Feeling This (23 page)

Later, I finally made it to the Duck. My stomach was twisting in knots afraid he would be here. I was relieved when I looked out over the parking lot and found that his car was missing. Later in the night though, I felt no relief, more like frustration that he didn’t show.

Chapter Twenty Five

When I get to the motel my mom calls again to make sure I’m actually coming home. As much as I don’t want to go back, I have to. I’ve hurt Kimber too many times now. I have to get my head on straight and tell her everything and see if she’ll take me back.

My drive back is quick. I have a plan now so the sooner I can get whatever this is with Mr. Weller over with, the sooner I can get back and apologize to Kimber.

When I pull into the circular drive in the shadow of my parents’ two story house, I marvel at the sheer size of the place. What a waste. They are gluttonous sometimes. I know they donate to charities and such because it’s expected but why two people need a 7,000 square foot home with six bedrooms is beyond me. I climb the stone steps leading up to an expansive porch laden with rocking chairs, a hammock and a wicker couch on one end. My mom steps out of the front door fully dressed and made up as if she is on her way out to a party or something.

I lean down kissing her cheek mumbling, “Hi Mom.”

She kisses my cheek and grabs my arms embracing them in a semi-hug. She pulls back still clenching my arms and exclaims, “You look well.”

I nod, not in the mood to talk, but she doesn’t get the hint and gestures to the chairs across the porch calling back into the house, “Maria, can you bring us some lemonade?”

I hear Maria call back, “Yes ma’am, be right out.”

I fall into a rocking chair as she perches on the edge of the couch across from me.

I’m still pissed that I had to drive back for this.

“What is it that Mr. Weller needs to tell me that requires me to drive back here?”

She shifts uncomfortably and her voice takes on a whiny tone, “Jordan, where have you been? I’ve been so worried about you.”

She completely ignored my question which annoys me further. I stand up just as Maria is coming out the door with a tray laden full of cookies, glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. I start for the door holding it open for her and mumble, “If you’ll excuse me.” 

I walk into the house toward my dad’s study. Once in there I spot the mini-bar and pour myself a whiskey downing it in one gulp. As I’m pouring my second glass, I eye my dad standing in the doorway. He smiles warmly telling me, “Your mother said you just got here. How are you?”

I grab the bottle and settle in a brown leather chair nestled in the corner of the room.

“I’m good Dad. I guess as good as can be expected.”

He looks toward the couch facing me as if to ask if he can sit down. I dip my head giving him the go ahead. He sinks into the new leather and looks up seriously as he clasps his hands. He explains, “Your mom wanted me to come and talk to you. She invited the Wellers to dinner tonight.”

I wait, taking another sip of the mind numbing liquid. At this rate I’ll be drunk by the time the Wellers get here. It’ll make anything he has to tell me more bearable, I’m sure.

My dad continues, “You need to understand that this is hard for them. It’s difficult for them to come over here and talk about Susan.”

I frown, staring down at the red Persian carpet under my feet. Do they think this is easy for me? That it’s a fucking walk in the park? Instead of voicing my thoughts, I look up at his waiting expression and tell him, “Okay Dad.”

I pour more from the bottle and look away pissed that I have to even be here. The expression on Kimber’s face when I walked to the barn keeps replaying through my head. This shit is messed up. I’m here to talk to my dead fiancé’s parents and the woman I want to be with is two hours away, pissed at me.

My dad calls over his shoulder on his way out the door, “Mom said dinner is at six. I suggest you stay sober.”

This makes my anger surface even more. I set the glass down and take a long swig from the bottle, enjoying the numb as it spreads. I’m such a screw up. I failed Susan, causing her to take her own life and now I’ve been given a second chance and I dragged my feet, probably losing it.

***

My mom’s distant voice sounds through my head. I raise my hand to calm the spinning. The sound comes closer with incessant nagging, “Jordan, wake up. The Wellers will be here within the hour.”

I squint in the dim light casting from the setting sun through the blinds. My mom comes into focus, standing in the doorway across the room. Her hands are on her hips and a disappointed expression crosses her face. I close my eyes again, trying to ward off the spin. Then I hear shuffling. My eyes open again to her face a few feet away and an almost empty bottle is fitted between her fingers, “Did you drink this whole thing? Jordan I think you might have a problem.”

I sit up straighter holding my head still and disagree, “No, Mom, I’m fine. There’s still some left.”

She turns disgusted and calls back, “Go clean yourself up, you smell like a bar.”

An hour later, I make my way back down the stairs, clean from a shower with a fresh pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. I follow the sound of voices to the living room. My head is killing me. Mr. and Mrs. Weller are sitting on a cream couch in the middle of the room. My parents are settled across from them on its twin. Mr. Weller and my dad both stand when I enter the room. I head to the counter laden with bottles and a mini fridge and stoop down to grasp a bottle of water from the fridge. I unscrew the cap and drink almost the whole bottle. When I top it back with the cap I walk over and shake Mr. Weller’s hand. The feelings in me that are surfacing at the sight of her parents are making me uncomfortable. I wasn’t expecting my body’s reaction. It’s as though a piece of me is suddenly missing.

I sink into a chair placed to the side of the couches and listen as my parents make small talk with the Wellers. Finally, after a little while their attention turns to me as my mother states, “Jordan has been MIA these past weeks. We don’t know where he’s disappeared to but he seems good.”

I hadn’t thought about it but I suddenly don’t want to tell them where I’ve been. It’s as if Mount Vernon is a new life, one not mixed with this one. I don’t want it to be tainted in any way by my life here. I remain silent, hoping no one will probe about where I’ve been. I know this is childish, I can’t hide forever.

Before anyone can ask anything more, Maria comes in announcing dinner is ready. I follow both couples into the dining room set with my mom’s fine china and crystal. I’m not comfortable being here in these surroundings, I long to go back to Mount Vernon. Dinner stretches on but I’m not going to be the one to bring up why I’m here. I have a feeling whatever they need to tell me isn’t going to be something I want to hear.

Finally, my dad suggests we go back to the living room for after dinner drinks. My headache has subsided by now so I pour a small glass of whiskey. My mother’s disapproving look doesn’t go unnoticed but I don’t care at this point. Once everyone else is settled in the central area Mr. Weller speaks up, “Jordan, why don’t you come and sit down?”

I settle on the edge of the chair and watch as he pulls a folded envelope from his pocket. His fingers linger on it before he holds it out to me. I hesitate a minute because I’m pretty sure I know what it is. I turn it over in my hands, staring down at the unmistakable handwriting, Susan’s. My heart stops as I turn the envelope in my hands, noting it hasn’t been opened. I look up to Mr. Weller and he answers the question before I have a chance to ask it.

“We found it on her desk the next morning. I wanted to give it to you the day of the funeral but you weren’t ready. We weren’t ready.”

He takes a deep breath as Mrs. Weller reaches out to squeeze my hand momentarily.

“Jordan we knew about Susan. We’ve known for a long time.”

I frown not understanding what he’s talking about.

“We took her to see a doctor when she was in high school. They diagnosed her as bi-polar. But we were assured as long as she stayed on her medicine, that she would be able to handle it.”

My chest involuntarily heaves at his revelation. They knew, they knew. I glare at him suddenly hating him as the night she did it comes back to me, emphasizing his denial.

I argue, “But you told me that night there was nothing wrong with her.”

“I know Jordan. She wanted to tell you. She made us promise to let her tell you in her own time. This is why we wouldn’t allow her to move in with you yet. We wanted to make sure she was taking her medicine. We had a deal with her; when she told you, she would be free to go as long as you agreed to help monitor her meds.”

Mrs. Weller cuts him off, “We had to do this because during her senior year in high school she decided she didn’t need the medicine and stopped taking it. She ended up at the hospital with slits in her wrists. Luckily, she didn’t cut anything major.”

I fall back into the chair dumbfounded by what they are saying to me. I can’t focus on anything except the envelope in my hands that suddenly feels hot to the touch. I don’t want to open it but a part of me has to know. I’ve been blaming myself for her death this whole time.

Her dad’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, “Jordan, I wanted to tell you that day that it wasn’t your fault. It was ours.”  He places his arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulls her to him kissing the top of her head before continuing.

“That night at the club in the bathroom, I became aware because of you, that she wasn’t taking her medicine again. On the way home we confronted her. She was defensive at first claiming we were ruining her night. But when we threatened to call you and tell you, she admitted she hadn’t been taking them and promised she would go and take them as soon as we arrived home.” His voice cracks, “One of us should have supervised her. We should have made sure.”

Anger wells in my chest at them but also at Susan for not telling me. We were together for three years. Three fucking years and she could have told me anytime. I glare over at her parents, “This is your fault but it’s also hers. If you would have just told me that night...I thought…”

I can’t finish before the tears start streaming down my cheeks. I push myself up in a rush, grab a bottle from the bar and walk out into the crisp air. The moon is half full casting a warm glow across the perfectly manicured lawn, unlike the rest of Texas where the grass is brown and dry, just another example of my parents and how their money talks.

I stumble through the night, unsure of where I’m going. In one hand is the bottle frequently meeting my lips taking big gulps and in the other is the envelope I hold onto as tightly as I can. My feet take me to the dimly lighted gazebo on the other side of the property. I crash onto a bench and set the bottle down next to me. I turn the envelope over and over in my hands finally gently tearing the seal, the soft sound echoing through my head. I carefully pull out the folded piece of paper inside and hold it up to my nose. It didn’t absorb her smell, the jasmine close by fills my nostrils instead. Taking a deep breath I unfold the paper as my heart feels like it will beat out of my chest. Her unmistakable handwriting screams at me before I can focus on the words.

Dear Jordan,

I am so sorry. I am sorry that I didn’t tell you about my illness and more than anything else I am sorry that I put you through this pain. You are the most wonderful man I have ever met and I cherish every single moment that we’ve spent together. When you proposed you made me the happiest woman in the world. You were my protector from everything and everyone except myself. I’ve decided that you don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to have to watch me every moment to see if I’m going to slip. You don’t deserve to start your life with someone already so damaged. Jordan tonight I am setting you free. I’m tired, tired of fighting and I just want it to stop. I know you will blame yourself, please don’t. This is my fault. I’m not perfect and I’m tired of pretending I am. Please promise that you will go on with your life and live it for the both of us, the way life is supposed to be.