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Lucas
“Shit,” I whisper, my vision blurring as tears well. One drops, hitting his name and smearing the ink.
Even though I’d had a suspicion of what I’d read, seeing the words in black and white brings a new dimension to the ache in my chest.
What would I have done if I’d read this back then?
What would I have done?
The answer comes easily but doesn’t bring me any peace.
I would have stayed with Jeremy. Because I did love him, because he was sunshine and the idea of hurting him like that brings me physical pain even now.
But I can’t admit that truth without admitting the other: Lucas was right. He’s still right.
It’s always been him.
Leaving the rest of the letters sealed, I slide off my bed and wipe the tears from my face. I can hear Damien’s music in the room next door, but here, in my bubble of revelations and paradoxes, I’m insulated. There’s a low buzz in my ears as I open my closet and reach for the tattered shoe box on the top shelf.
My fingers tingle as I grip it, pull it down, cradle it in my arms. I don’t bother sitting down to go through it, just toss the lid to the floor and dig inside, past familiar memorabilia. I don’t really see what’s there, but I feel each item: photos, two wedding rings, the curled edges of an ultrasound printout, a wedding invitation…
At the very bottom is an envelope I’ve spent thirteen years pretending doesn’t exist.
I told Damien I wasn’t mad at my parents anymore for keeping Lucas’s letters from me, that I knew they were trying to protect me. But this is the real reason why.
Staying angry would be the definition of hypocrisy.
Putting the shoebox on the ground, I walk the few feet to my bed and sit, then stare at the letter on my knees. There’s no address, just a name in Jeremy’s familiar scrawl.
Lucas.
Before Jeremy left for deployment, he’d sat me down and given me three letters. “Just in case,” he’d said. One was for his parents, one was for me, and the last was this one. My first reaction had been horror, obviously. Followed by denial, then hysteria fueled by pregnancy hormones. In the end, he’d taken them back and tucked them in a kitchen drawer, where they’d stayed until my mom found them a year later.
Unlike my parents, I didn’t withhold this vital piece of history from Lucas for the sake of protecting him. I withheld it because I was angry and resentful, and the young, widowed me didn’t want him to have any closure at all.
I wanted him to hurt like I did.
Sighing, I trace my thumb over his name. Over the pen strokes made by Jeremy’s hand. Over the past, and the pain, and the regret and emptiness of coming to terms with my choices.
Then I put the letter in my purse.
42
“Hey.”
Celeste’s voice travels down the new dock to where I stand at the end. My heart kicks against my ribs at the sound of it.
I haven’t seen her face to face since the mural painting last Saturday. Obviously, I can’t avoid her forever, but I don’t feel strong like Michelle said I would after some physical distance. I feel fucking bereft.
For a second, I consider diving into the lake and swimming to the other side.
“Lucas?” Her voice is right behind me and sends a shudder down my spine.
Bracing myself, I turn around. As I suspected, she’s only grown more lovely since I saw her last. Since I’ve been avoiding this exact scenario. Since our “talk” where I threw out some bullshit about learning to let go.
I’ll never let go.
She’s wearing cutoff shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Her tanned legs momentarily blind me. Or maybe it’s her hair, braided into messy pigtails that dangle over her chest. Her face, makeup-free and scrunched into a frown. Beat-up Converse on her feet. Just… everything about her blinds me. She’s the epitome of perfect.
