Page 10 of Without You

“She brought up Deacon coming out again tonight. Wanted me to call

him and harass him about coming even though she just did it last month.” He squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head. “She never calls him. That poor boy is doing his best to check in on her whenever he can and the only time she makes the effort to call him is to bully him into coming down for Rhett’s memorial.”

I also got the call from Elaine to attend, but unlike whatever is going on with her and Deacon, I haven’t witnessed anything but compassion and warmth whenever she speaks to me. I try not to speak to her a lot. In fact, I’ve tried to distance myself from the only family I have, because it’s just too hard to be faced with the life Rhett and I never got.

“You’re going to come over, aren’t you?” His tired eyes implore mine. “Elaine really—”

I put my hand up to stop him. “I know, but it’s hard,” I admit. “And from the sound of it, you guys might need to spend some quality time as a family. Victoria will be there too, won’t she?”

“Wouldn’t you rather spend time with people that loved him too?”

Noticing another patron walking toward the bar, I jump at the excuse and rise from beside Bill, leaving the question unanswered.

Logically, I would love to reminisce about the good times, but I really can’t remember when they were. Rhett’s sickness plagued so many of the years we spent together.

Cancer.

Remission.

Cancer.

Remission.

An endless rotation of hope and hurt that has scarred me so deep, I don’t see myself ever climbing out of this hole. That constant up and down was my life for so long, and now I’m enjoying living it at a plateaued level of perfected monotony.

I work the same shifts, have the same conversations, and have no drama. It’s not ideal. It’s certainly not exciting, or probably even healthy. But it’s safe and I’ve become accustomed to living this way. I like it this way.

No expectations. No disappointments.

“What can I get you?” I ask the older woman, who just slipped onto an empty bar stool. I hand her a small laminated sheet of cocktails. “We have some happy hour specials.”

Without a second glance at the list, she points to the fridges behind me. “Can I get a bottle of Chardonnay? I’m waiting for a friend,” she adds defensively.

“You can drink the whole thing on your own, honey. It’s not my job to judge you.” She smiles in gratitude, as I place the ice bucket and two glasses in front of her. “Have a great night.”

Alone again, I shift my attention back to Rhett’s father. “You need a beer or are you going home early?”

“One more,” he replies on a sigh. “And then I’ll get out of your way.”

“I’m sorry, Bill,” I offer, because I genuinely mean it. Week after week, month after month, nothing I say or do can fix his pain or mine. “I’ll do my best to come to the church, and lunch, okay?”

His nod is appreciative, and with nothing left to say, and everything left to feel, we both sit in silence till he’s done.

The next few hours drag, with only a handful of customers trailing in. I keep myself busy reading a bunch of book samples I downloaded on to my Kindle, hoping one story will suck me in enough to keep me occupied and make the time pass quicker. But it never works.

By the time I’m sticking my keys into my front door my body is exhausted, but I know my mind is ready to keep me up all night. I drop my belongings on the couch and kick off my shoes.

I stop at the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge before heading straight for my room. My eyes gravitate to the shiny wood box that sits on Rhett’s nightstand. It’s been there ever since I found it in my living room, screaming at me to pay it any attention.

I didn’t find it till after the night Deacon dropped it off. To be honest, most of the days after Rhett’s funeral are a blur, but the fact that he came over that night, andhekept me company till I fell asleep is something that didn’t go unnoticed. Okay, that’s an understatement.

If there was ever going to be another Sutton family member jumping in my bed, I expected it to be Vic. She’s always been like my older sister. In fact, I have no problem calling her just that.

But surprisingly, it wasn’t her, and I often lay awake at night thinking about the hows and whys of how it all panned out.

Did he draw the short straw?

My fridge was full and the mysterious box sat on my dining table so I knew what his motivation was for coming over, but one of life’s biggest mysteries, is why hestayed.

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