The Last Summer

As we touched for the last time, not knowing that it was the last time, I felt a part of you bond to a part of me. You're big, strong hand entwined in mine just like so many times before. You pulled me close and held me before kissing me passionately, breathlessly. Seared together as if by fire, part of me was torn away as we separated. We would forever be a part of one another. As you boarded that plane, my heart wept although I had determined I wouldn't cry. I stood and watched it take off surrounded by people yet utterly alone. None of those dozens of strangers could begin to fathom how much I had lost that summer--how much we both had lost.

The season had begun with so much promise. I was taking a summer off from school and working on my house. I was getting the yard fenced in and central air installed. These were things which my ex-husband and I had planned to do when we first bought the house. Now that he had left, I was finally making the modest three-bedroom my own. You were working your tail off for almost no pay as usual. I was still working my way through college--marriage and children had sidetracked me for a few years-- and between our two jobs we never seemed to have enough time together. Our weekends were planned long in advance and were never long enough.

You and Alicia were supposed to bring the kids up to my house for the weekend. We had been waiting for this all summer. How I anticipated that trip--my family, too. My kids would be coming from their dad's to spend time with us. They usually spent the summers with him, but I convinced him that the kids would want to see our friends when they came to visit so they were spending the weekend with me. I had everything planned: the food, the tent, the activities, even where the dog would sleep since there wasn't room for her and a tent in the backyard. I was waiting for the guy from the local heating and air conditioning dealer to give me an estimate that morning when you called and said that you were coming up--alone. When I asked what was wrong, you just said that something had come up and that you would talk to me when you got there.

When you arrived, I could tell something was terribly wrong. Your clothes, which were always well-kept, were sweat-stained and dirt-smudged. Your eyes were wet and bloodshot. Your face blotchy and puffy. In thirteen years, I'd never seen you cry. In that moment I knew, something had happened to Alicia and the children. As I walked out to meet you, I glimpsed the letter. Following my gaze, you handed me the single sheet of computer paper the type Alicia used to write her stories. In her sprawling handwriting that was so filled with curlicues and circle dotted ” i's” that it was almost illegible it read:

Dear Trevor,
I can't continue living this lie. You and I both blame you for Aaron's death and to know that you think that having Michael was a mistake...I can't forgive you for that. I'm taking the kids to Daddy's. Don't try to reach me.
Alicia

I read it again, not believing. I shook my head thinking that I must have misread the mysterious missive. I looked up at you and saw that I hadn't misunderstood. Alicia was gone.

I took you into the house and poured you a glass of water. I knew you would have preferred something stronger, but I preferred to have you sober while we talked. Coming to sit beside you on the couch, I put my arm around you, “So, what happened?”

“I came home from work yesterday and found the note. The house was empty. Even all the crap they always leave laying around the living room was gone.”

“Did you have a fight, or did she just leave all of a sudden?”

You sighed and shook your head as if to clear the memory. Taking a long swallow from your glass you continued, “ I came home on Wednesday. Alicia was at the computer as usual. The house was a pigsty, of course. Alicia started complaining to me about the kids, and I guess I just lost it. I told her that if she hadn't had so damn many kids, if she hadn't insisted on having another one even when she knew we couldn't afford the ones we had, they wouldn't be such a bother to her. She shot back that the only reason she'd wanted another child was because Aaron had died. She'd wanted to have another chance. It was my fault, she said, Aaron's accident. If I hadn't wanted to take him with me that day, he'd still be alive. God knows how many times I've felt the same way, but to hear it from her just ripped my heart out.”

I pulled you close to me, kissed your cheek and laid my head on your chest. “I'm so sorry, babe. What can I do? Is there any way I can help?”

“You're here. That's enough.”

“ I love you.”

“ I love you, too. Very much.”

“Do you still want the kids to come, or should I call Alex and tell him not to bring them?”

“No, they can still come if you want. They'll enjoy being with their mother. I imagine he doesn't like this much,” referring to my ex-husband.

“You mean that you'll be here?” It was no secret that my husband had always been jealous of our friendship. He had openly accused me of having an affair on more than one occasion.

“ I don't suppose he has anything to say about it. Besides, he thinks your whole family is coming. ”

“This is true. So what are you going to tell the kids?”

“I don't know. What do you want me to tell them?”

“For now, let's just tell them that Rylan and Emily are visiting their grandparents.”

“Okay.”

I went into the kitchen and poured us each a glass of lemonade which we took outside to the deck. I inhale the perfume of the lilacs that were just beginning to open. I've always loved that smell. It relaxed me as we reclined in the fading evening light. I reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze. “So what are you going to do now? After you spend sometime here, of course.”

“Well, I was hoping now you'd marry me. Now that we're both single. We've always talked about it, you know. Now, we could actually do it.”

My heart began to beat wildly. I had always dreamed of this. Yes, although my husband's accusations of an affair were not true, there had long been an intimate connection between us. My head began to swim with visions of a simple white cotton dress---no satin and lace this time, too hot--a quiet ceremony, maybe here in the yard? Just you and I--and of course the preacher and witnesses.

“So how about it? Think you could really handle being married to an old man like me?”

“Do you think you could handle--”

A hand on my shoulder snatched me from my reverie, and I looked into your inquiring gaze. “Sweetie? I think we should get inside away from the mosquitoes. You need your rest. The kids will be here tomorrow.”

He took my hand and led me into the house. As I began to climb the stairs to the spare room, you pulled me into your arms and kissed me long and hard. As we both caught our breaths, you whispered huskily “I've been wanting to do that since I pulled in the driveway.”

It's too soon, I thought, he's only acting this way because he's stressed and hurting. I couldn't imagine you--or any man for that matter--being sexually attracted to me. “You were right. We need our sleep.” We turned without another word and headed for our separate rooms.

As I closed the door to the office, I could still feel your embrace, your hot breath on my body, the musky smell of you. I pulled out the bed, undressed and tried to lie quietly, but sleep wouldn't come. What if all these years he's really been attracted to me, I wondered, Had his attraction been one of the things pushing them apart? I got up and opened the window--hoping to clear my head. The thought was more than I could bear. You were both my friends. I would never dream of hurting either of you. Yes, I admitted to being attracted to you. Your strong masculine presence was something I hadn't experienced for some time. Compared to you, all of the men I had ever known since my father seemed like boys. And then there was the way you treated all of the women in your life. You would do anything in your power to make us happy. You made us feel accepted, safe and loved. With the early morning light stealing through the window, I fell asleep knowing what it meant to be cherished.

I awoke to the smell of coffee brewing and the sounds of you cooking breakfast. I yawned and stretched groggily. After slipping into the upstair shower, I donned a tee shirt and shorts out of the closet and went downstairs. As I turned the corner into the living room, I came face-to-face with you carrying two stacks of mouth-watering pancakes with butter and syrup.


“Oh!”

“ I was just bringing you some breakfast. Would you like some?”

“ Very much. Thank you.”

We sat down at the dining room table facing each other. “How was your night?” I asked. “ The same as any other night,” he answered, “I was up at four o'clock.” With a mouthful of pancake, I dabbed at the syrup trickling from the corner of my mouth, nodding. Trevor had trouble sleeping due to traumatic flashbacks of his time in the Persian Gulf. Although we seldom discussed it, I knew that his actions over there troubled him deeply.

“What should we do today?” I asked trying to act as if this was a normal visit.

“Anything you'd like,” was his reply.

My face grew hot thinking about the night before. I recovered quickly.

“We could go fishing. I know just the spot to take you to. I even have rods and everything for both of us.”

“Sounds fine to me. Do we walk or drive?”

“Drive. It's a couple of miles from here. A place behind where my parents used to live.”

“Let me know when you are ready. I'm going to do the dishes.”

“Let me help you with that, and then we can go.”

It was nice to work side-by-side with someone, it had been so long since my husband had shared even the smallest of household tasks. He had considered himself above such menial work. I wondered briefly who was cleaning and cooking for him now. Probably the kids.

We spent the rest of the day sitting by the lake talking and fishing. We didn't catch anything, but we were content with the peace and quiet of the activity. Until your cell phone rang. Though I balked at the intrusion, it was with a wry smile that I remember that I was the one who talked you into that phone.

You had complained to me that Alicia was spending so much time on the internet, you had a dial-up connection, that it was impossible to use the phone. I suggested that you get a cell phone. It took awhile for you to come around to the idea, but one day you called me on the phone.

“Hello.”

“Hi. Do you know who this is?”

“Hi, hon.”

“I did like you suggested and got a cell phone.”

“So I see.”

“Would you like to have my number?”

As I returned to the present, I noticed you looking at me. Your face was ashen.

“What's wrong, babe?”

Swallowing hard, you answered. “There's been an accident. Rylan's dead. Emily and Alicia are in the hospital with critical injuries. They might not make it.”
Your voice cracking on the last sentence, you collapsed against me in wracking sobs.
I held you gently and kissed the top of your head. Rocking you as I would a child, I said “I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Where are they? They're in Atlanta where Alicia's dad lives. He's the one who called me.”

Rising from our seats on the lakeshore, we walked to the car to return home. I climbed into the driver's seat, desperate to calm the sobs rising in my throat. Alicia was my friend. Her children were like my own. I drove us back to my house blinking back tears the whole way.

The rest of the day was a blur. You called the airport to find the first flight to Atlanta. You called your mom, and the two of you cried together. You promised to call her when you could. You left your car at my house and had me drive you to the airport.

After we parted at the airport, I drove home in shock at the events of the last forty-eight hours. I was anxious for Alex to bring the children. I needed them close to me. When they arrived, I welcomed the children into the house and brushed aside Alex's questions as I bid him farewell.

Once alone with the children, I sat them down and explained about the accident. I told them that Rylan and Emily and their mom had been in a car accident. I told them that Rylan had died, and that we didn't know if Emily and Alicia would be okay. I held them and we cried together. My daughter, Athena, asked

“Is Trevor okay? Was he with them?”

“No, honey,” I said, dreading the explanation that was coming, “Trevor wasn't with them. He was here.”

“Why was he here without them? I thought they were coming together.”

I explained that Alicia had taken the kids to see their grandparents. The kids were a little confused about why the plans had changed, but seemed to accept it. I wasn't ready to accept what happened next.

After sitting down to supper with Athena and John--I wouldn't call it eating supper as no one was hungry. We watched an animated film and went to bed. It had been an exhausting day.

At three o'clock in the morning, my phone rang. I fumbled groggily to answer it before it woke the kids. “Hello?”

“Is this Shannon?”

“Yeah. Who's this?”

“It's Sharon, Trevor's mother.”

“Sharon. What happened? Is Trevor alright?”

A long silence followed as she composed herself. Her voice cracked as she replied,

“Trevor's dead.”

“Wh-what?! How?” I tried to calm myself so my voice wouldn't wake the children.

“He killed himself.”

I pinched myself trying to wake up from this nightmare.

“Alicia and Emily...”

“They're dead. My whole family, gone.”

“I'm so sorry for your loss.”

After a few more empty meaningless words, we hung up. I felt numb. I felt like I wanted to scream.

Then, as I normally do in the presence of strong emotions, I began to write. The product of that writing is this letter which I know you will never read.

Now, as stand beside the grave in which four of my dearest friends are buried, I place this letter underneath your name. I know I run the risk of someone reading it, but I don't care. It's my last act of love to you all. I wish I could've done more.