Matter of Truth, A by Heather Lyons Read Free Book Online

Even
easier, I could simply call and hang up, wrong number-like. Or disguise my
voice and then hang up. He’d never be able to trace me to a random phone call
from Alaska, because he has no idea I’d ever wanted to come here. It’d be
nothing more than a three second call to him.
    There’s a strong fear that if I see him, though, let alone
hear his voice, all my resolves would crumble and I’d be once more begging for
forgiveness. And where would that get me? Us? For all I know, he’s doing great
nowadays. Every time I turn on the news, I search him out. Is that protest
march in Washington due to him? That rebellion in Tibet? The fundraising
efforts going around to help rebuild the East Coast, so recently devastated by
a storm? The community rallying around the little girl with a bucket list and
less than a year to live? Pride swells in my chest, as bittersweet as it is,
whenever I visualize him out there doing his job and doing it well.
    I think about Kellan, too—gods, everyday. But in these last
five months I’ve noticed something. I love Kellan. I miss him so much I
physically ache . . . but it’s nothing compared to the withdrawal Jonah’s
absence is putting me through. I don’t dream about Kellan the way I do with his
brother, don’t wake up with his name on my lips and tears in my eyes because
the crushing agony of his absence in my life overwhelms me.
    I don’t get it. I really don’t. I share Connections to both
of them. Love both of them desperately. Is it because Jonah and I shared dreams
for so many years? Or were living together before I left? Is it because I’d
gotten used to not having Kellan in my life?
    But I tore my life apart over Kellan, didn’t I? Destroyed
everything I had with Jonah? And yet, for five months now, I’ve drowned in just
how hard it’s been to let Jonah go.
    Minutes later, functioning on autopilot, I’m on a bus across
town, until, nearly an hour later, I find myself on the outskirts of Anchorage.
It takes another hour before I locate a payphone. Thanks to cell phones,
they’re hard to find in the wild. I’m an idiot, because this is the stupidest,
riskiest thing I could possibly do, but I keep telling myself it’ll be just
this one call. I just need to hear him say one thing. Just hello. It’ll be
enough to help me get through the coming months. Maybe it’ll recharge me and my
resolves rather than weaken me—because I’ll know I did the right thing if he
sounds happy, that everything I’ve done and gone through will be worth it.
    My hands tremble when I pick up the receiver. I force myself
to take a breath before I clean the black plastic with an alcohol wipe. I drop
my coins twice before I get them into the phone. My heart jackhammers in my
chest, but, as nervous as I am, I’m bursting with excitement, too.
    One word. I’ll take just one word. He’ll say hello, maybe
once, at the most twice, and then he’ll hang up. I won’t say anything in
return. Better yet, if I’m lucky, I’ll get his voice mail. I’ll get a whole
bunch of words then.
    Each button is pressed slowly. The call will go fast; it
needs to tide me over for months. The ringing in my ear competes with the
thundering in my chest. His phone is ringing. Gods, I’m going to pass out. My
breathing, my heart—everything is fast and hard right now. I’ve got to get
myself under control. Can’t have him think I’m some deep breathing stalker or
anything. Can’t raise any of his flags.
    Two rings.
    Three.
    “Hello?”
    The butterflies in my chest break free. My ribs open up, my
skin parts, and that muscle in my chest flies right on out. Jonah! Jonah’s
answered and he’s said hello! He sounds . . . well, not happy, but tired. Which
could be work or—
    Elation morphs into searing pain. I miss him . I ache
for him so much right now that it takes me physically biting my tongue until it
bleeds so I don’t answer him back.
    If I could, I’d say: I love you I’m sorry I miss you I
want you I