Wild Child (The Wild Ones #1.5)(27)
Author: M. Leighton

“Well,” she continues, “just let me know when to be there. I’m sure he’s made some provisions for you two, like a good father would, but that orchard should come to me. Rightfully. And since you kids don’t have an interest in living there like me and Turkey do…”

Some part of me, a part that I see and feel as if I’m observing it from a great distance, is getting angry. It threatens to penetrate my numb cocoon. But I resist.

“What’s this about, Ellie?” Jake asks, protectively stepping closer to me.

“Jake, honey, you know as well as I do that you two don’t want the orchard. And it should’ve come to me next anyway, so why don’t we just talk to the lawyers and have them sign it over to me and Turkey. You’ll feel better without having to worry about the home place.”

“The hell I will,” Jake bites. “My mother would roll over in her grave if she thought I turned the place she loved so much over to you.”

Even from deep inside my fuzzy reality, I see Ellie’s saccharine sweet demeanor dissolve into one of contempt. “We’ll just see what the lawyers have to say about that then. I tried to do this the kind way, but you’re making it awful hard to be nice, son.”

“I’m not your son,” Jake growls. “And we’ll see just who ends up with what. Now, take your raggedy ass on home before you really make me mad.”

I know I should feel angry. I can see it in the way Jake glances at me, as if waiting for me to speak up. Only I don’t. Because I can’t. I can’t feel anything right now. I simply watch, like I’m watching a game from the sidelines, as Ellie glares at Jake and takes her husband, Turkey, by the arm and drags him away. “Come on. I knew this would be a waste of time.”

The line begins to dwindle. As it does, one random thought chases itself through my head, over and over and over.

What do I do after this?

No answer comes to me. I shake hand after hand, and accept hug after hug until there’s no one left in line, and it’s just me and Jake standing in the cemetery, all alone.

It’s as I’m glancing at the gravestones that surround me, all glistening in the sun like so many black diamonds, that I see him.

Rusty.

Standing in the shade of a tree, he’s wearing a black suit, the jacket draped over one shoulder. His right arm is free, covered only in a white, unbuttoned shirt sleeve that fits over his cast.

I have no idea how long he’s been there, but some part of me says he’s been there all along.

Across the distance, we stare at each other. Then, little by little, like dawn breaking through the darkness of the night, feeling begins to penetrate—the breeze on my skin, the sun on my face, the pain in my soul, the certainty in my heart.

Everything in my vision, in my world, in my life, comes into crystal clear focus as I stand, holding my breath, staring at Rusty. Waiting. Finally, with clarity that only great tragedy can bring, I see Rusty. Really see him. I see the fear he’s lived with, and I see the insecurity he grew up with. I see the guy I fell in love with, and I see the man he’s become since fate stepped in and brought us together.

I take one step forward and I stop. And I wait. Unmoving, he watches me, so I take another. And another. And another still, walking until I’m close enough to smell the scent of his soap, swirling around me like a comforting fog.

“I know I shouldn’t have come,” he begins.

“Then why did you?”

“Because I couldn’t stay away. I had to know you were okay.”

“I’m okay,” I assure him, even though we both know that’s a lie. “Is that it? I mean, are you just gonna leave now?”

“I don’t want to, but I will if that’s what you want.”

“I’ve never wanted you to go, Rusty.”

“And I’ve never wanted you to go,” he replies. “But I knew you would. I knew you had to.”

“Then why did you say the things you did?”

Rusty takes a deep breath and looks off into the distance before he returns his gaze to me. “I was trying to do what was right. For both of us.”

“And now? What are you trying to do now?”

“Survive,” he says simply.

My addled mind isn’t working well enough to make sense of riddles, so I wait. Wait for him to explain.

“Jenna, I can survive without you. I can exist,” he begins, the words slicing through me like a knife through butter. “But it wouldn’t be any kind of existence that I’d want. You are what makes my life worth living. You’re the sunshine in it, you’re the laughter and the smiles. You’re the warm nights and the cool breezes. You’re like every good memory and moment and dream I’ve ever had all wrapped up into one. And if you go, you take the only living part of me with you. Without you, I might as well be dead. So, yes, I can survive without you. But that’s all I’d be doing.

“I don’t know how to apologize for being an idiot and an ass**le, and for letting something as stupid as fear come between me and the only chance I’ll ever have at happiness. I don’t know how to tell you that I love you for every single thing that you are and every single thing you’ll ever be. I don’t know how to tell you that when my mom told me about your dad, I felt an ache in my chest—literally—at the thought of you somewhere, alone and hurting, and me not being there to hold you while you cried. I don’t know how to tell you that I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, just to hear you say you love me one more time. Help me, Jenna. Help me say the right things. Help me do the right things. Help me to be the kind of man you could spend the rest of your life loving. Because that’s who I want to be.”

As I stand, chest to chest, with Rusty, listening to his hoarse voice, letting the sincerity in it wash over me like a cleansing tide, I realize that it is entirely possible to experience the most agonizing pain and the most wondrous happiness at the exact same time in life. And that maybe it’s the presence of one that so magnifies the other.

I glance back over my shoulder, at the mahogany casket that’s gleaming brightly on the other side of the cemetery, and I know my father is looking on. Just like I’d always hoped, he’s here with me on one of the most important days of my life. And he always will be. I might not be able to reach out and touch him or feel his arms wrap around me, but he’s here just the same. I’ll carry him with me. Always.