Young Lies (Young Series Book 1) (21 page)

There were several soft gasps at his arrival, and I know they were all thinking about his resemblance to the man we were mourning. I did my best to explain to him what was going on, that there was an accident and Matthew didn’t survive. He didn’t understand and I didn’t expect him to. The only death he’s ever dealt with was my father’s and he was far too young to realize what had been going on. Now I’m watching his little lip tremble at the thought that he won’t see Matthew again and I want nothing more than to take away the pain he’s feeling right now. I can’t, though, not when I’m feeling the same pain.

Around dinnertime, despite nobody actually being hungry, we’re sat around the kitchen table and staring at the four mostly untouched boxes of pizza in front of us. The phone rings and seven heads snap in its direction. Claire is the first to react, stumbling blindly from her chair to the phone. “Hello?” We all stare at her with baited breath and nobody misses the hopeful glint that fills her eyes when the person on the other end begins to speak. “Oh, thank
God. What the hell happened? And why the fuck haven’t you called before now?”

She waves at us impatiently as we all try to speak at once, demanding information. Nodding, her eyes close tightly and she walks back until she hits the wall, using it as support. “Yeah, I’ll tell everyone,” she says weakly. “When are you coming back? ... Okay, someone will pick you up; you’re staying with us, no arguments.”

A second later she’s hung up the phone and is looking at us desolately. “Leo,” she chokes out. “He’s been trying to get solid information before calling us.”

“And?” Matthew’s father demands. “Where’s my son?”

“He was on the plane, Dad,” Claire tells him, her voice cracking. “He didn’t make it.”

There are a few moments during which Claire’s words sink in and once they do, the renewed sobs begin. For the last few hours, I think we all might have been thinking that there was a chance Matthew wasn’t on the plane, that he was safe and for whatever reason just hadn’t gotten around to letting us know. Now we have confirmation. I look around the table as Matthew’s father is comforting his mother; his older sisters holding each other; Danny trying to keep Claire upright, and I feel like the third wheel in their grieving. Or the seventh. It hits me suddenly that I don’t belong here. Matthew and I were divorced and hadn’t seen each other for five years. Yes, we spent a night together, but despite all his words about what he wanted, no promises were made. When it comes down to it, all I am to him is the mother of his son and that’s probably what I should have stayed.

While the others are occupied, I slip out of the kitchen, devastation washing over me with every step I take as I retreat to the guest bedroom. Through my blurry vision I see Matthew’s leather jacket and I immediately cross the room, snatch it off the chair, and wrap myself inside it. It smells faintly of his cologne and I take several deep breaths, trying to imprint that scent on my brain.

Gripping the jacket for dear life, I pause, my brow furrowing for some unknown reason. I repeat whatever movement it was that I’d just made and figure out what prompted this: there’s a crinkling sound coming from within the jacket pocket. With shaking hands, I fumble around until I locate a folded piece of paper with my name on the outside written in Matthew’s barely legible scrawl and it doesn’t occur to me to unfold it for several minutes. Whatever is in this note is the last thing he’ll have written to me. Do I read it now or save it for later when my brain will actually process what it’s reading? Why was he leaving me a note in the first place? He couldn’t have possibly known on this outcome and prepared accordingly.

I let out a shuddering breath, barely realizing the tears are streaming down my face and forming a puddle in the black leather of the jacket. It takes me a few attempts to actually read what’s in front of me.

Dear Sam,

I bought this for our third wedding anniversary. Unfortunately, circumstances didn’t allow for me to give it to you and I couldn’t ever force myself to get rid of it. Call me a sentimental sap if you want, but there it is. Regardless of the fact that we’re no longer married, I still want you to have this; it’s for you and I don’t see me giving it to anybody else. When I picked it out, I knew it would be something you’d treasure. Every time I handled it, I thought about what your reaction would have been and more than anything, I wish I could have given it to you.

I’m not entirely sure why I’m giving it to you now. All I know is that I can’t stand the thought of passing up the opportunity. What you do with it is entirely up to you. Just know that when I bought it, I thought it would be you and me together until the end of time. Now you’re back in my life, I feel as though there might actually be a chance we could have that again.

I love you, Samantha. I always have and I always will. And I have no intention of giving up on you or on us.

Yours Always,

Matt

I wake suddenly, feeling cold. My eyes are puffy, my vision is blurred, and I feel empty. Raising my hand to rub at my eyes, I stop at the sight of the long black leather jacket that hangs way past the tips of my fingers and it hits me instantly why I feel the way I do.

Matthew is dead. His plane has crashed and he is gone. I will never see him again. I’m lying in Claire’s guest bedroom wrapped in his jacket that he’ll never wear again because he’s dead. Just like everybody else who has meant the most to me in my life—my mother, my father—Matthew is gone.

Everything comes crashing back. The news footage. Sitting in the kitchen with the Youngs when Leo called to confirm what we already feared to be true. All the dirty looks I got from Matthew’s father and older sisters, like I was committing a crime just being in the same room with them. Feeling like an outsider. The need for an escape. Matthew’s beautiful note to me, the last thing he’ll say to me. I remember considering going to my sock drawer and digging through it for the gift he left, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not yet. Not if that will be the end of every connection I have with him.

I wait for the sobs to begin again, but they don’t come. Once again, I’m numb, dazed, in shock. And the only thing on my mind right now is what I need to do next. There isn’t any other choice at this point; I know Claire won’t like it, but Tyler and I can’t stay here. We don’t belong. Well, maybe he does, being a born Young, but I sure as hell don’t and it’s only a matter of time before someone speaks up and asks me why I’m still here. I really can’t deal with that. Not knowing where we’ll go, I know my option is to pack my and Tyler’s things and leave. We could head back to the farm with my brother; despite his disagreeing with me getting mixed up with Matthew to begin with, I know he’d take me in without a second thought. I could call Tom, beg him for forgiveness, see if he’d be willing to let us come back. It wouldn’t be the same, I know that, but at least we’d have a place to sleep until I figured out something else.

Strangely, I feel better now that I’ve made a decision. It gives me the illusion of having control over my life. Taking a deep breath, I force myself onto shaking legs, pulling Matthew’s jacket tighter around me. I don’t think I could give up this damn thing if asked. I wouldn’t.

Outside the door, the hallway is dark and I’m almost positive everyone’s gone to bed. Though how any of them can possibly sleep tonight, I have no idea. First I wander down to where Tyler is asleep, finding him curled up in bed. I don’t know how to even begin explaining this mess to him. The same day I find out he knows exactly whose son he is, his father is killed. It’s unfair. It’s cruel. Tyler deserves better. I wish I could give him better.

Roughly wiping at my face, I place a kiss on my son’s head and turn to leave the room. I consider trying to go back to bed for a few more hours of sleep, but realize all I’ll be doing is tossing and turning and thinking and longing. So instead I head downstairs through the darkened house, then to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of water.

“Can’t sleep?”

The voice is soft and unexpected, and I choke on the liquid sliding down my throat. Coughing and sputtering, I place the glass in the sink and turn to make out the faint shape of Claire sitting at the kitchen table staring out the window. I’m not sure how I missed her when I came in, but blame it on the haze in which I’m currently living. “Not really,” I reply quietly once my lungs are clear of water. “You?”

“Nope.” I hear the click of a lighter and see a tiny flame that Claire uses to light the cigarette in her mouth as she slides the kitchen window open with her foot. I’ve never seen her smoke in her house, but I don’t call her on it, knowing it’s the last thing in the world she gives a shit about. “That Matt’s?” She gestures at the jacket I’m wearing.

“Yes,” I whisper, holding it protectively around me as I move to sit beside her.

“Looks good on you,” she says. We sit silently for a few minutes until she stabs out the cigarette in the ashtray. “Where’d you go earlier?”

I sigh, looking out the window. “Needed to be alone,” I reply. Even to my own ears it seems like a weak excuse. Unfortunately it’s the only one I’ve got right now. “I couldn’t think in here.”

“I know the feeling,” Claire whispers, sniffling. I glance out of the corner of my eye to see her wipe at her eyes.

“What happened after I left?”

“Not much,” Claire says with a sigh. “Dad placed a few calls to get confirmation on what Leo said—apparently Leo’s word wasn’t good enough—and every call he made told us exactly the same. I finally banned him from using the phone, because every time he did, I had to watch my mom’s heart break even more.” She pauses to reach out for a coffee mug and takes a deep swig. Judging by the scrunching up of her face, the coffee’s gone cold. “Leo will be here in a couple days. He’s got a few things to wrap up over there, then he’s heading back.”

In the silence, I can’t help but wonder whether Matthew will be coming with Leo in some form. I then remember the sight of the plane crash and it hits me that there probably isn’t anything to bring back. My jaw tenses almost to the point of pain as I try to hold back my sob. I manage it by reminding myself of the decision I just made and take a few deep breaths before looking at Claire. “So I’ve been thinking...”

She snorts a laugh. “Never a good thing,” she teases half-heartedly.

I smile at her just as half-heartedly. “Ty and I are going to take off tomorrow,” I whisper.

The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees and though I’m not looking at her, I know Claire is giving me one of her patented glares of death, something she usually reserves for her siblings or husband. “Excuse me?” she asks in a low tone.

“We’re leaving,” I repeat. “Tomorrow. I appreciate everything you’ve done for us more than you’ll ever know, but I have to get out of here—”

“I swear to God, Sam, if you finish that sentence, I will kick your ass,” Claire tells me in a growl. “Why the fuck would you leave now?”

“Because I don’t belong here, Claire,” I tell her, the words coming out in a rush. “Because your dad and sisters keep shooting glances at me like I’m the reason Matt is gone. Because I don’t deserve to sit here with all of you and mourn him, not after what I put him through for five years.”

“Fuck you, Samantha,” she spits at me. “I am so sick of this self-loathing bullshit you keep spewing. Yeah, you left Matt and you were both fucking miserable for it. You weren’t the only one responsible, though; he let you leave and he didn’t try to stop you. He could have gone to get you at anytime over the last five years and I know Goddamn well that no matter what agreement the two of you had, you would have gone back to him. That’s not important, Sam. And I know you’re hurting, so am I, but running away from your support system is not the answer. I’ve got a houseful of emotionally unbalanced, grieving family members and since Matt isn’t here to keep everything together like normal, I have to do that. You don’t get a pass on dealing with this shit, because you feel sorry for yourself.”

My mouth drops. “I’m not fee—”

“Don’t,” she says severely. “You’re not going anywhere. At least not right now. If you really want to leave after the funeral, I will help get you to wherever you want to go, but right now, I need you here.” Her voice cracks and she swallows hard. “My brother is dead, Sam. Please don’t make me lose you too.”

I have no words for her. She’s hurting and like the shitty best friend I apparently am, my only thought is to escape from all of this. “What about your dad and sisters?” I ask quietly. “They don’t want me here.”

“Do you really think I give a fuck what they think?” she replies. “You have as much right to be here as they do and I’m not sending you away. They can deal with it. And if one of them says something to you, I’ll deal with it.”

Again, we fall into silence and I know she doesn’t expect a reply from me. Which is good, since I don’t think I could form one if I tried.

The first time I met Claire, we bonded almost instantly. Where her sisters looked at me from the moment Matthew introduced me to them as though I was far beneath them and their attention, Claire treated me like one of the family. I think she was the only one who didn’t love Matthew’s college girlfriend Lucy and was relieved that he managed to find someone with whom she got along effortlessly. Since I didn’t really know anybody when I moved in with Matthew, Claire was the first one to offer to take me out and introduce me to people. Before I knew it, I was opening up to her in a way I’d only ever done with her brother. Though I do think she might have had an ulterior motive for spending as much time at Matthew’s house as she did; the worst kept secret before Claire met Danny was that she had her eyes locked on Leo. I don’t know that anything ever actually happened between them and I have the suspicion that if it had, Matthew would have killed his friend, but it was amusing to watch. Vaguely, I wonder if that crush ever went away fully or if she still secretly thinks about Leo.

Unbidden, I hear a laugh bubbling up through my chest and past my lips before I can stop it. I feel rather than see Claire turning to face me and fixing me with a look of complete bewilderment on her face. “What?” she asks cautiously as though she’s wondered if I’ve lost my mind.

“Nothing,” I say, unable to hold back the sniggering. “Sorry...” She’s still staring at me, a small smile on her face as she realizes I’m still mostly sane. “I was just thinking about your infatuation with Leo a few years back.”

She groans and laughs at the same time. “Please don’t remind me of that,” she pleads.

“Remember the night Matt was working late, but Leo was at the house, and you and I found Matt’s liquor stash?” I ask. It takes her a moment, but she’s grinning at me as she remembers.

“Both of us still underage,” she recalls, nodding. “And of course he had only the best.”

“Leo walked in to find us dressed in Matt’s shirts and our underwear, sliding around the kitchen, and singing
Old Time Rock and Roll
,” I add.

She grimaces in embarrassment. “Leo had no idea what to do with us so he just sat down, grabbed a bottle, and watched until you and I fell on the floor in a giggling heap.”

I nod. “Then the next morning, Matt took us to breakfast, let us sober up, took us back to the house, and made us watch the video of us being idiots.”

“I still want to know how the hell he got that,” Claire says darkly. “Maybe we’ll ply Leo with alcohol when he gets here and get him to confess.”

Our moment of fond remembrance slips into sadness as we return to the reality of our situation. “You know what I regret most?” I ask quietly. Claire turns in her chair, resting her head on the back as she raises an eyebrow at me in question. “Aside from leaving him, I mean...” She nods slightly in understanding. “I didn’t tell him I love him. Before he flew to Italy. He told me he loved me at least twice and I didn’t say it back.”

“He knew, Sam,” Claire assures me softly. “You didn’t have to say it. He knew.”

“But I should have told him,” I insist.

“Why didn’t you?” she asks.

I shrug one shoulder. “I thought we’d have more time and that once he got back I’d be able to tell him every day for the rest of our lives. Instead I kept my mouth shut over the one thing that I
needed
him to hear. Now all I can think about is him on that fucking plane, knowing what was going to happen to him, and wondering whether I loved him. Maybe I’m exaggerating my importance—”

Claire shakes her head. “You’re not,” she says. “The morning he left, when he and I were talking, he told me how much he was looking forward to getting back so the two of you could work through your issues so you could get on with your lives. He didn’t know whether it would even work out, but he damn sure wanted to try. And he knew you felt the same. You meant more to him than I think even he knew. And he knew how much you loved him and how much he meant to you. So no more of that regret bullshit. If you want to regret something, regret letting him walk out the front door that morning. Regret not telling Leo to go fuck himself when he pulled in the driveway. Regret not slapping enough sense into Matt that he realized his place was here, with his family, and nowhere else. Those are my regrets, Sam. You are free to take some of that weight if you want as long as you don’t regret the one thing that has no gravity right now. Got it?”

We’ve both got tears streaming down our faces and we’re holding hands. I don’t know how long we stay like that, but at some point we left the kitchen to return to our beds, knowing we had to get at least some sleep if we had any chance to making it through the next several days.

-------------o-------------

The front door opens and Claire and I look up from the scattered papers we’ve been staring at all morning. She’s taken it upon herself to make the funeral arrangements since nobody else can even discuss it without some sort of emotional episode. At first I hadn’t wanted a thing to do with it, knowing it would only finalize the truth of what was happening. But when Claire started asking my opinion on mundane things—flowers, locations, etc—I sat down beside her at the coffee table in the living room and started helping her.

So far, the worst and easiest thing we’ve had to deal with has been burial options. If there isn’t anything to bury, there’s no need to make a decision on a casket or cremation. We decided on an empty plot owned by his parents where we’ll place a memorial headstone. It’ll kill us to visit it, knowing he’s not there, but we need some sort of closure and this is probably our only option.