The Truest of Words Page 24

  Yawning as I made my way down the hall, I had the strangest sensation that something was off. Obviously the place was quiet without Aubrey there, but it was more than that. The condo felt different.

  It wasn’t until I was about to make coffee that I realized what was wrong. Aubrey had tidied up. The toaster and coffeemaker which she preferred to keep on the counter were tucked in a cupboard, the way I’d stored them before she moved in.

  Temporarily abandoning thoughts of coffee, I retraced my steps. There were no shoes scattered by the door, no bags piled on the parson’s bench. In the living room, there wasn’t a single magazine lying around, no stray earrings or hair clips left on shelves or side tables. In the office, Aubrey’s desk was neat. In the bedroom, her favorite “clothes chair” was empty. There wasn’t a single stray item of Aubrey’s anywhere. The place was spotless.

  And it was all wrong.

  I sprang into action. First, I draped one of Aubrey’s hoodies and a T-shirt over the chair beside the bed, piled a couple of books on her nightstand, and retrieved some of her toiletries from the bathroom drawer and set them on the vanity. Next, I dropped a couple of Spin magazines on the coffee table and placed the TV and stereo remotes beside the magazines. Last stop was the kitchen, where I moved the coffee maker and toaster to the counter and plugged them in.

  Much better.

  I whistled as I resumed making coffee, but the tune died on my lips when I opened the cupboard to retrieve the coffee. Aubrey had carefully arranged the bottom shelf. The soup cans sat in a neat line, not a single foreign item interrupting the outward facing row of red labels.

  I grabbed the chicken noodle soup, opened the adjacent cupboard and slid the soup between the tinned salmon and a can of diced tomatoes. Standing back, I assessed the results. Maybe not the most logical organizational approach, but what was the big deal?

  Things don’t have to be identical to belong together.

  I never thought I’d say it, but once I sat down to email Aubrey, I felt a pang of nostalgia for those emails we’d shared during the endless weeks in the spring. I logged onto my Jung Willman account to write to her, figuring she’d get a kick out of seeing the return of my secret persona.

  From: Jung Willman

  To: Miss_V

  Date: Tues, Jul 28,10:17:39 AM

  Subject: Thoughts of Love (and other things…)

  Hi, sweetheart,

  I’ve been awake for almost three and a half hours. I think I deserve a medal for waiting this long to email you! I hope your flight was good. I’m not sure if you’ve read the PDF files yet, but if you have, hopefully you don’t think I’m a prick for the entries I wrote in February. Aside from the period following Nicola’s bombshell last year, those weeks at the beginning of the semester were probably two of the most confusing weeks of my life.

  Walking away from you last night at the airport, I wondered what the hell I’d been thinking, sharing those files with you when I wouldn’t be sitting beside you to explain everything, but perhaps it’s best to let you digest my words without my interference. Besides, all that matters is that I love you now, and if I could have told you then that I wanted to love you, I would have.

  Thank you for the treat you left under my pillow. I woke up with it wrapped around my left arm. I can only assume its proximity to my heart kept me safe in my dreams. I trust you found the T-shirts I snuck in with your clothes. I selfishly want you to wear them to bed so you’ll think of me before you go to sleep.

  It goes without saying that I miss you already, but I’ll say it anyway. The condo isn’t the same without you (although I’ve done my best to make it feel like you’re still here…don’t ask). I hope your family shows you a good time. If you find yourself in a pub, surrounded by drunken lads, keep your wits about you. They’re not to be trusted. Believe me, I was one of them. ;)

  Since I’ve revived my Jung Willman persona, allow me to remind you of the man whose words helped JW woo you months ago. These few lines are from Sonnet 39:

  “O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove,

  Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave

  To entertain the time with thoughts of love…”

  And a few thoughts of a certain person’s very fine ass…

  Yours,

  Daniel

  From: Miss_V

  To: Jung Willman

  Date: Tues, Jul 28, 3:48:16 PM

  Subject: The torment of absence…

  Hey, JW! I miss you too! I’m glad you didn’t wait any longer to email me. I read those files, Daniel. Every. Last. Word. How could you think I’d judge you for the way you acted in February? At the time, I thought you were a pompous, potentially bi-polar asshat, but once I knew what was going on, I understood.

  But seriously, reading your words from those early days, I wasn’t angry with you—I was angry with NICOLA! I’m not sure how I can hate her so passionately when I haven’t met her, but getting a glimpse at how paranoid you were made me want to hunt her down. I wish there was some sort of magical potion you could take that would obliterate her from your memory. I’d be quite happy never to hear her name ever again.

  Reading the next document made me feel better. Your words in that second file reminded me of so many special moments from those first few weeks we spent together. I love you and I’m grateful for your beautiful gesture—truly the most thoughtful gift you’ve given me.

  As for last night, I’m glad the nightie helped you sleep. When I slipped it under your pillow, all I could think about was you whispering, “Take it off…slowly” the other night. How will I get through all these nights without you? (And who’ll warm my feet?)

  FYI, I don’t need to be wearing one of your T-shirts to think of you in bed, and I’ve already started planning my wardrobe for our reunion—short skirt, sexy panties, and of course, you’ll wear your holey jeans and you’ll be unshaven…*sigh*

  On that note, I must wrap up. I’ll write again tonight.

  All my love,

  Aubrey

  xo

  P.S. What do you mean you’ve tried to make the condo feel like I’m there? Did you buy a blow-up doll?

  I’d thought my week without Aubrey would drag, but somehow my days filled with numerous pre-vacation errands. I capped off the week with an impromptu meeting with Martin, who wanted to discuss plans for September before I left for England. Our meeting energized me, and I actually found myself excited for the upcoming school year.

  As we were parting, he surprised me by asking how things were proceeding with Aubrey. I told him we were getting along so well that she was sneaking away from a family holiday to join me in Somerset to attend my brother’s wedding. He congratulated me for securing the affections of “such a lovely young lady.” I wanted to tell him he didn’t know the half of it.

  On the evening of our flight, my family and I settled into our first class seats at midnight. My father had lucked out, securing two seats to himself while my grandmother and my mother sat in front of him, both of them washing down motion-sickness pills with orange juice.

  As for Penny and Brad, they were snuggled together in a little love cocoon. I tried not to dwell on how much I wished Aubrey was beside me instead of Jeremy. I reclined my seat, yawning as we sped along the runway and took to the air.

  Jeremey leaned over the armrests between us. “You don’t think Penny’s upset that I’m not arriving at the estate until Thursday night, do you?”

  “Not at all. As long as you’re cool with your tuxedo pants not fitting right—”

  “Penny said the seamstress is gonna swing by on Friday. She’ll be able to do any minor adjustments on the fly.”

  “It’s not the fly I was worrying about,” I said, purposely misinterpreting his words. “I was more concerned about your backside. Ill-fitting tuxedo pants can give you a serious wedgie.”

  He shook his head and peered out at the dark abyss below before turning back to me with a chuckle.

  “You’re happy to
be heading over, I guess?”

  “Yes and no. I’ll be happy to be in the same country as Aubrey again.”

  “So what’s the bad part?”

  “I don’t know, Jer.” I sighed. “Going back after all this time. I’m a little anxious.”

  “Try not to think about you-know-who. Focus on the wedding—the family spending time together.”

  “The wedding will be amazing, and I’m looking forward to having some down time in Somerset this week. I’m more concerned about the week after the wedding. Aubrey wants to do some sightseeing.” I shrugged. “I don’t know…”

  “Just stay away from Oxford. You’ll be fine.”

  “It wouldn’t matter if we went to Oxford. Nicola’s not there.”

  “How do you know that?”

  I shook my head ruefully. “Facebook.”

  “What the fuck? You’re Facebook friends?”

  “Keep your voice down,” I hissed, sneaking a look at my father, who was already snoring against his propped-up hand. “Of course we’re not Facebook friends. She’s one of those people who leaves her whole profile open for everyone to see.”

  “Why would you look for her there?” he asked, his voice now hushed like mine.

  “Morbid curiosity?”

  “Jesus Christ, Daniel, I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

  I grimaced. He didn’t need to say it; I was already feeling plenty stupid. “I only glanced at it the first time—in June—but then something kept drawing me back.”

  “And that’s how you know she’s not at Oxford?”

  “I’ll never understand why people air their lives in their wall posts like that. Anyway, she didn’t go back to school this year. She’s working in a souvenir shop in London, and she’s moved out of her parents’ house. Sounds like her life has fallen apart.”

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  He crossed his arms and gave me a look that said Try me.

  I paused for a moment, rolling the words around in my mouth. “I think I feel sorry for her.”

  Jeremy reflected on my admission. “I get why you’d say that.”

  “But shouldn’t I hate her? She turned my existence upside down.”

  “Yes, she did. And now you’ve recovered, and you’re getting on with your life.”

  I settled back, chuckling cynically. “I wouldn’t say I’m completely recovered. I’ve started having nightmares again. I’m sure they’ve got something to do with Nicola.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because when I wake up in the middle of a nightmare, I see her face?” I sighed. “Maybe I’ve stirred up my subconscious by tracking her down online.”

  “What does Aubrey say?”

  “I’ve told her about the dreams, but I didn’t tell her about the Facebook thing. Whenever I mention Nicola, she gets angry. She doesn’t want me to dwell on stuff that I can’t change.”

  “You can’t ignore it if it’s causing you stress, even if it’s subconscious. Maybe you should see a shrink,” Jeremy suggested.

  Was he serious?

  “Couldn’t hurt—you always have had a big head,” he added, smirking.

  Once we’d arrived in England, successfully navigated Gatwick’s security check, and worked out the three different car rental agreements, we made our way to the parking garage like a herd of turtles. As my dad loaded luggage into the trunk of his car, my mother took Jeremy’s hands.

  “When is your flight?” she asked, unable to conceal her apprehension.

  “In a few hours.” His voice was firm. Nothing was going to derail him.

  “What will you do with yourself until you leave, dear?” Patty asked, her concern echoing my mother’s.

  Jeremy shrugged noncommittally. I leapt in.

  “I’ll stay for a bit. If you guys leave now, you’ll be at the estate by early afternoon.”

  My mother nodded, comforted by this arrangement, and then she and Patty closed in on Jeremy, both of them weepy. In the twenty-three years since my aunt and uncle’s accident, no one had returned to the site, and here was Jeremy, not simply choosing to visit the spot where his parents had perished, but willingly putting himself in the path of the person who’d caused their deaths.

  Besides worrying about Jeremy’s well-being, my mother was probably thinking about her sister, and of course Patty was remembering her beloved daughter. As they fussed over Jeremy, Penny took me aside.

  “Will he be all right?” she whispered. “I wish he’d let you join him.”

  “He needs to do this alone, Penn. He’ll be fine. I’ll stay with him for as long as I can.”

  She nodded and patted my cheek. “Daniel, you are going to shave before the wedding, right?”

  “I don’t know,” I mused, rubbing my chin, more beardy than scruffy at this point. “I kind of like it.”

  “It looks like a malnourished squirrel died on your face.”

  “Just for that, I might keep it,” I teased. “What do you think, Brad? Doesn’t the beard make me look debonair?”

  My brother squinted at me. “If debonair means homeless, then, yeah, the beard is totally working.”

  With the rest of the family on their way to the estate, Jeremy and I returned to the airport and found a café. I grabbed us each a cup of coffee while he snagged a table.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he said. “I know you were trying to calm Mom and Patty down when you said you’d stay, but I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t mind. I’d go out of my gourd sitting in an airport alone for four hours. Are you working on a project?” I asked, pointing to his laptop bag.

  “No, I finished my last job on Friday. You?”

  “I brought my laptop in case inspiration strikes,” I said, drumming my fingers on the table. “I’m not holding my breath. My head’s a shed.”

  “Not surprising. I don’t know why you picked such a fucked up approach for your thesis.”

  “Are you saying Carl Jung is fucked up?”

  “Isn’t he?”

  “Of course he isn’t.”

  “Not my thing. Thank God you helped me when we studied Fifth Business in high school.”

  “Jer, Fifth Business is Jungian paint by numbers.”

  “You said the same thing then.” Jeremy frowned as he sipped his coffee. “Hey, what was the name of that character again? The one who threw the snowball with the stone in it at that pregnant woman when he was a kid?”

  “Percy Boyd Staunton.”

  “Right. He didn’t own up to what he’d done to her and lived with the guilt of it all his life.”

  “Essentially.”

  “And that’s why he had the same stone in his mouth when he was found dead in his car, right? His guilt haunted him until the day he committed suicide.”

  “In the most basic sense, I suppose so.”

  “I guess Jung makes sense if you apply his theories to real life. No one wants to be on their deathbed with these huge regrets.”

  “Jeremy, is that what going to see Anita is all about? You don’t want to die with a stone in your mouth?”

  “No, it’s not that at all.” He gazed at me, a mysterious smile ghosting across his face. “I don’t want to live with a stone in my mouth.”

  Aubrey

  Chapter 27

  Return of Love

  Let this sad interim like the ocean be

  Which parts the shore, where two contracted new

  Come daily to the banks, that, when they see

  Return of love, more bless’d may be the view…

  (Sonnet 56)

  THE TRAIN RIDE from Exeter to Bristol took about an hour. Daniel had offered to drive from Somerset to pick me up, but the journey by road would have doubled the travel time. I didn’t want him making a four-hour commute the day before the wedding.

  When a voice over the train’s PA announced that Bristol was the next stop, my stomach flutt
ered. My phone buzzed in my pocket, interrupting my daydreams.

  I’m at the station. Actually, there might be two of me here because I’m BESIDE myself with excitement.

  Can’t wait to see you…touch you…kiss you…fuck!

  Hurry! -D

  The flutters migrated south where they transformed into a desperate ache. My shaking fingers flew over the phone’s keyboard. Minutes. Mere minutes until we were together again!

  I can’t wait to see you too (or should I say you TWO?). Get ready to pucker up, buttercup(s). xo -A

  I rushed through the concourse of the Bristol train station, my suitcase bumping behind me. There wasn’t time to admire the building’s beautiful architecture—Daniel was waiting for me.

  On the sidewalk outside, clusters of people milled around as cars circled. Passengers and luggage spilled onto the sidewalk from a bus at the curb. While searching for Daniel, I tried to watch where I was going. I inadvertently bruised a few shins with my suitcase as I moved through the crowd.

  I finally caught sight of him about fifty feet away. He was standing with his hands on his hips, his eyes darting between the station’s different entrances. My heart lurched, and my legs turned wooden.

  Daniel.

  I mouthed his name, but no sound came out. Regardless, he turned, squinting into the mass of people as if I’d shouted. When he spotted me, a dimpled smile transformed his features. He waved while I maneuvered through the crowd, my elbows joining in the effort. If there were a scout for the English rugby team nearby, I’d be a shoo-in.

  At last, Daniel’s arm snaked between two burly hikers. One of the men coaxed the bottom of my case forward with the edge of his boot, and I was through. I slipped my backpack off my shoulder, simultaneously throwing myself into Daniel’s welcoming embrace. He squeezed me so hard, the air whooshed out of my lungs.