Right Where We Started. Pamela Hearon

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      He started to follow, thinking perhaps they could sit at the table like old times, or on the swing in the backyard. He heard the refrigerator and then the freezer open and close and his better judgment advised him to settle down back onto the unfamiliar couch, which he did.

      Audrey returned with two frosted mugs. She handed him one and moved toward the recliner across the room, but then changed her mind and chose the occasional chair closer to him, causing his heart to skip a beat. “Tess is still awake, so we should keep our voices low,” she explained. “How’s she doing? Is there a problem?”

      “No, no problems. She caught up quickly and has made friends. She talks about her dad and his family and Florida, but she seems to be handling the move well. The episode about Bobcat is the only time I’ve seen her upset.” He stopped, waiting for a response.

      She didn’t say anything, and they looked at each other for the better part of thirty awkward seconds. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Well thank you for the report. Now, if we’re finished...” She stood.

      “We’re not finished.” He took a gulp from the cold mug.

      “I have work—” She pointed to the door where her dad’s office had been.

      “We have to talk, and I’m ready to get it over with. You might as well sit down and be comfortable.”

      Her chin rose defiantly. “If you want to talk about Win’s death, I’m not ready to talk with you about it.”

      “That’s too bad because I am.” He stood. “But if you want to do it standing up, I’ll make a concession.”

      Her eyes tightened around the edges, and she pursed her lips in a look he remembered: displeasure. Finally she blew out an exasperated breath. “Bring your beer.” She led him to the front porch. “If this gets—” She paused. “I don’t want Tess to overhear.” She took a gulp that drained her glass halfway and then sat on the top step.

      “The last time we talked about that night, you did all the talking.” He sat, using a pillar as a backrest so he could face her comfortably. “It’s time I had my say.”

      “Look, Mark. I know you’re sorry. We’re all sorry. You’re sorry you dared her to go upstairs. I’m sorry I didn’t do more to stop her.” She swiped the air with her mug, causing some of the brew to slosh onto her hand, which she wiped on her shorts. “Being sorry doesn’t change a damn thing.”

      “Yes, it does. If I wasn’t sorry, you’d have every right to never forgive me.” He watched her mouth open like she was going to say something, but she closed it without making a sound. “But I’m not asking for your forgiveness, Audrey. Not again...at least, not right now. I’m asking for your friendship. I miss you.” He was thankful they’d moved outside to the darkness. Under the lamplight inside, she surely would’ve been able to pick up on the heavy thudding of his heart under the thin material of his T-shirt, or see the skin on his wrists rippling with strong pulse beats.

      “You ask too much.” She ran her hand through the top of her hair, loosening the silky strands, which fell softly back into place. “We can’t be friends.”

      “Yes, we can.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, gripping his beer with both hands. “We can be whatever you allow us to be. Don’t you see? We didn’t just lose Callie that night. We lost us, too... And I’m talking about the friends us, not the lovers us. I understand that’s probably gone forever, but I don’t understand why we have to go through the rest of our lives grieving for a loss that doesn’t have to be a loss.”

      She shivered and crossed her arms even though the temperature had to be in the high 80s. “I can’t forget.”

      “Me, neither, but I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking you to remember. Remember the two kids who were best friends from the age of four. Who played together every recess. Who rode their bikes together every day after school. Who spent every day of summer vacation together from morning until dark. Those years weren’t wasted, Audrey. They have to count for something.”

      Moonlight glinted on the tears in her eyes, so he’d touched a nerve. He pressed on in hope. “If I learned anything during those years in Africa, it was that you can do whatever you put your mind to, but first you have to be brave enough to face it. I’ve witnessed the indomitable human spirit firsthand in Ebola victims. I’ve seen children dying of starvation from years of famine. The brave ones don’t give in without a fight. They fight to hang on because they see good in the world. Friendship is good, Audrey. People need each other. It’s what keeps us going...makes life worth living.” Her face turned away from him, eyes staring out into the front yard at nothing in particular, but an ear was toward him, and he would continue talking as long as he had her ear. “We could be friends again, starting tonight. We could talk to each other in a civil manner and exchange genuine smiles and maybe even occasionally laugh at some inside joke that comes back to us from years ago. We may not be what we used to be, but let’s at least be part of that good in the world.”

      He knew it was a mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving closer to her. He scooted his bottom across the concrete until he was only an arm’s length away—close enough to touch if she should be so inclined.

      She wasn’t, but she chewed her bottom lip, which meant she was at least thinking about what he’d said. When she shook her head at last, his heart stalled. “I don’t know, Mark. I can’t guarantee anything.” She stood and tilted her head toward the door. “But I wasn’t lying about needing to work. I have stuff I have to finish tonight.”

      It wasn’t a no and his heart did a double beat to catch up. He stood and finished off the remainder of his beer before he handed her the mug. “You’ll think about what I said.”

      He didn’t pose it as a question, but she nodded as if he had, her face somber in the moonlight. “I’ll think about it.”

      “That’s all I can ask.”

      He smiled...but it wasn’t returned.

      At least, not yet.

      * * *

      TREY COOPER SAT on the couch where he’d slept most of his twenty-seven years. He was waiting for sunrise, for that first slant of sunlight to break through the dirty blinds, through the rectangle where he’d broken the end off the fourth slat from the bottom. He snaked his tongue out, feeling the scar that cut through the right corner of his upper lip and edged out onto his cheek a couple of inches. That beating had been one of the worst ones because Daddy hadn’t been drunk enough to pass out for a long time.

      He gave a shrug even though there was nobody to see it. For years he’d lain awake in the wee hours of the morning, watching for the sun to break through that rectangle and shine some light into his dingy existence.

      Every new day brought with it a promise Willie would find his way back home. Would come back from wherever it was he’d run off to. Would come back and rescue his little brother from the beatings that came during the dark. But Willie never came.

      And now Daddy had been dead almost two years, having drunk so much he choked to death on his own vomit in the bed at the end of the hall.

      And Mama had died last week of the cancer that ate its way from her insides to her outside. Trey’s nostrils still picked up the stench of decaying flesh from the worn corduroy СКАЧАТЬ