Forget You (32 page)

I sat, motionless, letting my Eva’s reasoning
wash over me.

“Still makes it my fault,” I said. “You’re
not helping.”

“No, it makes it his. He didn’t know you as
well as you thought he did, because if he had, then he would have
known that you would have been happy for him regardless if the girl
was Camilla.”

Eva moved to lie down beside me. She tucked
her body close to mine, and traced lazy patterns with her fingertip
across my bare chest.

“It’s both of our faults, then,” I
concluded.

“Which means they cancel out, and it becomes
no one’s,” she whispered. “There ultimately is no one to
blame.”

“Well, you sure did change your tune quick.
You went from blaming my brother to being one hundred percent sure
there was no one to blame. I think I like the canceled out theory
most.” I smoothed the palm of my hand against her shoulder, and
bent to kiss her on the forehead. “Thank you. I needed a signature
pep talk.”

“You’re welcome.” She snuggled closer to
me.

“Anymore words of wisdom for me today, oh
wise one?”

Her shoulder rose and fell as she inhaled
deeply. “One more thing. Just remember, Sawyer, if the world didn’t
suck, we’d all fall off.”

And there is was, a famous Eva Keeton
one-liner to end the emotional moment.

I laughed. For the first time in days, I
laughed hysterically. I loved my wife more than anything in the
world. God had truly sent me an angel the day I found her.

* * * *

The microwave beeped, and a smile sprang to
my face. Eva’s baked potatoes were the best. I could cook just
about anything, except for a freaking baked potato. For whatever
reason, mine always turned hard as a rock or wrinkled and shriveled
down to nothing. Eva’s potatoes were always perfect.

“I still don’t know how you do it,” I said. I
moved to stand behind her. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I
kissed along the side of her throat.

“Easy.” She wiggled free from my grip, and
moved to the fridge. Pulling out a tub of butter, she flashed me a
shit-eating grin. “I push the
potato button
on the
microwave.”

“Smart-ass.” I shook my head and smiled. “I
know that much. The button just doesn’t work for me the way it does
for you. It kills my potatoes, and makes me look incompetent.”

“There’s a joke in there somewhere, but I’m
keeping my mouth shut.” She pulled a butter knife from in the
drawer, and split the potatoes open.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I swiped my keys off the
counter, and started toward the front door.

“Where are you going? I just made you this
glorious baked potato.”

“I’m checking the mail. I can’t handle the
disgrace that is my lack of baked potato making skills right now.
They need to air out,” I said.

“Whatever.”

A crumpled up paper towel flew across the
room at me, and Eva laughed.

“You’re picking that up,” I said as I ducked
out the door.

Jogging down the stairs, I made it to the
small stand of mailboxes in a few seconds. Inserting the key into
our box, I unlocked it and pulled the little door open. Everything
inside seemed to be folded in a stack of junk mail. I pulled it out
and flipped through its contents. One thing was for sure, the
mailman would always have a job if companies continued to waste
money on printing off coupons and flyers nobody would ever put to
use.

“Bill, bill, Eva’s, mine,” I muttered as I
continued to skim through the stack.

When I reached the final envelope, my heart
stopped. Zeroing in on the return address, everything around me
blurred out of focus. Ryker’s name was written in his horrible
chicken scratch across the top. Someone had written
return to
sender
in curly handwriting smack across the center. My eyes
trailed over where the letter was supposed to be sent, and the
realization it had been meant for me hit me straight to the
core.

Apparently, Ryker had attempted to send me a
letter while I’d been away. He’d just screwed up the address, so it
never reached me.

My feet were moving for the stairs before I
could think about anything more. Pushing through the door of Eva
and my apartment, I closed it behind me and leaned against it,
winded.

“What’s wrong? You barged in here looking
like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Eva laughed.

I watched her as she set a plate for each of
us down on the small table in the corner. She had no idea how right
her words were. That was exactly what I felt like I’d seen. Ryker’s
letter was like a ghost haunting me from the other side.

“It’s… I got…” I pressed my hand to my mouth.
There was no way to word what I held.

Walking across the living room, I slid into
the chair across from her, and tossed the mail down on the table.
My elbows rested on the table as my hands moved to pass through my
hair.

“A letter from Ryker. How the hell does that
happen?” Eva asked. The utter shock in her words didn’t even hold a
candle to what I felt. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

“No. I don’t know that I can,” I said. My
stomach churned at the thought.

He wasn’t here anymore. He was gone. This
letter was wrong. It shouldn’t have come back to me. It made me
sick to look at it.

“Sawyer,” Eva said. Her tone was sharp and
demanding. She didn’t have to say she thought I should; those words
rested in the tone of my name.

“Eva.” I looked up, locking eyes with her. “I
don’t know that I can. I’m not strong enough to keep going through
so much heartbreak.”

Her hand was reaching for one of my own in
seconds, and she smoothed her thumb across the top.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” she
said, sounding so sure of herself. “If you don’t open this letter
right now, while the wound is still slightly open, you’ll always
regret it, because you’ll never want to revisit this pain you’ve
been dealing with the last few days.”

Silence filled our apartment. I chewed my
lip, unable to lift a finger, even though I knew she was right.
This would be the final cut, the last blow, and then when
everything was muted and scabbed up once more, I would never have
to reopen the wound again. Not until Veda was older, and wanted to
know what happened the day her daddy died.

I needed to do this now. Reaching across the
table, I swiped up the letter. The envelope was worn and soft in my
hands, making me think at some point it had gotten caught in the
rain. As I tore the corner, I took in a deep breath, and reached
inside for the letter. Unfolding it, I read it silently, knowing if
I didn’t, my words would crack and I would cry like a damn
baby.

Hey Little Brother,

I’m a chicken shit.

There, I’ve said it. Now you can hold onto
that image of me while you read the rest of this letter. You’ll
have your answer already as to why I couldn’t tell you this in
person, why I couldn’t wait until you were home again.

I’m a chicken shit. Remember that.

So, remember that girl you dated…Camilla?
Remember how she broke your fucking heart and spit on it after high
school? Remember how I told you she was a heartless bitch? Well, as
it turns out, she’s not. Not really. She’s sort of cool.

Are you asking yourself what my fucking
point is now, why I’m writing you a letter about Camilla of all
people?

Because shit happens, little brother. The
world works in mysterious ways, and there’s something I need to
explain to you before you come home. Maybe by telling you now, I’m
actually giving you more time to build your rage against me so you
come back and give me one hell of a solider boy ass whooping, I
don’t know.

But here’s what happened.

I went to a party down in Deer Park one
night. Camilla was there. She was drunk, and some guy was hitting
on her she didn’t seem too keen on. For whatever reason, I couldn’t
turn my back and leave her in the presence of that douche,
regardless of how much of a bitch she was when she dumped your ass.
I blame it all on Mom. Even though I attempted to dodge the
majority of her attempts at making the two of us outstanding
gentlemen, some things must have soaked in, because there I was,
watching Camilla laugh nervously while eyeing those around her,
looking for a savior. Her eyes landed on me, bro, and I couldn’t
walk away.

Here’s where my being a chicken shit comes
into play, because this is the part I should have told you
earlier.

We’ve been dating for a while now. There’s
just something about her. Your blood is probably boiling by now,
but I’m about to say something that will raise your blood pressure
even more—I think I love her.

It hit me like nothing ever has before,
little brother, and it’s scary as shit, but that’s only the half of
it. The other half, the part that has my mind going a mile a
minute, and is forcing me to put pen to paper right now, is that
she’s pregnant.

Breathe. I’m sure you have a picture of me
somewhere you can throw darts at later. Right now, I need you to
finish reading this letter.

I should have told you about the two of us
at your, whatever the hell that was, graduation thing, but I
didn’t. I couldn’t. I, Ryker Keeton, was a chicken shit and I’m
sorry. I’m sorry if this is weird for you. I’m sorry if you now
hate me. I’m sorry it was her. I’m sorry I betrayed you.

She was yours. She crushed you. I know she
did, because I was there to help you pick up the pieces of your
fucking fragile heart afterward.

I know how screwed up this is, but I’m
hoping enough time has passed since the two of you were together
that you’ll be able to be happy for me. That you’ll forgive me.

I’m going to be a dad, bro. How fucking
crazy is that? The realization has got me scared shitless, but not
nearly as scared as thinking of raising this kid without my brother
right there beside me, calling me out on all my fuckups and
praising me when I wipe its ass the right way.

I fucked up, Sawyer. I should have told you
when I had the chance, but I didn’t. I was too much of a chicken
shit.

All right, enough with the emotions. This
apartment is too damn quiet without you. I think I’ll slip this
into the mail, and then pick up a twelve pack and sit out on Mom
and Dad’s back porch for a bit to drink away my fears of you
reading this, of you knowing the truth, while I attempt to toughen
up the chicken shit inside of me.

Signing off,

Your chicken shit brother

P.S. Have you ever noticed how change is
inevitable, except from a vending machine? Something to think
about, eh?

The letter trembled in my fingers as I
sniffled and forced back my tears. No matter the amount of
heartbreak I was feeling, there were three things I was grateful
for. One, that the letter had found its way back to me when it did.
Two, that my brother had loved Camilla and that he had been happy
about Veda. Both of them needed to know that. I would have to take
the letter to her at some point. And three, that my brother was
human. He’d been scared of something that tended to frighten even
the best of us—change.

“Can I?” Eva asked. She pointed to the letter
still clutched in my hands.

“Yeah, sure.” I handed it over, and
sighed.

Standing, I walked down the hallway until I
came to the closed door of Ryker’s room. Gripping the handle, I
knew everything would look the same as it had when he left the
house shortly after writing that letter. Turning the knob anyway, I
opened the door and flipped on the light as I stepped inside. My
eyes skimmed the mess he’d left on the floor—all the dirty clothes
and empty Gatorade bottles strewn about.

Placing a hand over my mouth, I walked
through the room and sat on the edge of his bed. For a while, my
mind was filled with never-ending memories of the two of us
together, until one in particular ceased all the others, pushing
them away so it could stay front and center. I couldn’t have been
more than seven, which put Ryker around ten. We’d been sitting on
the back porch at our parents’ house, eating watermelon. It was the
middle of summer and Ryker had come in second during a race earlier
that day. I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened or what it
had been about, but Ryker and I had been arguing. Mom had given us
the watermelon and told us to take it to the porch and talk out our
differences like men. This had resorted in us eating our watermelon
while tossing dirty looks back and forth. Eventually, an inevitable
watermelon seed-spitting contest had broken the ice between us, and
all had been forgiven.

For whatever reason, my mind chose to latch
onto that specific memory and replay Ryker’s words to a
seven-year-old me.

“
I’m gonna make you mad sometimes, Sawyer.
It’s what my old teacher Mrs. Kever would call a given. Just always
remember to forgive me, okay? Because we’re brothers and that’s
what brothers do. They forgive each other,” he’d said.

“
I know. I’ll always forgive you, Ryker.”
I’d nodded. “Always.”

“You okay?” Eva asked, her voice breaking my
memory into a thousand little pieces. She was standing in the
doorway, but she hadn’t stepped inside the room.

Releasing a deep breath, I eyed her.

“Yeah, I think so.” And I did. For the first
time, I felt as though the loss of my brother wasn’t going to kill
me. My eyes locked with Eva’s, and I smiled. “Come here, pretty
eyes. I think I could use a hug.”

Eva crossed the room—my future memories
colliding with my past—and sat beside me on Ryker’s bed. I tucked
her into my side, and pulled her close. Inhaling deeply, I closed
my eyes and thought of nothing else besides my brother.

I forgive you, Ryker. You know I always
would have. I love you, bro.