Scars from a Memoir (33 page)

The sidewalk jetted out to the smaller sections of grass and ran through the middle, over the short hills. We were far enough from the road that there wasn't any noise. The eerie silence was a reminder of exactly where I was. My parents’ pace began to slow after the second hill, and they stopped at the edge of the grass. We stood in front of the private patch with just one grave along the side. My parents had told me they'd purchased the entire lot and were going to be buried next to Michael. His tombstone was oval and white, his name and the years he'd been alive written at the top. “Loving son and brother,” was written just below.

Mom replaced the flowers in front of the stone with the ones she was carrying and pressed her lips against his name. My father did
the same before they joined hands and moved behind us. Jesse set his flowers next to theirs and patted the stone with the tips of his fingers. He didn't say anything out loud. He didn't need to; I could practically hear his words. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the top of the headstone, motionless for a few minutes.

I released Mark's hand when it was my turn. I had heard it was disrespectful to walk on the dead, and none of the others had stepped on the grass in front of Michael's tombstone. I didn't, but I sat on it. I didn't trust my knees; I wanted to be as close to him as I could. Six feet of dirt and a wooden box separated us, but I still felt him. A warmth spread through me and clouded around me, almost like heroin. I still shivered, but it wasn't from the breeze.

Like Jesse, I spoke to Michael in my head and apologized for taking so long to visit. He didn't respond. It was odd; this was the only place where I didn't hear his voice. I didn't tell him what was going on in my life, the decision that lay ahead of me, or how long I'd been sober. He already knew all that. So did Eric, which was why at his gravesite I told him only how much I missed him. I made both of them a promise. It was one I would keep.

*   *   *

As soon as we got home, I told Mark I was going to take his car to Eric's parents’ house. I had planned on going this evening; now I just wanted to get it over with. Mark offered to drive me, and when I refused, he insisted. He said it had been an emotional morning and he would feel more comfortable if he drove.

Eric's parents lived only about two miles from mine. Before we turned sixteen and got our license, we used to ride our bikes to each other's houses. He had a pool, and we'd spent summer breaks floating on a raft in his backyard; he would crash at my house at night because we had air conditioning. We were carefree kids. Then we found drugs, and all that changed.

I hadn't spoken to Eric's parents since the day he had overdosed. I should have called them and asked if I could come over. But judging by the look his mother gave me when she opened the door, they would have hung up on me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came to visit…and…” I needed to get my thoughts straight. I hadn't prepared what I was going to say. “You deserve an explanation.”

“What makes you think I want one? From you?”

Had I really thought his parents were going to greet me with a hug? Did I expect to hear acceptance in their voices and feel comfort in their touch?

“I'm sorry for the way I treated you when I told you Eric had died, and for bolting from his funeral. There are a lot of things I wish I could change from those years.”

“Like noticing my son was turning blue and calling 9-1-1 sooner?”

“I wasn't there—”

“The hell you weren't. You're nothing but a goddamn liar. You did nothing to help him because you were just as strung out.”

I was just as strung out and did nothing to help him, but I hadn't been there when he'd overdosed. Eric's mom needed someone to blame, and that person was me. If making me the murderer gave her peace, then I would give her that.

Eric's addiction had killed him. Not the needles he used, the brand of dope he shot, or the fact that Renee had waited to call 9-1-1. His mom knew that. One day she'd be able to admit it out loud.

I straightened my back and looked her in the eyes. I had to live for the both of us, and I needed to show her that. “I'm sorry for the pain I've caused your family.”

A tear dripped from her lid. Her hands shook and grabbed the doorframe. She didn't say anything, but her head nodded just slightly. “Get out of here.”

I turned and walked down the steps to the car. She watched as I sat down and put on my seatbelt; then her stare shifted to Mark. So many nights she had stood in the doorway and watched Eric and me drive away. I knew she was wishing her son were in the driver's seat. If that meant he would still be alive, then so did I.

-38-

AS I LAY IN BED THAT NIGHT, the conversation I'd had with Jesse replayed in my mind. Mark and I hadn't had much time alone since coming to Maine, but that was only part of the reason I hadn't told him I was moving to Florida. The other part was that I was scared of what he would say. I didn't want my news to be the end of our relationship, but how could it not be? Long distance wouldn't work. I couldn't take a weekend off every month to fly to Boston, and neither could Mark; Friday and Saturday were the busiest nights at the bar.

But by keeping this from him, I was no better than Asher had been with me. Mark deserved more than that. I turned on the side lamp and shook him awake. “We need to talk.”

Suddenly, the dinner I'd eaten wasn't setting well in my stomach. Blood rushed to my face, my hands shook, and my bottom lip dropped.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Nicole, are you OK?”

“I should have told you before we came to Maine. I just didn't want to mess everything up.”

“What are you talking about?” He reached for my fingers. “Nothing you can say will mess anything up.”

“This will.”

“You're starting to scare me.”

I took a deep breath. It didn't help. “Mark, I'm moving to Florida.”

He didn't release my hands as I told him about my meeting with Allison and her phone call, but his expression changed. It became distant, and there was pain in his eyes.

“You're my best friend. I want to be with you forever,” I said. “But I can't let my feelings for you stop me from doing what's best for me.”

“Nic—”

“Boston is my past, and no matter what I do, I can't seem to escape it. It keeps haunting me. I don't think I'll be able to move on unless I get out of there.”

“Baby—”

“That doesn't excuse what I did, though. I kept something from you that affects our future; I shouldn't have done that. I should have discussed it with you before I made a decision. I'm so sorry—”

“Will you give me a chance to talk, please?”

I nodded.

“I accept all of you. And if that means you need to leave the city, then I'm OK with that. Boston isn't the right place for you. I've known that since the day I heard you got out of jail.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying I support whatever decision you have to make.”

“Does that mean this is the end of us?”

“Of course not. There is no end to us.”

I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in his skin. I couldn't change the way I'd handled things, but I could learn from it. Mark was a part of me, and he deserved a voice when it came to my decisions, especially one as big as this. Discussing my move with him earlier on wouldn't have made my trip to Maine any easier, but I would have felt less guilty lying next to him at night.

I wasn't going to ask him to move with me. At least not yet. He needed time to think about everything. Plus, I didn't want to put that kind of pressure on him. As long as this wasn't the end of us, I could handle whatever he decided. Even if that meant traveling back and forth as much as we could.

*   *   *

Mark had planned something for our last day in Bangor, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. He just said to dress warmly. When I met him downstairs, he had my jacket and a cooler in his hands. I kissed my parents and Jesse, and they smiled as Mark escorted me to the front door. When he pulled out of the driveway, I asked why the others weren't coming too.

He turned on the music and put his hand on my thigh. “Your dad has a meeting, and your mom is taking Jesse shopping. I thought we could use some time away from the house.”

“I agree.”

I was an easy person to surprise except when it came to Bangor because I knew the area so well. Mark didn't stay in town, though. He drove through Brewer and onto Route 1A. There was only one place this road led to that was even worth visiting, and that was Bar Harbor.

Mark didn't pull in to the village or by the harbor like I'd expected. He turned onto Route 3 to Mount Desert Island and into Acadia National Park to drive up Cadillac Mountain. The only traveling I'd ever done was when Michael and I still lived at home. My parents took us to the Caribbean, Disney World, and Vermont, but the top of this mountain was the most beautiful place I'd ever been.

Mark carried the cooler and a blanket, and we found a flat surface in the middle of the mountain. He covered the rock and unpacked the lunch he'd made: ham and cheese sandwiches, a bag of chips, and two cans of Coke. Because it was chilly and tourist season was over, we had the mountaintop mostly to ourselves. The sun peeked through the clouds, the rays reflecting off the ocean.

“This is amazing,” I said.

Throughout the week leading up to this trip, my anxiety had been intense. I wasn't sure how I'd feel when I got to my parents’ house after being away for so long; the emotions of going into Michael's room, the way my dad's coworkers would treat me at the party, and whether my brother's grave might affect me in ways I hadn't expected. The cemetery was the closure I needed, but it had left me raw. Another sleepless night followed. My head swarmed with thoughts from my past—why I'd been in jail during Michael's funeral and what had led me there. It was the same thing that put him in the ground. Being here cleared all that. It gave me a chance to breathe.

“Since you described this mountain, I've always wanted to come. I'm glad my first time is with you.”

I smirked. “At least I could be your first for something.” I took a bite of my sandwich and noticed he hadn't touched his. “Aren't you going to eat?”

“Come with me,” he said. He stuck out his hand for me to grab. “Let's make it two firsts.”

I didn't know what he meant, but I let him guide me down the rocks. We stopped at the edge of one of the peaks. There was a canopy of trees below us, and the leaves were almost every color of the rainbow. The dark water looked endless, and tiny islands popped up through its surface. Mark stood behind me, his hands on my stomach, and I tasted the salty air. It reminded me of when my parents had taken Michael and me to Bar Harbor every summer. We'd sit outside by the water, eating steamers, lobsters, and whoopie pies. We'd laugh throughout the whole meal—one of us always spilled the butter on our first dip, and it would land on our lap. Mom learned to bring a change of clothes for each of us.

Mark pressed his lips against my ear. “I love you.”

Whenever he said those words, it felt like the first time all over again. My stomach tingled, and there was a flutter in my chest.

“I love you, too.”

“You were made for me.”

I smiled and closed my eyes, relaxing against his body. I could feel his heart beating through my jacket.

There had been only a few times in my life when I'd wanted to stop time from moving forward. This was one of them. The conversation about whether Mark was going to move to Florida needed to happen, and I was dreading it. But I didn't want to think about that. I wanted to take in my surroundings, Mark's breath, his words…and let them simmer for a moment.

But I couldn't.

“Have you thought about our conversation last night?” I asked.

“I've thought about it.”

“And?”

“Are you asking me to move with you?”

I turned, then, and put my hands on his cheeks. “Mark, will you move to Florida with me?”

“Before I answer that,” he said, “Nicole, you make me a better man. You've shown me what it feels like to be loved, and you've accepted me unconditionally.” He took my hands off his face, moved
to my side, and kneeled down on the rock. “I've wanted to do this since the day you chose me; I was just waiting for the right time. I think that time is now.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a black box. He opened it. And there was a diamond ring inside. “Will you marry me?”

My eyes blurred from the tears. The tingling in my stomach and the fluttering in my chest returned. My feet felt unsteady on the jagged ledge. There was no hesitation. I knew exactly what I wanted.

“Yes, of course. Of course I'll marry you!”

He slid the ring on my finger and lifted me into the air. My smile was as wide as his, and it landed on his lips. My fingers gripped his hair, pulling him even closer. My legs wrapped around his waist and squeezed. We kissed all the way back to the blanket.

“I think I can breathe now,” he said after he set me down. He picked up his sandwich and took a bite.

“You're really going to give up everything to come with me?” I asked.

“I asked you to marry me. That means I accept all of you. If I need to move to Florida to be with you, then that's what I'm going to do.”

I looked down at the ring. It was a square diamond set in platinum, and little diamonds ran all the way around the band. Cadillac Mountain was beautiful, but it didn't compare to this ring. I spread my fingers apart and held my hand in the air. I blinked. Each time I opened my eyes, it was still there. It wasn't going to disappear. All those nights I had lain in my prison bed, this was what I had dreamed of—marriage and a family of my own. It was finally coming true.

I climbed into his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. I'd already told him how much I loved him right before he proposed. But I told him again. And again.

*   *   *

Three weeks later, Mark pulled into Logan Airport and parked at the departures entrance. Everything I owned was in the two suitcases that he lifted out of the trunk. It was hard to believe that less than a month ago we had been in Maine. We had stayed an extra
day to celebrate our engagement with my family, and once we got back to Boston, I'd accepted Allison's offer.