***
Is this it? I expected more. Not that there would be some huge, erect monument yet, but I expected more than a wooden sign with a small plaque dedicating the site to the victims of Flight 397. Though, there couldn’t be a more peaceful place to remember the dead.
It might only be day four, but I’m a little homesick, and the ocean is the closest thing I’ll get to California. I pay my fare and head straight for the beach, walking through the sea grass and over the dunes. It’s not overcrowded, but there are families and people scattered along the shore. I take off my black flats and stand at the water’s edge, staring out at the crashing waves. Inhaling the fresh air, I exhale my sorrow.
I miss you, Mom. I miss you so much. These four-hundred and nineteen days without you haven’t been any easier than day one.
I’ve learned a lot of things over the last year. I learned Dad is lost without you, and no matter how many times you’re not there, he’ll still reach for your hand. I learned that the burning pain in my heart isn’t going to go away whenever I think of you, no matter what I try to tell myself. I learned it’s somehow possible to survive senior year, broken hearts, and rejection without a mom.
These are facts I never wanted to understand.
But I also learned it’s possible to attain your dreams when you’re persistent and work hard. I learned I can still find the good in every single day if I try to remain optimistic. I learned it’s okay to put myself out there and be me, even when people may not appreciate who I am. I learned I’m stronger than I ever imagined I could be.
Mom, there are so many things I want to turn back time and change, but this year isn’t one of them. Because while losing you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure—and I’d give anything to keep you from getting on that plane—it taught me to stand on my own and discover who I am and who I can be. Those are pretty invaluable lessons—don’t you think?
Dance circles around your island, Mom. You deserve it.
I wipe my face and continue down the shore, feeling the breeze soar through my hair and over my bare arms and legs. Two months ago, I could’ve walked along this beach with Brett. He could’ve been by my side to help me say goodbye. I push him out of my mind. I can’t think about the loss of him today.
Passing a few people walking along the sand, I don’t walk far when I see a boy sitting, facing the ocean. His dark hair rustles in the wind as he leans forward and wraps his arms around his bent knees. The closer I get, the more familiar he feels to me. He turns his head— I stop. His eyes lock on mine and give me chills. Before my brain registers, my heart does, pounding out of my chest. He stands, and all at once the air leaves my lungs.
KEEP COMING BACK
Brett
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 11
“Brett?”
There are scenes in movies where the couple stares at each other as though in disbelief. I laugh at those moments. Like, c’mon, you knew this was going to happen, it’s the sappy ending.
I’m a fool.
This moment, right here . . . my eyes must be deceiving me. Ruby is standing before me. Amber was right. I love this girl.
“Hey.” I force the word out, I’m tongue-tied.
She remains several feet away, eyes blinking. “You’re here.”
“I couldn’t not come.” My hands remain at my sides, despite their best effort to reach for her. “Are you mad?”
She chokes out a laugh. “Mad? I . . . why are you here? How are you here? How did you know I would be here? I didn’t tell anyone I was coming.”
One step forward. Her brown eyes are richer in person. “Amber told me.”
“Amber? How did Amber know? I’m not mad. I just . . . I’m having a difficult time processing what’s happening.”
Two steps forward. Barely-there freckles are scattered across her nose. This isn’t exactly the place I thought we’d be having this conversation, but— “Do you want to have a seat? It’s kind of a long story.” I look around us “It’s a bit sandy, but comfortable.” I should know, I’ve sat here for hours over the last two days.
She nods, cracking a small smile. “I have some time.”
We settle in the sand. I face her slightly, resting my arms on my knees. For a moment, I simply stare at her as she stretches her legs out and crosses her ankles.
I can’t believe she’s here.
She tucks the extra fabric between her knees as a breeze kicks up, holding her plaid skirt in place.
I can’t believe we’re here.
She looks up, catching me staring, and her cheeks flush. “Did you know there are approximately seven quintillion grains of sand in the world?”
“After you called—” we speak over each other.
I stop and clear my throat. “Sorry. No, I didn’t know that.”
“Though, scientists say there are ten times more stars in the sky than grains of sand on beaches and deserts—”
“Ruby,” I interrupt. “I love all of your facts, but let me talk for a moment?”
“Right.” Her cheeks flush. Well, hell, isn’t that appealing? “Sorry. The facts come unsolicited when I’m nervous.”
“After you called, I was . . . I was hurt. I know it sounds crazy, and I obviously don’t blame you—” I stop before I sink into my own personal pool of pity and drown. “Anyway, I needed to clear my head, so I ended up heading out to hike the AT with my buddies at the 1st of July. I hiked for over a month.”
“You went?” She perks up. “Just like you wanted to do. How far did you get?”
“Roughly 593 miles. From home to New Hampshire, before I heard the news.”
“The news . . . my letter?”
“Let me explain. About once a week, we would hike into a town near the trail to re-supply, and I would always call home. My last stop was a little place called Pinkham Notch on the 8th. I called Amber and . . .
“Brett?” Her voice cures the mild case of homesickness I’ve developed.
“It’s about time I catch you at home,” I accuse playfully.
“I did something, B, and I’m not sure if you’re going to be angry at me or not.”
Instant fear knots my gut. The fact that she’s on the phone with me means she’s alive and well. Remain calm. “Okaayy.” I draw my one-word answer out, inhaling and exhaling slowly.
“Let me explain before you say anything.” I grunt my agreement. “Ruby wrote you a letter, and I opened it.” Amber rushes before I can speak, “Let me explain, you agreed!”
My head feels hot. I picture myself as a cartoon character with a red face, steam and smoke pouring from my ears. Will the rest of her confession be my tipping point? Is my head about to blow off with flames?
“When I first saw the envelope I was going to put it in the pile with the rest of your things. I mean, you’ll be home in two weeks. I figured it could wait. I sure wasn’t going to tell you about it and ruin the rest of your hike.”
I brace for another confession. “But, Hope convinced me otherwise.”
Flames. Shooting. From. Brain. “What in the hell does Hope know about it? You better not tell me she read it, too.”
“Nooo. She asked about you, that’s all. I ended up mentioning the letter, and she’s the one who convinced me Ruby wouldn’t have written to you after a month if she didn’t have a good reason. I agreed.”
“So you read it?” There’s a good touch of sarcasm in that question. Deep breaths. In. Out.
“Yes, I read it. I was worried maybe something had happened with her Nana and maybe you’d want to know. I figured you’d be more upset if you didn’t know than if I read it. I’m sorry.”
Her explanation makes sense. I can’t be mad at her train of thought. I’m not sure what I would do if there was something wrong, but I’d want to know. “Well, why did she write me?”
“Okay, see, I need to make another confession first.”
“Amber.”
“I snooped in your room and found the other letters—”
&n
bsp; “You snooped in my room? Why? You had no right to look—”
“First, don’t forget who snooped in whose room first. That’s how this all started. Second, I came to a conclusion.”
I sigh, “Yeah? Please, enlighten me.”
“You love this girl.”
My chest stirs, but I laugh lightly. “And you know this how?”
“I can only conclude it based on the tone of her letters. I know girls, and feelings, and she wouldn’t have written you the way she did if the feelings weren’t reciprocated. She cares for you, and you her. It’s obvious.”
“Then it should be obvious by the phone call I had with her in June it’s over. You know that. Actually, it’s not over—it never began.”
“That’s because you were cheated out of meeting.” Her voice rises into the patented Amber whine I’ve known all of my life. I didn’t expect her to feel this way.
“Amber, I don’t even know if what we felt was real. We were emotional, we wrote letters. You can’t fall in love over words and phone calls.”
“Can’t you?”
No, no you can’t. I couldn’t claim to be in love with Hope, and she was here, in my arms. I can’t be in love with Ruby. It was a crutch, a crush, a moment in time never meant to go any further . . .
“She’s going to New York.”
Somewhere, someone hits the pause button on my life. Everything stops, my breathing, my heart, my functioning brain.
“Brett?”
I close my eyes as my fingers grip the phone tighter. “What did the letter say?” My voice is fragile to my own ears.
“She’s going to NYU. Her dad surprised her.”
She’s coming to New York. The world shifts into motion once more. Only now my heart is racing as though on fast forward. “Will you read it to me?”
“. . . So she did. She read your letter, we worked out the dates and I left the trail the next day. I hopped on a flight to JFK instead of home, and I’ve been staying at Cole’s—and waiting here—for the last two days.”
BREATHE AGAIN
Ruby
Wednesday, August 11
“You’ve been waiting here . . . as in at the memorial site?” My heart won’t stop racing. I interlock my fingers in my lap to keep them from fidgeting. They itch to touch him. Hug him, hold his hand, run through his hair. He’s real.
Brett scratches the back of his neck anxiously. “Just for a couple days.”
“Brett,” I breathe. I can’t believe him. A couple days? What if I never came? He would’ve missed me again, and I’d have felt like an even bigger jerk.
“I wasn’t going to miss you again.”
“You could’ve if I hadn’t shown. It could’ve been weeks before I got a chance to come.”
His blue eyes lift, holding mine hostage. “Then I would have found you at school.” He’s not playing around. His voice is even and sure.
Even after what I put him through, he’s here. He was going to do whatever it took to find me. I blink back tears. I will not cry in front of him. This isn’t the time. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
Brett shifts, scooting across the sand, inching closer before he places his hand over my interlocked knuckles, brushing over them with his own. There’s nothing in the world like his touch. I love that they feel different from all other hands. They’re Brett’s hands. Hands of an artist—calloused, skilled, and soothing. I loosen my grip, encouraging him to lace his fingers between mine. My heart needs to slow down so I can think straight, but with him sitting so close to me, nothing could untangle the jumbled mess in my head.
“I needed to be here, Ruby. We’ve both lost enough this past year, I didn’t want to add you to the list. I didn’t want us to be nothing but paper planes.” His fingers press tightly around mine. There isn’t a hand in the world that would fit better in mine. “I wanted to give us a chance.”
I don’t want to ask, but I feel like I should. He never did tell me. “What happened to Hope?”
He smiles. I always wondered if he smiled with all his teeth. He does, and I can’t get over how many butterflies it creates. They’re in a frenzy, bouncing off the walls in my stomach. What did I say? His head bows slightly. He’s amused by my question. It wasn’t that funny.
“Only a girl would bring up an ex at a time like this. I broke things off with her way back in June. For several reasons, one of which had to do with a certain girl and her ruby slippers. It seemed right, considering.”
It’s hard to keep eye contact. The intensity of his blue eyes is brighter in person. Does he know what color he’d use to match his eye color? I want to paint my walls with it. I look at him and my breathing becomes unsteady. He can probably tell. It’s so embarrassing.
“Did you want to see the site where the monument will be? Did you already?”
“I’m not sure. I just started to walk along the beach and found you.”
“I’ll show you, if you want. I don’t want to interfere with your moment, though, so tell me no, and I’ll sit here and wait.”
“No, no. You’re exactly the person I want to be here with. I’d actually been thinking how I wished you were here when I began walking along the shore.”
“Well, my Ruby of Oz—” He releases my hand and stands, brushing the sand off his shorts. “If you would allow me, I would be happy to walk along the beach with you and give you the grand tour.” His hand reaches out, waiting for mine. I allow him to help me up.
“Do you remember what I said about seeing you on the 18th?”
I nod. I’ll hug you for as long as you need . . .
“I’m going to walk you around this island, and I can crack jokes, or I can be as quiet as you need. There are signs all around us set up as memorials.” He cocks his head back, nodding behind us, and I see a small wooden cross with flowers in the sand near the dunes. And a few more further down the shore. “This was their island; I don’t need to tell you that. Whatever you want, I will gladly do.”
I’m done waiting. I’ve waited seven months to hug this boy. I throw my arms around his neck, squeezing my eyes shut. His arms tighten around me. I’ve never known a hug like this before. It’s the kind of hug that can heal. The kind of hug that makes me feel like if he holds me tight enough all of my broken parts will fuse back together.
After months and months, I can finally breathe again.
IF YOU WANT ME TO STAY
Brett
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 11
I savor every second she’s in my arms as I wait for her to release me. We part, but there’s something so natural about us together. It’s effortless to take hold of her hand and walk her toward the tide.
She allows the water to run over her feet as I tell her about the memorial service and the flowers we let out into the ocean. My thumb rubs along hers as she stares at the horizon. I wait until she slips her shoes on again before I continue the tour.
It’s an hour of near silence, but it’s strangely perfect. Done and standing back on the shore, I contemplate what’s next. I’m not ready to say goodbye.
“How did you get here, to the park? I assume your dad isn’t here. I mean, here as in New York.”
“I took the train and got a cab.”
Perfect. “Then you’re in luck, because I stole Cole’s car for the day. He was going to sell it once he moved, but with us a few hours away he didn’t want to be stuck with no transportation if we have an emergency. Want to grab dinner?” Being confined to the small cab of Cole’s Prelude with Ruby for an hour and a half is more than appealing. Dinner is a bonus.
“Dinner sounds perfect. I’m starving.”
“Great, I know this hole in the wall burger joint. It’s a very fifties diner, and they have amazing milkshakes.” My description makes me cringe. “It sounds worse than it is, I swear. It’s a cool place. Not a hole at all.”
Ruby shakes her head, stopping me. “You had me at milkshakes.”
Yep, I like this girl.
***
&
nbsp; “Chocolate or Vanilla?” I throw the random question at her as I shift into reverse.
“Chocolate. How is that even a question?”
“Don’t tell me you know the statistic on which is more popular. I’ve heard it’s vanilla, which is ridiculous. Chocolate is the obvious choice in all dessert decisions.”
“Of course, I agree with you, but I think it depends on who you ask. I’ve seen it both ways. Though, most surveys I’ve read have vanilla winning for the most popular ice cream flavor.”
“You know, there wasn’t much I missed while hiking, but chocolate. Man, I missed chocolate. You’ll have to forgive me if I go overboard later. Would you object if I order dessert before dinner?”
A slow smile creeps onto her face. “My mom used to order dessert before dinner. She needed to end her meal with something salty. If dessert was ever served after, she’d save a piece of meat on her plate to eat after she finished her dessert.”
“So that’s where you get it from then? The love for salty and sweet things mixed?”
“I guess so.” She leans her head against the headrest and peers out the passenger’s side window.
“What about your dad? What do you get from him?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “My ability to retain everything I read. We don’t have photographic memories, but the way our brains are wired soaks up information for us to pull out whenever it’s least useful.” She chuckles and I join in.
“Useful or not, I like the way your brain recites facts. It’s handy, like a walking Encyclopedia. I could have used you back in school.”
Paper Planes and Other Things We Lost Page 24
