Come Back To Me (41 page)

telling me to do – try to focus on the positives in my life.

That’s one, I guess. I still have my balls. I don’t have too

many other positives to focus on right now.’ I shake my

head and wince. ‘What am I doing? Here I am complain-

ing about that and you’re dead. Sorry.’

I’m sitting in front of a grave talking to thin air. I must

look like a madman. But I don’t care. This is what I need

to do, I realize. I’ve needed to do this for a while, and it

feels cathartic to finally get everything out into the open

at last, out of my head. And maybe there is nothing here,

nothing more than bones turning to dust, but it feels like

Riley is here with me, some part of him at least, and that

he can hear me. And if there’s the slightest chance that he

can, that he’s listening right now, then I want him to

know the truth of everything.

‘I’m sorry it was you and not me,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry I’ve

been a shit friend. I’m sorry you never got to meet your

son.’ At this point the tears start to fall freely. ‘Dude, he’s

so perfect. I wish you could see him. I’m going to be the

best godfather ever,’ I say, choking on the words. ‘I’m

going to be there for him, I swear it, Riley. I’ll take care of

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him and Jo. I promise you I won’t let anything bad ever

happen to them.’ Can he hear me? I so want him to hear

me. To believe me. ‘Your dad’s taking care of them too.

Crazy, huh? You had to go and die before he stopped

being an asshole. Kind of sucks. But it’s true. I know, are

you spinning in your grave at the news? Jessa told me

he’s helping Jo out. He’s set up a trust in the baby’s name.

Cool, huh?’

For a few minutes I just sit there not saying anything,

letting the silence of the place seep into me. For the first

time in nine months, my mind feels unclogged, clear, and

the tension in my body is ebbing away. I look around at

the graves. Being around dead people is actually kind of

peaceful. I wish I’d done this sooner.

‘In other news,’ I finally say, breaking the silence, ‘Jessa

broke up with me. I totally deserved it,’ I add quickly. I

try to imagine what Riley would say if he were here.

God, I miss him. I miss being able to talk to him about stuff

like this. I miss the banter and the jokes and the laughter.

‘She’s got a new boyfriend – remember that guy Todd?

She’s dating a guy called
Todd.
Jesus.’ I rip up a clump of

grass. ‘Man. I really fucked up. Your dad must love him,

though, because unlike me, Todd actually gets to enter

the house.’ I laugh to myself for a moment before I remem-

ber once again the look on Jessa’s face when she told me

it was too late. The laughter fades away. I bow my head.

‘I still love her, Riley,’ I say.

Oh man. Riley is probably rolling his eyes somewhere

on the other side, telling me to get my shit together and

stop crying like a baby. ‘So that’s my news,’ I say, finally

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looking up. ‘What’s happening with you? What’s it like

on the other side?’

I’m met by silence. I get up, feeling a thousand years

old but a thousand times lighter too. I tap the top of the

gravestone. ‘I love you, bro,’ I say. Then add, ‘You see my

mom, say hi to her for me.’

I check my watch. It’s twenty minutes before the

recruiter’s office shuts. I need to get a move on.

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Jessa

I don’t have a key any more to Kit’s place, so I pound on

the door, my mouth dry and my heart beating so fast I

think it might burst. What am I going to say to him? Am I

doing the right thing? My gut answers for me. My stom-

ach is doing backward flips and loop the loops. I’m so

excited I feel like I might throw up right there on the

doorstep. Kit’s truck is in the driveway, and the familiar

sight of it sends a ripple through me. I look at my phone.

I’ve tried calling him, but his phone is switched off.

After what feels like a lifetime, the door finally opens,

but it’s not Kit standing there, it’s his dad, and the words

that had gathered on the tip of my tongue instantly dis-

solve.

‘Oh, hi,’ I say, recovering. ‘Is Kit here?’

Ben shakes his head. ‘No. He’s gone out.’

‘Where?’ I ask. ‘I need to see him.’

‘He’s gone to the recruiter’s office.’

‘What?’

‘He’s re-enlisting.’

‘No,’ I hear myself say.

‘He felt it was the only thing to do.’

Ben’s expression isn’t accusatory − he’s far too

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compassionate for that but that’s the way I take it

anyway. I know Kit. I know he’s doing this because of

me. Damn, I think to myself, my head starting to swim −

I’m too late. How can I be too late?

‘If you hurry, you might just catch him,’ Ben says,

glancing at his watch and grimacing.

I look up sharply. Catch him? Is there still a chance? He

nods at me and that’s all I need to take off running.

‘Good luck!’ I hear him yell after me as I slam the car

door.

The recruiting office is on the other side of town. The

whole way there I’m in a crazed panic. Transplant teams

carrying donor organs are probably less frantic than I am

right now. I try not to think about what I’ll do if he’s

already signed on the dotted line, and start praying. I

haven’t prayed since Riley died, but I pray now, fervently,

my foot on the floor, weaving in and out of traffic on the

freeway like I’m in
Fast & Furious
, thanking God that Kit

taught me to drive and asking Him to intervene on my

behalf and stop Kit from signing any papers.

I screech to a halt in the only free parking space (divine

intervention?) and race across the lot, leaping over a low

wall and sprinting towards the door with the MARINE

CORPS RECRUITING OFFICE sign over it. Out of

breath, I make it to the door and throw myself against it.

It doesn’t budge and I rebound off it. It’s only then that I

notice the closed sign right in front of me. I check my

watch. It’s two minutes after five. I rest my head against

the tinted glass and try to peer through to see if anyone is

in there. The office is dark, though. All I can make out are

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some posters on the walls and two desks, papers neatly

squared away on both. Are Kit’s signed papers there?

Feeling faint, I turn around and stand there for a few

seconds, completely dazed and unsure of what to do. I’m

too late. I’m too late! I kick my foot hard against a nearby

pot plant and let out a cry. Why did he have to do this?

Goddamn him. I burst into tears and my foot starts to

throb. My head is still clogged with thoughts, most of

them confused. Was I really going to stop him?

I take a deep breath and rub my eyes, forcing myself

to get it together. I step away from the door, noticing

the CCTV camera pointed at me. I’ve cried enough over

Kit − I refuse to cry any more. Maybe this is just the way

it’s meant to be. Maybe it’s all for the best.

My phone chooses this moment to start ringing. I pull

it out and glance at the display. It’s Todd. Oh God, I’m

late. We were supposed to meet at five. I totally forgot.

My finger hovers over the button. I’m not sure I can

handle talking to him right now. He’s going to want to

know where I am.

I stare at my reflection in the glass door. It’s like look-

ing at a ghost – a dull, grey, miserable-looking ghost. The

phone keeps ringing. Maybe I should just say nothing.

Todd need never know. We can just carry on like we were.

I turn away from the ghost in the door and press the

green button. ‘Hey Todd,’ I say, forcing a smile.

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Kit

Turning away from Riley’s grave, I freeze mid-step.

Jessa’s dad is standing just a few metres away, watching

me. He’s holding a bunch of flowers in his hand. Out of

uniform he doesn’t cut quite such an intimidating figure

and I notice that he looks much, much older than when I

saw him last. His hair’s now completely grey. He’s softer

too. His shoulders are still broad and he’s still a well-built

man, but he seems somehow turned inwards, his posture

no longer ramrod straight but slightly slumped. His eyes,

etched with grief lines, no longer have that fierce sniper

intensity to them.

‘Oh . . . I’m sorry,’ I stammer. ‘I was just . . . I’m just

leaving.’ Fuck. How long has he been standing there? Did

he hear everything I just said? Oh man. I walk past him,

fast, not daring to meet his eye.

‘No. It’s OK,’ he says as I pass him. ‘You don’t have to

leave.’

I stop and turn to stare at him, unsure if he’s joking or

not, but he just nods at me wearily before taking a step

towards the grave. He drops to his haunches stiffly, as

though he’s bone tired, and starts straightening out the

old flowers and arranging the new ones. It’s him that’s

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bringing the flowers. The realization surprises me. Does

he come here a lot, then? By the looks of all the flowers,

I’m guessing he does.

‘Do you come here often?’ I ask. As soon as the words

are out of my mouth, I cringe. Way to go, Kit. Make it

sound like you’re trying to pick him up, why don’t you?

He nods at me. ‘Almost every day.’

Wow. OK. I take that in. My dad used to visit my

mom’s grave every day too. I stopped after six weeks

because I couldn’t face it any more, couldn’t handle star-

ing at a mound of grass imagining her body decaying

beneath me.

‘Hasn’t got any easier, has it?’ I say.

He looks up at me. ‘Not yet it hasn’t.’

‘It does eventually,’ I say quietly. ‘One day you wake

up and discover that it hurts just a little bit less. And then

maybe after a year or two it does start to fade.’ I stop

abruptly. I don’t know why I’m telling him this.

Kingsley nods at me and I see his brow creasing into a

familiar frown. He stands up slowly as though he has the

weight of a planet resting on his shoulders.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking me directly in the eye.

‘Excuse me?’ I say, thinking I must have misheard.

He clears his throat. ‘I owe you an apology,’ he says.

‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these last few months,

speaking to a lot of people – counsellors, shrinks, what-

ever you want to call them – doing a lot of soul-searching.

I come here and talk to Riley a lot too. I find it helps the

most, actually, talking to him.’

Crap. I shuffle nervously. Does he know that that’s

what I was doing too? In a mild state of panic I think

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desperately back, trying to remember everything I said.

Did he hear me call him an asshole?

‘I wasn’t fair to you,’ he says now. ‘On the day of the

funeral. You were there to pay your respects. I shouldn’t

have turned you away like that.’

I’m too stunned to say anything. Colonel Kingsley is

apologizing? To me?

‘I was angry,’ he says with a faint shrug of his shoul-

ders. ‘I needed someone to blame.’

‘Yeah,’ I say quietly. ‘I know that feeling.’

His eyes narrow and I see a trace of the old sniper in

him. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ he says. ‘The only people to

blame were the people who strapped explosives to them-

selves and blew themselves up.
They
killed my son, not

you.’

I’ve heard this a thousand times from a dozen different

people, most of them paid to say it, but hearing Riley’s

father say the words is like the prison door swinging

open.

‘I swapped post with him, though,’ I say, the words

rushing out of me so fast it sounds like a sob.

‘We’ve all done that. We’ve all broken the rules. I was

wrong to punish you. You’d been through enough.’

I stare at him, not quite believing. He’s a colonel. He

cited me for disobedience. I was demoted because I broke

those rules, moved to a desk job in Guam. And now he’s

admitting it was no big thing?

‘So,’ he says, ‘you seen the baby yet?’

I nod, speechless, my head whirring too hard and too

fast to keep up with the change in the conversation’s dir-

ection or to formulate words.

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‘Looks like Riley, don’t you think?’ he says with a grin

that lights up his face.

‘He does,’ I say, unable to stop smiling as well.