It was like a switch turning everything off.
They had been walking down the dimly lit sidewalk after a cab dropped them off near Lacey’s apartment. Ever since Carlos had shared his story, a silence had draped over them. She had changed the subject and spoken about other things, had tried to joke around, had even allowed the silence to last for much longer than she would have liked. But nothing was working.
He’s shutting down and I can’t do anything about it.
There was a part of her screaming inside the closer they got to the door of her apartment building. She didn’t want to arrive because she knew what he was going to say.
The same thing they always said.
Lacey tried to tell herself this was different, that Carlos wasn’t like that, that this was a totally different situation. Yet that deep insecurity that blew around her like the Chicago winds whispered that maybe it was something to do with her. Maybe when people got to know her, they weren’t very impressed. They saw what she was like and they felt a big, fat “meh” so they moved on.
Stop it, Lacey. Don’t.
She could see his face under the glow of the streetlamp above them. It had turned dark quickly, yet they hadn’t even talked about dinner. Lunch had been so easy and so enjoyable. But that had been before the past was brought up. Before the hurt was unburied and exposed.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” she asked her silent friend. “I make a mean PB and J.”
She wanted to keep things light and not go back there, even though everything inside her wanted to tell Carlos she understood. She got it. She hadn’t served in Afghanistan and she hadn’t seen people killed in front of her, but Lacey still knew about war and grieving. You didn’t have to go overseas to see horrors in your life. You didn’t have to see blood in order to grieve the loss of a loved one.
“It’s better that I don’t,” he said in a muted tone.
“Why not? Tell me—what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s not you. It’s just—I can’t remember what it’s like to feel anything but shame.”
She moved closer so he could see her face looking up at him with earnest eyes.
“Carlos, you can get past this. I can help you—”
“That’s just it. Nobody can help.”
Not so long ago, Lacey had said that about herself. She had believed it, too. But she had been alone and hadn’t seen the remarkable power of coincidence.
Which I don’t believe in.
“Us meeting each other wasn’t a mistake,” she said.
“No. But sooner or later, it will be.”
She took his hands and kept trying to pull it out of him, this fear and this shame and this dark everything.
“You don’t know that,” she pleaded. “Please. All my life, anyone I cared about has left me. Don’t you do it, too.”
“Lacey, I care about you—I really do. Which is why I’ve gotta do this. You deserve someone better. And me right now? I’m just too broken.”
He didn’t wait to see or hear her response but simply pulled her toward him and swallowed her in an embrace. Everything about him felt so hard, so rigid. She felt like she fit in those arms, her soft sweater and even softer heart maybe being a good thing for him. Lacey could chip at the hard places. She knew there was a kind and gentle soul deep inside. She had already seen it.
Carlos held her for a long time, and for a moment, Lacey thought he might have changed his mind. Yet he finally moved away and glanced down at her with that look.
That’s a goodbye glance.
She knew it well. She had seen it plenty of times in her life.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he turned to walk away.
Stop him. Grab him. Bring him back.
“We’re all broken, you know,” she called out to the figure disappearing in the dark.
Soon he was gone, unable to see her face buried in her hands, unwilling to stay there with his arms around her.
Leaving her, like they all did eventually.