by Lucy Snow
I wasn’t just mad and frustrated at him - I was even more mad and more frustrated at myself for caring so much. Clara stopped by my room every hour or so to check on me, but as politely as I could I shooed her away each time - I just wanted to be alone.
Well, that last part wasn’t true. I didn’t want to be alone, but if Eames wasn’t around, alone was better. Argh, I hated what that boy was able to make me do, almost without trying.
He could have put in a little more effort, though? Even left a note, told me what he was thinking, and at least some attempt at closure?
It took me an hour pacing around my room before I realized that despite how worldly and sophisticated Eames Beckett seemed at the time, which was really funny in retrospect, he was actually just a scared little boy. Running away from his father and his responsibilities to the family, and running away from whatever he and I built as soon as a smooth and clear path out presented itself.
And I hated him for it. Even more, I didn’t really hate him at all, because deep down I felt the exact same kind of fear that he did - I was running away from my family too, hiding away in another state, in school where I had thought no one could catch me.
No, I didn’t hate Eames for it - I just wished he could have opened up to me, shared a little more about what he was going through. I might not have been able to help, but at least I could have listened.
And maybe that would have left me feeling a bit better about myself now that it was all over.
As I walked around my room, fuming and making short little outbursts in between throwing myself on the bed and staring out the window, the world outside quickly started to return to normal. The clouds cleared away, and for the first time in what felt like forever I saw the sun as more than a bright patch against a sea of clouds, and I could feel the heat from its rays through the window.
At this rate, the melting snow would quickly turn this area into a lake. The snow was already on its way out — just a little slower than Eames had been. It was almost as if the early morning sun had melted him away.
It took me another couple hours to realize that staying angry about it wasn’t doing me any good, and another 10 minutes to decide that as much wonderful as the experience of staying at the inn had been, it was time for me to get back to my real life as well.
By the time I had gotten ready, changed back into the clothes I’d worn when I arrived and come downstairs, Marty had managed, somehow, to get the inn’s one telephone working, and I was able to call a cab from the nearest town to come and get me.
I said goodbye to Marty and Clara, gratefully accepting the containers of food Clara gave me for the rest of the trip home, and then I stood outside the inn, feeling the warmth of the sun on my cheeks as the cab pulled up.
I took one last look at the inn before the cab turned the corner. I’d never forget it - I’d been through something both traumatic and wonderful while I was there, and I knew without being able to put it into words that I was going to be different as a result. I didn’t really know how yet, but sometimes you can feel those kinds of things.
The ride back to the nearest town was far less exciting than the trip that had begun a week ago at school, and before long I found myself boarding a bus to Meridian for the second time in a long time. My phone had gotten signal again, and I called my parents to give them a brief update of where I’d been, and that I was coming home. They quickly agreed to pick me up at the bus station.
There were a few other people taking the same ride, and it was way weirder than I thought being around people not named Eames, Marty, or Clara. I realized, obviously, that everyone else had experienced the last week very differently than I had, and I wondered if their weeks had reached as high a peak or as low a valley as mine had.
When I got off the bus in Meridian I could see my parents through the windows, standing there with the biggest smiles on their faces. My mother gave me the biggest hug, almost pulling me to the ground, and my father watched on, his hand around my shoulder the entire time we walked back to their car.
I told them the whole story of my ordeal on the drive back, mentioning Eames but leaving out anything other than that he was there. It just didn’t feel right to include that stuff, especially knowing how my parents were.
The house was just as I’d left it, which was comforting after being so long away. I settled back in, washing my face and putting on some comfy old clothes I’d left at home when I went to school, and then realized I didn’t really have anything to do here, so I sat in the living room with my parents while my mother worked on her knitting and my father read a book.
“I just realized something,” I said, leafing through an old magazine and not finding anything to read. My parents perked up, my mother peering over the top of her needles. “My winter break is almost over - I have to head back to school in a few days.”
My parents shared a look, and my father cleared his throat before settling his book on the side table next to his old dark brown recliner. “About that,” he said.
“Your father and I were talking since we got your call earlier.”
I braced myself for what I knew was coming.
“And we were wondering,” she continued, “if maybe you didn’t want to go back to school just yet?” She smiled at me, hopefully, and I knew that even though we were on opposite sides of this debate, both my parents wanted nothing but the best for me.
We just didn’t agree on what that was.
“Maybe you could take some time here,” my father picked up where she left off, “and figure out what your priorities are.”
This again.
Once again I found myself in between a snow drift and a hard place.
CHAPTER 22 - EAMES
I woke up the next day as if on a rollercoaster I couldn’t get off of. Almost as soon as I left my room, my father was on me, passing by wherever I was every few minutes to remind me about something, some meeting, something to remember, something to keep in mind, an endless parade of things that I had to keep track of now that I was officially back.
The prodigal son of the Beckett family, once again in his father’s house to keep the family line going long into the future. I could feel the pride in my father’s voice, and I could tell from looking at the other people around that he was different today; there was a spring in his step that had disappeared years ago — probably right around the time it had become clear to him that I wasn’t interested in taking over after him.
In any case, now he looked like he was at the top of his game, like he was taking a slightly perverse yet totally genuine pleasure at tossing all these facts, dates, interpretations, and ideas my way. As if during my 10 years away from the family I’d spent all my time secretly preparing to take over again. I bet if that had been the case my father would have been overjoyed.
I went through it all in a daze, keeping track of the things he mentioned to me even though they didn’t all register. More than once he asked if I should be taking notes, but I waved him away, saying that I was getting it all.
That wasn’t quite true - I was mainly just shocked at the pace of things. He must have been preparing for this before he made that call to me a week ago.
Was I doing the right thing? The question bounced around in my head all morning as I almost sleepwalked through breakfast, getting ready, and talking more with my father.
I was getting buried under an avalanche of new responsibilities, and none of it felt real to me; not as real as the snow that had kept Avery and I bundled up together for a week at the inn. That realization washed over me, and suddenly the volume on the conversation I was in the middle of, and everything else around me, got even lower.
This wasn’t for me. As soon as I said it to myself again, turned the words over in my head in that precise order, it became clear as day.
“I’ve made a horrible mistake,” I said, looking up from the table where I guess I’d been staring while my father talked, interrupting him.
“Huh?” My father p
aused in the middle of his thought. “Were you listening to me?”
“Yes, I mean, no,” I said before hesitating. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Well, let me in on it.” There was a gleam in his eyes, as if he were waiting for me to hit him with some wisdom or insight that would take the Beckett family business into the cosmos.
I shook my head. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here, Dad.”
My father’s face convulsed in a spasm of anger, then he quickly collected himself. “You don’t? Where are you supposed to be?”
“Something happened to me while I was getting here, Dad. Something big. Something I didn’t really understand until just now.”
“And?” He was wary, but I could tell that he wanted to know what I was going to say, no matter how good or bad it turned out for the company.
I exhaled. “And I think I have to go find her. Right now,” I said, getting up from the table.
“Who?”
“I met someone, Dad, and she, uh, well, she’s…something.”
My father squinted, looking deep into my eyes. We stayed like that for almost an eternity, and I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. He fidgeted a little bit, as if he was finally coming around to a decision, and when he spoke, his voice sounded very different — it sounded like for the first time in my life my father was speaking to an equal rather than his son. “She must be.” He waved me away. “Go find her. This can wait.”
I grinned. He didn’t need to tell me twice.
I had been all over the world and done things most people would never dream of, and nothing had ever had the same affect Avery had had on me.
There was no need to run away anymore.
I had found what I was looking for all this time.
I couldn’t live without her.
CHAPTER 23 - AVERY
The next morning everyone in the house pretended that the conversation from last night hadn’t occurred, and that was for the best. My parents were clearly thrilled to have me back in the house, and I could hear my mother singing to herself when I opened the door to my room.
My father was getting ready to go to work as I came down the stairs, and he got up and pulled a chair out for me right as my mother arrived with a plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon, just the way I liked it, smiles on both their faces.
It felt really good for us to all be together again, even if most of the time we didn’t see eye to eye on some pretty big and important things.
I ate quickly, ravenously hungry despite how much I’d eaten at dinner just a few hours ago - I think my body was subconsciously worried I’d be left out in the snow again, and wanted to eat enough now to make sure I could survive a cold winter, like a bear.
Despite how calm and happy my parents were at the table, inside I was the very definition of turmoil. I woke up knowing that I couldn’t stay here, that even though it felt nice to stop by and stay awhile, that this house wasn’t my home anymore.
My place wasn’t here — it was, for now, back at school, and in a few months, who knew?
I cleared my throat — “I have to tell you both something.”
My father closed his paper and folded it, setting it next to his almost empty plate. My mother came to the table from the kitchen. “Yes, dear?” I could hear the hope in her voice and on both their faces.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” I started, hesitating before chucking all caution to the wind. “I wanted to tell you that I’m going back to school at the end of the week.” I watched their faces fall, but pressed on. “I’m going to finish up my degree, and then I’ll figure out what I want to do next.”
My father scowled and looked away, and my mother came closer to the table, wringing her hands together. “But what about what we talked about last night?”
“You were the ones talking, I was just listening. I gave myself the night to think about it.” I felt the tears at the edges of my eyes. “I love you both, you know that, but this isn’t the right place for me right now.”
“You could settle down…you could meet someone,” my mother started while my father looked on.
“And I could do that when I’m done with my degree, Mom. I’m not in a rush.”
Silence around the table, silence so long that it started to get a little weird. A couple times my father opened his mouth, but only unintelligible sounds came out. My mother watched me sadly, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
My father found the words, and started to speak. “Avery, you…”
“Hush, Arthur,” my mother said. “Can’t you see she’s made up her mind?” I exhaled sharply at the sound of her voice — she wasn’t angry, she was resigned. That was a step in the right direction.
“I was going to say,” he looked at my mother before focusing back on me, “that no matter what, we’ll always be here for you. And if you ever want to come back home, don’t even think twice about it.”
Now the tears just came down like the snowfall from days ago. I stood up and gave my father a huge hug. “You really mean that? You’re not mad?”
“We talked about it after you went to bed, dear. We know that we’ve been a little…”
“…Difficult,” my father said. “Since we lost your sister.”
“We just wanted to keep you safe, you know that.” My mother stood up as I hugged her too. “But we’re not going to get in the way of your happiness. You’re an adult now, and have been for longer than we’ve been willing to admit.”
I alternated between hugging them both, feeling a sense of relief rush over me so fast that I almost got dizzy. My eyes caught on a picture of Naomi and I sitting on the mantle, and I cried even harder for a minute.
And then, out of nowhere, a knock on the door, strong and heavy.
My father looked toward the front of the small house while I wiped my eyes. We all shrugged to each other — no one was expecting anyone this early.
My mother went to the front and looked out the peephole before opening the door. “Can I help you?” I heard her say.
And then his voice. “I’m looking for Avery,” Eames said, in that deep and rich tone that I’d know anywhere.
I started rushing toward the door as my mother said, “Wait a minute, I’ll get her,”
I turned the corner and came down the hallway, and Eames’ face lit up as soon as he saw me. My heart leapt in my chest. “What’re you doing here?” I almost shouted as I came to the door.
My mother looked at me with a combination question and that polite smile mothers give when there’s company around. “Avery, dear, this nice young man is looking for you. Who is he?”
“He’s the guy from the inn, the guy who saved me after the accident. Eames. You remember?”
My mother’s face exploded with happiness. “Of course, of course, Eames! It’s such a pleasure to meet you!” She beckoned him forward and into the house, but Eames stayed put outside. He’d cleaned himself up, shaved off the beginnings of a beard he’d been working on, and gotten into some clothes that looked more fashionable than anything I’d have pictured him in.
He looked incredible, and even more gorgeous than I remembered.
And my mother was right there watching me ogle him. Ugh.
“Thanks, Mom, I got it,” I said to her, then turned to Eames again and repeated myself. “What’re you doing here?”
Eames smiled at my mother. “Mind if I borrow her for a moment?”
My mother smiled and nodded. “I’ll be right here,” she said, and I felt her hand on the small of my back, pushing me out the door.
