Not Your Fault

by Cheyanne Young

  Kris offers to drive since his massive truck blocks my Mustang in the tiny driveway next to my house. Nathan never drove, or rather he always tried to get out of it, either by asking me to go to his house or offering to meet me at restaurants so he wouldn’t have to drive five miles out of his way to get me. When we did go somewhere together, he argued that my car was cleaner than his was and that it got better gas mileage so we should take mine. I always obliged, and secretly wished I had a man who drove me around like all my girlfriends seemed to have. So when Kris says, “I’ll drive, hop in.” I am happy to oblige.

  I climb into the passenger seat and relax against the cool leather seats while Kris battles rush hour traffic on Highway 14, Mixon’s busiest road. When traffic slows to ten miles an hour and there’s nothing but brake lights ahead, Kris groans in frustration and taps the steering wheel with his fingers. I look over him and offer up a sympathy puppy-style sad face.

  He winks at me and takes a hand off the wheel to squeeze my leg.

  A girl could get used to this.

  Mixon Skating Rink is on the outskirts of town where there’s pretty much nothing except some dirt racing track that I know nothing about. I know the owner of the rink, a sweet elderly woman named Ms. Webb, inherited the land many years back when it was a farm and decided to turn it into a skating rink instead. The isolation of the area is probably why they had to close down in the first place, although the old rink was never fancy to start with. It was just a great way to hang out with friends and be as far away from my parents as possible.

  Riding down these back roads brings back more nostalgia than I can handle, especially with Kris in the driver’s seat. All the memories of my adolescence almost overshadow the anxiety I feel about Cat being stranded at an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. Murders and shady drug deals happen in places like this. I can’t imagine Cat partaking in a drug deal—or, murder for that matter—and maybe her car just broke down or something, but still. What was she thinking by coming out here?

  “Wow,” Kris says under his breath as he slows the truck and turns into the long driveway that leads to the old skating rink. I look up from my cell phone screen where I had been absentmindedly watching it in case Cat called me again. The sight before my eyes has me repeating what Kris just said.

  The rickety metal building and gravel parking lot I remember as a teenager is no more. In its place is a new metal building that’s twice as wide as the former one and the vast parking lot is now smooth white concrete instead of grass-covered, pot-holed bits of gravel. Mixon Skating Rink is a remodeled no-expense-spared entertainment venue.

  Kris parks in one of the only empty parking spaces and we both stare at each other, still unable to fathom why this place is…this place. “When did they do this?” I ask as we make our way to the front doors.

  Kris shrugs. “I haven’t been here since we were teenagers, but I thought I heard something about them wanting to remodel. It used to be a total shit hole.” He holds open the door for me and a blast of pop music and children’s voices crash into us as we step inside. “Guess they had an investor with big pockets.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief when Cat meets me at the door, dressed in short shorts, a hot pink tank top and a pair of roller skates. Her arms reach out and slap against the wall to stop herself as she rolls toward me. “You’re here!” she squeals in a much different tone of voice than she had used when she called me just minutes ago.

  “I thought you were being murdered,” I say, taking the voucher she gives me for a skate rental and shaking it at her. “How dare you.”

  “How dare I what?” she says, holding her arms open wide as she gestures around us. “How dare I plan this awesome surprise party for you?”

  My mouth falls open. “What?”

  She wasn’t joking. To the left of the new skate floor is an open area with video games, a concession stand and picnic tables. One table in particular is covered with a Hello Kitty plastic tablecloth and a dozen hot pink balloons. A homemade banner that says Happy Birthday Delaney hangs from the ceiling, hovering over a beautiful three-tiered cake made of cupcakes.

  Susan and her husband are here along with a dozen of Cat’s friends who are kind of my friends by association. My teenage cousins and my Aunt Carol rush over and give me a hug before returning to their game of air hockey. I scan the rink of skaters and spot my Uncle David skating backwards on a pair of rented roller skates, hands clasped behind his back as if he’s some kind of professional skater.

  All I can do is stand here in shock.

  A hand touches my lower back and then Kris whispers in my ear, “I thought your birthday was the twenty-second?”

  “It is,” I tell him. Cat rolls her eyes. “I had to have the party a few days before your real birthday or you would have suspected it, duh.” She throws her arms around me in a hug. “Oh, and I’m glad you brought Kris,” she says when she pulls away. I think she even winks at him.

  I turn to Kris with wide eyes. “I can’t believe she did this.”

  He gives me a sideways smile. “Well…it does sound a lot like Cat.”

  We waste no time in strapping on a pair of skates and hitting the brand new wooden skate floor. I haven’t skated in years, but it’s not something I could ever forget how to do. Kris, who is more bulk than grace, needs a few laps to get the hang of skating around in a circle.

  Apparently the skating rink did close down a few years ago because of the failing economy. Ms. Webb passed away shortly after from breast cancer and now her daughter, a younger-looking version of her, owns the new rink. She tells me that the dirt track down the street has become so popular after hosting a national dirt bike race had put them on the map, and that their popularity had led to interest in building a new skating rink. The owner of the track had helped the younger Ms. Webb take out a loan and build this place, and now they’re co-owners. I’m excited to see the rink full of customers with smiling faces. I may not have kids now, but one day I hope my children can find the same happiness here that I did as a kid.

  It’s good to see my family, especially my cousins who are all teenagers now and have better things to do than out with their family. Susan says she can’t skate because she’s too drunk, and Kris, after busting his ass for the third time, suggests that maybe he should pretend to be drunk too, so he can hang out on the sidelines and quit embarrassing himself.

  Although I’m not sure why being drunk is any less embarrassing than crashing to the floor in front of two seven-year-olds when the lights dim during a Wil-I-Am song. Which is exactly what Kris just did.

  I skate up to him and come to a sudden stop right in front of his face. He cocks an eyebrow as he sits up on his knees in the middle of the skate floor. “Is someone showing off their amazing skating skills?”

  I put my hands on my hips and spin in a circle, making the move look effortless. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Payne?”

  “That’s it. You’re coming down with me,” he says. I have just enough time to wonder what that means when I feel a hand grab onto mine and pull. My legs buckle and my skates shoot out from under me and I fall flat on my face. Luckily, Kris catches my face with his body and we lay splayed on the floor while everyone skates around us.

  “That was rude,” I tease him as I pull up on my elbows and place a kiss on his cheek.

  “Do you think it’s weird that no one has mentioned us being together?” he says.

  I crawl to my knees and then stand up, offering a hand to help him get up as well. “We weren’t on the floor very long so I don’t think anyone cares.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, your sister and Susan and your cousins and stuff. We’re acting like we’re dating again and no one has said anything. It’s just weird.”

  He takes my hand and stands up, wobbling a few times before getting his balance. I shrug. “Susan and Cat already knew it was coming, trust me. No one else cares.”

  He smiles at that and I take his hand.
I skate slowly around the edge of the rink so he can keep up with me. I love the way his hand feels in mine. “So, you said we’re acting like we’re dating…” I begin, sneaking a sideways glance at Kris as we skate around a group of kids.

  Kris laughs. “Our lives are crazy enough right now without going into semantics about what we are.” Cat waves at me from the table reserved for my birthday so we make our way to the sidelines, still hand in hand.

  I step up the little ledge that separates the skate floor from the rest of the room and look back at Kris. “I wasn’t going into semantics. I was just pointing out what you said. But it’s no big deal because it doesn’t matter what we are.” I stick my tongue out at him so he knows I’m playing and I’m not actually being a psycho new girlfriend who wants to talk about feelings all the time.

  Now on carpeted floor, Kris grabs my other arm and pulls me around, grabbing me in a bear hug. He kisses the top of my head. “Baby, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” I smile up at him, feeling like a fourteen-year-old with her first crush as my cheeks flush red from something other than the workout I got while skating.

  Luckily, I am not a fourteen-year-old girl, so even though I know my sister and my best friend and my family members are watching, I don’t shy away and sheepishly go sit in front of my birthday cake. I grab Kris’s face in my hands and pull him down, bringing his lips to mine, kissing him like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do, like it’s totally not inappropriate in this place full of children, like I don’t care what anyone thinks. Because I don’t. Because Kris is mine and I love him.

  But it might actually be the last thing I ever do.

  “DELANEY RENEE JACOBS.”

  My mother’s voice sends a frightening chill down my spine as goose bumps prickle every inch of my skin. I whirl around in a flash, my stomach tightening as if I’ve just been caught in cold-blooded murder. My parents stand at the entrance of the skating rink, presents in their hands. My dad’s face is expressionless. My mother’s is furious.

  The bags in her hands drop to the floor. Her words are ice and her face is so hauntingly angry that I can’t look away.

  “What did I just see you do with that that killer?”

  Chapter 21

  “Mrs. Jacobs…” I look up at Kris as he says the words, a fragment of a sentence he knows he can’t finish. There’s nothing he can say to my mother that will take the look of betrayal and disgust off her face. In her eyes, he killed her son and broke her daughter’s heart.

  I don’t know why I didn’t think of these complications when I was falling back in love with him.

  My sister’s hands cover her open mouth as she watches the situation with wide-eyed dismay. My father, ever the quiet one who doesn’t ever want to cause a scene, steps around my mother, picking up her dropped bags on his way to the picnic table. He places the presents next to the other ones and, with a heavy sigh, takes a seat on the bench.

  My mother stands unwavering in front of the entrance, unaware or either just not caring that she’s in everyone’s way. The place on my back where Kris’s hand had been suddenly feels cold.

  “I’m sorry,” Kris says, making eye contact with my mom and then glancing at the rest of the group.

  “Don’t apologize—” I begin, but he squeezes my elbow in an oddly reassuring way and then slips off his roller skates and drops them on the front counter on his way out the door. The second the door closes behind him, my mother unleashes the wrath of hell on me.

  “How long has this been going on?” as she stomps to the table and slams her purse down in front of Dad.

  “How dare you do this to me and your father. And to your brother,” said with a vehemence that makes everyone’s skin crawl.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” This one pierces straight into my soul.

  “What’s wrong with you, Mom?” I’m vaguely aware that we’re making a scene, but this is the sort of situation in life where you have one chance to stand up for what is right, for what is good, or you will never forgive yourself. I have enough regrets in life and I don’t need another one.

  “Excuse me?” she interrupts. “Did you forget who he is and what he did to you?”

  Instead of yelling back at her, I keep my voice calm. “How could I forget? Why would you even ask me that? Do you think so little of me that you can’t even fathom that if I make the choice to be with Kris then there must be something going on that you don’t know about? Do you think I’m an idiot?” I pull off my skates and let them fall to the floor. I grab my shoes and swing my purse over my shoulder. “You may think something is wrong with me, but something is wrong with you if think I would forgive him without a good reason. Thanks for asking me what it was before you jumped to conclusions.”

  Cat tries to jump in here, but I ignore her, walking in socked feet straight across the room and out the front doors, without a glance back in their direction.

  The driver’s seat of Kris’s truck is empty when I get there, and although it’s completely irrational, the thought that maybe he just disappeared into thin air begins to freak me out. But then I see the dropped tailgate and walk around to the back of the truck. Kris lies on his back in the bed of the truck, supporting his head with his hands as he stares at the sky.

  “You didn’t leave,” I say as I drop my stuff on the tailgate and crawl up to sit next to him. “Thank you.”

  His head rolls to the side and gives me a pained smile. “I’ll leave if you need me to.”

  I shake my head. “Screw this place. Let’s go somewhere.”

  Kris drives and I ride. We don’t talk much but that’s okay because I know we’re both waiting until we reach our destination. The silence is exactly what we need right now. He takes us down the back roads so far out from the city limits that I think we end up on the back roads that lead to the back roads. There are no streetlights this far out, so the only visibility comes from the truck’s headlights, the moon in the sky and the occasional firefly.

  He pulls off a gravel road, steering the truck into a grassy pathway that leads to the sand. We’re on the beach across from the west side of Sterling Island. I only know this because the island shimmers across the water from us, the tiny lights of downtown glowing in the sky.

  We park on the sand and he lowers the tailgate again. He pulls out two massive beach towels and spreads them out in the bed of the truck. He lies back, using a balled up hoodie as a pillow and I join him, lying on his chest. I try not to think about how the black and white towels have a hot pink damask print on them and that’s the sort of towel only a woman would buy. Is he lying under the stars with me on a pair of towels his ex-girlfriend picked out?

  “These are nice towels,” I say. I hate myself for bringing it up. He’s with me and I should just accept that and get over it. I’m the one who had a boyfriend not long ago—it’s not like I have any room to talk.

  “My mom gave them to me. She had a coupon and got them on sale and bragged to me for like ten minutes about how much they originally cost and how cheap she got them.”

  Ugh. I’m an idiot.

  Also, this conversation is going nowhere.

  “Kris, we have to talk about what just happened. I’m so sorry my mother said those things.”

  He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “No, you don’t need to apologize. I deserved what she said.”

  “She’s just angry,” I say, pulling up on my elbows. He stares at the sky but I kiss his cheek and he turns toward me. “I’ll tell her about the letter and she’ll realize you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

  “And what about Tyler? What will she realize about that?”

  I swallow.

  Kris sits up, sliding to the end of the tailgate and swinging his legs off the side. He runs his hands through his hair in frustration and then his shoulders slump as he stares at the ground. I crawl to the tailgate and sit next to him. I can’t think of a single fucking thing to say that would be appropriate so I stay quiet and lean my hea
d against his shoulder.

  Kris clears his throat. “She’ll never forgive me, Del. And you shouldn’t expect her to.”

  “That’s—” I begin but he cuts me off.

  “You wouldn’t have forgiven me either if we weren’t in love.”

  I stiffen my jaw but I don’t respond. He continues, “If we weren’t dating back then and I was just some guy who accidently killed your brother, you would hate me. That’s how your mom feels and she should feel that way. It’s my fault. I hate myself every day for it, but that doesn’t make it any less my fault.”

  “I don’t care, Kris. You’re right, I do love you. I loved you before Tyler and I love you after him. I don’t care how I would feel if things were different between us, because they aren’t.” I put my hand on his heart and he covers it with his own hand. “You’re my missing piece, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

  He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. “Tyler was my best friend. Hell, I loved him even more because he introduced me to you. I miss him just as much as everyone else does.”

  I smile at the memories of Ty and Kris playing football in the backyard before I had been officially introduced to Kris. I’d sit on my bed watching him out the window as I developed the biggest crush ever. “I talked to Tyler the other day,” I say. A cool breeze sweeps across my face and I glance to the heavens, almost expecting to see my brother sitting on a cloud. “I don’t know why I look for him up here,” I say as I stare at the stars. “I know I won’t see him, but that’s okay because I can feel him.”

  “You talk to him too?” Kris asks.

  I shrug. “It was the other day after we had kissed and I felt so guilty about it I drove all the way to his grave and just sat there and poured my heart out.”

  Kris studies me with a look of…appreciation? …adoration? I continue, “I asked him to give me a sign if it was okay for me to like you.”

  Kris laughs and shakes his head as he looks at the sky, as if he can’t believe what I just said. “Hey!” I slap his arm. “Don’t make fun of me! I was having a crisis of conscious.”