by Anna Todd
I eat until my greedy stomach is full and bloated, and then I lie back on the mattress and stare at the ceiling until my eyes burn for sleep.
chapter
Thirty-three
THE NEXT MORNING IS COLD, colder than I expected it to be. I leave the hotel to get us Starbucks while Dakota is still sleeping. Since I moved away, they built one with a drive-through out by the mall. Living in New York, I forgot how much I’ve missed drive-through anything. I miss being able to drive through somewhere and get pop, candy, toilet paper. It’s convenient and laziness at its finest, but it’s one of the few things I miss about the Midwest.
To my uncomfortable surprise, the person who scans my phone at the window is Jessica Reyes, a girl I went to high school with. Come to think of it, I went to elementary, middle, junior, and high school with her. She looks the same, just a little less alive. Her eyes have bags under them, and her smile isn’t as bright as I remember it once being.
“Oh my God! Landon Gibson!” she says in a slow, drawn-out voice. I smile, not sure what to say. “I heard you live in New York City now! What’s it like? I bet it’s just crawling with people everywhere, like it is in the movies. Isn’t it?”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s pretty crowded.” I want to turn the conversation away from myself the best way I can. “How are you?”
She leans a little farther out of the drive-through window. “I’m good. I got a job here, and they give me good insurance for me and my boy. I have a little one now. I had him right after we graduated. Do you remember Jimmy Skupes? He’s the dad, but he doesn’t help me any.” Her face scrunches up in disgust, and I try to imagine Jimmy Skupes, with his baggy jeans and frosted-white-tipped hair, as a father.
Living around strangers for the last two years has made me realize that not everyone discusses every detail of their lives in a simple conversation. It’s weird to be back to a place where overshare is the norm. If I logged in to Facebook right now, I would find out what Jessica had for lunch, or why she and her boyfriend broke up. I would be able to watch her life through a screen. The thought is unnerving.
“I’m glad to hear you’re doing well.” I can see the drinks I ordered sitting on the counter just behind her, but I get the feeling she isn’t going to hand them over just yet.
Jessica says something to one of her coworkers, then turns back to me. “I heard about you and Dakota breaking up.” Her eyes turn to a pity-filled green. “You were always too good for her. I never liked her anyway. Her brother was much nicer. Man, why couldn’t she have been the one—”
“Jessica.” Whether she likes Dakota or not, she doesn’t have the right to say such a disgusting thing. “I really have to go.” I nod to my drinks behind her.
She nods back and tells me to stay strong. After settling the drinks into the car’s cup holders, I tell her to have a good day; the things in my head I really mean aren’t something I ever want to say to a woman. Gripping the steering wheel tight, I drive back to the hotel, and when I open the door, I find Dakota pacing across the room from wall to wall, her small body looking like she might fall over any second.
“Landon, where were you?”
I set the drinks down next to the TV and turn to her. “Getting us some coffee. I thought you would still be asleep when I got back. I didn’t want to wake you up.”
Dakota nods, and I can see the physical change in her body now that I’ve explained myself. “I thought you left.”
I shrug. “Where would I go?”
“Back to Brooklyn,” she says quietly.
I push my straw against the table and tear the wrapper off. “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t just leave you here in Michigan.” I take a sip of my Frappuccino, and Dakota grabs hers. I was tempted to get an Americano, but something about the dreary sky over this town stopped me from bringing my New York drink here, and this choice feels nostalgic.
“Guess who I saw.” I turn to Dakota, who’s now sitting on her bed with her legs crossed. I make sure I don’t keep my eyes on her for too long or think too deeply about her only wearing a T-shirt and pink cotton panties.
“Who?” she asks between sips. Her hair has dried now, in wild waves around her face. I always loved her hair.
I loved the way the curls bounced back when I gently tugged on them.
I loved the way her hair bounced when she laughed. The smell of it, the soft texture.
Stop it, Landon.
I get back on track. “Jessica Reyes. She works at Starbucks. The new one by the mall.”
Dakota doesn’t have to struggle to remember the girl. That’s how this town feels: you can be gone for years, but you’ll never forget it.
“She told me to tell you hi,” I lie.
Dakota’s fingers move her straw around the top of the whipped cream to catch a dollop. “Hmm, I never liked her. Always so negative.”
• • •
After Dakota talks to her aunt, we finally head out to the hospital to see her dad. He’s in Sion, the new facility built last year. With all the residents complaining about the struggling economy in these parts, it strikes me as weird that all this new construction keeps popping up. The new McDonald’s and Starbucks I get, but the new one-hundred-store outdoor mall loaded with major department stores and expensive restaurants—I don’t get. If there isn’t any money in the town, who’s shopping there?
When we get to the reception desk, I give one of the nurses our names. She tells us she’s going in that direction herself, so with a smile on her lips and a clipboard under her arm, she leads us to his room. I hate the smell of hospitals. They remind me of death and sickness and they creep me out. There’s always an odor just beneath the antiseptic cleanliness.
We follow the nurse down a long corridor and I can’t help but look into every room that we pass. I know it’s rude, but I can’t stop my eyes from examining every single person lying on their deathbed. That’s what they are all doing in these rooms, dying. The thought is sickening. What if I’m the last person they see before they die?
Man, my mind is becoming a dark, morbid place.
Finally, we get to the room. When we enter, Dale is sitting straight up on the hospital bed with his eyes closed. After a few seconds they are still closed, and a small chill runs down my spine. Is he dead?
If he died while we were drinking Starbucks . . .
“Mr. Thomas, your daughter and son-in-law are here to see you.” The nurse has a calming voice and thick black hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Her dark eyes are serious, and her assumption that Dakota and I are married stings, but there’s something I like about her. Maybe it’s the lack of sympathy in her eyes when she looks at Dale. When she looks at Dakota, yes, there’s some there, but not when she looks at the monster before us. His white skin is blotchy with yellow stains and deep purple bruises and his eyes are sunken into his sockets. His cheekbones are hollow slopes down his face.
Dale’s eyes open marginally and he looks around. For a dying man, his room is notably empty. No flowers, no cards, no proof that anyone aside from his nurses have been near this room. I wasn’t exactly expecting a welcoming party. When he looks in our direction, his eyes find me first. After looking over me like he doesn’t have a clue who I am, he turns to his daughter. He lifts a thin arm and waves for his daughter to come closer.
“I . . .” He clears his throat. “I didn’t expect you to be here.” His voice is so hoarse, and a wheeze accompanies each breath he draws. His arms are twigs, his bones sticking out like the rocky edges of a cliff.
Dakota puts on a brave face. If I didn’t know her better than she knows herself, I would never realize that she was terrified and an emotional wreck inside. She’s holding herself together bravely, and for that I lift my arm to her back and caress it.
“I didn’t expect to come.” Dakota moves closer to the hospital bed. Her dad is hooked up to more machines than I expected. “They told me you’re dying.”
He doesn’t blink. “They told me that, too.”
I keep my eyes busy by reading all the signs on the wall. A pain chart, leveling 0 to 10. Level 0 is a smiley face; 10 is a red face. There are no smiles here, so I wonder, what is Dale’s level of pain? And if it’s anything over a 5, does it make him regret drinking his life away?
Or does it even matter to someone like him? I bet it hasn’t even crossed his mind that his death is leaving his daughter alone in the world. Not that he’s been of much use ever, but now she is down to no one, and she has to deal with the repercussions of his life choices. She’s a twenty-year-old who has to bury her father.
Acknowledging me for the first time since Dakota and I walked into the hospital room, he has the nerve to ask, “Why is he here?”
“Because you’re dying and he was nice enough to come here with me from New York,” Dakota responds in a low, cold voice. I hate the way this man makes her feel small. Her voice changes, her entire stature changes when this asshole is around. Whether he’s dying or not, I’ve never hated anyone more than this man.
He looks at me condescendingly. “How nice of him.”
I dig deep for something—anything—that will make me feel bad for him.
Dakota and I both ignore his comment, and she sits down on the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m dying.”
Dakota smiles. It’s small, but it’s there.
He waves one scrawny arm in my direction. “I can’t talk to you in front of him. Make him go.”
“Dad.” Dakota doesn’t turn around to me.
I don’t want to be in here anyway. “It’s fine. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be reminded of the awful shit he’s done. I’ll go.” I walk closer to his bed.
He jerks to the side. Well, as much as he can. “Get out. You have some nerve coming here after you took my daughter from me. You and your mom—” He starts coughing and is struggling to breathe.
I don’t care. I push past Dakota and stand over him, feeling all-powerful. I could easily put us all out of our misery and . . .
“Landon!” Dakota pulls at my arms.
What the hell am I doing? I realize my hands are raised in fists. I’m threatening a dead man with nothing left to lose. I can’t believe the level of hatred burning inside me right now. Now I understand how it’s possible for people, even the purest people, to snap.
I breathe out and step back. “I’ll leave the car here for you.” I leave the room.
The last time I look at the monster, I take him in as a weak, frail man, and the look on his sunken face is almost enough to erase the image of his beating his son to a pulp. Almost.
I struggle for breath when I leave the hospital, and I sit on the bench outside for thirty minutes. I meet the eyes of too many sick people for one day and stand up. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t sit here anymore. What was I thinking coming here in the first place?
I roam around the parking lot and count the cars. I check my phone. I count the trucks. I check my phone. Finally, I call my aunt Reese. After she yells at me for not telling her that I was coming—that I was the reason Dakota no longer needed a ride—she meets me at the new Starbucks. Jessica has gone home for the day, which I’m more than okay with.
After an initial hug hello, my aunt sits down and immediately sees that something is wrong. “So, what’s going on, Lan?” She moves her head but her hair stays still. She has the same hairdo she’s had my whole life, and I wonder if her hair-spray company has a lifetime loyalty program?
I shrug. “Dale’s dying. Mom’s about to have a baby, and I’m going to fail my next exam. Same old, same old.”
Reese gives a wry chuckle. “Well, that sense of humor stayed intact. How are you? Do you like the city? I miss you, and your mom. How’s that husband of hers? Do you like him? How’s his son? What’s his name . . . Harding?”
“Hardin. And you talk to my mom all the time.” I take a drink of my third coffee of the day.
“It’s not the same. She could be lying. She’s happy out there, right?”
“Yes.” I nod. “She’s happy. Very.”
“Are you staying long?”
I shake my head. “No. Only two days.”
I talk to my aunt for three hours. We laugh, we talk about old times and new, and I feel much lighter than I did this morning. I didn’t mention Nora, not once. I don’t know what to make of that.
When I get back to the hotel, Dakota is lying in bed. It’s still light outside. Her shoes are still on her feet, and her tiny shoulders shake when I close the door. And like that, I know he’s dead. He’s finally gone.
What a horrible thing for me to think.
No matter how horrible, it’s true.
I walk over and sit down behind this frail girl. When I gently turn her shoulder, to get a look at her, her face is twisted in pain.
I lift her up and gather her into my arms. She fits in my lap, like a tiny bird.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and rub her back, and she sobs into my shoulder. Her arms tighten around my neck, and she cries, “I’m not.”
Her honesty is pain-fueled, like mine, and I can’t judge her for it. The death of an evil man is hard to mourn, even a father. It seems like people are expected to pretend the dead person was perfect and speak highly of them at their funerals. It’s uncomfortable, and the morality of it is murky at best.
I hold Dakota until her tears run dry. She climbs out of my lap to use the restroom and comes back quickly. I’m reminded of the day we buried her brother, and the memories flood over me. Are we ready to leave the past in the past? Everything included? All the tears, yes, but what about the good times? What about all the nights we chased lightning bugs and the days we chased the sun? All the firsts, all the seconds, and the thirds. This woman has been such a big part of my life—am I ready to let her go?
She nods, asking if she can climb back onto me, and with a resolved sigh I open my arms for her.
chapter
Thirty-four
THE ROOM IS QUIET. Dakota is asleep, and my laptop burns bright through the dark hotel room. Today we signed the paperwork to cremate Dale’s body. Dakota didn’t want a funeral, and I didn’t blame her.
It’s four in the morning. I check my phone again. Nothing from Nora.
I should have known that she was making her mind up to walk away from me. I should have been able to tell by the slow movements of her hips and the soft kisses to my forehead as I finished inside her. I miss her body, her laugh. It feels like months, not days, since I said goodbye to her.
I pull up Facebook again. I know this isn’t healthy and that I won’t find anything new this time, but I type in her sister’s name again. I scroll to the beach picture, where Nora looks like the sun in her yellow suit and the man next to her is holding on to her waist. If he were able, would he choose her?
I’m able, but am I capable of choosing her?
Why does everything come down to a choice, this or that? What if I want it all? What if I want to spend my days holding her and my nights loving her? I look over at Dakota. Does she think about me the way I think about Nora?
Is it fair of me to think about Nora while Dakota is grieving and I’m supposed to be here for her?
I look back at the screen and put the cursor over Nora’s face. A name pops up. Her name. I click on it and it takes me to a profile that I didn’t see before. She must have had it hidden from me. I don’t know if it makes me happy or sad to know that she doesn’t feel the need to hide from me anymore.
She doesn’t have a lot of posts here, mostly just random horoscope posts and people tagging her in random chain things and recipes.
“She has an Instagram.”
Dakota’s voice makes me jump. “Huh?” My cheeks are hot with embarrassment and guilt.
“She has an Instagram page.” Dakota shuffles in the dark and, after a few seconds, hands me her cell phone over the space between our two beds. The screen is full of little square pictures. It’s a profile. Nora’s name is in the corn
er with an X next to it.
I look up at Dakota, but she rolls back over. She’s either wanting to give me privacy or she’s hurt that I’m doing this in front of her. I turn the TV on, on mute, so it maybe appears like I’m doing something else as I scroll through the images.
Food, and lots of it, fills the screen. Beautiful pastel macaroons and sprinkled cookies galore. A picture of a cake with purple flowers makes my chest throb. The next picture is Nora and Tessa, a dollop of pink icing on each of their noses and their arms wrapped around each other’s back. Tessa’s arm is outstretched as she takes the picture, and I laugh at the idea of my best friend, who is so behind on technology, trying to take a selfie with any kind of grace. I scroll on.
My face is there, more than once. There’s a picture of us in front of Juliette and another of my scrunched expression as I try to read the menu. There are candids of me in my kitchen, even one of me with Hardin, captioned Light & Dark. Hardin’s dark clothing and bowed head contrast with my appearance; we walk side by side, my face turned toward him with a goofy smile plastered across it. It’s strange to look at, but the picture itself is actually really, really cool. They all are. Each caption is abstract and poetic. Sometimes they’re as simple as just a hashtag symbol with no letters, and other pictures have longer captions, such as a paragraph about the beauty of seeing a child laugh for the first time. There’s a picture of Nora with lighter hair and darker makeup sitting in a tight dress that looks like it’s been painted onto her skin, specifically designed for the full curves of her voluptuous body. In front of her sits a cocktail, and she’s holding a little piece of paper up to her painted lips. It reads: I see light coming toward me and I’ll do my best to keep you on.
There are pictures of her sister, round with a pregnant belly, and others of her before the belly, looking beautiful and regal with full makeup. I see my face a few more times, and my heart rattles inside me; I feel both baffled and remorseful at the same time. I miss her, but I’m angry at her. To say I’m confused would be the understatement of eternity.
