Truth or Beard(102)

“Not yet?”

“She’d planned to leave, just not yet. Not ’til she had enough money saved…”

I heard Beau mutter a curse then clear his throat. “It’s sad about her aunt.”

“Yes…it is.” I wondered if Jessica was close to her aunt. I wondered if she was hurting. As much fear and, frankly, despair I felt at the idea of Jessica leaving, the thought of her hurting, and me being powerless to help, was worse.

“Do you think it’s true? You know, Jackson is a little bitch. He could be trying to mess with you, now he knows you have it bad for his sister.”

I ignored Beau’s last statement, and addressed the former. “He’s not lying. If she had the money, she’d leave tomorrow. She told me so on our first date.”

Beau shut his mouth after that. Again I was grateful for the silence. I didn’t want to talk about Jessica leaving, debate the truth of it.

She had the means. She was leaving. There was nothing more to say.

***

I’d planned to ignore Jessica’s call at 9:00 by switching off my phone, letting it go to voicemail.

I wasn’t afraid of what she would say. I knew what she was going to say. I just didn’t want to hear it over the phone, when she was hundreds of miles away, and be expected to respond calmly…when all I wanted to do was rage.

I didn’t want to rage at her, didn’t want to part ways with that between us, so I’d planned to ignore her call.

I figured she’d either leave me a voicemail—tell me she was never coming back, and spare me the conversation, or she’d write me a letter—tell me she was never coming back, and spare me the conversation. Either was preferable to having the conversation because I could delete a voicemail and burn a letter, but I couldn’t take back words said in anger.

Regardless, my good intentions were ignored, because when she called I answered.

“Duane?”

“Jessica.”

I heard her sigh when I responded, like she was relieved I’d answered. Meanwhile, I couldn’t swallow even though my throat was on fire.

“Oh my goodness, it is so good to hear your voice. I know I texted it to you and left you a voicemail, but I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you. I…” I heard her sigh again, then sniffle. When she spoke next her voice was full of tears. “Duane, I need to tell you something.”

“Go ahead.” I imagined this is what it was like just after the hangman’s noose was fitted over one’s neck, but just before the floor gave way beneath the condemned. I knew the end was coming. I wondered if the finality of it would be a relief or a burden.

But then she said, “Duane Winston, I love you.”

I opened my mouth to respond to the words I’d expected to hear—we were over, she had her means and she was leaving sooner rather than later—but the reality of what she’d actually said rendered me speechless. I stared ahead, frowning at the wall of my room, feeling like she’d just thrown my swim shorts up a tree.

“I love you and I’m in love with you and I realize you’re probably upset with me for saying it over the phone, but something happened, I found out something…and I felt like I needed to tell you. Like you needed to know. I love you. Life is so short, too short for secrets and things left unsaid. I know we haven’t been together very long, but I’ve known you most of my life and I think I’ve always loved you, even though you were ornery and mean and argumentative. Even though you were never the safe choice…”

Now she was crying, big, heavy sobs, making my chest ache in response. My fingers tightened on the phone. I wanted to hold her, soothe away her pain, but she was a thousand miles away and I wasn’t prepared for this conversation. I hadn’t planned on her love, hadn’t counted on it.

More accurately, I hadn’t thought it was in the realm of possibility.

Maybe Jackson had been lying. Maybe she had no plans to leave after Christmas. Maybe she did. But if she had the means to go, then I was the only reason she would consider delaying…

I didn’t feel elation at this news. I felt only misery.

“So…I love you,” Jessica repeated for a fifth time. I closed my eyes, shaking my head, rejecting the chant that called to my soul—bone deep—and tempted me with my own destruction, and hers as well.

Still unable to swallow, I cleared my throat instead and closed my eyes, gathering my resolve. Self-preservation finally kicked in and I knew what I needed to do.

“Jess, we’ll talk when you get back. Okay?” My voice was steady and calm.

A muffled sob sounded from the other end and I nearly relented, I nearly gave in and told her how I loved her, how I adored her. But then I forced myself to imagine how she might look at me five or ten years from now. I would be the source of her misery because I would be the focus of her resentment.