“The whole time I was trapped, I just pictured your face in my mind. You were all I could think about. All I wanted was to get home so I could see you, so I could fix my wrongs.”
“That’s sweet, Bran,” she says, her eyes soft. “And I’m so sorry you went through all of that, but–”
“I know. I messed up. And I hurt you. I don’t expect you to forgive me just like that,” I snap my fingers. “Could we try being friends?”
I can see her guard come back up and the fear in her eyes reminds me of the damage I’ve done. “Just friends,” I say, hands raised in surrender.
“I’ll try. No promises.”
“That’s all I ask,” I say, trying to hide the goofy grin that’s threatening to take over.
We finish the rest of our meal in silence and I’m expecting her to boot me out the door, so I’m surprised when we finish our dinner and she says, “Let’s sit out on the deck.”
“You don’t think it’s too cold?”
“Bring that,” she says, pointing to the whiskey bottle as she wraps herself in a blanket from the couch.
Outside, she switches on a propane fire pit and we pull up our chairs and sit for a while in silence, staring at the flames.
“It’s funny how a fire makes you feel like you don’t have to talk,” she says after a moment.
“That’s true.” I nod. “I miss this. Just sitting with somebody.”
“Was Afghanistan lonely?”
“The loneliest. God, I missed you so much.”
“Why didn’t you call? If you missed me so much, why did you drop off the face of the earth, Bran?” Her voice is shaking.
“Hearing your voice just ripped the wound back open,” I whisper. “Somehow it hurt less to pretend like I hadn’t left half of my heart on the other side of the world.”
“So you just forgot about me? Was it that easy?”
“Of course I didn’t forget about you. I could never forget about you.
“It sure felt like you did.”
“I was blocking out a lot of things I didn’t want to process.”
She sips her whiskey, staring into the fire.
“I know that I hurt you and I didn’t give you a good explanation for breaking up with you in that email. That’s because I didn’t have a good explanation other than that I didn’t know how to have a relationship from the other side of the world. I didn’t know how to reconcile how happy I knew I could be with you while watching so many other people suffering. I won’t forgive myself for that and I don’t expect you to either.”
“I get it,” she says. “I know it must have been hard for you, leaving everything you know, going to a dangerous country. The things you must have seen. You were still a teenager for God’s sake.” She looks up at me. “My brain understands all of that. It’s my heart that’s having trouble forgiving.”
A knife slices through me, bringing up every last drop of regret and guilt that I pushed down over the years. She’s not mad. She’s hurt. I broke her trust and it’s going to take more than an apology to earn it back.
SEVEN
Ginger
Sunlight filters through the blinds, pulling me from sleep. I blink, trying to get my bearings and realize I’m on the sectional in my living room. And instead of a pillow, my head is resting on Branson’s lap. I jolt upright and immediately regret it when a flood of pain shoots through my head. Memories of whiskey and fire and laughter start to drift back to me and I try desperately to remember if anything else happened between Branson and me.
No, we talked for a long time until it got too cold and then we came inside and talked some more. Like old friends. And that’s how it needs to stay. I feel for Branson. I hurt for him, thinking about what he’s been through. But I can’t risk my heart again.
Taking care not to wake him, I slide off the couch and painstakingly tiptoe toward the door to let Betty out, putting my finger over my mouth, as if Betty understands the universal sign for quiet.
Then I pad silently up the stairs, thankful I haven’t gotten around to replacing the old beige carpet, pull on jeans and a cozy sweater and run a brush through my hair. I hope coffee and Advil will be enough to take the edge off this headache and get me through the day, but waking Branson is the last thing I want. Coffee will have to wait until I get to the shop.