by Jill Cox
I nodded. “He uses humor as a shield.”
“Exactly. It’s good that you know this about Peter, since you are the person with the most potential to harm him.” Gigi’s dark eyes flickered for a moment. “He may not want to admit this to himself yet, but my grandson harbors deep feelings for you. I think he has for a very long time.”
“No, no,” I laughed nervously. “Listen, Margaret, you’ve misunderstood. Pete’s girlfriend is the most beautiful girl at the Centre Lafayette. They’re crazy about each other.”
Gigi laughed, a full and throaty laugh, just like her grandson’s. “Meredith, I’ve met Meg, and you’re wrong. Peter does not speak about anyone the way he speaks about you. Even if that wasn’t enough to persuade me, you are the only young lady he has ever invited to our house. Well, apart from our neighbor Brooks.”
I started to protest again, but Gigi raised her hand to stop me. “We don’t have much time. Peter will be home soon, and this is likely the only chance that you and I will have to speak. I understand that you now know of your link to his parents’ death.”
I nodded as tears pricked at my eyes. “He told me.”
“I do not believe in coincidence, Meredith.” Gigi reached for my hands again, then folded them between hers. “You and my grandson had a connection long before you met at school. And even though you were not directly involved in their accident, Peter will always associate your family with the death of his parents. Can’t you see why Peter might be frightened by his feelings for you? It’s a bit cruel, really. The one person who could bring his greatest happiness would also be a constant reminder of his greatest tragedy.”
She paused for a moment, her eyes searching mine. “If you care about my grandson, let him know someday. Peter is the most loyal person you will ever meet. He’s kind and protective – he gets that from his grandfather. I know I’m biased, but I always hope other people see in him what I have always known to be true. If you let him, Peter Beckett Russell will be your greatest champion.”
I shifted my hands to squeeze hers. “I know that, Margaret. He already is.”
FORTY-EIGHT
The sound of a door opening drew our attention across the yard, where Pete was striding out of the house. “Good thing we’ve finished our little chat,” Gigi winked. “Thank you for coming to see me, Meredith. You really are a beautiful person. I’m just sorry I won’t get to see how this story ends.”
“Sully?” Pete bounded up the gazebo ramp in one and a half strides. “When did you get here?”
“A while ago,” I said, smiling widely at Gigi. “I came to visit Margaret, just like I promised I would.”
“Yes, Peter, we’ve been having a nice little chat about Paris and how I met your grandfather,” she grinned. “Now make yourself useful and roll me back inside, please.”
Pete helped Gigi down the temporary wheelchair ramp, and the three of us returned to the living room where we regaled Gigi with tales of our Parisian adventures. Pete did an excellent impression of Monsieur Ludovic that had Gigi in hysterics, and then I told her about my birthday celebration and how our friends surprised me twice in one day. She beamed at my story, shooting me a triumphant look every now and again as if to say, See? I told you so.
But around six Gigi grew tired. Pete called Patty into the living room and she was about to roll Gigi back into her bedroom when she suddenly sat bolt upright, her eyes a little bit wild. “Meredith,” she whispered, her voice husky from too much effort.
I crossed the room and knelt before her chair. “Yes, Margaret?”
“You’ll remember what I said about coincidence?”
“There’s no such thing,” I nodded. And with that confirmation, she relaxed into her chair, blew Pete a kiss, and motioned for Patty to take her away.
Neither Pete nor I said a word on the way back to the hospital, but instead of feeling awkward, it just felt… normal. After three days in Bizarro-land, I let the feeling wash over me without a thought beyond that moment.
“Gigi likes you,” Pete finally said as we rounded the curve to the hospital. “You want to tell me what you were really talking about?”
“Well, let’s see.” I pretended to count down an imaginary list on my fingers. “We talked for a long time about your grandfather. We talked about Paris. Something about the third place winner of the Beckett scholarship losing his mind and giving up his well-deserved spot last spring. Oh, and cheese fries. That woman is nutso for greasy, cheddar-y goodness. Who knew someone so refined would love something so bad for you?”
Pete’s face drained of all color as he pulled into a parking space just beyond the front door of the hospital, then shut off the car. “I can’t believe she told you about that.”
“Why not? Cheese fries make the world go ‘round, my friend. Especially the loaded kind.”
“I’m serious, Meredith.”
“So am I. Why in the world did you give up your spot for me?”
Pete’s dark eyes searched mine for a moment. “I beat you by one point on that exam. That’s all it was, just one stupid point. That’s like, what? A helper verb’s difference. Or two accents.”
“I did not miss any accents.”
“Whatever. It felt wrong, and I wanted to set things back on track. So go ahead and rant at me, but I stand by my decision.”
“No rants tonight, I promise. But would you mind explaining how you ended up in Paris? Was Dr. Sweeney so moved by your generosity that he embezzled funds on your behalf?”
“Uh, no.” A muscle twitched along Pete’s jawline. “My sweet little grandmother walked into Dr. Sweeney’s office on the Thursday before we left last August and accused the department of academic impropriety by giving away my spot without her permission.”
“But wait, I thought…”
“Oh, don’t worry. That accusation was just phase one of her master plan.” He tapped out a little beat on the top of the steering wheel. “See, Gigi agreed one hundred percent that you should take my spot. But then she got that cancer diagnosis and didn’t want me knowing the full picture.”
I swallowed. Hard. “She sent you away so you wouldn’t see her deteriorate?”
Pete rubbed his hands through his hair, then nodded. “Her act was so compelling that Dr. Sweeney thought it was his idea to let her pay for a fourth scholarship. On Friday I was at the Sigma Phi house helping with recruitment, and by Sunday I was on a plane with you.”
I watched him fiddling with the steering wheel gash for another few seconds, then I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Well, then,” I said, opening the door. “Looks like I was right after all.”
“About what?”
“When I told Gigi the other night that you were just like her. Oh, and also when I told her your mom and dad would be proud… of you both. Even if you are both terrifyingly good liars.”
He laughed, then his forehead scrunched up. “Oh, man. I just realized something I’ve never thought of before. Marshall Freeman scored higher than both of us on that qualifying exam, Sully. How is that even possible?”
“Chocolate, my friend. And kale chips. The kid knows his brain food.”
“You may be right,” he smiled. “No wonder he impressed Élodie. Watch out, world.”
FORTY-NINE
Monday and Tuesday passed by like they’d never happened at all. I read ahead for school then jogged for miles around the hospital’s rooftop track to clear my head. Ian tapped away on his laptop while my mom sat quietly in the corner of the waiting room, staring into the empty space like the walls held answers that the rest of us couldn’t see.
But at noon on Wednesday, Drew burst through the waiting room door carrying Ian’s favorite pizza and a stack of mystery novels by some Irish author Molly Sullivan loved. “Hey, guys!” He grinned from ear to ear. “How’s Jamie today?”
For the next few minutes, Ian refused to look at Drew, much less speak to him. Even my mother, who earned a living by making people feel welcomed, seemed at a loss for words. And Drew, wh
o finally saw how deeply he’d burrowed, slumped in his seat without another word.
When visiting hours came and my dad was still sleeping, Ian fixed the same elder brother glare on Drew as he had the other night, then suggested he should take me somewhere nice until the next visiting hours rolled around. So Drew took my hand and led me away from the waiting room as quickly as our feet would allow.
When we got to his Jeep, Drew didn’t unlock the door right away. He took me by the waist and held me against the door as he traced a line along my bottom lip with his thumb. “Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi, yourself,” I said back. There was something almost predatory in the way he was looking at me, and my heart was pounding so hard in my chest that it actually hurt.
I let him kiss me, slowly at first, and then with such fever that I could hardly breathe. Before I knew it, his lips had found their place along the curve of my neck. But instead of leaning into his touch like I normally did, I flinched. Drew pulled away, ran his fingers through his hair, then lifted his eyes to mine. And there it was again, the same accusatory look he’d worn Friday night when he walked through the doors. Only this time, I wasn’t jet-lagged. This time, I’d had enough.
I grabbed Drew’s key fob from his hand. With two clicks of a button, the doors were unlocked and I was inside, willing myself to breathe in, then out, then in again until I could access the rational part of my brain. After much longer than necessary, Drew stepped into the driver’s side and sat unblinking as I handed him the keys. But he didn’t start the car. He just stared blankly ahead, like he was waiting for me to start whatever came next.
I watched Drew for the longest time, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces. I should have told him the truth about Pete when he came to Paris, but I’d wanted to believe his showing up like that was the only thing that mattered. I’d always imagined I’d be in love with Drew my whole life. That all those years of taking care of each other and standing by each other’s side meant we were soul mates.
Always, that is, until I fell in love with Pete Russell.
Drew sighed hard, then turned to face me. “I’m so tired of fighting. Aren’t you tired?”
I nodded, and Drew leaned his head back against the headrest. Without opening his eyes, he said, “You want to tell me now what I interrupted between you and Russell the day I got to Paris?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
“I know that’s what you think.” My lips began to tremble. “But what you really wonder is if you matter to me. You do, Drew. You always will. I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you. And I chose you in October because in my mind, you were always the one for me. Always. I’m as surprised as you are that Pete came between us. Until Paris, I’d never given him a single thought. Not like that anyway.”
Drew’s lips pursed together and he nodded, eyes still closed. Then he reached across the car for my hand and lifted it to his chest, holding it against his heart just like he had in the boat that night last summer. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here with you this week. I might have been able to handle Jamie being sick if everything was okay between you and me. But when I saw you Friday night, I knew we were over. And I just couldn’t face it.” He paused and breathed in deeply. “Think you’ll ever forgive me?”
I squeezed his hand and let the tears pricking my eyes spill onto my cheeks. “Don’t you remember what I told you? You’ll never lose me, kid. Not even after we’ve broken each other’s hearts.”
He turned and looked at me. “And what if I’d been brave on the boat that night last August? Where would we be now if I’d told you how I really felt?”
In the dark blue of Drew’s eyes, I could see myself looking back at him, and I smiled. “If you’d told me how you felt, Drew, I never would have left.”
There is a kind of splintering that happens when the plan you’d always imagined for your life is no longer possible. For years, I’d clung to the belief that once Drew realized he loved me, we’d be together from that point until forever. But when Drew kissed me again for the last time and then drove me over to the hospital entrance, those imaginary ropes I’d been gripping pinged and snarled against my hands. Thread by thread and plank by plank, everything I thought I knew crumbled right out from under me.
I stood outside the hospital for a long while after Drew drove away in his Jeep. I’m not sure how long I lingered, but soon, a passerby with shaggy gray hair and a Santa Claus beard was standing before me, waiting for a response to a question I hadn’t heard.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “Were you talking to me?”
“Your phone, miss,” he smiled. “I think it’s beeping at you.”
I looked down at the phone in my hand. The home screen showed two missed calls and a message notification that stopped my heart:
call me the second you see this
FIFTY
I started dialing Dan’s French cell number, regardless of international roaming fees. If it was four p.m. here, it was one a.m. in Italy. That could only mean one thing: someone was hurt. Or worse.
“Meredith?” Dan answered. “Oh, man, I’m glad to hear your voice. How’s your dad?”
“He’s doing okay. But your text – tell me what happened, Dan.”
He paused for a second, then exhaled. “Pete just called.”
“Oh, no,” I whispered. “Gigi died?”
“Yes, just a little while ago. She was fine until yesterday evening, and then she took a sharp turn for the worse. Pete had run out to get dinner for himself and the hospice nurse, and he said when he came home, it was chaos. The nurse told him Gigi’s blood pressure started dropping just a couple of minutes after he left.”
“Why? What happened?”
“They don’t know for sure. I guess it’s pretty common. Someone can seem fine one day, and the next, their vitals just crater.”
Just like Patty had warned me. “Did they take her to the hospital?”
“No.” I could practically hear him brushing his hair out of his eyes. “She had an advance directive not to do anything heroic, so the nurse couldn’t really do much except keep her comfortable. Pete said he stayed up all night with Gigi, and then a couple of hours ago, she just stopped breathing.”
I began pacing in front of the hospital doors. “How did he sound?”
“Exhausted. I’ve never heard his voice so hollow before, like a robot. He was so matter-of-fact, you know? I’m worried.”
So was I. “Did he say anything about the funeral?”
“It’s still too early to say, but he was hoping for Saturday. I told him I’d let you know. Listen, Meredith, we all feel a little helpless over here. There’s no way we could get to Portland by Saturday even if we tried.”
“Don’t worry, Dan. I’m here.” I chewed briefly at the inside of my lip. “Do you think it would be okay for me to go over to the house? Or would he rather be alone right now?”
Dan was quiet for a moment. “You should go to the house. If there were anyone he’d want to see right now, it would be you. The two of you are in this thing together, you know?”
“Okay. I’ll go right now. His house is just a couple of minutes away.” Tears filled my eyes again. “How is any of this fair, Danny? Pete Russell is twenty-two years old, and he’s already lost everybody.”
“Not everybody, Meredith. He still has us.”
That’s all it took to rally me. After I said goodbye to Dan, I called Ian to tell him I was borrowing his car. He’d given me a set of keys earlier in the week just in case. With lightning speed I reached the Tudor house, glanced in the rearview mirror in a feeble attempt to salvage my face, and walked to the front door.
A handful of people exited the Beckett house just as I lifted my hand to knock. When I stepped inside, I found Patty in the kitchen, greeting neighbors and apologizing that Pete was unavailable. People nodded, mumbled their condolences, then left whatever baked goods or casserole they’d brought in solidarity.
> Cupcakes and casseroles. Why did people do that? I had no idea.
But the blinds on the bay window were drawn, a detail no one but me seemed to notice, even though it made the airy kitchen seem dank and somber. I knew immediately where Pete was.
“Patty, this is not in your job description,” I said, approaching her once the room cleared.
“I know. But Margaret was special to me. I’d like to think we became friends over the last few weeks, so I’m helping out in her honor.” She lifted her red eyes to mine, then reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “You know where to find him?”
I nodded, then froze. “But what do I say? I’ve never done this before.”
“Tell him how sorry you are. Or don’t say anything at all. You will know what to do when you see him, Meredith. But try not to say that Margaret is in a better place. That’s difficult to hear this soon, even when you believe that it’s true.”
I opened the door quietly and walked toward the gazebo with even more trepidation than I’d felt the last time I was here. Pete stood alone, leaning on the railing, his right hand on his hip as he looked out over the Willamette River, eastward toward Mount Hood. When my boot met the wood of the wheelchair ramp, he jerked his chin to the right, glancing to see who was interrupting his privacy, then turned away again. It was only for a moment, but I could see that he was crying.
I decided as I approached Pete that nothing I could say would ever be worthy of what Gigi meant to him, or even to me. Instead, I took my place at Pete’s right side and slid my hand into his without saying a word. I could feel him trembling, but he didn’t pull away. After a little while, Pete pulled his hand away and moved it around my shoulders, turning me toward him. I wrapped both of my arms around his waist, my left shoulder under the crook of his arm, my head resting against his chest.
