It’s hard trying to find yourself when you didn’t realize you were lost.
“I’ve talked with Trina,” Kelsey says.
I turn and at least pretend to be paying attention. It was a long, mind-numbing day of tackling mailers at the job—folding pages, affixing a label, stapling the thing together. It was a whole lot of boring for hours on end. And then I came home to Ryder throwing a tantrum and Kelsey trying her best to stay calm.
“I’m not going to paint night.” I take a sip of tea, watching my sister over the rim of my tea mug. The woman I found in Florida is slowly fading. She looks healthier now. And some days, she even smiles.
“No more sass. I’m being serious. I have something that I need to tell you and I’m worried….”
Dread wells up in my stomach. As part of Kelsey’s recovery, I’ve started to go to therapy to help support her. Relapse is common and happens. I close my eyes, afraid to hear what she’s about to say. I want to so badly for her to be okay. I like having my big sister back but I hate feeling like I need to spy on her all the time too, that I need to worry about her recovery and police all of her movements. “I won’t be mad. Promise. Just be honest.”
She reaches out and tugs on my wool socks. “It’s not that.” With a deep breath, she gives me a pointed look. “I didn’t relapse so please don’t look at me like that. That always hurts.”
“I don’t mean….”
She grabs my hand and holds on. “I get it. It’s okay. I’m sure it’s not easy living with someone who’s a time bomb.”
“But you’re not going to be,” I say defensively. “You’re going to be okay. You’re fine. You’re doing so well.”
“Rea, every day I have to fight for my sobriety. I’m okay today, and that’s what I have to be thankful for. Tomorrow is another day. It’ll be a new fight with more challenges.”
I scoot over the couch and set my mug on the floor. I lay my head in her lap like I used to when I was little. Kelsey brushes her fingers through my hair. It’s such a funny thing to have missed all these years, but this is the sister I’ve been searching for. This lap, these hands, her confidence that it’ll be okay even if it’s a lie.
“I’m moving out,” she says.
I roll over and stick my finger in her face. “No. No, you’re not. I just got you back and I can’t…you can’t leave. And Ryder. I technically still have custody. Please don’t make me fight you on this. It was bad enough have to petition the court the first time.”
“I knew you were going to get mad,” she said bitterly. “Will you listen to me first before you freak out?” She yanks my hair, her eyes narrowing in on me.
I blow my bangs out of my eyes and nod, still looking up at her upside down.
“I’ve talked to Trina and we think it would be best if I moved in with her. With Ryder.”
“But you’re staying in Portland?”
“I have to.” She pauses. “And I like it here. I like being close to you. But it’s not fair for you to look after me and Ryder. You gave up something really great for me and I can’t forgive myself for it.”
“I made that decision myself. As an adult. I don’t regret it.”
“Well, maybe not….” She trails off. “That’s what you’re telling yourself anyway. I’m not saying you have to move back to New York. All Trina and I want is for you to be twenty-three. We want you to be able to see your friends, quit your shitty job and find a new one if you want. God, I want you to hook up with someone because you’re getting to be a real bitch.”
I stick my tongue out at her.
“I’ve heard all about Noah, Rea. Trina is very chatty.”
“I’ve missed having you around but let’s not do that whole sisterly thing and talk about boys. I don’t want to talk about him.”
“We don’t have to, but if you gave him up for me and Ryder, then I need to fix that, too. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of things.”
“And I did a fucking great job of doing it myself,” I snap. I sit up, then quickly jump off the couch, pacing nervously to the middle of the room. “I don’t want to fight.” Anymore. I don’t want to fight everyone anymore.
“You did and I’m proud of what you’ve done. I wish I hadn’t missed it all. I wish I hadn’t left you that day because I thought you’d be better off without me.” She buries her head into her hands. “I was stupid and I was messed up and thought….Hell, I thought he’d be a fucking decent guy and not try to sleep with you. I put you in that situation. I fell in love with some shitty junkie. I thought I could protect you if I left and loved him on my own. And look at us now.”
“Well we’re all idiots in love, I guess.”
“I’m proud of who’ve you become, Reagan. I’m proud that you made it when I couldn’t. I’m proud that for such a messed up life we’ve had, you’re here in Portland living a great life. And you have so much ahead of you. So, I’m moving out with Ryder. You can see us whenever you want. I just need your permission.”
It’s as if she found my journals and ripped the pages out. “You’re asking me to trust you? I woke up one morning and you were gone. Fucking gone!” I suck air into my lungs, attempting to keep my voice down so we don’t wake Ryder up. I pinch the brow of my nose and keep my head down, fighting back the images of me waking up and searching for her. “I spent years searching for you. Years, Kelsey. I’m the oldest fucking twenty-three-year-old I know. And I’m tired. I’m just tired of trying to make everything okay.”
Kelsey stands and slowly approaches me. “And now who’s the time bomb?”
I let out a heartless laugh, gazing up to her with wet eyes. “I’m tired of fighting.”
“If only I had half the fire you do, Rea.” She draws me into a hug and suddenly I’m crying. Sobbing really, unable to drag in one breath and make sense of whether I’m alive or drowning. The sky tumbles down on me and I have nowhere to go.
“It’s okay to cry and it’s okay not to know what to do,” she whispers. Her hands rub circles over my back like she used to do when we were little and waiting for our mother to come home. Kelsey would tell me the silliest stories. For a lot of nights I’d laugh myself to sleep instead of cry because she was there. “I am so grateful for what you have done for me and Ryder. I can’t ever repay you for that. I can’t.” Her voice cracks. “But I’m not going to allow you to give up your life for mine. I’m moving out so you can figure out what you want to do with yours, Rea. It’s time for you to live. You deserve that more than anyone.”
I pull back and wipe away the tears with the sleeve of my sweater. “If you leave me, I’ll track you down again. You can’t leave me. I can’t lose you and Ryder.”
She kisses my check. “You’re not getting rid of us now. Besides, Bob apparently loves your bedtime stories.”
We both laugh as she takes my hand and leads me into the kitchen. “Let’s bake something. I could inhale a bowl of cookie batter right now.”
It’s only when we’re in the kitchen a little later, listening to the radio like we used to when we were younger, dancing around, that she tells me she loves me.
I crack an egg into a glass mixing bowl and smile as her arms wrap around me from behind and tug me close. “I love you too, Kels.”
Noah
I’m getting shit done. All of it.
My book is finished and turned in to my editor. And the release of my next is only two weeks out. Publicity and marketing are in full gear. It’s exhausting to hide behind the Internet, but it’s easier too.
Between classes and homework, I run and go to the gym. I write when I’m not reading. I’m even teaching myself to cook something other than hamburgers. I see Beau and Mati a lot, but being a third-wheel isn’t much fun. I made it through mid-terms and am prepping to go home in a few weeks for Thanksgiving.
Everything is moving forward. But the truth is it’s moving without me again.
I push through my apartment door, trying to catch my breath after a run, when my dad calls
. He starts talking before I can even say hi.
“I need you to fess up to something because if you don’t, you’re going to be in trouble and you’re too big for me to send to your room.”
“I pay for my own room.” I toss the keys onto the dingy kitchen tile counter and step out of my sneakers. “What did I do now?”
“No one has come by the ranch at all.”
“No?” It’s a good thing I’m turning in my homework because I have no future in acting.
“So the house has been completely redone, by you, and the man you said was paying you to do it hasn’t been by and there are rumors going around Splendid now. About you and the ranch. I need you to be honest with me, son, and I’m being deadly serious right now.”
I stretch, nodding as if my dad can see me all the way from Montana. “Fine.”
“You bought the ranch.” It’s not even a guess. He says it so matter-of-factly that I trip taking my other sneaker off, reaching for the counter. “I don’t know how, and maybe that’s why…I don’t understand. Where are you getting the money?”
“I want you to move back to the ranch, Dad. I bought it for you. I had some interior work to wrap up before I handed over the keys at Christmas.”
“The money, Noah Ellis Burke.”
“Well, I’m not sure how to say this.”
“You’re the one in college. I think it starts with putting one letter in front of next.”
Normally I might make some smartass joke there, but I hear the anger in his voice. “It’s not what you think.”
“You told me it wasn’t drugs when you came home with the new truck. I want to believe you. You aren’t stealing cars again, are you?”
I sigh and flop down on the couch. I plaster my free hand over my forehead, my stomach suddenly in knots. “Have you ever heard of Asher Stone?”
“No.”
Besides the newspaper, I don’t think I’ve seen my father read anything in his life. “He’s an author who has some books out. Good ones, I guess, because people keep buying them for some reason.”
“I don’t….”
“I’m him, Dad. I’ve been writing since juvie. I sent out a book when I was eighteen to some agents in New York and for some reason, they thought the books were good enough to publish and now I’m an author. I don’t make a lot of money, but I make enough to take care of things. And before you say anything, I couldn’t let go of the ranch. You loved that place and you gave it up because of me. I had to get it back for you.”
The line is quiet for a minute. “Well, shit. Why did you keep that to yourself this whole time? You’re really any author?”
Because no one was going to believe I could be anything other than who they thought I was. “I wasn’t ready to share it, I guess.”
“Hmm. You’re wrong about something though. I didn’t want to live at the ranch because it’s too big for just me. And it reminds me of your mother. I like my place. I like running the store, Noah. I never lost anything because of you. I want you to remember that.”
It’s my turn to be quiet.
“I’m proud of the man you’ve become, Noah. And I know your mother is too.”
I rub my hand over my eyes and stare up at my white ceiling again. “Okay, thanks.” Even with this off my chest, I still feel as if I’m going to be crushed. “I’ll see you for Thanksgiving.”
After I hang up, I take a shower and throw on some sweats. I have one more phone call to make and I hope it’s the right thing to do. I hope it’ll lift the sky again so I can breathe now that I’m maybe starting to find my way through this world.
“Noah?” Amy answers. “Everything okay?”
“I’ve changed my mind about things. I want to stop hiding behind my pen name.”
“Great, well that’s—”
I look up at the bookshelves I built the other night when I couldn’t sleep, then down to the picture of me and Reagan at her graduation. It’s been pinned to the bulletin board behind my laptop since I moved in. I just want to be that happy again. I want to find that guy who thought anything was possible that afternoon. “And I want a signing here in Portland next week.”
Reagan
The best feeling is quitting a job that drains your soul, which is quickly followed by the sinking pit of dread that consumes you about what’s next. I got my old job back at Zola to tide me over while I figure things out. Kelsey’s chat pushed me to wake up, and now that I have, I have no idea. Less than I did this spring. Less than ever.
I asked Ethan if he wanted to move back in, but he’s decided not to. He said something along the lines that it would be better that way. Guessing by the split lip of his when we met for coffee, he’s still having trouble with his gambling habit. I’ve visited Kelsey and Ryder every day, and have started spending my afternoons at the shelter with Trina. And she’s been hinting that maybe I should get some new roommates so I’ve posted some ads and am holding interviews later in the week. But what she doesn’t know is that while I shelve books at the bookstore, I think about New York again. I think about going back to fight for what I want. I think, I feel, then I burn for the chance to prove I can do what I set out to do. Then I want to grab a bottle of wine and retreat to my room with a new book and call it a day. So this is adulthood, I guess.
“Reagan,” Tessa calls out from behind the counter.
I peek over my shoulder, my body stretched over the ladder as I shelve the week’s new releases. “Yeah?”
“Your shift ended twenty minutes ago.”
I glance at the clock on the wall behind her as she rings up another customer. Post-college, time seems like one long breath, one unending minute. Nothing moves. Nothing and everything changes.
She laughs as I gather my coat and purse from the back room and begin to head out. “Wait.”
I pull my hair out from beneath my coat collar, and raise my eyebrows.
“Sarah made you a coffee. Seems like you might need something to un-zombie you.”
“Ha. Ha.” I spin and salute Sarah, then turn back to Tessa. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, I—”
Noah stares back at me from the counter. I grab a flyer, my eyes focused on his author headshot, on the words book signing. On the words Asher Stone.
“Adam almost shit himself when he got a call to book this guy. Didn’t you used to tutor him? He looks familiar. Though he’s cleaned up for that photo, I think. He’s hot.” Her fingers lightly tap his face, then slide to the curve of his neck by his shoulder.
I nod absently, my heart hurting at the memory of resting in that spot, in being able to trace my hands over flesh instead of a photo. “Yeah, I tutored him.” I tuck the flyer into my bag and decide to walk home in the rain. When I get home, I crawl into bed and stare up at the ceiling, waiting for an answer, waiting for something, anything to happen. Waiting to know what I’m supposed to do with myself.
Noah
No lie, not lying about what I love, about who I am feels amazing. That doesn’t mean the line snaking through the bookstore right now doesn’t make me want to throw up.
Jessica, the publicist who flew in from New York for tonight, heads up the line, writing down each person’s name so I don’t misspell it. An hour into the two-hour event and my hand is cramping. Worse, I’m trying to remember to smile. My cheeks hurt from the effort.
“Can I get a picture?” a woman in her thirties asks. She’s blushing, her words a nervous stammer. “I’ve been such a fan. I started writing because of your books.”
It’s been a long line of hearing some form of this compliment. Hearing your books got me through sitting with my dad during his chemo. Hearing your books helped me through a rough time in my life. Hearing you’re my inspiration. And each time, I swear my heart stops, and I’m suddenly another second further from the lie I’ve been living.
I wave her to come stand beside me behind the table, and run my hand over my shorter hair. The man bun died, so did the piercings. I drew the line at a tie, but even dressed so
mewhat like a man who has his shit together, not a college senior making up for three years of floundering.
Jessica stands in front of us, holding out the fan’s phone to snap a photo. She leans in next to me, holding out my latest book as though it’s a prize. My eyes focus on the phone, my smile focused on appearing sincere. But I catch a glimpse of someone walking through the store.
No, not someone. My everyone.
Reagan’s hair is pulled back, and teal and gold earrings hang from her ears, softly swishing against her neck as she moves through the crowd. She’s wearing black lace, the perfect peek-a-boo cover-up around her shoulders. With the phone’s flash, I lose her. She fades back into the crowd, a dream, a revenant.
I say goodbye to the fan and wipe my shaking hand over my thigh.
“You okay?” Jessica asks, leaning over the table. She slips me another note for a signature.
Yes. No. Not at all. I greet the next person, scribble my name and a few lines, and then hand off the book, searching the crowd once more. I swear that was her but it’s been happening a lot lately. She hasn’t left my mind, my heart—and I’ve seen her face everywhere.
It’s a silent longing, a deep want. There are those people who shape your life, who can throw it off course, who can lure you out of the shadows to live again. And there are those who stubbornly stay stuck in you, who’ve selfishly rearranged your heart to make a corner all their own, unyielding.
So now I wake up and my heart beats for Reagan Landry. I go to school and run, my heart beating for that candescent fighter. I drift to sleep to the slowed beat of my heart with the ghost of her love etched deep in my bones.
The rest of the line moves slowly, the shop bursting with heat from the crowd. Even the display windows are fogged as rain strikes against them. The streetlights and headlights streak and bend through the river of water, bursting into the storefront. My head swims from it all.
“This is going great,” Jessica says. She gives me another mug of black coffee. “I had to cut off the line. We sold out of books.” She slides another note on the tabletop while I take a sip of coffee. “We should consider doing a tour. Everyone wants to meet the man behind Asher Stone.”
Anything More Than Now (Sutton College #2) Page 19
