Medicine Man (Page 71)

I’m not an expert but that kind of thing just never leaves you. If I ever needed a push to move on and forget about him, this is it.

Simon Blackwood is too damaged, too icy, too unfeeling. And for a good reason. Whatever he is, he isn’t for me. I can’t fix him, no matter how much I want to. How much I’m dying to. And who says he wants to be fixed by me, anyway?

He left, and I can’t even blame my illness because I know it wasn’t that. It wasn’t my damaged brain, it was my heart. He didn’t want my heart.

It’s done though. I’m moving on.

But I brought him flowers.

By him, I mean Simon’s father. I’m attending the funeral. On the down-low, actually. Meaning no one knows I’m here, at the cemetery, hiding behind a tree.

I have only attended one funeral in my life and it became The Funeral Incident. So I am clearly not the best person to have around when someone dies.

But I couldn’t stay at home, knowing that Simon would be going through this alone. Not that he is alone. There are people, tons of people, around him. I see Beth and Dr. Martin off to the side, among a lot of others that I don’t know. Clearly, his dad was well-known.

And it’s a good thing. Because not only is Simon not alone, but I have only been able to see the top of his head through the crowd.

I am afraid to see him.

I am afraid that if I see him, I’ll throw myself at him and confess my love, and then I might slap him and hit him like I did that day. Only difference will be that he won’t be able to have me sedated. So he won’t be able to escape.

Sometimes I can’t believe I did that. Attacked him and basically, goaded him to have me put down.

Yeah, let’s keep the distance.

After a while, I see people starting to leave, a sea of black coats and hats and umbrellas. I huddle behind the tree, out of everyone’s sight, my heart lurching in my chest. As soon as everyone leaves, I’ll go put the flowers on the fresh grave and leave too.

He is right here, though.

God.

He’s so close. So, so close that if I wanted, I could smell him.

“Okay, Willow. Relax,” I tell myself. “It’s okay. Things are okay. You don’t want to look at him. You don’t want to see his face. Because if you do then it will be harder to move on. You need to move on. You need that. Ruth is right. Listen to your therapist. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. Okay?”

I sigh, clenching my eyes shut, and repeat, “Don’t look.”

Oh God. This is fucking hard.

I’m shivering. My legs won’t stay still, and my breaths are choppy, and it’s not because of the winter rain.

I hear footsteps approaching me and my eyes, despite telling them to stay closed for about the ninetieth time, whip open.

And there he is, standing right in front of me.

Wearing a black suit, a tie, and his polished wingtips. Wearing the raindrops on his slightly-too-long hair and shoulders.

I wish he wasn’t real, but he is. I know. I can feel it. I can feel him beating right alongside my heart in my breastbone.

“Were you talking to yourself?”

My back comes unglued from the wet bark and I stand up straight.

I haven’t forgotten his voice. Not at all. It comes to me in my dreams, but I still get goose bumps hearing it. Rich, low and dense. It hits me right in the middle of my chest and sucks out all of my breath.

“No.” I shake my head, finding that spot on my left wrist where the tattoo is and rubbing it to calm myself.

Simon’s gaze catches my action and I stop.

He looks back up at my face and thrusts his hands inside his pockets in his signature move, and the breath that he sucked out of my body smashes back into my chest, and I almost gasp.

Clearing my throat, I say in my most normal voice, “I thought everyone was gone.”

“They are. Why were you hiding?”

“I wasn’t,” I say quickly. “I mean, I was. Uh, I didn’t know if…” I lick rain droplets off my lips. “Well, I didn’t know if you knew I was coming. If Beth told you or what? Or if you wanted me here.”

His eyes take me in, but only my face. He doesn’t look anywhere else and I do the same. I scan his stubbled jaw, his strong brows, his stubborn chin. Nothing about him has changed.

Not one thing.

He’s still perfect. Who knew perfection could make you want to cry?

He smiles his typical lopsided smile – it looks sad though – and ducks his head. “She told me, yes. I wasn’t expecting you to come, however.”

I rub my wrist again, now that he isn’t looking at me. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

Simon nods, grief flashing over his features. Suddenly, I wish that I had the right to walk up to him and hug him. Ask him things.

What happened, Simon?

A muscle jumps on his cheek and he says, “He developed a clot in his lungs. Due to inactivity. It’s fairly common in Alzheimer’s patients. Especially, at an advanced stage.”

I’m so shocked that for a second I think, maybe I said it out loud. But I know I didn’t. I didn’t say anything.

Blowing on my bangs, I blurt out, “I know. I mean, Beth told me he had Alzheimer’s. But that’s it. She didn’t tell me anything else.”

“I know. She didn’t tell me, either.”

“Tell you what?”

“That she’s been in touch with you all this time.”

I didn’t think she would tell him. But now I wonder if he’d have stopped her from contacting me, had she told him.

Doesn’t matter. I’m moving on.

Then I remember I have flowers in my hands. I thrust them forward. “I brought flowers. You know, for him.”

He throws me a little nod. “Then you should give them to him.”

I move.

Moving is good. Moving means I’m not staring at him and watching him watch me. Maybe he’s thinking that I might attack him again. Maybe he thinks I’m still unstable.

I’m not.

I won’t do it again. No matter how heartbroken I become.

Broken heart is more dangerous than a disease of the mind, though. They give you a pill to make your brain happy, but they haven’t yet made a pill for heartbreak.

So there. That should teach everyone who wants to fall in love.

With lowered lashes, I glance at him. He’s looking straight ahead, his face clean and smooth, except for that stubble. No sign that he got attacked by a silver-colored hurricane. Not that I was expecting to find a sign or whatever.

But it feels like it never happened.

 We reach the grave and I bend down, putting the flowers on the side. On my way back up, I catch something. The grave next to his father’s.

It says: Alexandra Lily Blackwood.

Oh man. That’s his mother.

I bite the inside of my cheek with a sudden onslaught of pain. Fisting my hands at my sides and closing my eyes for a second, I wonder again. Why don’t I have the right to touch this man? This tall, restrained, grief-ridden man.

When I open my lids, I find him staring at me and my heart kicks up a notch. The gray in his eyes is so deep, so vivid and so alive.

Is that what Beth meant when she said he comes alive when I’m close?

 “My dad had reserved the space right next to her when she passed away. I didn’t know,” he says.

“Maybe he knew.”

“Knew what?”

I know Simon is looking at me, but I can’t look back, so I stare at the graves of two people who were so important to him. Quite possibly, the two most important people of his life. Now they are gone forever.