I’m thinking over everything when I hear his car pull up. He slowly makes his way to where I’m sitting, and with every step, my heart feels heavier and heavier. Until at last he’s in front of me, dropping to a sitting position. I watch as his blue eyes travel from my face to the palm of his hand. I can’t stand it, I reach out and slide mine over his.
“I was never with him… like that.”
Jordan laces our fingers together and stares at my hand. Then he covers it with his other one. “It wouldn’t matter to me if you were,” he says.
“It wouldn’t?”
“Okay, yes. It would. But mostly in a jealous boyfriend kind of way. I’m not sitting here judging you, Ashley. I know how you’ve been feeling.”
The grass is cold under my bottom, and I slide closer to him not worrying if I’m getting stains on my pants. “Oh, Jordan,” I hug my arms around his neck, and his hands hold my waist, but he’s not hugging me. I slowly relax my arms and lean back. “But that’s not why you’re here.”
“I care about you so much,” his voice breaks, and my chest hurts.
“I care about you, too.”
“I mean, I feel like… I might love you.”
“Oh.” Painful joy floods my chest. “I might love you, too,” I whisper.
Our blue eyes meet, but he’s still troubled. I place my palms lightly on his cheeks and lean forward to kiss him. He lips part, capturing mine, and I’m so happy I almost cry. But he stops us, taking my arms and moving me back.
“That night at the bonfire, it seemed like I could’ve reached you,” he says. “And then he pulled you away.”
He releases me and looks out at the water. “I prayed for you that night. I prayed you’d see what you were doing and somehow come back to me.”
I shake my head. “What?”
He looks back at me. “I prayed for you. I said I would. Remember?”
Suddenly, I’m trembling all over. “Yes… I mean, no.”
All my fears about what he was going to say before are gone. For the first time ever, when I’m with Jordan that painful, clenching anger is in my chest. It’s fierce. I seriously can not breathe.
I remember what happened Friday night. How it felt like I’d seen my dad, and how he’d wanted to know why I was doing this, why I’d changed. How I couldn’t answer him, and how all I’d wanted to do was run back and find Jordan.
My teeth clench. I don’t believe in that. I don’t believe a prayer like that would be answered. Not when I’d prayed and prayed, cried and prayed, with all the strength in my body. When I’d fasted and prayed. When I’d cried so hard, all I could do was lay on my bed shaking and praying. I prayed every day for six straight months, one hundred and eighty-four miserable days, that my dad wouldn’t die. And he still did.
I stand up hard. “I don’t believe that.”
Jordan frowns, looking up at me. “Don’t believe what?”
“You didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Now I’m the one walking away fast, but Jordan’s up and after me. “Did something happen?”
I turn and look at him. “Yes. Colt wanted to have sex, but I wouldn’t. But not because you prayed. It was because I wanted to sleep with you.”
He steps back and drops his hand.
“So you can stop trying to change me, because you can’t. I’ll only change you.”
“I just said I prayed for you.”
“And you can stop praying. It’s time you see who I am.”
“Okay. And it’s time you see, too. This is who I am.” He tries to take my hand, but I don’t let him. “I did pray for you, and I’ll keep doing it. I think you’re still getting over losing your dad. And I think these things you’ve done, what you’re saying now, is all wrapped up in that. It’s all part of your fight.”
“Then you should know everything. I did those things on Friday. It was all me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The video, the mascot. I did all of it, and I let Trevor take the blame. I spray painted all that stuff, his initials, on the statue.”
Jordan crosses his arms over his chest and steps back. For a moment he only studies me. I’m breathing hard, looking back at him. My body’s vibrating with nerves and pain and wanting to push him away and wanting to pull him to me. And wanting to scream and cry and kick and break something. And just wanting him to hold me and kiss me.
“I think you need to tell Mr. Patel,” he says.
I can’t stop shaking. “I was going to do that today, but… I wanted to let Colt know first.”
“Why?”
“Because he was with me. He helped me do it.”
Jordan nods and uncrosses his arms. “It was his idea.”
“No! It was my idea. I called him. I asked him to come and get me, and I told him I wanted to do it. He just went along for the ride.”
Jordan rubs his hands on the back of his pants. He's thinking something, but I don't know what. I can't imagine what he might say next.
Then he speaks. “Do you want me to go with you to Mr. Patel?”
I blink up at him. There’s no anger there. No rejection. Just calm.
I shake my head. “No. You weren’t part of it. People shouldn’t think you were.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do. And you need to think about…” My breath hitches, and I almost can’t say it. “I need you to think about what we just said. Decide if we should stop this. Now. Before it gets too serious.”
He nods. “I think you’re right.”
I’m still trembling. “Okay, then.”
But it’s already too serious. I know it the instant I turn to walk away from him, because it feels like I’m ripping all my insides out and leaving them behind at his feet. I don’t stop. I don’t look back. What I said is right. He has to think about who I am, and I have to think about what he wants. Then, once I’ve made things right, we can come back here and see where we stand.
Chapter 17
When I get to my house, I go straight to my room, push through my door, and crawl under my bed, moving shoes and boxes until I find the book Will left me. My chest is tight as always with grief, but now it’s combined with heartbreak. I left Jordan at the creek, and if he thinks at all about what we said, what I did and why, he’ll know I’m only bad for him. Tears blur my vision at the thought.
I sniff and wipe my nose on the back of my hand. Either way, I have to face what I did at school. But before any of that, I have to face this.
I pull out the book and slowly open the cover. The first picture greets me just like before—like a kick in the stomach. It’s me, smiling and jogging with Dad. The message under it hurts as much as the first time. I still want you to run a marathon.
My hand covers my mouth and silent tears slip down my cheeks.
The next page is Dad and me in the kitchen cooking. My hands are in the air, and they’re covered in flour. Everything is—my face, his face, my arms, his shirt. I was ten, and it was the day he’d tried to teach me how to make hand-tossed pizza crusts. The kitchen ended up covered in a fine, white powder that took months to clean up. Mom had walked in from work, took one look at what we’d done, and her head exploded.
I remember Dad chasing her around the kitchen until he finally caught her, laughing and shrieking. I remember him holding her around the waist, her black suit spotted all over with white flour, me hiding my face in her legs while he kissed her. Mom had laughed so much back then. I study my face in the picture. My eyes are closed, and my mouth is open in a huge laugh.
He’d written under this one, “I was so lucky to be with you all these times.”
His handwriting is shaky, and I remember how he was in those last days. So thin and weak. My eyes fill, and I try to take a deep breath. My chest is so tight. I turn more pages of photographs—us at the beach, us riding bikes, us planting that silly Victory Garden in the backyard. I stop at the one of us in front of the church. I’m wearing a white dress. It’s my
confirmation, and we’re both smiling.
I turn the final page and a small card drops out. With trembling hands I open it. Dad’s handwriting is on the inside, but I almost can’t see to read it.
Dear Ashley,
I didn’t expect our time together to be cut short, and no matter how I try, I can’t seem to find the right words to say goodbye. I want to tell you so many things.
Be strong. Keep looking until you find what you love. Then go for it. Fight for it. You’re such a fighter. I wish I were there to see you fly.
I love you,
Dad
I read and reread the note again and again. It’s like oxygen and food and water and everything I need to live. It’s like having him here, talking to me. And it hurts so bad. My throat aches and I stand up, letting everything slide to the floor. I can’t stop crying, but I can’t stay in this house. It’s all swirling in my brain, and I have to walk.
I’m out the back door, into the night, and I’m just walking. It’s dark, but deserted. Shadow Falls on a Monday school night. I walk to the back of my yard. I walk to the low stone wall and climb over it. I don’t go to the creek yet. I walk across all the backyards, even the ones that aren’t developed. Those have little tufts of wildflowers in them. Round tufts that rise above the grass and have little purple flowers dotting them. Purple is Charlotte’s favorite color. Charlotte hated me because of my father. She hated me because she thought my life was perfect, and I had everything I wanted. Charlotte's my friend now.
I keep walking.
In a little while, I’m entering Shadow Falls. I’m passing smaller houses now, where more activity’s going on. Happy houses. Middle-class houses. There should be more studying here if Colt’s right.
Colt isn’t my dad. He wasn’t even sent here by my dad. He’s nothing like my dad, but he was a current that steered me to the truth about myself. Our relationship was something I needed, and I used him just like I used everyone. Despite all that’s happened between us, I’m not angry with him.
Jordan lives in Shadow Falls. His parents like fixing up old houses. Jordan loves helping people. I love Jordan.
I love Jordan…
I turn back toward the creek. Will said the book helped him not miss Dad as much. Not as much as me—to the point where he became someone else. He said it helped him to let go.
Was it because Dad knew he wasn’t going to get better? Did they talk about it? Did they get to say all the things I’ll never be able to say? Were they able to discuss what being strong means and how to find the thing you love? Were they able to say goodbye in a way that didn’t rip a gaping hole in Will’s life?
I’m at the creek now, and I drop down to my knees on the damp grass. Then I fall forward on my hands, my face pressed against them. Why did this happen to me?
I’ve always been a nice person. It’s true I didn’t reach out more, but I didn’t hurt anybody. I’ve always minded my own business. I did everything right. Why did my life get smashed into a million pieces? Why didn't my prayers get answered?
Tears are streaking down my face again, and I slowly roll onto my back. Stars are dotting the sky, but they’re almost too faint to see with all the lights from the town. All these helpful street lights hiding the beautiful stars, keeping us from seeing what’s right above our heads. I strain my eyes to see them. They’re just out of reach, but I know they’re there. I know I could see them if I could just close my eyes the right way…
* * *
I’m cold and damp and somebody’s calling my name. I lift my head, and I’m still out at the creek. The trickling sound is happy as always, but I’m shivering. I hear my name again and look around. The sky’s turning hazy, lighter around the edges. Then I see her. Mom’s running up the hill, and her face is pale. She’s crying. I sit straight up, wondering what new bad thing could’ve happened.
“Oh my god, Ashley,” her voice is shaking and high. She’s grabbing my arms, and I’m trying to catch hers the same way. Our arms are in a tangle.
“What’s wrong?” I say, still dazed. “Did I sleep out here all night?”
A strangled sound of what? Happiness? Comes from her throat. She hiccups a breath and pulls me closer to her. I don’t resist. My head’s foggy, and I’ve never minded hugging people.
“Oh, my god,” she’s saying rocking me back and forth. “I couldn’t find you. I didn’t know where you were.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m okay. I went for a walk.”
“I saw the book in your room, and I didn’t know… I didn’t know what you’d do.”
She’s still hugging me, and I wrap my arms around her waist, dropping my head to her chest. I can hear her heart beating fast, and it makes no sense, but I feel like a baby again. But in a good way. Like I’m being held by my mom after a long visit with the sitter or with my grandparents, who I don’t see so much anymore.
I can’t explain it. I just feel like I’m back with my mom again and she’s been gone a long time and I don’t know why. I guess that’s what it is. I don’t know why she’s been gone so long. And now she’s here.
We’re quiet for a while, until the only sound is the creek trickling by. The ever-present creek that just keeps going, undisturbed by what’s happening on its banks.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice.
She kisses my head. Then she rubs my back and lifts me by my arms. “I’m sorry.”
“Where have you been?” I ask.
It’s a ridiculous question, since I’m the one who left the house and never came back. But she seems to understand.
“Somehow I thought if I kept working…” She clears her throat. “The more I did, the more it stayed away.”
All the things I’ve done and why I did them are in my head. “I know how that works,” I say. “The good feeling pushes out the bad.”
She looks down at my lap. “And I couldn’t look at you.” Her face contracts and she quickly covers it with both hands. I watch her shoulders shake as she weeps. Her voice is strained through her fingers. “I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t.”
I don’t understand. “Because of the money? I wanted to tell you, I can help with that.”
Her head is shaking no. She takes a quick gulp of air and lowers her hands. Our eyes meet, and hers are so miserable. She reaches out to smooth my hair back.
“No,” she says. “It wasn’t that. I just… it hurt so much. You look so much like him.”
My breathing becomes painful, and I reach for her waist again. I lean into the hug, and we both hold each other and cry. To think I suspected her of falling in love with someone else, of not caring. Oh, god. To lose Dad was hard enough for me, but he wasn’t… it wasn’t like losing Jordan would be. I remember all those times I looked away, embarrassed by their kisses and hugs and displays of affection. Taking a break from Jordan nearly killed me, but at least I know I’ll see him again.
My tears come faster, and for several long minutes we stay that way. Just holding each other. I don’t know what to do or how to make this better, and it seems like a long time before I’m able to speak again.
“I used to look in the mirror,” I say. “But I had to stop.”
I feel her nodding, but she doesn’t speak.
“Oh, Mom,” I whisper, leaning back. “Will we ever make it through this?”
She still doesn’t answer, and as I study her face, her eyes downcast and wet with tears, I realize she’s been wondering the same thing.
All those times she’s been gone or hiding in her bedroom. It’s like me running away with Colt or hiding in my cave. We’ve been hoping against hope if we just wait long enough, we’ll wake up and discover it’s all been a bad dream. It’s all over and Dad is still with us.
But that’s not going to happen.
This is our life now, and the more we try to hold onto him, the more we hurt ourselves and each other. The more we lose what we do have, what we still have.
I lean forward into her arms, and in spite
of all the tears and the pain, I feel like I’ve gotten her back. And I think it’s what I’ve needed most. Her help to find my feet again.
The sun is coming up, and the sky is turning yellow, orange, and pink. I slowly sit up while my mother continues to cry silently. I watch the sunrise, and for the first time in many months, I feel sure somehow we will make it through this.
Chapter 18
Patty is impatient. His dark eyes sit in his dark face, and he’s reading a thick set of papers when I take my seat.
“Yes, Miss Lockett,” he says in a brisk monotone. “Your attendance has not been exemplary these last few weeks, but we’ll overlook it because of your recent personal challenges.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say. Then I clear my throat. “Mr. Patel…”
I’m so nervous, my knees feel like they’ll knock together if I let them. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I come clean. I should’ve told Mom about this. But then she would’ve wanted to come with me. Everybody wants to help me, but I have to do this myself.
His dark eyes rise to mine, waiting.
“Mr. Patel, I have something to tell you.” A bead of sweat tickles its way down the center of my back. What will he do to me?
“Yes, Miss Lockett?”
I clear my throat once more. “I did all that stuff Friday. It was me and not Trevor Martin. I set him up.”
Silence fills his office. For a few moments the only noise is the ticking of the clear plastic clock on his desk. Our principal simply looks at me, frozen with the stack of papers still in his hands. Then he blinks.
“What are you saying, Miss Lockett?”
Saying it once somehow makes saying it again easier. “I did the pranks last Friday. I spray painted the panther, the initials, the video, I did all of it.”
“You did it.”
“Yes, sir.”
His brow creases, and he lowers the stack of papers. He clasps his small, dark hands together, fingers laced, on top of them. “Tell me, Miss Lockett, Are you romantically involved with Trevor Martin?”
The Truth About Letting Go Page 17
