by R. S. Lively
"I am."
"Then... what?"
"Mr. Norton doesn't know I'm the one paying for it. You're not the only one who doesn't know about my money. I like to keep it to myself. So, Mr. Norton is under the impression a very wealthy benefactor came up with the idea of the woodworking program for the school, contacted Endeavor to be the vendor and consultant for services, and assigned me to be the point of contact and head of implementation."
"And why is he under that impression?"
"Because that's what I told him."
"First...what? Second...call the man Michael."
I smile, ducking my head down to brush a quick kiss over her lips while no one is looking.
"I'll explain it all later. And I still think Mr. Norton fits him better."
We make our way through the school, and I notice more students drifting in and out of the classrooms. I wonder which ones of them are there for summer school to try to save themselves from being held back, and which are the overachievers who spend the majority of their lives at the school as if trying to suck up every bit of the experience they can.
Finally, we make it to the furthest back section of the school and a set of heavy wooden doors I know lead into a shop. I don't have any memories of this space from when I was in school, but the smell of sawdust and heat from power tools hangs in the air. It's a familiar smell and one that always brings me comfort and reassurance. It smells like the potential I see in a piece of raw lumber. Mr. Norton – Michael – opens the doors, and we step through into what looks like a warehouse space. The floor is smooth grey cement, and white tape marks off safety areas around each of the power tool stations set up throughout the room.
The smell is stronger here, which tells me someone was in here not long ago working on something. Michael looks around for a few seconds like he expects someone to be there, then heads for a door on the far side of the room. The narrow window down the middle makes it look like the door to a classroom, and when he opens it I catch a glimpse of desks lined up inside. I hear muttering, and then he comes back toward me followed by a middle-aged man with dark blond hair and thick black glasses. This man holds his hand out to me as he approaches.
"Winston James," he says. "Nice to meet you."
He says it like I should know who he is, but not in an arrogant way. More like it's a name I should have already heard, which it probably is. I glance at Michael as I take his hand.
"Cade Sawyer," I say.
"Winston is going to be the head of the department," Michael says. "He teaches the current woodshop classes and works with the theater department for sets."
"I'm looking forward to expanding the department," Winston says. "I think there's a lot of potential in the plans I've reviewed."
"I think so, too," I agree.
"Let me show you around some," Winston says. He heads further into the room, and I follow him. "We expanded the shop space quite a bit over the last several weeks. The rooms on either side were mostly used for storage, so it wasn't too hard to remove the walls."
"It looks like the teams did a good job," I say. "Those are some of Endeavor's most trusted contractors, so I wouldn't expect anything less."
"The extra space definitely fits the equipment better. I'm amazed by the tools the company donated."
I nod.
"The donor holds this program very dear and wants to make sure everyone involved has access to the very best resources available. He wanted me to reassure you that he, and Endeavor, will continue to be available to you even after implementation of the program. We want to make sure the students have access to everything they need. If you ever need anything at all, don't hesitate to get in touch with me personally."
"Thank you," Winston says. "I'm looking forward to Orientation. I think the students will be really excited when they see the potential of the program."
"I do, too. To that end, why don't we sit down and go over some of the plans? I'd like to hear your thoughts about the details of the program and give you a chance to ask any questions you might have."
Winston nods, and we make our way into the classroom where he leads us into an office I hadn't realized was there. Sitting on heavily cushioned wooden couches, we spread all the notes and plans for the program out across a heavy table and discuss every detail.
Almost two hours later, the meeting is finally over, and Fiona and I are wandering the school together. Our hands play between us, occasionally clasping so we hold them like the teenagers who usually roam these halls.
"It's kind of odd being here with you," she says after a few silent minutes. "We knew each other before either of us went here, then we went to school here, and yet we still missed each other. We never went to school together at all. We always had to wait to see each other until the summer. Sometimes on the occasional break. I wish you had stayed long enough for us to at least go to school together for a year. It would have been nice.”
I feel my heart clench. It's something I've thought about a thousand times before.
"Me, too," I say. "I wish someone had presented it to me that way. When I decided to drop out, I didn't see any point in staying here and wasting all that time just so I could get a piece of paper that said I did it. It never occurred to me that there might be more benefits to getting all the way through school than just graduating so I had a diploma. I even talked to Gramps and Grammie about dropping out, and neither of them discouraged it."
"Really?" she asks. She sounds surprised but quickly tries to cover it. "I mean, what did they say when you told them?"
"They said my life was mine, and I needed to do what I thought was right for me. I explained to them I just wanted to get my life started, and not bother with school anymore because I didn't think it was really benefiting. They said if I had a plan, and I thought I was making the right choice, it was mine to make. I guess since Gramps never graduated either, he couldn't really justify forcing me to stay."
"That's true. He was never the type to go with the 'it was a different time' defense. He trusted you. He knew you weren't going to do something just because you felt like it, or because you wanted to push back against the system."
"Except, that's exactly what I did. I pushed back against everything," I say.
"But not when you dropped out. At least, that's not what it seemed like to me."
"What did it seem like to you?"
"That you didn't feel like you were getting any good out of sitting around in school." She takes a breath and releases it slowly. "Like you had gotten over the life you were living here and wanted to leave it behind."
There is something unspoken in that sentence, and it makes my heart ache. I want to reassure her, but I'm not sure how to respond. As we turn down another hallway and I see a bulletin board with pictures from the last school year, I turn Fiona toward me and wrap my arms around her waist.
"There's another thing being here makes me wish," I say.
"What's that?” she asks, sliding her hands up my chest so she can loop her arms around my neck.
"I wish I had asked you to your prom."
A slightly sad smile crosses her face briefly. I can see the memories in her eyes, knowing she remembers that spring the same as I do.
"You do?" she asks.
I nod. I hold her a little closer. Nothing will ever be able to tell her exactly what I feel, or how sorry I am for wasting all those years, but maybe being in my arms can be a start.
"I wish I had just stepped up and asked you, or at least said yes when you asked me."
"You came," she says.
She's defending me, but she knows as well as I do that it wasn't the same as us actually going together.
"I showed up," I say. "That's different from taking you to prom. You deserved the whole experience. I should have asked you, picked you up, been there for the pictures... everything. From the very beginning, that's what we were leading up to. It should have been that way. I should have made it that way."
"Why didn't you?" she asks
.
I lean my forehead against hers.
"I didn't think you'd want me to ask you," I say. "I thought you wouldn't want to go with me because I wasn't in school anymore. Barely anyone here knew me. Those who did, knew me as the one who had dropped out and gotten in trouble. I didn't want you to have to deal with that, especially if someone else asked you. I wanted you to be able to say yes."
"You would have been fine with someone else taking me?"
There's a note of surprise in her voice.
"Fuck, no. I would have hated every second of it and contemplated slashing his tires while you were in the dance just to punish him. But I wanted you to live the life you wanted. I had dated other girls, and as much as I wanted you all to myself, I figured I would let you have a normal high school experience before whisking you away."
"I wanted you to ask me," she says. "I waited for you to ask me. I was so happy when you came. I loved you, Cade. Even then."
I kiss her softly, then take her hand to guide her out of the school. As we're getting into the car, I notice her glance at her phone.
"Something wrong?" I ask.
"I haven't heard from Grammie," she says.
"I'm sure she's just having fun with her friends," I say.
"Me, too. That's the problem."
"What do you mean?"
"I have a theory," she says as she clicks her seatbelt into place. "I don't think she's actually hurt."
I look at her, trying to keep my expression neutral. Trying not to tell her what's really going on with Grammie is exhausting and frustrating. What started as a fun game has reached the point where I don't know if I can keep it up anymore.
"Really?" I ask. "Why do you say that?"
"I think she's doing it all for the attention. I mean, how many people leave a rehab center and go to a retirement community to hang out with their friends? And now that I mention it, how many people are sped away to a rehab center in an ambulance?"
My lips tingle and twitch as I struggle to hold back a laugh. I start the car and head out of the parking lot. Now I know for certain I can't keep it up anymore. I didn't really expect Grammie to keep Fiona dangling along for this long, and it's just too much.
"You just thought of that, huh?" I ask.
Beside me, Fiona's eyes widen, and her mouth opens in a drawn-out gasp. Suddenly, she swats at my arm.
"You knew!" she exclaims. "You jerk! She hasn't been hurt this whole time, and you knew it."
I finally laugh.
"Not the whole time," I say. "Most of the time. But not the whole time."
She swipes at me again.
"You asshole," she says, but she's laughing even as she says it. "You let her run me all over the place knowing she was just fine."
"Well, no," I say. "In her defense, she actually did hurt herself. Not how she told you it happened, but she was hurt. It just ended up not being nearly as bad as she thought it was. Grammie wanted to spend time with you, and you had told her were going through a hard time, so she thought having you home would help. And I didn't know for the first few days. I actually think that's why the ambulance came to pick her up."
"What do you mean?" she asks
"I told her she needed to take it easier on you," I explain.
"So, she called an ambulance?"
"No, the ambulance was Dr. Barnes' idea. He took it from the rehab center. He apparently also gave her the boot to help with the story," I tell her.
"Is Dr. Barnes Arthur?"
"No. I still don't know who Arthur is."
Fiona rests her head back against her seat and shakes it.
"I can't believe her. Actually, yes. I absolutely can. She's ridiculous. But it's nice to know she was thinking about me... I think."
I laugh.
"I think you should just take it as a positive thing and move on."
I look at her briefly, pausing at a stop light.
"Do you have a little more time?" I ask.
She looks at me questioningly.
"Unless I have another grandmother I don't know about who is planning on throwing herself down the stairs to manipulate me into taking care of her under the guise of being supportive, I'm wide open."
"I'm going to go ahead and take that little parade of snark as a yes."
"Why do you ask?"
"I want to show you something."
Fiona
Part of me recognizes the field we pull up to, but it's a distant connection, like I've only seen the place once or twice many years ago. I look over at Cade and see him staring through the window, his eyes locked on one corner of the space. After a few seconds, he seems to snap out of the thoughts holding him captive and looks over at me. A hint of a smile, one that seems almost forced, touches his lips.
"Ready?" he asks.
"I'm not sure," I say. "Where are we?"
"This is another project I'm working on. Remember I was talking about the permits that didn't go through, and all the hassle?"
"The catastrophe that sent Franklin into a tizzy, yes, I remember."
"I think that is the best way to describe it. Well, this is the source of that tizzy."
I look out at the field again.
"This?" I ask. "What is it?"
"Come with me," he says. "I wanted to show it to you while it still looks like this and isn't swarmed with crews."
He heads out of the car, coming around to take my hand and lead me toward a short set of cement steps I hadn't even noticed. The grass and weeds are doing their best to reclaim the steps, and I feel my foot slip on the slickness left over from the rain. Cade's hand tightens on mine, and he holds me close as we make our way up the short hill that leads up to the field. It takes me a few seconds of looking around before I fully understand where we are. I notice old, crumbling sidewalks nearly invisible in the grass, each of them leading to another short set of steps. The longer I look at them, the clearer the memory becomes in my mind.
"I've been here," I say, glancing up at him. "At least," I look back over the open space, "I think I have."
"It used to be an apartment complex," he says.
I nod, and we start walking across the space, our feet finding one of the sidewalks and following it toward the back section of the field where he had been staring when we pulled in.
"I remember," I say. "Kind of. I mean, I do remember. I remember seeing this place once. I was in the car with Gramps, and we were driving around. He was going really slow. Not the road where we parked, but that one," I point to the road in the distance that curves around beyond the back of the field. "I remember it was so dark. That's what I remember most about it. It was so dark."
"It always was," Cade says. "Even when the streetlights were on, that back corner was always so dark. That's why the porch lights came on as soon as the sun started going down."
As soon as he says it, I experience a flash of recognition.
"You," I say. "We were looking for you. No one knew where you were. That's why we were here. What the hell happened that night?"
Cade shakes his head.
"Honestly, I don't remember. There's a lot of my teenage years I try not to think about very much. Except for you. I always want to think about you."
He leans down and kisses me as my heart trembles in my chest.
"What was here, Cade?" I ask.
"I used to live with my parents in the building here," he says.
"Did you grow up here?" I ask.
Cade shakes his head, still looking at the blank space that once held one of the apartment buildings like he can still see it in his mind’s eye.
"No," he explains. "We never stayed in one place for very long. Usually, we found somewhere willing to accept whatever money my parents could scrape together for the down payment, and just hung on until whatever job they had at the time dried up, we ran out of money, and had to move on. I don't know how we got from place to place, or even how many we lived in before I left for good. But I remember this one the most. When we lived h
ere, things were almost good. At least, they were as close to being good as I can ever remember them being. Compared to what it was like at other times growing up, living here felt almost secure and peaceful. That's not saying much."
"Why would Gramps think you came back here?"
"Things weren't easy for me, Fiona. I made a lot of choices I'm not proud of and did things I know I shouldn't have. I can't blame them all on my parents or how they raised me. I'm sure there are plenty of people who would argue that everything I did was in reaction to them, but there's a point when personal responsibility comes in, and you have to be able to step up and own the decisions you make."
It's not an answer. I’m not surprised. I know there are things about Cade he will never tell me, and that's probably for the best. The ache in my heart feels fresh and new again just thinking about sitting in that truck wondering where he could be. I can only imagine how magnified that pain and worry would be if I knew all the details of his life before Gramps and Grammie were a part of it. I don't mind leaving some of his secrets untold. I don't care what happened in his past. Cade is who he is, and that's all that matters to me. Those secrets are his, and it's not up to me to try to force him to relive them, especially if he isn't ready.
"This is where the building I lived in was," he says, pointing to a shape in the grass in front of us.
I look at the space, evaluating the dimensions.
"It looks so small," I say.
"It is," he says. "Each building had two apartments. One on the bottom, one on top. Both doors were on the front of the building. The door to the bottom apartment was on the right, the top on the left. The people who lived on the top floor walked through the door, and immediately turned to go up a flight of stairs right into their living room. The bottom apartment didn't have the stairs. The door just went into a little entry space, then into the living room."
"Which one was yours?" I ask.
Cade walks up the steps and pauses in front of a broken, worn piece I assume was once a threshold.
"Here," he says. "The bottom."
He glances back over his shoulder at me.
"Would you like to come inside?" he asks.
