What He Left Behind

2. Ezra

Despite the millions of things I could have said at that moment, I didn't think I could tell Clarence's story that easily, and certainly not with his portrait a couple of feet away from us. Instead, I offered to have Cody follow me back to the apartment. I gave him the address just in case, but he mostly stayed behind me the entire way there. He pulled his small grey rental car beside me, resting his head against the steering wheel before stepping out.

Before we reached the three steps that led up to the front door, I turned and asked, "You alright? We don't need to head in right now."

He shook his head, saying something like he needed to do this, even if the last thing he probably wanted to do was walk through those doors. Hell, I wasn't sure if I was ready to either. I avoided coming home more than I cared to admit, often spending nights in my car or at a nearby motel when the memories overwhelmed me. When I came home, I was beelining to my room and disassociating whenever the slightest thing reminded me of Clarence.

Which was all the damn time.

But I was the one who insisted on calling Cody all those years, begging Clarence to let him in. Now, it seemed like some posthumous joke—one that Clarence wasn't here to witness, an "I told you so" that fell on deaf—or dead—ears. I pulled out the keys, the familiar grooves slipping through my fingers as I stuck it through the keyhole, only for the dread to come rushing back like before. I wondered if coming home would ever feel the same anymore.

Maybe it had been too long since I came home, for Clarence's scent seemed to waft from the moment I pushed the door back. Emotions and memories swirled in my mind as I took in the mess I had left behind. Old dishes, papers, and overturned pillows from the couch's loveseats were still in the same spot as before—all from the night Clarence's heart had given out.

It was one of the things Clarence and I had agreed upon when he passed. Clarence did not give up; he never did. It was his heart that could not handle Clarence, and that was what we decided to be the truth.

The truth of the matter was that no matter who gave up, the pain of losing Clarence was far too great for anyone to bear.

"Sorry," I told Cody, realizing how long it's been since I've been bothered to clean anything. "I haven't thought to or had the time to clean."

"It's fine," he breathed as I set the keys on the hook and slipped my shoes off. He did the same, putting his worn sneakers on a rack beside Clarence's running shoes. I didn't point it out, hoping he just assumed it was mine as I headed for the kitchen.

"Want something to drink?" Cody was still by the front entrance, his eyes darting around the room before looking up at me. "We've got juice, tea, a couple of canned coffees."

He blinked. "Water's fine."

As I'm pouring a glass, I spot a few of Clarence's mugs on the counter, and it's dawned on me that I have used that word again. We. Such a simple word, a simple mistake, and yet it didn't ease the pain of knowing it held no truth. There was no we anymore.

With a heavy breath in and out like the nurses had taught me after a scare Clarence had years ago, I compartmentalized that moment and walked back over to Cody. He's found a seat on the couch Clarence and I thrifted when we first got this place. The couch is lopsided and awkward but it was Clarence's favorite.

"What would you like to know?" I said as neutrally as possible.

Cody greedily swallowed the water before wiping his mouth against the back of his long-sleeved button-up. The suit jacket was likely discarded in his rental car. "How did you two meet?"