April 28
Ana
Ryan doesn't seem to be in the cabin this morning as I begin to prepare breakfast. I wonder if he's out hacking down trees. He seemed really odd last night and wouldn't talk to me. I tried to figure out what I'd done to upset him, but I couldn't think of anything.
I go to the window to look out at the forest. I don't see Ryan anywhere. Strange. I turn around back to the kitchen and jump. Ryan is lying on the couch, an arm and a leg hanging off. Near his hand is a bottle of amber liquid that I've never seen before.
Is that alcohol? What's going on? I never knew Ryan drank. I didn't even know there was any alcohol here. I take a couple of steps closer to the couch.
"Ryan?" I ask, somewhat timidly. Usually, he's awake by now. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever woken up before him.
Ryan doesn't stir. I edge a little closer.
"Ryan?" I say with more conviction. He shifts, rolling toward the edge of the couch he's precariously perched on. I spring forward, but I'm too late. Ryan crashes to the floor with a thump followed by his groan.
I crouch over him. "Are you OK?" I ask.
His eyes blink open then squeeze shut with a grimace. He moves an arm to block out the sunlight streaming in the windows.
"Are you OK?" I repeat.
He moves his arm a little and squints at me. I blink back at him, still mystified by the scene before me. I notice a scent on him that I've never smelled before. It's not a bad smell, just different. He groans again before clumsily pushing himself to his feet. Without a word, he stumbles to the bathroom, one hand at his temple. After a few moments, I hear the shower start running.
Still confused, I pick up the bottle of alcohol off the floor and open the bottle. A quick sniff confirms that Ryan's new aroma is Scotch whiskey. I place the bottle on the coffee table and return to the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast. When the food is ready, Ryan's still in the shower. I wander around the cabin, trying to figure out where the alcohol came from. My gaze settles on the mysteriously locked drawer in the desk. Something lying on the surface of the desk snags my eye. Curious, I approach as the water in the bathroom shuts off.
Lying on the desk is a photograph of a brilliant smiling blonde. Her face looks somewhat familiar. As I continue to study the photo, the woman's expression starts to bother me. I feel resentment build up inside of me.Why does this woman's face make me want to hate her? It's not because she's pretty, though she is stunning. I sit at the desk and pick up the picture, trying to puzzle out what it is about this woman that bugs me so much.
The bathroom door opens and Ryan emerges, his hair a shade darker with the water still in it.
"Who's this?" I ask, turning the picture toward him.
His face turns into a dark scowl. He limps quickly toward me, opting for speed instead of downplaying his labored gait. He snatches the picture out of my hand wordlessly. With a quick, rough tug he pulls the locked drawer open. My mouth falls open as I catch sight of another picture of the woman wearing a cream-colored dress and flashing a large diamond on her left hand. That's not what makes me gasp, though. The man standing next to her in the photo is Ryan - uninjured, movie star handsome Ryan Burke - wearing his military dress uniform.
Ryan slams the drawer shut.
"That's your ex, isn't it?" I ask before thinking it might be wiser to keep my mouth shut. So that's why she looked familiar. It's the pretty crying woman from his funeral broadcast. And that rock on her finger! They were engaged. I'd thought they were just dating. This woman agreed to marry him and then dumped him because of his injuries? Why did Ryan only associate with the scum of the earth in his past life?
Ryan doesn't answer my question, but locks the drawer and pockets the key. Silent except for his uneven gait, he disappears into the bedroom. I hear him close the curtains inside the bedroom after shutting the door behind him.
So he got drunk because of his ex. I continue to sit at the desk and process this. What happened that suddenly made him pull out pictures of her and get smashed? He must be super hungover now. I bet he's probably got a terrible headache if the sensitivity to light is any indication. How do you cure a hangover? I was too much of a rule-follower to drink before I became legal. My twenty-first birthday was just days after Mom and Dad and Julie died. I wasn't exactly up for a night of partying. I've never needed to know how to cure a hangover.
I feel somewhat helpless. I do know how to help a headache, though. I noticed Advil in the kitchen cabinets when I first started cooking, so I grab that and pour a glass of water. I made breakfast anyway, so I might as well take him some. I gather up everything on the same tray he used to bring me food when I was sick - and as I suspected then, it is simply just a wooden board.
I knock on the door to the bedroom but don't hear Ryan acknowledge me. I hesitate but decide to enter anyway. Ryan is lying on the bed. He turns away from the light streaming in through the open door. I bring the tray over to him and set it by the bedside. I twist the bottle of Advil open and shake out two pills.
"Here," I say, holding out the pills toward him.
He opens his eyes and looks at my outstretched hand. He hesitates a moment before taking the pills and popping them in his mouth. I hand him the glass of water and he takes a swallow. He hands the glass back to me. I set it on the bedside with his breakfast.
"Is there anything else I can do?" I ask.
Ryan shakes his head. I look at the broken man before me, who I now know is totally not over his ex, though it's been years. Five years, in fact. I stand there awkwardly. Maybe I should say something about the picture. Maybe I shouldn't.
"There's something off about her."
Ryan looks directly at me for the first time today. His direct gaze startles me a moment before I register the questioning look on his face.
"She's beautiful, don't get me wrong, but there's just something about her. I don't know, something about her face just doesn't look quite right. There's something in her expression... I don't know how to explain it without sounding judgmental."
Ryan raises an eyebrow.
"She looks - her smile doesn't look genuine. There's something about her eyes - she doesn't look like she's a very nice person. It might be that the photographer caught her when she was about to blink or I might just be crazy, but..."
"No, you're right," Ryan says. His face is oddly devoid of expression.
"You broke up after you got back from Afghanistan?" I ask quietly after a moment of silence.
Ryan closes his eyes. "There is something you can do for me," he says.
"What is it?"
"Leave me alone."
I am stung by his words and quickly leave the room before he can see the tears that spring into my eyes. I shouldn't have mentioned her at all. I totally invaded his privacy and asked about stuff that's not my business. And I gave my opinion on her - definitely overstepped some boundaries there. I try to shake off the sick feeling in my gut that he resents me by picking up a new book and eating my breakfast.
~~~
When Ryan finally comes out of the bedroom, it's dinner time. I left him alone for the rest of the day, seeing how well our interaction this morning went. At lunch and now dinner, I made food for both of us, should he choose to come out. He never came out for lunch, so I put his food in the fridge.
He sits down at his place at the table, but doesn't look at me or speak. He doesn't do anything, except sit there and brood silently. Feeling very uncomfortable, I pick up my fork. Abruptly, Ryan stands. Without a word, he retrieves the bottle from the coffee table and brings it with him to the table. He pours some of the bottle's contents into his glass and downs it. After a few minutes, he finally breaks the silence between us.
"I'm sorry for what I said to you earlier. Yesterday was the anniversary of the day that I proposed to her."
"Oh," I say, shocked that he's apologizing and that he's even speaking to me about this in the first place, then at what he's revealed to me. "I'm so sorry for bringing it up, I-"
"No, it's OK. You didn't know." Ryan takes another shot of whiskey. "She was never really in love with me. I was never really in love with her. It's over, and that's it."
I know I should leave it at that. I know I shouldn't indicate that I can tell he's not over her. But I can't seem to stop myself from asking: "If you never really loved her, then why does it bother you so much?"
"Why do open spaces bother you so much?" Ryan barks back.
My eyes open wide and I look up at him. His eyes dart away from mine. I sigh and wait a long moment before deciding to answer him. I suppose I owe it to him, considering what he's just told me.
"Both of the attempts on my life were made in wide-open spaces in broad daylight. Even so, they never caught the guys who did it. It's like they're invincible."
Ryan's eyes meet mine and he looks shocked for a moment.
"Your turn," I say, not expecting him to speak but hoping he will.
Ryan takes two more shots.
"Is that a good idea?" I ask.
"Do you want me to talk?" he asks, holding the bottle up to his glass. I acquiesce. Ryan downs another shot before saying, "I thought I was in love with her. I thought she was in love with me. Clearly she wasn't. I didn't realize until much later that I never had been."
"How do you not know that you aren't in love with someone?"
"Why are people trying to assassinate you?"
I wrap my arms around myself and look down at the plate in front of me. "I saw something. Something I wasn't supposed to see," I say in a small, quiet voice.
Ryan stands and limps into the kitchen. He returns with a glass, pours some whiskey, and sets it in front of me. I take a small sip and shudder at the awful taste. "I witnessed... a murder. Three of them."
Ryan takes another swig from his glass.
"We wrote letters to each other when I was overseas. I think I fell in love with the idea that someone was waiting for me back home. Of course, she wasn't, but I didn't know that then."
"Why did you start dating her in the first place?"
"Who was murdered?"
I look away from him and down at the glass of terrible-tasting liquid.
"Do you really have to ask?"
"Your family."
I can't speak. I feel like I'm going to implode. I stare at the glass for a long moment until I grab it and take a big gulp, coughing violently.
"Yes," I manage, my throat burning.
"Why?"
"I don't know. They wanted something. I don't know what. It's your turn."
"I was captain of the football team. She was the head cheerleader. We were supposed to be a couple. According to her, it was fate. We were both just using the other for popularity. There were rumors even then of my family getting a TV show and she wanted to be a star. She was the hottest girl in school. All the guys wanted to date her. I was obsessed with myself and being with her was an ego boost."
"You were a jerk as a teenager," I say, realizing he might be more like his brother than I thought.
"I told you." He steels his expression. "Who'd you date in high school?"
"No one."
"Really?" He sounds unconvinced.
"I always knew I wasn't going to stay there. I love my family - loved my family, but I always knew I would move away, and not just for college. I wanted to find my own place in the world. Too many people at my school seemed to think that high school was the great high point of their lives. I didn't have a lot of friends and I never went out with anyone. High school popularity was never really on my radar."
"We would not have been friends if we'd gone to the same high school," Ryan says bluntly.
"High school you sounds like a moron. No offense."
Ryan laughs. "You're right. So then, who'd you date in college?"
As I tell him about my relatively non-existent love life, I start to feel more at ease with him than I've ever felt. This is the most I've opened up to anyone in a long time. The same certainly goes for him too. I feel like I understand him better than I ever have before. I probably understand him better than anyone else in his life, considering the people he still has left in the world.