his nostrils expand as he inhales, his mouth opening slightly on the exhale. “Sometimes I look in the mirror—I see his face. Then again, I guess he was haunting me long before he was dead. It got better after I moved out. But now, being in this goddamn place again... he’s everywhere I turn. Starting to feel him get inside my head again.”
“Aaron, I—”
“And I don’t want you to be haunted like that, not by him, not by me, not by some screwed-up thing I did on the roof.”
“I’m not,” I lie, feeling the ground slipping out from under my feet.
“I think we need to call it, Brooke,” he blurts out. “This is over. You can’t say we didn’t go down without a fight.”
“It’s not over. I mean, can’t she appeal?”
“No, she can’t appeal. She pleaded guilty. You can’t appeal that. It’s done, Brooke. It really is. And we can’t stay here—Ican’t.”
“Aaron, please. You can’t leave. Please.” I grab on to his arm. “Please? I need you. I’m sorry that we fight. I’ll be better, I’ll be more understanding. I’m trying too, you know?” I feel this overpowering desperation taking hold of me. I’m begging. I can hear it in my voice and hate it.
“No, stop.” He pulls his arm away and stands, seeming so tall, so far away from me already. “Listen to yourself, Brooke. You know, lately, if you’re not sounding like Dad, you’re sounding just like Mom.”
“I do not!” But he’s not listening; he’s backing away from me, toward the door.
“Look, I’m wrecked, okay? I’m sorry,” he says one last time, leaving me alone outside in the cold at four o’clock in the morning.
I watch as the wind drags the snow across the street in slow motion, S-like patterns, quivering snakes, making the invisible air visible. It’s strange how absence can take up so much space sometimes. I guess that’s what ghosts are. I stay outside until I get so cold I can’t stand it anymore.
CRASHING
IN THE MORNINGI put on a pot of coffee for Aaron. I eat a whole bowl of cereal and sit there at the kitchen table, feeling okay about the silence. I’m planning out my talking points for the conversation we’re going to have. We’ll both be more rational in the daylight. We’ll figure it out. We’ll make a new plan.
But then all of a sudden my eyes fix on something. A sheet of lined paper folded in half like a tent. It’s been sitting there right in front of me this whole time; my name is scrawled out across the front.
I unfold it, but the words don’t make sense at first.
Brooke,
I’m sorry. I swear I tried my best. I’m sorry I couldn’t say all of this to your face. If I had, I wouldn’t be able to leave. I’m taking that job with Mark. It’s out of town. I wasn’t going to go with him, but I realized tonight that I have to. I can’t be here anymore. Neither can you. We all need to leave this place. You and Callie need to go to Jackie’s. Jackie and Ray are good people and they want to help. Let them.
This is not forever, I promise. I just need some space to get my head together. Forgive me someday?
