I close out the document. I can’t read anymore. My eyes have filled with tears. I’m surprised I made it as far as I did before crying, but I tried not to absorb the words as I was reading them aloud.
I set my phone aside and I wipe my eyes.
Ledger hasn’t moved. He’s in the same position, leaning against his driver’s side door, staring straight ahead. My voice is no longer filling his truck. Now there’s just a silence that’s thick and uninviting, to the point that Ledger can’t seem to take it anymore. He swings open his door and gets out of his truck. He walks to the back of it and begins unloading the table without so much as a word.
I watch him in the rearview mirror. Once the table is on the ground, he grabs one of the chairs. There’s a pause before he chucks the chair onto the table. It lands with a loud clank that I feel in my chest.
Then Ledger grabs a second chair and angrily tosses it across the yard. He’s so mad. I can’t watch.
I lean forward and press my hands against my face, regretting ever reading a single word of that to him. I have no idea if he’s mad at the situation, or me, or if he’s just back there throwing chairs as a way to process five years’ worth of emotions.
“Fuck!” he yells, right before I hear the crash of the final chair. His voice reverberates in the dense trees that surround his property.
The whole truck shakes with the slam of his tailgate.
Then there’s just silence. Stillness.
The only thing I can hear is my shallow and rapid breathing. I’m scared to get out of the truck because I don’t want to have to come face to face with him if any of that outburst was directed at me.
I wish I knew.
I swallow a lump that forms in my throat when I hear his footsteps crunching against the gravel. He stops at my door and he opens it. I’m still leaning forward with my face in my hands, but I eventually pull them away and hesitantly look up at him.
He’s gripping the top of the truck, leaning in my doorway. His head is resting against the inside of his raised arm. His eyes are red, but his expression isn’t filled with hatred. It isn’t even filled with anger. If anything, he looks apologetic, as if he knows his outburst scared me and he feels bad.
“I’m not mad at you.” He presses his lips together and looks down. He shakes his head gently. “It’s just a lot to process.”
I nod, but I can’t speak because my heart is pounding and my throat feels swollen, and I’m still not sure what to say.
He’s still looking down when he lets go of the roof of the truck. His eyes meet mine as he reaches into the truck and puts his right hand on my left thigh and his left hand under my right knee. He pulls me to the edge of the passenger seat so that I’m facing him.
Ledger then takes my face in his hands and tilts it so that I’m looking up at him. He blows out a slow breath, like what he’s about to say is hard to get out. “I’m sorry you lost him.”
I can’t hold back the tears after that. It’s the first time anyone has ever acknowledged that I lost Scotty that night too. Ledger’s words mean more to me than I think he can comprehend.
Agony spreads across his face as he continues. “What if Scotty can see how we’ve been treating you?” A tear forms and spills down his cheek. Just one lonely tear, and it makes me so sad. “I’m part of everything that’s been tearing you down all these years, and I’m sorry, Kenna. I’m so sorry.”
I place my hand over his chest, right over his heart. “It’s okay. What I wrote doesn’t change anything. It was still my fault.”
“It’s not okay. None of this is okay.” He’s cradling me in his arms with his cheek pressed against the top of my head. He runs his right hand in soothing circles over my back.
He holds me like that for a long time. I don’t want him to let go.
He’s the first person I’ve been able to share the full details of that night with, and I wasn’t sure if it would make things better or worse. But this feels better, so maybe that means something.
I feel like a weight has been lifted. It’s not the weight of the anchor that keeps me tethered under the surface—that won’t be lifted until I get to hold my daughter. But a small portion of my pain has attached to his sympathy, and it feels like he’s physically lifting me up for air, allowing me a few minutes to breathe.
He eventually pulls back far enough to assess me. He must see something on my face that makes him want to comfort me because he presses a soft kiss to my forehead while brushing my hair back tenderly. He kisses the tip of my nose and then plants a soft peck on my lips.
I don’t think he expected me to kiss him back, but I feel more for him in this moment than I ever have. I clutch his shirt in my fists and quietly beg his mouth for a much fuller kiss. He gives it to me.
His kisses feel like both forgiveness and promises. I imagine mine feel like apologies to him, because he keeps coming back for more every time we separate.
I end up on my back, and he’s halfway into his truck, hovering over me, our mouths pressed together.
When we’re in the thick of fogging up all the windows, he pulls away from my neck, and there’s a split-second look he gives me. It’s so quick; it’s a flicker, a flash. But I can tell he wants more in that quick glance, and so do I, so I nod and he pulls away and opens his glove box. He grabs a condom and starts to open it with his teeth, bracing himself up with one arm. I take this opportunity to slide my panties off and bunch my long skirt up around my waist.
He gets the package open, but then he pauses.
The seconds begin to drag as he silently stares down at me with contemplation.
Then he tosses the condom aside and lowers himself on top of me again. He presses a soft kiss against my lips. His breath is hot against my cheek when he says, “You deserve a bed.”
I drag a hand through his hair. “You don’t have a bed here?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Not even an inflatable mattress?”
“Our first two times were on an inflatable mattress. You deserve a real bed. And no, I don’t have either one here.”
“How about a hammock?”
He smiles at that, but still shakes his head.
“A yoga mat? I’m not picky.”
He laughs and kisses my chin. “Stop it, or we’ll end up fucking in this truck.”
I wrap my legs around his waist. “And that’s bad how?”
He groans into my neck, and then I lift my hips and he gives in.
He grabs the condom and finishes opening it. While he’s doing that, I’m unzipping his jeans.
He slides on the condom and then pulls me to the edge of the seat. His truck is the perfect height for this. Neither of us even has to adjust ourselves or change positions. He just grips my hips and pushes into me, and even though it isn’t a real bed, it’s still just as good as it was last night.
