by Cecelia Earl
"Well, you should. At some point in the future. Go bowling. For real."
"Oh, okay." I zip the bag back up, wonder if it’s too heavy for me to pull off the car and hold nonchalantly.
"Happy Graduation Day," he says.
"Thanks." I don't want to seem unappreciative, but going bowling with anyone but him doesn't seem like something I'll ever want to do. "I think I'd prefer to go with you. For the first time anyway." I look at the ground. "Is that a possibility?"
"Maybe."
But before we can bowl. Before we can resume any kind of relationship whatsoever, I need to know. Any day now his mom could get a phone call. Any day now my mom could get a phone call. Any day we might find out that our dads are forever connected by a transplant. They may share an organ.
And even if they don't. Even if it's not Jax's dad that gave my dad an organ. His dad didn't make it and mine did.
There's always that guilt, that jealousy, that I don't even know what it is, maybe neither of those. Maybe a combination.
So, I have to ask. Even if it jeopardizes everything, every promise. Every hope. Every chance at happiness.
"Jax?"
"Yes?"
"How would you feel . . ." I swallow. "About me." I breathe. "If my dad has your dad's kidneys?" I choke on the words. It takes me three tries to get them past my teeth.
His words don't hesitate. "The same."
"And . . . how is that?"
"How do I feel about you?"
I nod. This talking thing is too difficult. He's so far away, and I miss leaning on him. Shouldn't need to lean on him. Haven't I learned it's okay to lean on others? Or, am I supposed to be strong, independent? I'm so confused. So tired.
"You think my feelings have changed?"
I give him nothing. No inclination that that is or isn't what I think.
He steps forward.
He says, "You know, I know you never got back together with Marc. And I know I implied I thought that. I never doubted you. I never stopped believing in the moments, the words we shared in the hospital."
I step toward him. "You shouldn't. Never doubt."
"You doubted."
I stand up straighter. "If I'd doubted, I'd never have had the courage to have called, to have texted, to have come to you whenever I thought you needed me. I would have brushed you off my hands. I would never have looked back." I swallow. "I didn't do that. I reached for you every chance I got."
"Is that true?"
I cross my heart with my fingers. "Honest and true."
I didn't even notice that he'd taken many more steps, I was so focused on the words. Words and my heart. My breath. My nerves and cells all reaching for him. I hadn't realized they'd pulled him in, closer and closer, until I suddenly have to look up to see his eyes. I sigh, relieved.
"What?" he asks.
"I'd forgotten the exact angle my head needed to tilt."
"To what, look up at me?"
"That, and to reach and kiss you."
He bends then, wraps his arms around my back, pulls me into him. He lowers his lips and I raise mine up. Once again, he's exactly perfect. Our kiss is everything I need. We need. A sigh. A breath. The heat of the sun and the power of the tide.
Later, seated side by side beneath the tree he once leaned upon, he asks, "Have you noticed how the sun and the stars are unpredictable?"
I nod. "Unreliable, too."
"I've changed my mind about you," he announces.
"You . . . have? Already?"
"You're not the sun." He points across the field. "See that tree?"
It's a tall Colorado Blue Spruce. The sun is falling down around it, reminding me of the time I looked out into my backyard when the twilight sky illuminated the tallest branches of our evergreen trees, even though the lowest were covered in the black of dusk.
The tree we see now is strong, dependable. Come December, it'll look the same. Still covered in leaves, tall and strong against the night, green and full of life come the day, even a snow-laden winter day when all the other trees are skeletons of themselves.
I look at him.
"You're evergreen," he tells me.
"Always," I say.
He nods. "Exactly."
We stand, a while later, and as I pack up my new yellow bowling ball and shoes, I think of something. "So, you know yellow stands for hope, right?"
"Does it?"
I nod. "Maybe the Packers need yellow hats for hope. Maybe they're hopeless."
"What did you just say?"
He stops getting into the shotgun seat of my car and rounds the hood, coming at me.
"There's something you should know."
"You're scaring me," he says.
"Yeah, probably rightfully so." I nod sympathetically. "I wasn’t honest about something, early on. I have to confess: I have gone to one game at Lambeau Field."
"You have?"
I nod.
"It was a Packers versus Bears game."
I swallow and duck my head.
"I'm a Bears fan."
Background & Playlist
My mom passed away in March of 2015. That following November, some of the writers I’d met the previous year, and had formed an ongoing Facebook chat with, were participating in NaNoWriMo. I decided to also.
I won, having written what I refer to as my grief novel. This is my grief novel. It’s completely fictitious, except for the parts of my memory that I’ve preserved in its pages.
I woke up early and stayed up late all month, listening to the same songs over and over, the ones that inspired the mood, the characters, the personalities, the relationships. Here are two of those songs:
Thinking Out Loud - Ed Sheehan
In it, he speaks of a soul being evergreen. When writing during November 2015, that was the title of my manuscript.
Everything Has Changed - Taylor Swift & Ed Sheehan
This song epitomizes what I feel happened between Laine and Jax, surviving heartbreak and loss—together. Finding love in the midst of fear and uncertainty and change.
Acknowledgments
Writing this book was simple, but the emotions behind it and what I’ve gone through the past five years while it sat unread, but not forgotten, on my laptop has not been.
How did I make it through? I’m thankful for my dad—who I miss—and who has not made it easy but was the best dad growing up, so let’s not forget that or who he used to be. I’m thankful for Monica who visited us while in the hospital for two weeks and who watched Vampire Diaries with me Thursday nights and got me through the initial years of grieving. (Laine is inspired by Caroline on VD, and May’s character is a combination of Bonnie from VD and Lane from Gilmore girls.) I’m grateful to Vera who edited this manuscript years ago and saved me one hundred dollars when finally I submitted it to my editor. Speaking of, I am so grateful for Peggy Frese from Hot Tree Editing who stepped in to edit my manuscript at last minute. I appreciate every error she caught, all the comments she made throughout, and everything I learned from her edit. Hopefully every manuscript going forward will be even cleaner because of it. What would I do without my cousins and aunt who I can call when I have my rare breakdowns? Or without my neighbors who have campfires with us and put up with my dad’s dog’s constant barking? And YOU. I need the readers who will pick up this book and discover the story within its pages, meet Laine, miss Marc, fall in love with Jax—hopefully—and cry and laugh and dream and pray with them and with me.
About the Author
Cecelia Earl lives with her husband and three sons near enough to Green Bay, WI that her refrigerator is always stocked with cheese, and the first colors her children learned were green and gold because, unlike Laine, she is a Packers fan. When she’s not lesson planning or grading her students’ papers, she can usually be found snuggling with her kids, reading on the couch, drinking bold coffee, or sipping from a glass of Malbec. Once in a while she vacuums.
Get in touch!
www.ceceliaearl.com
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[email protected]
