Chapter Thirty-Four

Six Months Later

VINCENT SET THE cardboard box on the pile in his back seat and shut the door. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he said, “I think that’s about it.”

“I’ll go double-check,” Sam said. She and Henry had taken down most of the heavier boxes themselves, but she’d barely broken a sweat.

Before he could protest, she bounded up the stairs back into the apartment building.

“Here.” Henry handed him a bottle of water.

“Thanks.” It was warm, but he couldn’t care less at this point. He chugged it and looked at his packed car. He wasn’t sure how they’d fit everything in there, but somehow, they had. Most of the furniture was James’s anyway, and his family had collected it and his other belongings months ago.

Henry stared at the car. “You know, you’re always welcome to come back home. I mean, I’m glad you’re going out on your own, but if you ever need a place, I’ll be there.”

His father was looking better than he had in years. His face was less bloated and red, and he was starting to act like he had before his wife got sick. Vincent patted his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Henry took something from his pocket and handed it to him. A plastic emerald-green chip that read, 3 Recovery Months.

“I tried quitting cold turkey a while back, but this time, it’s been working. Didn’t want to say anything before I thought I could go through with it.”

Vincent thought back to his visit six months ago. Henry’s hands had been shaking the whole time. He hadn’t thought much of it, but that must have been the first time Henry had tried quitting. He handed the chip back to him. “Good for you.”’

Henry pocketed it. “Try to be happy, will ya?”

“Okay.”

Henry pulled him into a bear hug. Vincent cringed, waiting for the pain to start in his ribs, but they’d long since stopped hurting. The worst they got now was sore on a damp day.

“No, it’s fine, I got it.” Sam walked past them, carrying a large box that obscured her face.

Henry went to help her.

“What the hell’s that?” Vincent didn’t even remember packing that box.

“Trash. Just an old sweeper box.” She dropped the empty box on the ground.

“That reminds me, something came in the mail for you.” Henry started across the street to his car.

Sam moseyed over to him. “How many hours is it going to be?”

“A little over nine.” He had a long day ahead of him.

“Well, my classes don’t start until September, so maybe I can make a trip up before then?”

Sam was going straight into med school at Pitt. Last week, Vincent and Henry had helped her move into a new apartment she’d be sharing with two other med students in the fall.

“That’d be great,” Vincent said.

“As we both know, I’m an ugly crier, so all I’m going to say is I’ll miss you.” She hugged him.

“I’ll miss you too.” He felt the tears coming, but he held them back. They’d been practically inseparable since the incident on the bridge, and it’d be strange not seeing her every day.

“Here we are.” Henry handed him an envelope from the University of Pittsburgh.

They must already want his first loan payment. They’d probably mentioned it in one of the many unread emails he had from them. He tossed it in the window of the passenger’s seat where he had two boxes buckled into the seat. “Thanks.”

“Drive safe,” Henry said.

“I will.” He got into the car.

“Call me when you get there. I want pictures of the new apartment,” ordered Sam.

“I will. Thanks, guys. Love you both, and I’ll talk to you soon.” He’d miss them, but he knew he was making the right choice. After the trial, he needed a fresh start. He started the engine and drove away. They disappeared in the rearview mirror. He just had one more stop.

 

“STRANGE, BEING HERE during the day.”

He sat in front of James’s grave, running his hands over the patchy layer of grass that had grown up through the dirt. He hadn’t been back since the night he and Sam had dug James up. Even now, flashes of his lover’s cold lifeless face came back to him.

He made an effort to ignore them. He’d come here for a reason.

“I’ve been meaning to come here to tell you the news, but between moving Sam and then packing everything up and…well…being here reminds me of everything. I guess that doesn’t matter now.”

He resisted the urge to pluck a blade of grass to give him something to do with his hands. “Mathew Baker got life in prison. He’ll never serve it though. He was in a fight in the jail yard within his first week. Unknowingly had a concussion from it and when he went to bed that night, he never woke up. I know, not exactly the miserable end I was hoping for him, but it’s over.”

But that wasn’t the only news he came to tell him.

“I’m moving. To Boston. I know what you’re probably thinking. I’m running away again. But I don’t feel like I’m running from anything this time. I think I just need a do-over in a place that doesn’t remind me so much of you and what happened. I have no idea what I’m going to do there. I guess that’d scare me before, but now it’s kind of exciting.

“I won’t be back to visit for a while, but we both know that doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about you and wishing you were there with me. Sometimes I wake up so mad at the thought you’re gone that I can’t even think straight. And I just hate everything in this damn world. But other days, I almost get through the day without running through everything that’s happened in my mind.”

Tears blurred the sunlit cemetery. “But I can’t lie down and die with you—as much as I want to sometimes. So, I’m moving to Boston. These last eight months, I’ve just been stuck here. Sam finished school, Henry even quit drinking, and I’ve done nothing but wait around for this damn trial and everything else to be over.

“I’m tired of waiting.” He dried his eyes and looked around at the rows of gravestones surrounding him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I don’t know if we would’ve lived happily ever after, but I think we could have made each other happy. I know it’s pointless to think about that now. I will never know. And I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering.”

He hugged the gravestone, and he imagined that he had his arms wrapped around James’s broad chest. “I love you. I always will. But I have to go.”

He pressed his lips to the warm stone, and for a moment, he thought he felt James’s lips. He knew he was just imagining it, but he let himself embrace the feeling. “Goodbye.”

 

THE WALK BACK to his car was easier than it had been in the past. Vincent’s body had healed, and while he was far from being in good enough shape to run a marathon, he’d started jogging again. He walked around to his driver’s side door, and a car whizzed past him. He pressed himself against the car and froze. He took a few deep breaths and got into the car. He was all right, but he needed a minute before he started his long drive.

He took the envelope off the boxes on the passenger’s seat and opened it. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a letter informing him that he would need to start paying back his loans soon. It was a diploma in general studies for Vincent Vicar.

There had to have been some mistake. He grabbed his new cell phone and opened his email that he’d been ignoring. He had one from Dr. Cowart:

Vincent,

While you will be receiving the lowest possible passing grade, you will, in fact, be passing my class. You seem to have developed an understanding of myths and legends that few students in my class ever obtain.

Dr. Charles Cowart

Vincent laughed. He was shocked that, after breaking both legs, one arm, cracking most of his ribs, and sustaining a concussion, Dr. Cowart was feeling so generous. His professor had told the authorities he had no memory of the events surrounding his accident, which clearly wasn’t the case. Vincent didn’t know if Dr. Cowart was protecting him or if, like Ralbovsky, the professor knew no one could really admit the truth without looking as insane as the tall man. Either way, Vincent was grateful.

He pocketed his phone and set his diploma on the passenger’s seat. He couldn’t believe how much had happened between when he’d gone to Dr. Cowart’s office to complain about the grade on his final and now, but here he was, car packed, ready for a nine-hour, one-way trip to Boston. He started the car. Alive.