And William was all about absolutes--everything was either black or white. How could I translate this for him?
"I was afraid..." I began, but he turned away from me as I spoke, his eyes scanning the rest of the apartment, probably searching for other clues pointing to my imminent departure. That was me. Jenna Kovac, permanent flight risk.
William was having none of it. He turned back to me, fists balled at his sides. "I was afraid, too. Afraid to go into that duel and fight Doug again. Afraid I'd be defeated and lose all my friends and your tiara. I was afraid, but I did it anyway. I showed you how I felt with my actions, not just words."
I closed my eyes, the tears welling inside their sore depths yet again. "I'm not perfect, William. I'm just human. And I have failings."
"Yes. You do."
That hurt. In fact, it felt like more glass just scraped across that tender organ in the center of my chest. I took a deep breath and tried not to get defensive. He had the right to be hurt. But then again, so did I. And his words did hurt.
"Can we talk about this when you aren't so angry?"
He tightened his jaw, cheeks bulging. "I'm not angry. I'm disappointed. I need someone I can count on, and you aren't that person. I need someone who will back what she says with actions, who won't just say something to get her way. You weren't there for me." He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Just like you weren't there for Brock."
I gasped, feeling like he'd slammed his buckler into my stomach. My knees gave out and I landed on the couch, covering my face with my hands. His words cut me to the core, confirming every single doubt I had about myself--about the night Brock died and my role in it.
"How could you?" I choked out between sobs, the pain overwhelming me. It punctured me through every pore, like needles in my skin.
William said nothing. He didn't even move for a long time as I tried to gain control of myself--and failed.
"This was a mistake," he finally said in a shaky voice. I pulled my hands away from my face to look up at him. A few beats after that, he turned toward the door.
I popped up off the couch and sped to the door, blocking it so he couldn't open it. "Don't do this," I sobbed. "You know damn well that I didn't use you. You know..." My voice faded with a squeak.
His features were just as placid as when he'd entered. He looked as unmoved as that robot he'd often been likened to. "I don't know."
I tried as hard as I could to look into his eyes, but they deftly eluded me. "You know that I love you, Wil. I do."
His lips thinned. "Those are the words you used, but they don't match your actions. You abandoned me the second something got difficult. You won't commit to any course of action. You'll find a reason to run away again."
I sucked my lip inside my mouth and gnawed on it, new tears burning like acid, pouring from the wells of my eyes and down my cheeks. "And you'll never forgive any mistake I make."
He closed his eyes for a good long time, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, he looked into my eyes. But instead of replying, he turned the knob of the door. "Please move aside."
I shook my head, refusing to accept what he was saying. "Wil," I sobbed.
And for a split second, I saw it because he was looking directly at me. Pain streaked through his eyes. Then he blinked harshly and turned his head away.
I decided to chance it. What did I have to lose? I reached up and put my hand on his face, my fingertips brushing his scratchy face.
He jerked his head away from my touch. "Goodbye, Jenna," he repeated in a low, trembling voice.
Slowly, quietly, I did as he asked, and he wasted no time before turning the knob. Then he opened the door and left the minute I was free of it.
I slid down the wall beside the doorjamb, curling into a ball, my face against my knees. I thought I had no tears left to cry. I was wrong.
Because even though I'd been prepared to throw everything away in my panic and fear earlier today, I was not prepared to lose this.
But ready or not, it was happening. And there was nothing more I could do.
Chapter 36
William
Walking away from her apartment is the most difficult thing I've ever done. It's a piercing type of pain that starts in the middle of my chest and makes it hard to breathe. I feel like I'm being poked and prodded from within by sharp objects. It hurts...but that hurt, along with anger, burns like a fire.
And I couldn't look at her anymore.
My friends stand in a cluster near the stairwell, but I don't want to talk to any of them. I want to go home, to my orderly house and my comforting routine, where nothing is a surprise and everything happens as it should. There, I never have to rely on anyone else, and I'm never disappointed.
I can't handle being disappointed again. Not like this. It hurts too much.
Casting a glance at the group, I note that they are tightly bunched together and talking in low voices. Except for the older woman who was with Jenna when we arrived. I have no idea who she is, and I don't want to know.
I want to go home and forget about all of this--forget about her. I'll use the visualization techniques that she taught me to visualize her right out of my mind. Out of my heart. Out of my life.
Passing them, I make my way down the stairs without stopping or even acknowledging anyone. My heart thumps, each beat hurting my chest a little more. I wonder if this is a symptom of the head wound. As I'm still feeling out of it from the medication, I grip the railing to make sure I don't fall over.
Adam and Mia follow closely behind. They've let me know that they do not want me spending the night alone, but when I refused to go to their house, they invited themselves over to spend the night at mine instead. Worse, they'll be driving me to the local hospital for another MRI in the morning.
Just what I need...as if this crappy situation wasn't bad enough.
I'm tired and hurting, and I just want to go to sleep and forget about this day.
Yes, I won--but I lost, too. So, so much.
***
I've been forced to take time off from my job for the first three days of the week. Sometimes it's a real disadvantage to work for your annoyingly overprotective--and bossy--cousin.
I spend my spare time at home completely overhauling my art studio and repairing my forge tools. It's the perfect opportunity to hone my skills by working on the damaged practice armor.
I return to work on Thursday, but I don't go to family dinner on Sunday. And ignoring the phone is easy to do, since I've turned it off completely. Jordan and Adam both check in with me at work, but I don't meet Mia for our usual breakfast the following Wednesday morning, mostly because she has a lot of studying to do.
Routines have once again become my comfort. But they don't help me forget. And though I continue going about my regular pre-Jenna routine, it hurts too much to attempt to forget her now.
It hurts too much to attempt anything.
I want to talk to her. I want to hear her voice. I want to feel her touch, smell her smell. I want to lie beside her, our skin touching while I listen to her breathe.
And it's driving me insane. Because I don't want to want her as much as I do. I want these feelings to go away. I want things to go back to how they were before it hurt so much.
So I occupy myself with every mundane task that needs to be accomplished. Adhering strictly to my schedule, I keep myself so busy that I hardly have any time to let my mind wander to thoughts that I can't control.
The following weekend, I spend the entire day in my shop. I can't create art when my mind is like this, but I can hit things with a hammer just fine. In a strange way, it makes everything feel better.
The forge is going at full force and it's hotter than an oven. I'm blowing through my supply of wood at an alarming pace as I keep working the bellows. I hear the doorbell when it rings, having rigged it to ring back here, too. Nevertheless, I decide to ignore it.
Minutes later, however, my dad appears in the doorway of the shop
, maintaining the distance I request as he watches me work. I continue on, ignoring his presence for a quarter of an hour before dropping my work in the slag bucket. The heated metal hisses on contact.
"Hey," he says when I finally turn to him.
I remove my goggles and my leather apron, then wipe my sweaty face with a clean towel. "Hi. Why are you here?"
His brows twitch. "Do I need an excuse to see my son? We missed you at dinner last week."
"I didn't feel like being social." Not that I ever do, but even less so than usual.
He frowns. "Okay. But I can still check up on you, right?"
"I'm an adult, Dad," I remind him as I power down the forge. I'll have to come back out here to clean up once it's cooled, but it's safe to leave for a short time.
"You have anything to drink? It's hot in here," he asks.
"There is beer, water and juice in my fridge."
"Well, then take a break and let's sit down for a minute."
I try not to sigh too loudly as we leave the workshop and head through the backyard to the kitchen. It's obvious Dad wants to talk. We haven't had many of these one-on-ones lately, but I recognize one when it's coming.
And I don't want to push him away. I know he's worried about me--they all are. It's better if I just do my best to sweep his worries aside and then things will get back to normal soon.
Normal is key. I need for things to go back to normal.
I reach into the fridge and pull out two bottles of beer, since I know what he likes. I cut a lime and offer him a wedge to squeeze inside. It's the best way to drink Mexican beer.
Dad thanks me and squeezes his slice of lime into his bottle before cramming the entire wedge down the long bottleneck so that it floats inside the beer--a habit that drives me crazy. I scoff at him and he smiles. "I'm not going to change at my age, Liam. You should know better."
I take a pull from my beer without answering. We drink in silence for a few minutes before he finally clears his throat. "Adam says you're back at work already. I wonder if that's a good idea. How's the injury?"
Instinctively, I raise my hand to my hairline without actually touching the injured area. It's still sore, but it's survivable. "I'm fine. The injury is minor. I get the stitches out on Monday, and that's the part that's the most annoying. They are starting to itch."
"So you'll be right as rain, physically. How about emotionally?"
I don't answer. I continue sipping my beer while thinking about how odd that expression is. Dad uses it a lot, but I have no idea how "right" rain can be.
"Liam...do you want to talk about it?"
"We are talking about it."
"About Jenna." He's giving me his serious look.
I sip my beer some more. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to describe what it is I feel. I'm living the same life I've always led, but now it feels like there's a giant hole. Like a huge part of me is missing. During that week before the Festival--when I chose not to see her--I'd missed her deeply. But now...
It's a little bit like how I imagine missing a physical part of me that I can no longer see, feel or touch. Like having a limb removed. It's like that.
"Why did you and my mother divorce?" I suddenly ask, shocking myself even more than my dad. That's saying a lot because, with raised eyebrows and an open mouth, he appears pretty startled.
"Uh..." He leans back and sets the beer down, rubbing the dark stubble along his jaw. People say I look like my dad and I take that as a compliment, though I'd be more proud to be as good a man as my dad is. "We didn't communicate very well...and I was spending a lot of time getting the firm up and running. She had two little ones at home. It was a lot of stress with me gone so much."
Even now he won't blame her--like couples who break up usually do. But not him. That's my dad.
"And having me. I'm sure that was additional stress."
His brows come down sharply. "No more than any other young child."
"Statistics say that parents of autistic children--"
He makes a sharp chopping gesture with his hand. "I don't care what statistics say. It wasn't your fault, Liam. There are a lot of different factors that determine whether a marriage will work or not. We just weren't as good a fit as we initially thought we were. Things change when you start your adult life. We were young and ambitious. We took on a lot--parenthood and a new business, among other things. It was no one's fault, Liam. Or if it was anyone's fault, it was mine and your mother's. You were just little when we split up."
"But--"
"Is this what you've thought all along? That she left because of you?"
I shrug and sip my beer.
His shoulders are rigid as he rocks in his seat. "Your mother's relationship with you--or lack thereof--had nothing to do with the divorce," he states. Then, he gets out of his seat and starts walking around the room. Mercifully, he knows better than to pick up my things and put them down. That really bothers me.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and says, "I wish I could have done more to make things better between you and her. I thought I was protecting you."
I think about that for a minute. "There's nothing you could have done."
"I could have not interfered." He hung his head for a moment before straightening to look at me. "I saw what it did to you the few times she made plans that fell through, so I...discouraged her from making plans after that."
I'm silent for a moment, trying to recover from my shock before he notices. But he's watching my face and he's almost as good as Adam at sensing other people's feelings. He starts talking again before I can think of anything to say. "I screwed up, and the damage was done by the time you were old enough to understand. I think I was hoping things would get better between the two of you when you got older, but..."
"But you didn't know she was going to die."
He was studying a painting on the wall, the signed and numbered Meyers print that I'd purchased last year. "It wasn't all her fault, Liam. I share the blame in that, too."
"Don't blame yourself for her failings as a person."
He turned back to me. "We all have failings, Liam. We're human. Yes, she had hers, but I have mine, too."
I blink, thinking how much those words sound like what Jenna said to me. You'll never forgive any mistake I make--any human failing I have. It bothers me and I don't know why. Tipping my bottle back, I finish the last of the beer.
A half hour later, I escort my dad to the door. He stops and asks for a hug, which I concede. "Love you, son," he says as he grips my shoulders.
"I love you, too."
"Liam," he says, pulling back and looking at me directly. My eyes lower to his shoulder. "Try to forgive your mother. It will help a lot. I know she's not here anymore, but...she's your mother. She deserves your forgiveness. And as for your life, well... You should talk to Jenna. Sort this all out. She seems like a very sweet girl."
"She's a woman."
He laughs. "Yeah, you know what I mean."
I do, but it's easier to correct him than to address the rest of what he said. It's true, I could talk to her...but would she only hurt me again?
***
Another week passes. Another week of my comforting, regular routine. It's during our usual Wednesday morning breakfast meeting that I finally summon the courage to bring up the subject with Mia.
"How is Jenna?" I say as quietly and as blandly as I can manage. As if my next breath isn't hanging on the answer. But my voice still sounds like it's strangled.
She stares at her breakfast plate for a long time, cutting everything up into smaller bites than she usually does. Then she sits back, suppressing a yawn with the back of her hand. "Sorry, I had a bad night last night. Up late studying."
I fork a bite of sausage and pop it in my mouth, waiting for her answer.
"So, um, Jenna left."
Suddenly, the sausage tastes like ashes in my mouth. I stop chewing as everything inside me tightens. And yet--I knew it. I knew she would leav
e. But somehow it still hits me like a ton of bricks.
"The Renaissance Faire doesn't move on until the end of June, though," I say once I've managed to swallow that dry lump of sawdust.
Mia looks away with a sigh. "No, I mean she left the country, William. She went to Bosnia early to spend time with her mom and sister before the wedding."
"Did she say when she'd be back?"
"She didn't, William. I'm sorry. She said that...there's a possibility she might stay there permanently with her family."
Suddenly, I'm done with my breakfast. I sit back and push my plate away, then quickly excuse myself. I do have lots of work to do, but I can't think about anything else the rest of the day. Not that Jenna was far from my thoughts before this, but now she's halfway around the world and I can't stop thinking about how permanent this is. I've lost her forever.
I can't explain why, but that night when I get home, I open the drawer that holds the stack of cash and birthday cards from my mother. After opening them at my dad's house, I brought them to mine. They are still arranged in order from my sixth birthday to my twenty-first. I read through them in that order until I reach the last one--the one I didn't read the night I was with Jenna.
The one Mother sent me only months before she died.
Liam,
It's too late. I know that. I wish I could go back and change everything between us, but by the time I was in a place to try, you were too old and too hurt by things that happened when you were a child. I'm sorry I wasn't a good mother to you. I regret that every day. But I was young and human and imperfect. Your dad was so much better with you than I ever was. He did a good job raising you and I'm proud of all you've accomplished, though I really have no right to be.
Someday, perhaps after I'm gone, I hope you will forgive me.
I love you. I always have.
Mom
There it was--the one I'd been looking for. The message I'd doubted she ever penned. And had I opened it the day I received it, there would have been time. Time for me to pick up the phone and call her, to meet with her, to forgive.
But because I'd let my anger and resentment rule me, that opportunity had been lost. Forever.