Free Living With Regret by Lisa de Jong Page A

believe.
    “There’s somewhere I need to go,” I whisper, waiting for her to turn back around.
    When she does, her eyes are full of unshed tears. “I can take you. I have to decorate the church for the fundraiser this weekend, but that can wait.”
    Her defeated appearance softens me, at least enough to ease up on the battle—put my weapons away. “I’m sorry, Mom. I need to do this with Sam. It’s hard to explain, but it’s something I need.” My soul needs.
    “Okay.” She nods, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you start to feel sick or weak, I want you to come home right away.”
    “He promised to have me home by eight.”
    Without another word, she disappears out the screen door with her purse in hand. It’s always been my opinion that some people go to church because they believe, and others go to keep up appearances. For my mom, I think it’s about social standing and companionship. It’s an expectation fueled by her selfish need to be the best at everything. It’s about belonging and being my dad’s perfect wife. I, myself, have always gone because it was an expectation. I heard the sermons, but I didn’t really listen. I was a believer who didn’t understand exactly what it was she was supposed to believe in.
    My family only prays when we have people over for dinner. My eyes have scanned past the Bible on the bookshelf many times, but I’ve never picked it up. We’ve never been forced to believe that a life exists after this one.
    I’ve seen things through a different pair of glasses the last few weeks. I want Cory to be in a better place than this. It’s the only thing that puts my mind at ease, keeping my guilt from boiling over. Belief is my salvation … my hope that there might some day be forgiveness, that maybe one day I’ll get to join him where he’s at.

    My heart rate picks up the minute I hear Sam's old Camaro pull into my drive. That thing has always been like an alarm bell, alerting everyone in town to where he is or where he’s heading. Today, it's just a sign that I'm one step closer to the goodbye I've waited weeks for.
    I hear his heavy boots on the front porch right before he knocks on the screen door. “Come in!” I yell, smoothing down my long pink and cream printed skirt, which I paired with a matching pink tank. For this, I feel I should look nice, as if Cory might actually be able to see me … maybe he can.
    Sam steps in with his hand braced against the door to keep it from slamming. He looks like he always does in faded blue jeans and a tight white T-shirt. It's simple, but he wears it well on his fit build. As soon as his eyes find me, the hint of a smile appears at the corner of his lips. “Suddenly, I feel underdressed, but you look nice. Are you going to tell me where I'm taking you?”
    “The cemetery,” I whisper, watching the easy-going expression fall from his face.
    He nods, shoving his hands in his front pockets. He knows; that’s what’s so easy about being around Sam. He just gets me.
    “Do you need some help getting out to the car?”
    “Just an arm. My balance isn’t quite right yet.”
    When he comes to stand in front of me, I grip the hand he offers and move to my feet with a small shoebox tucked under my arm. “Tell me if I'm going too fast.”
    We weave our way through the living room furniture and out the front door. I feel feather light with most of my weight being held by him. That's how our friendship's always been. He’s always been strong when I’ve been weak. Sometimes I wonder if he has a tin coating around his heart, or if he just hides things well.
    “Does your mom know where you're going?” he asks as we walk across the porch.
    “She knows I'm with you. That's all she needs to know.”
    “I'm sure that put her mind at ease,” he teases, helping me down the three front steps.
    “Things aren't like they used to be when we were kids. I don't need anyone's permission.”
    He opens the passenger door, slowly lowering