Page 64 of The Words We Lost

As he secures the written ledger of our youth inside his backpack, I wait to feel the kind of relief that only comes after you find something you’ve deemed lost forever ... but it never does.

I’m several steps outside the lighthouse, down the sandy pathand headed across the bluff to where our bikes are parked, when Joel’s voice smacks me from behind.

“The morning you came to me second-guessing your scholarship at Berkeley, I swore to myself I’d do anything it took to get you on that plane.” I stop walking, the wind blowing hard against my back. “You’d already pushed your school plans off for an entire year so you could ensure your dad reached the twelve-month mark on his sobriety. But you were still fighting harder for him than you were for yourself. You were still playing the role of a guardian, putting his needs above your own. But we both know he was stable when you left. His job was secure. His sponsor was dedicated. And my family was here to help in whatever capacity we could.” Slowly, I rotate to face him as he says, “I loved you too much to watch you abandon everything you’d worked so hard for—every test you took to prove your academic competency. Every essay you wrote. Every tip you saved.” His voice breaks with conviction. “And then later, after ... I knew you couldn’t look at me without thinking of your father, without wondering if you could have done something to stop him from boarding that boat and motoring into that storm. I don’t have those answers, either, but if I did, I’d give them to you. I’ve told you everything I know....” His voice strains and cracks. “I know why you needed to blame me. For years, I blamed myself, too. But Hal was a grown man. He made his own choices that night.” His gaze holds mine, his eyes reaching for me in a way that sucks the breath from my lungs. “I couldn’t have saved him from himself, and you couldn’t have, either.”

Though I’d heard the same admonishment from Dr. Rogers during our therapy sessions, the truth cuts deeper when Joel speaks it.

“I kept hoping, that with enough time, you’d come back,” he continues. “That you’d remember who we were together. That you’d ... forgive me.” Tears glisten in his eyes. “Cece was the only real link I had left to you, and when she died, it wasn’t only the loss of my cousin I grieved. It felt like I lost you all over again.”

The raw admission stuns me as I recall the devastation of thatsecond cyclone of grief. It had struck with so much force and intensity, obliterating the progress I’d made from self-help books on childhood trauma and creating healthy boundaries. Once again, grief had knocked me down flat, nearly taking me out completely.

As I stare into Joel’s eyes, I hate that my silence caused him even an ounce of suffering. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I’m sorry I hurt you.” My apology is stripped of pretense but not of perspective. Loss clarifies even the muddiest of circumstances. “But I’m not sorry I left when I did. Staying here would have made things worse—especially for you.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You should.” I rub my lips together and glance at the spray flinging over the cliff. “I won’t deny the pain you’ve walked through, but neither will I deny all the good things I can see in your life now, proof you can move forward as you should.” My confidence wanes as he studies me. Nervously, I begin to name the random few that come to mind first. “Your promotion to hotel manager, that fancy new car you now drive, that adorable puppy you share with an even more adorable strawberry blonde whose eyes are practically heart-shaped every time she looks at you.”

“That promotion,” he begins undeterred, “has been in the works for fifteen years—you know that. And that fancy car? Believe me, if there was a way I could return it back to sender, I would. Cece left it to me in her will without explanation. And Madison? I can’t speak for how she may or may not feel about me, but she knows exactly where I stand with her.” He doesn’t blink as he says, “She’s a friend. Nothing more.”

Instead of the relief I long to feel, his explanation only serves to stir the empathy brewing inside me. There are no winners in grief—only survivors. And I realize, in our own separate ways, that’s exactly what Joel and I have done these last five years. We’ve simply survived.

Only now, surviving doesn’t feel like enough. I want more than that for him, even if I don’t know how to want that kind of more formyself yet. Joel shouldn’t have to be a prisoner to this part of our story any longer, which is why I extend the only thing I can: the release I should have offered him years ago.

“Maybe she should be,” I reply softly. “Maybe Madison should be something more than a friend to you.” I swipe at the flyaway hairs batting against my cheek at every crosswind. “You deserve to be happy with someone like her. She’s sweet and uncomplicated; kind and upbeat.”Innocent and undamaged.“She’s a good person. It’s easy to see that.” My heart kicks hard in my chest as I fight to get the words out. “The two of you would be a good match for each other.” In all the ways I wished I could have been for him.

“Don’t do that,” he says as he moves toward me, sand scattering over our feet as the tide breaks hard against the edge of the bluff. White sea-foam sprays the rocks surrounding us as he slips his backpack from his shoulders and drops it to the ground without taking his eyes off me. “Don’t give me permission to love someone else.”

“I’m telling you it’s okay to move on. To let go of what we had when we were young so you can be free—of all this.”Of me.“I was wrong when I saidwecouldn’t have survived the trauma of my dad’s death. I’m the who couldn’t. I’m the one who wasn’t strong enough. Not you.”

I watch the muscles in his neck constrict twice before he speaks. “I never needed you to be strong enough. I only ever needed you to be here.”

My resolve begins to swirl like the papers inside the lantern room only moments ago. “Joel,” I manage to choke out as his gaze travels in a slow circuit over my face, moving from my eyes to my lips and back again.

He reaches for me, his thumbs grazing across my jaw, his fingers laced at the nape of my neck. “You know I don’t want the kind of freedom you’re offering me. You’ve known it since the day we first met inside the hotel library, just like you knew it the minute you saw me in your office last week. I’ve never wanted freedom from you, Indy. I’ve only ever wanted freedomforyou.”

I’m shivering in a way that has nothing to do with the sea mist swirling around us, and behind my clamped jaw are the words I’m desperate to shout:I don’t know how to find that!They beg to be released, but I keep them in, keep them trapped. With a single step back, I break away from his hold and turn to stare at a horizon that feels as unreachable as my heart.

I expect him to leave me there, to abandon me the same way I did to him all those years ago. It’s what I deserve. It’s what I know best.

But Joel doesn’t leave me there alone. Instead, he joins me. And this time, in a silent invitation I have no desire to resist, he wraps me in an embrace so tight it’s both an undoing and a remaking. Because here, in these arms, is the closest thing to whole I’ve felt since the night I walked out of them.

21

The following morning, I wake to a text that immediately causes my stomach to clench:

SaBrina

It’s been a week. I need an update on your search efforts ASAP.

I start approximately seven text replies before one finally sticks and I’m brave enough to tapsend, but basically, there’s no good way to tell your boss you haven’t completed the task they assigned you, especially when said task determines your future.

Ingrid

Making good headway. Following up with some leads today. Will update.

SaBrina

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