What I Should’ve Said

Monday, September 27th

Bennett

Today is the fourth day in a row I’ve been sober, and I can still smell the booze fermenting through my pores.

Clay came by to check on me the first night I didn’t show up at his bar, worried I was dead, and Norah has texted at least once a day. Earl brought me soup for dinner Saturday night, Pete came by with a casserole baked by his wife yesterday, and Breezy has called almost every hour, on the hour, since she left for New York.

But as much as there’s been no shortage of compassion and friendship, I’ve still never felt more alone. I only stopped drinking because I woke up Friday morning covered in puke and the corresponding shame from it.

Usually, I’d paint to deal with my emotions, but I can’t bring myself to paint just yet. It’s not the same in my studio without Summer. Or Norah. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

So, needing a viable outlet that doesn’t involve reckless behavior, I’ve taken to chopping wood. And as a result, I’ve acquired quite the pile, and I’m sure it doesn’t come as any shock that I’m thinking about burning it tonight.

With an aggressive swing of the axe, I cut through another large log and pick up the remaining half to chop it again. I swing, releasing all of my anger and frustration on the piece of wood, and it shatters into a dozen tiny fragments.

I wipe sweat from my brow before setting up again, but when I rear back to swing, the sound of a car crunching its way up the gravel drive stops me. Out of a dozen people I expect, I’m surprised to find it’s not any of them.

Charlie pulls her Jeep Liberty to a stop next to the house, shuts it off, and then climbs out, putting a hand above her eye to shield herself from the glare of the sun. I haven’t seen her since Summer’s funeral, and truth be told, I never expected I’d see her again.

Something shifts inside me at the sight of her, and the very real, very numb weight I’ve been carrying around in my stomach starts to tingle. Her walk is slow and steady as she approaches, but it’s not until she’s standing in front of me that I find the ability to speak. “Charlie.”

Her smile is small but wholesome. “Hi, Ben.”

My lips feel dry as I lick them, willing the burn in my chest to ease. “I…I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Her mouth flexes, just a tiny impression of a curve at the corners. “I know. But I made a promise to Summer that I’d come.”

My jaw locks, and I have to look away as the sting of tears becomes more than just a nuisance.

“Two weeks,” she says simply then, bringing my attention back to her. “She told me I had to wait at least two weeks. Enough time for you to feel your feelings, she said.”

My head begins to shake, the mystery of how my sweet girl managed to get so smart in seven short years confounding me.

Charlie chuckles softly. “She knew you well, Ben, and loved you so, so dearly. She had me write down this note for you and wanted you to have it after the initial impact had passed.”

I stare at Charlie so hard the power of my gaze could split her in half, and she actually has the good grace to laugh. “I know, I know. But I’m just a messenger. You know that old saying about not shooting them?”

I shake my head. “Charlie, I don’t know if I can—”

“You can. Read the note. Hear what she says. Live your life. None of it will be easy, but I promise it’s all possible.”

I nod, a shaky, frightening motion from even my own point of view, and she hands me the folded piece of paper.

And then, with a sweet wave and a friendly hug of a smile, she walks back to her car, gets in, and drives away. Almost like she was never even here in the first place.

I toss the wood I was about to chop to the side and set down the axe before taking a seat on the big log I’ve been using as a block. My skin is clammy with sweat, and the dusty pieces of fine wood stick to my skin. I ignore the feeling, opening the fold of the paper to reveal the note on the page.

It’s written in Charlie’s handwriting, and it only takes the first two words to send me into a full-blown crying jag that makes every muscle in my face hurt with overuse.

Hi, Daddy.

Hello, my sweet Summblebee. By God, I have missed you.

It’s hard to let go, isn’t it?

Fuck.

It sure is for me. You’re the best dad on the planet, and every time I think of leaving you, I don’t want to go. But now that Norah’s here, I feel like I can. She’ll take care of you, and you’ll take care of her, and hopefully up in heaven, someone will take care of me. And it’s okay if you’re scared because I’m scared too. Just like you always said, it’s okay to be scared sometimes because sometimes the best stuff happens right after the scary part leaves. And well, I’m thinking that, for you, this is a really scary part, being without me. But that means the good part is coming. Don’t miss it, Dad, okay? Get to the good part. And if you can’t do it for you, do it for me.

Love you forever, Summer

Ten pounds of stress and ten more of uncertainty leave my body in a wave, and my head falls back, the paper and my hands landing in my lap.

Get to the good part.

Summer took my meager little whisper and turned it into a shove. As of today, I can’t ignore Norah anymore.