Page 37 of One More Heartbeat
It’s been more than fifteen years since he fell in love with one of my friends. Aren’t I supposed to be over him by now?
Correction, I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him to begin with. I knew it was a mistake the second my feelings for him altered their trajectory. I hadn’t wanted to risk our friendship. And yet, I still fell.
I turn, the curve of my spine against the counter grounding me. It’s not the teasing Garrett whose eyes are locked with mine. It’s the sad Garrett. The his-heart-has-been-ripped-out-of-his-chest Garrett.
And it’s suddenly as if the ground is shifting under my feet. That brief moment just prior to an earthquake, when birds and animals get the spine-tingling sense to take cover. That brief moment before the surrounding world crumples and nothing is the same again.
“Are you gonna tell me now what’s going on? And why you wanna talk to me before everyone else gets here?” My voice comes out strong, the opposite of the shaking of the foundation inside me.
“Let’s go sit down.” He points to the large sectional couch, and a thousand moths go berserk in my belly. I don’t think he could make me any more nervous than this.
Garrett sits next to me and releases a never-ending breath, his gaze on his long, strong fingers resting on his thighs. The jeans he changed into lightly hug the hard contours of his leg muscles.
I wait for him to collect his thoughts, to speak, to break my world apart. Because that’s exactly what I sense will happen. Whatever he has to tell me will impact me in ways both of us have yet to realize. I just can’t imagine what it could be.
And that’s making me more lip-biting, leg-bouncing, thought-spiraling jittery.
I can’t even wipe my sweat-slickened palms against my silk pants. The fabric won’t appreciate it.
With each tick of the mantel clock, my unease grows steadily thicker, denser.
“I’m not sure how to tell you this…”
I wait for the rest of what he wants to tell me, but the words seem to fail him. I lean forward and lace our fingers together.
He holds my hand securely in his. “There was…there was a mall shooting last week. In North Carolina. Kenda was at the mall.”
The pain in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. I jerk my hand from his, as if that’s all it will take for him to yank back the words and tell me he made a mistake. He meant someone else.
No, no, no.It’s not true. She can’t be dead. Not Kenda.She was going to make a difference in the world. Bring awareness to the injustices marginalized women face.
How…how can she be dead? Where’s the justice in that?
Random memories replay in my mind. Memories of Kenda and I pulling all-nighters and studying for our exams together. Of dancing at nightclubs and borrowing each other’s clothes. Of talking late into the night about all kinds of things.
Of sharing our secrets, other than my biggest secret of all.
The one dealing with Garrett—of how we had both fallen for him.
A harsh sob builds in my chest, and my lungs burn from within—a flash fire ready to devastate me. Ready to burn my world to a crisp.
Garrett gathers me in his arms. I rest my forehead on his shoulder, and the dam crumples under the weight of my tears. Of all the things that cycled through my mind as to why he’d wanted to talk to me, Kenda’s death hadn’t been one of them.
Why? Why? Why?Why would anyone shoot her?
Everything I’m feeling—the loss of a friend, the exhaustion, the constant ache in my muscles and joints—pours out of me and onto Garrett’s shoulder in body-shaking sobs. He rubs soothing circles on the base of my spine, but it’s not enough to slow the tears.
All I can do is cry and cry and cry, the broken dam unfixable.
It’s only when there are no more tears left, when the sobbing haslulled to a watery hiccup, when shame and guilt and dismay turn to lead in my belly—because he’s consoling me even though she was once the love of his life—it’s only then, after all those things, I finally sit up. A damp patch stains his T-shirt, a combination of tears and streaked mascara.
Sniffing, I trace my finger over the black smears on the light-gray cotton, as if that’s all it will take to make them vanish. As if that will bring Kenda back to life and make everything right in the world. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a mess of your T-shirt.”
“It’s okay.” He brushes his thumbs under my eyes, wiping away the wetness.
I lean into his hand, absorbing his strength and hating myself for it. I was supposed to be the one sharing my strength with him, helping him deal with his heartache. He loved Kenda. She was the woman he was destined to spend the rest of his life with.
“There’s more I have to tell you.” The pain in his eyes strengthens, and his heartbroken voice reaches inside me and clenches my stomach in a tight vise.
