If I'm going to explain to anyone what's going on, it's not going to be to Holly. It's going to be to Rose. But I just can't burden her with this quite yet.
***
Three days later, I miss my first Musicology class. There's somewhere else I need to be.
And then I don't show up the following week either. For any of my classes. Because right now, I just can't deal with school, baseball, anyone. Even Rose. Especially Rose.
31
ROSE
"He wasn't in class again today, Rose."
"Holly. I don't care. Stop."
"Doesn't it bother you that he hasn't called you yet?"
"What bothers me is you reminding me all the time."
Holly sighs, shakes her head, and gets up to pour more coffee. She waited until Griffin left before she began her tortuous line of questioning.
"I just don't understand it. It's like he played me," she says. "Pretending he's all nice and shit."
"Played you? Holly. This isn't about you."
She puts her coffee down, laughs, and hugs me. "I didn't mean it like that, Rose. I'm sorry. I meant that usually I'm such a good judge of character and here, I misjudged him."
"I don't think you did. Just 'cause he didn't want to see me anymore doesn't mean he's a bad guy. We weren't official or anything."
"It doesn't bother you? Really?"
"No. It doesn't." Every single minute of every day it bothers me. But I'm not about to tell Holly that. Ben just got too busy for me. Whatever kept him from coming up Christmas Eve was most likely a good reason. I'm not going to stew about it.
I do wish things went differently. I liked him. A lot. But I always knew once he started school, it would end.
"Well, I don't believe you, but I won't bring it up again. I'm sorry if I upset you."
"You didn't upset me."
"Good. Because I never want to hurt you. Ever."
She hugs me again.
"Come to Donny's tonight. I gotta work, but you can sit at the bar and we can chat between customers."
"I don't know."
"Please. It's a Tuesday night. It'll be slow."
"I'll think about it. I have an appointment with my Musicology teacher at four. Maybe...maybe, I'll stop by after."
"Musicology? What the hell kinda class is that?"
"Music and the mind. I thought it'd be a neat class to take right now, since I have no idea what I'm gonna do for the rest of my life."
"Music and the mind. That sounds cool."
"You should take it. It's a psych class. I have it Thursdays and Fridays."
"Maybe next semester. So please try to come tonight. You sit at the bar. Talk to me. You won't have to talk to anyone else."
"I said maybe."
"Good. Now I need to get to class, and then I'm meeting Mick for lunch before I go to work." She squeezes me. "Love you, Rose."
"Love you too, Holl."
Considering I have no classes today, and I don't have to see the professor until four, I decide I'm finally going to visit Johnny today. I couldn't bring myself to do it last week, but now...I just feel I have to. Yes, part of the reason is selfish - I really do want to see if he knows anything about Ben. But I would also like to see how Johnny's holding up. He was so sad the last time I saw him, and I'm hoping that things are a little brighter for him now.
Because I take my showers at night here at Griffin’s, it doesn't take me long to slip on yoga pants, a tank top, and a cardigan, and pull my hair back into a ponytail. And since I'm getting much quicker at the three-step process of concealing my scar, I'm ready in under thirty minutes. A record for me since losing my leg.
Before I head out the door, I grab my cane - it's easier getting in and out of my truck when I have it - and make sure I have my notebook and a granola bar in case I cut it close to four o'clock and have to head straight to school. I get in my truck, turn on the country station and sing out loud to Carrie Underwood's "Little Toy Guns" and whatever else comes on after that.
It takes about twenty minutes to get to Johnny's house once I remember he lives on Washington Place and then another five minutes circling the block, looking for his house. They all look the same. When I catch site of the ramp, I do a little jump for joy in my head, because I know I found the right place. I park my car, walk up the ramp, and ring the bell.
Isaiah opens the door.
"Hi," I say, and I'm more anxious than I thought I'd be.
"Hi. You're...Ben's friend."
"Yes. Rose."
"Rose. That's right," he says with a small smile.
"Honey, who is it?" Johnny's mother walks into the room, and her face drops when she sees me. "Oh. Ben's friend. Rose, right?"
"Yes." We stand there, awkwardly staring at each other. "I...I'm here to see Johnny...if he's not..." I stop talking, because Johnny's mother's hand flies to her mouth.
Isaiah takes her hand and says to me, "Johnny...Johnny died last week."
I suck in a bunch of air and stop breathing. I don't know how long I stand there not breathing, but it's long enough for Isaiah to say, "Rose," and put his arm around my waist. "Come in and sit. You look faint."
Placing my hand on Isaiah's arm, I say, "I'm oh...I'm okay. I, uh, better go." I move out from Isaiah's arms, begin to walk down the ramp, but turn to look at Johnny's mom. "I'm...I'm so sorry, Mrs...." and then I remember I don't know their last name. "I'm just...I'm sorry." Then I rush out, because I have so many thoughts and emotions running through my mind, and I can't escape quickly enough.
Once I'm in my truck, I drop my head to the wheel and continue crying in private. I hardly knew Johnny, so missing him is not exactly why I'm so sad. Besides the loss for his mother, I'm sad for how Johnny had to live the last of his days. A senior in high school should have been thinking of college and girls and prom and whatever else drives them to move forward into their college years and begin their adult lives. Instead, Johnny got a raw deal - and never got to realize any of his dreams.
Then I think about Ben. Does he know? Is that why he hasn't called? How is he dealing with this?
The first thing I do after I lift my head up is call Holly.
"Hi, Rose. I hope you're not canceling already."
"No."
"Rose, what's wrong?"
I'm still crying, so it's no surprise she knows something's the matter.
"I'll explain later. You don’t happen to have Ben's address, do you?"
"Yeah. He lives in that huge house up on Alisa Road."
"But you said he hasn't been in class. Is he still in Haledon?"
"Oh. I have no idea. I haven't seen him since the first day of school. But, Rose, I don't have his Cherry Hill address, if that's what you're asking."
"Yeah. I guess it is, even though I knew you didn’t have it. Holly...is there any way you can find out if he's still in Haledon? I really need to talk to him, but I don't want to go visit a house full of baseball players."
"Did he contact you? Is that why you're crying?"
"No. Just...a friend of ours, from rehab, died, and I just want to...I need to talk to Ben."
"I'm so sorry, Rose."
"He was more Ben's friend than mine. That's why I'm worried."
"Okay. I'll see who knows anything about Ben. I'll call you back."
"Thanks."
There is no way I'm heading home. I'll go stir crazy. I need to dance. That's what I usually do when I'm upset. It's what I've always done. But I have no studio at Griffin's, and I didn't bring my dance leg with me anyway. So I drive. At first I don't know where I'm headed. I just make a left onto Union Boulevard and drive. I take an exit to a highway I've never been on, at least not while I'd been driving. As I go further down the highway, I realize I must have been on this road, because there are signs for the Lincoln Tunnel, and I've definitely gone through the Lincoln Tunnel. Before I get that far, though, I see an exit for the Garden State Parkway. Now I know that road leads to the shore points, so I take it. But about fifteen
minutes later, there are signs for Orange. And impulsively, I decide to go back to the place I remember most vividly right after my life changed - a place where all my nightmares began. The one place I never wanted to see again.
I hated it there.
I hated even more the person I became while I was there.
But I need to find Ben, and I am almost positive he is not on campus. I need his Cherry Hill address, and I'm sure someone here will give it to me.
My whole body is shaking as I walk into the overwhelmingly large building, but I manage to limp inside, holding my head up high and keeping my body as steady as possible.
"Hi, may I help you?" There's a new woman at the reception desk.
"Yes, please. I'm here to see Lourdes—" God, I don't know her last name either. "Uh, Lourdes..."
"Lou?"
"Yes. Lou. I'm here to see Lou. Is she here?"
The woman picks up the phone and dials. "Who may I tell her is here to see her?"
"Rose Duncan."
She slides a sign-in sheet toward me and hands me a pen while she tells Lou I'm here to see her.
"Thank you."
I take a seat along the wall and tap my foot until she comes, the whole time looking down at my clasped hands.
"Rose Duncan, look at you." Lou's voice prompts me to lift my head.
Standing, I greet her with a loose hug. "Hi, Lou."
She holds me at arm's length. "Look at you. So beautiful."
"Thank you."
"And your voice is exactly how I expected it to be - soft and sweet," she says in her slight Portuguese accent.
"Sorry about that." The only time Lou ever heard my voice was when I was screaming incoherently.
"No apologies necessary. It was a traumatic time for you. But boy, look at you now. I'm so proud of you."
"Thank you." Her compliments make me cringe. I used to adore praise. Especially about my dancing. If it were about my appearance, I'd say a grateful thank you, and of course, I'd feel good about it. A boost to my confidence, I guess it was. But now when I receive them, I can't help but wonder if they're just showing a pitiful girl some mercy.
"So what are you doing here?" she asks, genuinely happy to see me.
"Um, I..."
"Is that Rose?" I hear from about ten feet away.
"Yes, Craig. Can you believe it?" Lou says to him as he approaches us.
"Hi," I say, not really remembering who this Craig is.
"Wow. Look at you. You look amazing, girl."
I blush, smile, and say, "Thank you."
Craig shakes his head and stands there, making me even more uncomfortable than I already am.
"So, Rose," Lou says. "What's going on? I imagine this is more than just a friendly visit."
I nod my head side to side. "Kinda."
She waits for me to speak again.
"I need Ben Falco's address."
"Oh, Rose, I'm sorry, but we can't do that. It's against policy," Lou tells me.
"Listen, Rose," Craig interrupts, "it was nice seeing you again. I gotta run."
I look at Craig. "Yes. Thanks." After he walks away, to Lou, I say, "I understand." Then I shrug.
"I'm really sorry, Rose."
"No. No. I'd never want you to do something that'd get you in trouble."
I receive one of those condolatory head-tilts from her.
"Thank you, Lou. I should..." I throw a thumb over my shoulder, "get going."
"It was nice to see you, Rose. You really do look great."
I smile and walk out the door. I don't feel like saying thank you again...not when it sounds like a lie.
I'm almost at my car when I hear my name being called behind me.
"Craig?" That was his name, right?
Still running up to me, he says, "Wait up," out of breath. I wait up, and when he reaches me, he hands me a slip of paper. "Ben's address. I heard about Johnny. Figured it had something to do with that."
"Yes, it does. Thank you so much."
"Tell Ben I said hi. He was my favorite patient." Craig's eyes crinkle with his admission.
I hold up the note. "Thanks for this."
"Anytime. Just...keep it between us."
"Definitely."
***
An hour and a half later, I pull up in front of Ben's house in Cherry Hill. My stomach is in dire straits, but I talk myself into getting out of the car and walking up to the front door. It takes me a few seconds once I'm there to ring the bell, but I do.
A short, stout Italian woman answers the door.
"Hi," I say first.
"Hello. Can I help you?" she asks in a strong Italian accent.
"Yes," I mutter, wiping my palms on the tops of my thighs. “I'm a friend of Ben's. Is he home?"
"Oh. No. Benito not home, but...you're Rose?"
I smile at the thought of Ben mentioning me to his mother. "Yes, I'm Rose. Do you know...is Ben up at school?"
"No. Benito took glove and baseballs...he probably at field down the street." She points to her right.
"Down this street?"
"Yes. At end of street, make left, then right. It's at dead end."
I love her accent. "Oh. Okay. Thank you."
"Rose." She stops me from walking away. "My Benny...he talk about you all time. I think he in love."
I can't keep the smile from spreading across my whole face. I try to tamp it down, but I can’t, so I bring my hand up to cover my mouth.
"Go. Go by Benny. He need you."
I nod and turn away. He needs me?
I'm back in my truck, but I don't go anywhere. I don't even start it. What am I going to say to Ben? I drove all this way, concerned with getting here but with no inkling what I would say when I got here. What if he doesn't want to talk to me? Maybe he needs to be alone. I've never had to deal with the grief of losing someone close to me. Would I want to mourn alone? Or would I need a shoulder to cry on?
When I was mourning the loss of my leg, however, I wanted no one. Is mourning a person the same thing?
I sit up straight, swallow some courage, and start the car. I don't second-guess myself again, and I just go.
It's February. No one is at the baseball field. Except for him. There's one of those padded walls behind home plate and Ben is on the pitcher's mound, a metal bucket of baseballs at his feet.
He doesn't see me, so I take advantage and watch him throw a few pitches. He's fast. And he throws hard. Through the padding, the wall vibrates, and a sound like thunder echoes through the empty field.
It's a frightening sound.
An angry sound.
And I'm suddenly afraid to approach him.
32
BEN
I've pitched the last of my balls.
It did nothing to release the anger boiling inside of me. It made it worse.
I yank up the bucket, nearly swinging it into my nose, when I see her red hair.
"Rose," I breathe through my lips.
She doesn't hear me, but she knows I see her. As soon as my eyes connect with hers, she looks away. She's scared. Why shouldn't she be? If she caught my pitches, there's no doubt in her mind she'd feel threatened.
There are so many things I want to say to her. So much I want to do to her. I want to run my hands through that hair and kiss those lips. I want to hold her. I want to feel her cheek against my cheek. Feel her skin against my skin. I want to do and say so much to her.
But I just stand there. My bucket hanging at my side. My gloved hand pressed against my chest. Her eyes finally meeting mine. But I can't move.
I can't move.
33
ROSE
Does he want me to go to him? Or should I wait for him to come to me?
I don't play games. Never did. So maybe I should go to him.
Again I muster up courage and take the first step. And I pray that my legs - the good one and the bad - don't fail me. I don't walk quickly. I probably couldn't if I wanted to. The space between us doesn't seem to shor
ten. With each step I take, I feel like he's farther away. He's not though. It's my breathing. And the pounding in my chest. And the fact that the faster I want to be somewhere, the longer it takes me to get there - at least in my mind, anyway.
I'm about fifteen feet away from him, and he's still standing in the same position. Still looking into my eyes. I can't break contact. I don't want to.
When I'm about ten feet away, he drops the bucket, lowers his other arm, and drops the glove. Then he rushes toward me in two long strides, lifting me up by the waist and pulling me into his chest. My good leg wraps around his waist, while the other one sort of dangles behind him. I haven't mastered movement of it yet.
He doesn't kiss me.
He just holds me.
His hug is as intense as the pitches he was throwing.
And it breaks my heart.
I let him hold me for as long as he needs to, because let's face it, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now anyway. When he finally does put me down, he keeps his arms around me and rests his chin on my head - something I've missed since before Christmas.
Above my head, he says, "He died, Rose."
"I know."
His arms wrap a little tighter around me. "He gave up. He didn't want to try anymore."
I pull away just enough to look at him. "He...killed...himself?"
"No," he says quickly. "He just gave up fighting."
I'm still confused. I think Ben can tell.
"Pneumonia again. But...I think he lost the reason he was fighting in the first place."
I'm still looking at him when I ask, "What reason? What do you mean?"
"He told me once he had to get better because his mother needed him." Ben takes both my hands but continues to look at me. "At the funeral or wake, whatever the fuck's the difference, I noticed Johnny's nurse always standing at Mrs. Gleason's side. It took me a while, but...I realized...they must be a couple now. I think Johnny may have thought his mother didn't need him anymore."
"Ooh. That's...so sad."
Ben nods. "I know." He lets go of my left hand. "Let's sit."
Reaching Rose (Hunter Hill University Book 3) Page 19
