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Since God didn’t grant wishes, and I didn’t have a magic lamp or a blue genie at my disposal, I did the next best thing and forced myself to forget.
To not remember any of it.
Not what happened on the boat that day.
Not what happened afterward.
None of it.
I channeled every ounce of energy I had into erasing my memories. If I couldn’t change the past, then at least I could force myself to forget it.
“Gerard!” Claire’s familiar voice called out then, dragging me from my thoughts and bringing me back to the present with a bang. “Wait up!”
Her voice cut through my senses like a wrecking ball, causing the poisonous fog of my past that had been lapping at my heels to reluctantly retreat. I didn’t turn to greet her, but I didn’t drive away, either.
I couldn’t.
Instead, I reveled in her presence; like a blazing bolt of sunshine chasing the darkness away.
“It’s not true,” she announced breathlessly when she climbed into the passenger seat a few moments later. “What Liz said back there?” Gulping in several deep breaths, she turned sideways to face me. “Not one word of it is the truth.”
Yeah, it is.
“It doesn’t matter—” I began to say, but she quickly cut me off.
“It does matter.” Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed from the exertion it had taken to sprint across town from the café. “It matters because you matter, and I know you like to get stuck in your head every now and again, but promise me that you believe me when I tell you that she was talking shit back there.”
“What Lizzie says doesn’t hurt me.”
“Well, you’re a stronger person than I am, because it hurts me.”
“It’s all good, Claire-Bear,” I replied, forcing myself to smile while I internally battled to get a handle on my emotions. “I’m okay.” Licking my lips, I reached for the key in the ignition, but my hand was shaking too hard to function. “It’s, ah…” Blowing out a shaky breath, I balled my hand into a fist to steady the tremors before trying again. “It’s all good.” This time, when I turned the key in the ignition, the engine complied by roaring to life. “I’m okay.”
“Gerard.” Her tone was soft, too fucking soft to handle in this moment, and when she covered the hand I had resting on the gear stick, I almost lost it. “It’s okay to not be okay.”
“Well, I am okay,” I repeated, keeping my attention locked on the road ahead as we pulled into Ballylaggin afternoon traffic. “I’m always okay.”
“I know, Gerard,” she replied sadly, entwining our fingers. “I know.”
Fuck, I didn’t deserve her friendship. She knew what I was about. She’d been there that day, right on the boat, watching as my world imploded around me. She knew as well as everyone else on that boat that I was responsible, and she still held my hand.
“Do you know what I think this day calls for?” Claire asked, finally breaching the silence when we pulled into the driveway of my house a little while later.
“I don’t know, Claire-Bear,” I indulged her by answering. “What does today call for?”
“The couch, a blanket, a big bowl of popcorn”—she paused to grin at me—“and a rerun of Johnny and Baby.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” I shot back with a shake of my head. “Not fucking happening.”
“Oh yes.” Her grin widened and she nodded eagerly. “It’s happening.”
“No, it’s not.” I shook my head just as emphatically. “My brain can’t take another rerun of Dirty Dancing. It’ll explode.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” She laughed, slapping my arm. “We’ve only watched it a couple of times.”
“Claire,” I growled, unable to mask the outrage in my voice—because her obsession with Johnny Castle was a lot like her obsession with Johnny Depp: unhealthy as hell and getting worse by the day. “I’ve watched that film so many times with you that I can recite the bastard thing word for word.” I shook my head again. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“As opposed to your obsession with The Shawshank Redemption?” she countered, sounding equally frustrated with my refusal to bend to her will—something we both knew I would end up doing. “If I have to listen to another one of your Morgan Freeman voiceovers I’m going to cry.”
