Page 27 of Letting Go at 40

August

Second Reunion

[Mason]

“How do we do this?” I ask.

“I think we hold the card until we can’t anymore, let it burn to nothing, then allow the wind to take the rest,” Logan suggests as the three of us—Zack, Logan, and me—sit around a low burning fire down on the beach.

As we’d each received our notes from Ben with directives for our future, we decided to write Ben a response. Actually, Autumn might have suggested such a thing to Logan or maybe it was River, Anna’s neighbor, who said something to Zack about reaching the spirit world by igniting a letter. She’s kind of a free-spirit and he’s been banging the babe next door for ten days until he fucked it up with her. It’s written on his face how much he misses her.

But tonight is about Ben.

And because this is about Ben, I try not to think about how much I fucked up with Anna.

His wife.

Guilt was in her eyes. Shame was in her expression. But the honest truth is we would have slept together if she hadn’t uttered Ben’s name. His name stopped us both cold.

Because I was not him.

I would never be him.

However, desire burns inside me as I remember how her mouth melded with mine. The way her body molded against me, curving along my hard lines and bending into my deep grooves. The heat of her mouth. The grip of her hands. If we had continued, the softness of her eager body would have been nothing the hardness of mine has ever experienced.

And something I should not think about happening again.

I’d kissed my best friend’s wife.

As I stare into the fire before us, watching the edge of my note card burn, I have only one thought.

I’m going to hell.

Brimstone and flames are going to consume me when I die because of this one sin. My greatest sin. I kissed Anna . . . and I liked it. I liked it more than I ever expected, and I want it to happen again.

Nope. Not allowed that thought. Not one for now or later or ever.

Zack releases his note into the beach fire first, watching the flames devour the final corner of the cardstock. The concept is that whatever we’ve written will be carried into the universe and received by Ben. I want to call it voodoo but I’m not so convinced. Perhaps Ben already knows my guilt.

I drop the remainder of my card into the fire and watch the paper burn to ash.

I’m sorry.

I could have written something more profound, or I could have questioned what the hell his mission for me meant.

He’d only had two words for me. I only have two words for him. This isn’t tit for tat, though. I messed up bigger than I ever have.

I gave in to the sadness in her eyes and the plea in her voice. I want them to stop. She wanted the tears to go away and all I could think about was how to distract her. How to take her mind off the pain. How to empty her thoughts of the loss.

Now, I’ve lost her.

Then again, I never had Anna.

Struggling to push the inner dialogue aside, I reach for the bottle of tequila near the foot of the Adirondack chair. Zack and I overindulged in this liquid-nemesis of ours last year when we learned about Ben’s condition. I might have spilled a little too much truth after drinking more than my fair share of the Mexican serum. Zack had his own confession to make then.

He was getting divorced.

I lift the bottle in salute to our absent friend. “To friendship.” Immediately, I take a deep swallow, allowing the bitter tequila to burn my throat and rip at my belly. I hand the bottle to Logan, not expecting him to drink but to at least follow the motion of honoring our friend with a toast.