Sweet Water(97)

If she’d been from Sewickley, I would’ve wanted to know exactly where she lived, which house was hers, and then I’d compare it with mine and decide all the ways Stonehenge was better. I’d want to know if the Veltris resided in the Heights like we did, the most luxe and secluded wooded home sites with no less than five acres of green space, and then I’d want to know where in the Heights, because those who lived there knew every single property.

Or were they in Sewickley Village, in one of the pre–Civil War charmers, walking distance to the business district and the shops? Sewickley Hills could also be an option, a more suburban conglomerate of new prefab homes, a real draw for Pittsburgh transplants, often snubbed by the locals for lacking old-world love. I did maintain a vanity about my own home, because you can’t live in the Heights and not, and now I hate myself for becoming that person.

I asked nothing about Yazmin’s residence because she lived in the not-so-nice area of Pittsburgh. It’s the same way my in-laws treated me when they’d heard where I was from, even though it’s far nicer than where Yazmin’s family lives, and as much as I chastised them tonight for their behavior, I’ve been turning into someone who is no better. I see it now.

This whole situation makes me like nothing about myself or the reflection of the person I’ve become, but if God grants me my sons’ lives, I promise I’ll do better.

I can do so much better.

As we turn on Route 65, Josh asks me, “Sarah, why are we going to their house, this wrecked family still suffering from Yaz’s death?”

“I don’t know, Josh. Maybe I’ll answer your question when you explain to me why you never told me it was Cash who purchased the drugs from your buddy Jay and not Yazmin?”

Josh opens his mouth, but no sound leaves his lips. I can almost hear his internal gears grinding—how does she know about Jay? Who else knows about Jay? He flicks his cigarette out the window and rolls it up.

“And those things are going to kill you, Josh,” I say more quietly.

“I hate when people use that phrase. Anything can kill you. My mother ate perfectly, rarely drank, ran three full marathons, and still died of a rare neurological disease, so please stop with the lecture.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. Josh told me the last time we were together that he’d come back to care for his mother, and I was too self-absorbed with my own problems to ask about the outcome.

Josh sighs. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I know the smoke stinks. Your husband will probably bitch about the smell.”

“We’re done,” I state plainly. “Martin and I. Turns out we were never really together.” I laugh, but it’s pitiful.

Josh looks at me sympathetically. Those green eyes of a martyr, too cool for school, have some serious tenderness behind them. “You’re just hitting a rough patch. Dealing with death can be hard,” he says, and I don’t doubt he’s had a very difficult time of his own dealing with his mother’s passing.

“It’s not just a rough patch. I found out tonight that marrying me was Martin’s collateral for making sure my father never turned him in back in college when he hazed that kid to death. And it was kind of hard for my dad to say anything to me after we married, especially seven months later when I had his first grandchild.”

“Damn,” Josh says, eyes ablaze. “I’m sorry.” He starts humming “Better Man,” and I don’t know if he’s trying to be funny, but it pisses me off.

“No, you’re really not the better man. Why did you leave without saying goodbye, Josh? And when you came back, and I was on a break from Martin, why didn’t you fight for me?”

He stops humming and stares out the window. “Because . . . I wanted to give you what you wanted, Sarah. This is the life I grew up with, not the one I wanted for myself.”

I inhale sharply, and he sounds just like my father, and it makes me think he really is the better man.

“You could’ve said goodbye.”

“You know how I feel about goodbyes. Besides, when I saw you that last time, you didn’t tell me it was the same night you’d gotten engaged.”

I start to cry. How does he know that?

“It was the talk of the town the next day, how Martin Ellsworth was officially off the market. My parents were talking about it. Why do you think I split before Christmas?”

That’s why he left early? “I assumed you’d gotten into another argument with your parents,” I say. I blamed Josh all these years for hurting me, continually deserting me, but this changes everything. He left me because he thought I already belonged to someone else.

“And . . . when you got pregnant . . . right away . . .”

I cough and fight to keep my eyes on the road.

“I thought you were exactly where you wanted to be. Married to him. In my house.”

I choke and cough and cry. How could I fucking blame Josh for not fighting for me? “Right,” I manage.

I place my hand over my mouth. “You must hate me.”

He looks at me. “I could never. But there are limits . . .” And I get what he’s saying. He cares for me, but he’s already sacrificed a lot for my happiness. His silence about what happened between us, for one.

We pull up to a slim row house smashed next to twenty others. The porch railing is black, the paint chipping. There’s likely no time for a single mother to paint it, and Cash doesn’t sound like the type to pitch in on home repairs.