Unforgiven(19)

“Thought you said you weren’t in the mood for company?” He smirks and pulls another wine glass down from the cabinet.
“I’m not, but…” I pause, looking away and out the long windows. The sun is just beginning to set and the sky is a beautiful combination of pink and orange. “I’m lonely.”
“I’ll stay for just a few minutes.” Pulling up a stool, he sits next to me at the island while I swirl the white wine around in my wine glass.
“Jonah, why are you so nice to me? I have been a complete bitch to you ever since we met.”
He nods his head in agreement while he squeezes his chin. His eyes focus, deep in thought. “Because behind that bitchy façade you have going on, it looks like you need a friend.”
Once again, I’m reminded of how truly alone I really am. “I do need a friend. Thank you,” I choke out.




 
 
The doorbell ringing pulls me from my thoughts. “Coming,” I holler. Pushing myself up from the couch, I turn the deadbolt and pull the door open.
“Hi!” Melissa’s voice is perky. Her long, red hair is pulled up into a messy pile on top of her head, and she’s dressed for hiking.
“Hey, come in. Let me just grab a bottle of water and I’ll be ready to go.” For the past two weekends, I’ve hiked with Melissa on Saturday mornings and enjoyed myself. I’ve always loved the outdoors and hiking was something Lindsay and I never did. Lindsay was never the outdoorsy type. This is one activity I can do without becoming overly sensitive about missing Lindsay, since I have no familiar memories of us doing anything like this.
I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and pull my keys off the hook in the kitchen. “Ready?” I ask as I step into the living room. Melissa quickly sets a picture of Lindsay and me from last Christmas back on the mantle. That picture has been my lifeline to Lindsay since she left. Her head is tilted back and she’s laughing. Her smile is large and infectious. My arm is wrapped around her, pulling her into me, and my lips are pressed to her forehead. Reagan snapped this candid picture of us on Christmas Eve last year and, the second I saw it, I knew I wanted it framed. It summed us up perfectly—comfortable and content.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop,” she whispers.
“Don’t be,” I reassure her.
“You look so happy.”
“I was.” I swallow tightly. “You ready?”
She nods her head. “I mapped out a new trail for us,” I say as I open the door and wait for her to step outside in front of me. I glance back to the eight or so picture frames, all in varying sizes, staggered across the mantle. Each frame holds a picture of Lindsay or Lindsay and me together. My chest tightens when I see those piercing blue eyes, as if they’re watching me. I miss her eyes, her lips, the smell of her hair on my pillow, and her soft skin pressed against mine. My stomach turns as I tear my eyes away from those pictures and close the door behind me.
 

 
“How far in do you think we’ve hiked?” Melissa asks as she props her hands on her knees and bends down to catch her breath. We’ve kept a steady pace at a pretty good incline and I know I’ve probably pushed her farther than she was ready for. We’ve barely said two words to each other since we left the trailhead—a good sign that I was probably moving too fast—but I’m not really in the mood for conversation today anyway.
“I’m not sure. Maybe three miles or so.”
She stands up and reaches her hands above her head to stretch.
“Are you okay?” I ask, finally feeling guilty.
“I’m great.” She smiles at me. She twists the cap on her bottle of water and presses it to her lips. Her lips are light pink and full. In the sun, I notice the light freckles sprinkled across her nose. She looks younger than I expect her to be.
“What are you looking at?” she smirks and takes another drink of water.
“I just noticed you have freckles.” I’m embarrassed that she caught me looking at her.
“They’re usually covered up under make-up, but they’re light… so most people never see them.” She presses the plastic bottle to her lips again and, this time, I look away. The trail is lined with large trees with full green leaves and the late summer air is moist and fragrant. For a brief moment, I feel at peace.
“Matt.” Her voice tears me away from my thoughts. “It’ll get easier. I know right now, it doesn’t seem like it, but I promise you it will. Every day will get easier and the memories won’t hurt nearly as bad, and then one day, you’ll finally be able to breathe again without feeling like you’re going to be sick.” She speaks as if she knows this from experience. I turn to look at her and find her green eyes are fixated on a large cloud in the sky. Her voice is quiet, yet knowing. “You’ll learn to live without her, Matt.”