The next few letters are all from Mom to Carson.
Dear Carson,
I’m sorry I didn’t get to say good-bye to you. I know you were at the hospital. My dad told me you were in the waiting room. I wish I’d told him it was okay for you to come in, but I felt so strange and I was afraid to see your face—that what I’d said on the beach had scared you away. It scared me. And I’m the one who said it.
After you left, Dad packed up the cottage, and as soon as they discharged me, we drove straight from the hospital home to Connecticut. Dad didn’t trust the doctors in Hyannis—he wanted to take me to our doctor at home. So here I am.
I have a ruptured eardrum, which will heal, and I have a few burn marks on my hip from where the lightning exited my body. I’m not in pain, but the doctor said some people have other issues as they get older—like nerve pain and memory loss and depression. They don’t understand a lot about the effects of a lightning strike. It’s different for everyone. None of this scares me. What scares me is what I saw after the lightning. I didn’t tell my dad or the doctors because I think they’d try to lock me up. But I know I’m not crazy. Something happened right after I was struck. I was trying to tell you but then the paramedics came. I could tell by the look on your face that you weren’t really hearing me, or you thought I was just in shock or something. I wasn’t. I saw what I saw. And I still do.
I felt the jolt right when everything turned orange for that brief second. I know you weren’t struck, but I know you saw it too and heard the crash, the explosion. Afterward, with the rain falling and my hands in the wet sand, your face leaning over me, it got really quiet. Probably because of my eardrum, but it was more than that. It was like the world stopped moving for just a millisecond, enough so it could show me.
It was like a vision or prophecy, but it wasn’t something I saw or heard. It was like suddenly, I just knew. Like I know my own name. The lightning made me know that you are my soul mate. I know that sounds crazy. I’ve never been much of a believer in soul mates, I’ve never yearned for a prince charming or anything. That’s why I know that this is real. Because it didn’t come from me. It came from somewhere else. I think it was the lightning, Carson. I’m so scared. And I’m scared telling you this because I think you’ll push me away but I need you to help me understand what this means.
I know I’m only sixteen and you’re only seventeen and we’ve only kissed once, and this is probably way too heavy from a girl you thought would be a little summer fling, but I needed to tell you. I’ll understand if you don’t write back, but I hope you will.
Naomi
Dear Carson,
I was so happy when I got your letter. Thank you, thank you for believing me. I know it’s weird. And I’m wondering if there’s something wrong with my brain. It’s happened two more times since I wrote you. Once when I saw this girl at school—I don’t even know her name—but everything got very still and she looked at me and I just knew who she was meant to be with. And I don’t even know the guy, it was just, I can’t explain it, I knew. The other time it was one of my dad’s work friends. He and his wife were over for dinner and it happened again. And I knew that he and his wife were not soul mates, and I could see who was his soul mate—and it was a man! And Carson, I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to know. But again … my dad would think I was crazy. Everyone would. Thank you for believing me.
My dad said I could call you next week, but only for a few minutes. He’s really strict about long distance calls.
Naomi
Dear Carson,
I know it’s hard for you to talk on the phone with classes and practice and everything. Call whenever you can. Is the phone you called from before in the dorm lounge or do you have one in your room? I’ll send you a care package and you can share it with your roommates. I’m glad they’re not all football players too, or I’d never be able to make enough cookies for all of you. I’m not sure if we’ll get any of the West Alabama games up here, but I’m sure we can find a sports bar to watch you play. You’ve worked so hard for this. You deserve to play. It’s not your fault Gus was injured. Stop feeling guilty. Please.
Dad and I finally finished unpacking the new house. It’s amazing—it’s right on the bay—I can walk out my door and down the steps any time I want. I can tell already that we will be happier here. School starts tomorrow. I can’t believe I’m going to be a senior at your high school and you’re gone. Too ironic. But it doesn’t matter, right? Forever is a long time. What’s a few years?
I love you,
Naomi
Dear Carson,
Maybe I wasn’t being fair when I got so angry, but you said you’d be home for the whole week of Christmas, and I only got to see you twice. It’s not enough. I just feel like I’m waiting for life to start. I’m back here in a permanent state of waiting … waiting for you to call, to visit, to graduate.
Yes, Rafe and I have been spending time together. I know that makes you feel strange, but nothing has happened between us. It’s not what you think. He’s your friend and you owe him an apology for what you said on New Year’s Eve. I’ve never seen you act that way.
I think maybe I just need a break from waiting.
Naomi
Rafe. Rafe isn’t a common name. There couldn’t have been more than one Rafe who lived here then, right? So now I know for sure. Not only did Rafe know my father, but he was his friend. And something may have been going on between Mom and Rafe while Carson was away at college. Or at least Carson had been suspicious.
Carson,
I’m not good at writing letters. But you won’t answer my calls and you probably never will. I just want you to know that you were right—I do love Naomi. But she’s still waiting for you. She won’t be with me until you let her go. It’s not fair, man. For any of us. Just let her go. Let her be happy.
Rafe
Oh my god. Mom was with Rafe while she was still with Carson. And she lied to Carson about it. I feel bad for Rafe, but I also want to kill him. But then I open the last paper in the stack.
Carson! I just got your message. I’ve been trying to call but I can’t get through. Obviously, I’ll talk to you before you get this, but I’m writing it anyway. Yes, yes, yes! I will move to Detroit with you! I can’t wait. I’m so happy you got this job! It’s finally here. The beginning of our forever!
I love you so much,
Naomi
Now I’m completely confused. And there’s only one more letter left to read. It’s the envelope that’s marked NAOMI. The one that had been sealed when I first saw it in that cardboard box, but now has been opened. I slide my fingers inside the envelope, grasping the paper.
But just then, I hear tires crunching on the shells in the driveway. I quickly put the letters back in order, wrap the rubber band around them, and replace them in the box, then put the box back where I found it. My heart races as I run to my room and close the door, pulling my laptop out of my backpack and jumping onto the bed so I’ll look like I’ve been doing homework since I got home.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Opposition is true friendship.
—William Blake (poet)
The next day, it’s too cold to eat outside, and I’m not in the mood to sit in the loud caf, so Jay and I plan to eat in his car. I want to tell him about the letters.
I stop in the bathroom before heading out to the parking lot. As I flush, I hear the generic sound of kids in the halls going from class to lunch as the door to the bathroom opens. Then the noise muffles as it closes, and I hear Serena’s voice.
“But you said you’d come for Memorial Day,” she says. Her voice sounds soft and high-pitched, babyish, the way she always sounded when her mom told her she couldn’t go out on a school night.
“I know, but—” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “She’d be fine with it. Or you could stay at a hotel.”
Serena sighs.
“But August is so far away. Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to Mom. No, I’ll tell her.” She sn
iffles. “Bye, Dad.”
Now I feel weird having heard her conversation with her dad, who lives in Canada. They’re close, but she hardly ever sees him. I step out of the stall. When Serena sees me behind her in the mirror, she looks momentarily confused. She turns around and wipes a smudge of mascara under one of her eyes with a tissue.
“Hi,” she says.
I miss her. I miss her voice and her laugh. I miss everything about her.
“You okay?” I ask, moving to the sink to wash my hands.
“I guess. My dad’s not coming in May like he promised.”
“That sucks,” I say.
This is the first time we’ve spoken since she dropped me off after the bonfire that night. Eleven days but it feels like years. I’m not sure if our friendship is salvageable, and if it is, I wouldn’t know what to say to make things right. I don’t even know what happened between us.
“Canada doesn’t celebrate American Memorial Day, obviously,” she says. “So he can’t leave work.”
“I’m sorry.”
I grab a paper towel to dry my hands, and she leans her lower back against the sink and watches me.
“So,” she says, the way she used to when she was getting ready to share some good gossip.
“So,” I say, and I can’t help smiling a little.
This has been one of our rituals from when we first met, right after I moved to Wellfleet. Mom and I had gone to the market—one of the few times Mom agreed to shop in town. I’d just grabbed a box of tampons off the shelf when Mom called me over to the end of the aisle, introduced me to Serena, and said we’d both be starting ninth grade at Nauset. Her mom had been Mom’s hygienist when she’d gone to the dentist the day before, and they thought it was hilarious that they were now running into each other at the market.
Our moms had kept chatting, while Serena and I stood next to each other, silently.
Finally, Serena said, “So …”
And I’d said, “So …”
She’d smiled. “So, light flow, huh?”
And then we’d burst out laughing and that was the start of the two of us. And then, because Jay’s locker was in the same row as mine, after school he started walking with me to Serena’s locker and then we’d all go out to the buses together. And that was the start of the three of us.
And I miss us. I want to tell her that, to tell her how much I miss her, and us. I want to tell her about the letters I found. And about Jay. I want to ask her why she suddenly stopped answering my calls and texts—was it really because I’d gone off with Sawyer that night? Did Lindsay and those girls talk her into ditching me? It’s hard to imagine anyone convincing Serena to do something she doesn’t want to do, so there has to be something else. But I can’t find the right words to ask any of these questions.
She doesn’t smile back at me.
“So, you and Jay,” she says. “That’s a thing that’s happening?”
This isn’t what I expected her to say. Not at all. And definitely not with that icy tone.
I try to mask my surprise with an indifferent shrug.
“So, maybe he’s the one?” she continues. “Or are you just messing with him?”
“What?”
“After how things went down with Reed, I just figured you wouldn’t be ready to get back into that soul mate game. Kind of risky,” she says. “The two of you.”
My mouth drops open in shock. She’s never been so … mean before. I’m unable to speak.
She tosses the crumpled tissue in the garbage and leaves the bathroom.
I fume as I walk out of the school building and head toward the parking lot. I shiver, but I’m not positive whether it’s from the cold air outside or what Serena said.
When I get to Jay’s car, I’m relieved he’s already in there with the heat going.
“Serena just accosted me in the bathroom,” I say, slamming the door.
He stops unwrapping his sandwich.
“What did she say?”
“She asked if we were together.”
His eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I didn’t answer her,” I say.
He looks relieved.
“So, you’re glad I didn’t tell her?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
“Fine,” I say, a little hurt.
“What, did you want me to jump up and down because Serena noticed we might be doing whatever this undefined thing is that we’re doing? How did you expect me to react? Maybe you shouldn’t have told me.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have told you. But I have history with her and I—”
“I have history with her, too,” he says.
Jay misses her, too. He misses the three of us as much as I do. She’d probably have some interesting way to define our undefined thing. Maybe she would’ve told us what to do about what’s happening with us. And maybe he knows that.
TWENTY-NINE
Love is friendship that has caught fire. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses.
—Ann Landers (advice columnist)
As soon as I get in Jay’s car after school, he asks me what’s wrong.
“Nothing,” I say.
“I can tell by your face. Something’s wrong. Are you still upset about Serena?”
“Not really.”
“Is it because of what happened at my house the other day? I thought we were okay.”
“No, we’re good.”
“Did something else happen?”
“I guess I’m just stressed out. The meeting with everyone coming, and I don’t know if—” I didn’t realize that I was this worried about whether Reed would show up, but I am. I don’t want Jay to know that, though. “I don’t know if the garage will be ready on time. And the letters. It’s kind of freaking me out a little. But I’m okay.”
“Maybe reading them isn’t good for you,” he says. “You need to protect yourself.”
I laugh. “We’ve kissed twice and suddenly you’re this fully evolved, understanding … man-person?”
“Man-person?”
I shrug.
“Maybe I am evolving,” he says and smiles. A wide, toothy one. “I do feel a little different. After the other day.”
“Like, different toward me?”
“No. I mean, yes, but I mean like just the way I’m thinking about things. You. Life. About the things I said about control, letting go, that kind of stuff.”
“Whoa,” I say. “I’m listening …”
“I talked about it with Dr. Bond, but I haven’t fully formulated my thoughts about it yet. I want to be sure I get it right before I share it.”
He takes off his seatbelt and twists toward me. He picks up my hand from where it rests on my knee and holds it in his big hands, which are warm. Hot, even. My hand completely disappears into his. And I feel held and calm.
“I’m going to help you move into the garage, if you want my help,” he says. “But if it’s not ready before your mom’s meeting, you should stay with me.”
I’m not someone who’s ever needed to be taken care of really, but it feels good anyway. I know that Jay knows that about me. He doesn’t think I’m needy; he’s just showing that he cares.
“Okay,” I say.
He turns his face forward again, looking straight ahead.
“I know I’m the one who needs to change or do whatever it is to make this work, Rach.”
His voice sounds pained.
“I don’t want you to change,” I say. “I want you to be you. And if we want to stop doing this undefined thing, we can. We’re still just us.”
He takes his hands away from mine and rubs his palms on his jeans.
“I don’t want to stop doing the undefined thing, do you?” he asks.
“No.”
He clears his throat.
“We’ll meet halfway,” he says.
We sit for what seems like forever. Just sitting, not looking at each other. The silen
ce builds tension. A sweet, jumpy tension. I hear him breathing, and it sounds heavier than normal. My entire body tingles with this little game we’re playing with each other—or at least that’s what I think is happening.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m breaking out in a sweat, my body flushed with heat, wanting his touch. But I’m not going to kiss him. No. I will not be the one this time. It can’t be me.
I try to breathe out a bit of the ache, resigned that nothing will happen. That the tension will ratchet up and then nothing. And then I hear him shift in his seat, his hand reaches behind my head. He nudges me so that I turn my face toward him.
“Rach,” he whispers. “Come here.”
He pulls my head toward him so gently it’s almost like a suggestion, not a real thing. A question. Just an idea.
I meet him halfway, just like he said. I move my face toward him a bit, my lips closer to his. And I wait. I can almost feel the nerves coming off him in waves. I want nothing more than to relieve his anxiety immediately. To grab him, pull him to me, press my lips to his instead of the other way around. It would be easier that way. For both of us. But I wait. It has to be him this time. I know it. And he knows it.
I close my eyes. Maybe that will help. If I’m not watching him trying to get this thing done—and before I can even finish my thought, his lips are on mine. So lightly, almost like a caress more than a kiss. I open my eyes a bit and see that he’s pulled back just an inch or two.
Please, please, don’t stop there. But I don’t say it. I just close my eyes and wait more.
It takes him a bit longer than I’d like, basically until I’m ready to kill him, but then he does it. Still soft at first, but when I respond, encouraging him with my lips, he kisses me harder, and his kiss is deep and sure. I’m alive, and for the moment, nothing else matters but what is happening with our mouths and the sensations in the rest of my body. And that Jay wants it, too.
Jay and I decide to postpone homework. Neither of us wants this afternoon to end. We grab some sandwiches for dinner from the General Store and decide to eat on the beach at Newcomb. It’s warmed up a little since lunch, so we won’t freeze. Plus, the two of us are so hot for each other right now, cold isn’t even in my vocabulary.
Soulstruck Page 14
