Trying It All

by Christi Barth

  “Come on, the elephants are waiting.”

  Just because he wanted to spend the day—and night—with Summer didn’t mean he was giving up on his quest to somehow get out of meeting her parents. “I’ll bet that if you asked the next twenty people who walk by, they’d all say this is nuts. To do the parental meet-and-greet so soon. Go on. Do an informal poll. And if all twenty agree, how about we cancel on your parents?”

  —

  Geez. Desperation rolled off Riley in thick waves. Worse than flop sweat. Which, come to think of it, he probably had, too. Summer wanted to take pity on him. But she wouldn’t. She had to take a stand. Because this was how she lived her life. Spur-of-the-moment. Doing whatever struck her fancy. And if they were going to be together, for a few days or weeks or even months, Riley had to respect that. Understand it.

  Looking around, she spotted a bench by the life-sized bronze sculpture of a sloth bear with a cub sliding off of its back. Taking Riley’s hand, she led him to it. Sat down and waited until he did, too. She toyed with the oversized bow at the waist of her sage-colored shorts.

  “Would you like to know why I’m insisting we see my parents today?”

  “Yes.” Riley threw up his hands. “If there’s a rational reason behind this, please share it.”

  “I don’t want to miss the opportunity to see Mom and Dad. To hug them. Because they could be dead tomorrow.”

  The frustration-fueled tightness at the corners of his eyes changed to deep grooves of concern, mirrored down around his mouth. “Jesus, what’s wrong with them?”

  “Nothing, right now,” she admitted. Hurrying on, Summer added, “But they could still be dead tomorrow. So could you. So could I.”

  “That’s fucking fatalistic.” Riley almost spat the words at her. Clearly he wasn’t in the mood for what he had always termed her mystical mumbo-jumbo, granola-headed way of looking at the world.

  But she had to make him see it her way. Maybe not buy into it fully, but at least see it. For once. “It isn’t. It’s freeing.” Riley had been surprisingly forthcoming in sharing his tragic story with her. Turnabout was fair play. “What did you learn in college?”

  “You mean my major? Mechanical engineering.”

  “Well, I learned that no matter how many plans you make, no matter how excited you are to ace your French test and then sneak some beer at the Sig Ep party and flirt with the guy who always smiles across the dining hall at you? It doesn’t matter. Because there’s a chance that three gunmen will go on a rampage at your school.” Her fingers tightened, jerked at the bow until the ends came all the way through. “That a volley of gunfire will shatter the window and you’ll just sit there, wondering what the heck is happening. Until Lillian Chang falls over sideways, out of her desk, into a bloody heap on the floor.”

  “Jesus, Summer. Stop.” His hand had a vise grip on her bare thigh. “You don’t have to—”

  “I do,” she said swiftly, cutting him off. Summer’s gaze cut up to meet his green eyes. The green of moss on a rock. The green of ferns and foliage underneath tall forest trees. It was a soothing green, one that could suck her in, give her peace. So Summer looked away. “I have to tell you, and you have to listen. You have to not just hear the words, but truly listen to what I’m saying. Or it won’t be worth it.”

  “Okay.”

  “When Lillian fell, it jolted the rest of us into action. Into realizing this was really happening. Then a second round of gunfire came through the window. A bullet hit me. Here.” She touched her chest. “Then another, here.” Let her hand drift down to the divot that was the scar in her belly, then swing up to the third scar high up on her arm. “It hurt.”

  “I’ll bet.” Riley took her hand. Held on tight with both of his and didn’t say anything else.

  No, she wasn’t stating the obvious. Summer needed to let him know how awful, how breath-stealingly horrific every second had been. “You watch TV shows, and lots of times they show a victim immediately going into shock. Or an action hero who keeps running as though that bullet didn’t register as anything more than a mosquito bite. But it hurt so much, Riley. Every breath hurt. My lung was collapsing. My diaphragm wasn’t strong enough to push air in and out, because the bullet nicked it. I couldn’t even try to hold the wounds, to stop the blood from spurting out, because of the bullet to my arm.”

  Therapists said the memory of the pain would dull over time. They’d promised. They’d pointed to the oft-repeated, much-chronicled fact that the pain of labor blurred, faded for women. That it was a natural occurrence so they’d be willing to have another kid.

  Nothing had faded for Summer. Sitting here, now, with the sun shining and toddlers laughing contagiously and some unknown animals in the enclosure behind them chittering, she felt it all over again. She felt each fiery pulse. Each bone-deep ache. Each moment of agony that had ticked away so fucking slowly.

  It was why she never told the story. To anyone. Bad enough these moments resurrected themselves in her nightmares. Or when there was yet another mass shooting all over the news. Summer preferred not to dip back into the memories of those days.

  But she wanted Riley to know what she’d gone through. What she’d felt. What she’d thought.

  “What did you do?” His low voice jerked Summer out of her head, out of the memory of searing pain, back to the roughness of the stone bench beneath her legs. Back to the solidness of Riley’s body against her back. Apparently he’d shifted to physically brace her; Summer hadn’t even noticed. But she was so glad for the wall of warmth supporting her now.

  “I wondered how long it would take to die.”

  “I’ve had that conversation with myself.”

  “I’ll bet,” she echoed his words with a faint smile. “Except your ordeal stretched out for days. I knew I would die. Soon. Fifteen minutes, maybe. I felt the blood pooling in my body and so much outside, soaking my clothes. So I knew it’d be soon. And honestly, it hurt so much I wanted it to be even sooner.”

  “I get it. You didn’t give up. You acceped the inevitable.”

  He did get it. Summer’s parents most decidedly had not when she’d told them the story. Which had made her decide to not share it with the army of therapists she saw in the aftermath. “Chloe grabbed me. Under my arms. Which hurt even more. But I couldn’t even swear at her. Couldn’t beg her to leave me there. She pulled me out while the gunfire was still ricocheting through the classroom. She dragged me to Mr. Metcalf’s desk and stuffed me under it while she tried to barricade the door. That’s when I realized Mr. Metcalf was dead, just off to the side. Looking at me, but not looking at me. He freaked me out.”

  Still did. It was why Summer hadn’t risked watching a single episode of The Walking Dead. No matter how much everyone she knew raved about it. She’d stared a dead person in the face. Repeating that just wasn’t on her to-do list.

  “The things you saw…it was too much for anyone to endure. To process.”

  “Other kids were crying. A few were screaming. That stopped when more gunfire, from a different shooter, came through the crack left in the door. Chloe tied a tourniquet on my arm.”

  Riley rubbed a hand right over the spot. “Which hurt even more?”

  “Exactly. She took off her socks—I give her new pairs every year on her birthday and Christmas—and pressed them against my chest wound. Even put a textbook on top for pressure. There was so much blood that she didn’t even realize I’d been shot a third time. So much blood that I didn’t realize she’d been shot, too.”

  Summer leaned her head back against his chest. Closed her eyes and let the warmth of the sun soak into her skin. “I couldn’t handle wet things on my body for a long time after. If I got caught in a rainstorm, I’d have a panic attack. I’d go right back to that moment when the blood stuck my clothes to me.”

  “Is that why you made me skinny-dip?”

  His question—and her answering laughter—caught Summer by surprise. She would’ve put money on nothing in the
world teasing a laugh out of her during this conversation. How did Riley know that the break in intensity was exactly what she needed? Especially when she hadn’t known it herself?

  “I’m over that unpleasant flashback loop now. I made you skinny-dip because I had a feeling you were hiding something…impressive…under those trunks.”

  He whispered, his breath fanning the lock of hair dangling in front of her ear. “Guilty as charged.”

  “Funny how you’re the least smug person I’ve ever met—until we discuss your sexual prowess. Then your head becomes as big as a water tower.”

  “Which head?”

  That unleashed more laughter. More cleansing laughter, that left Summer able to finish. “My life never flashed before me, but I couldn’t speak. I felt Chloe holding my hand and counted each heartbeat, wondering what number I’d get to before I stopped. Then I passed out. The doctors said I died on the operating table. Was gone for one minute and eleven seconds. I woke up in a hospital bed two days later.”

  Riley’s arms tightened around her. “I’m so very glad that you did.”

  They sat like that for a long while, her hands on his, clasped over her belly, breathing together in sync. The tension drained out of her, and she was hit yet again by the realization of how very safe it felt in Riley’s arms. This was the first time she’d told the story of the shooting without bursting into tears. Just his presence steadied her.

  She craved more of it, more of him. Which was why Riley’s acknowledgment was so vital. This was Summer’s explanation of her being. Her very essence. If he wanted to be with her, Riley had to accept it. It wasn’t an ultimatum. It just was.

  Licking dry lips—and being thankful for her surprisingly dry eyes—Summer said, “I wasn’t heroic, like you after your crash. I didn’t work to save myself. I couldn’t. There was literally nothing I could do in that classroom but feel my life ebb away. After, though? I could do anything I wanted. I could do everything. I had to do everything.”

  “Getting the feeling I know where this is headed.” The wry humor in his voice didn’t even make Summer pause.

  “ ‘Never put off for tomorrow what you can do today.’ Thomas Jefferson said that.” Pushing out of Riley’s embrace, Summer twisted to face him. “It’s my motto now. Because the biggest lesson I learned in college is that there is no guarantee of tomorrow. I have to grab every opportunity, every moment, every idea, every person, every experience. In case I don’t get the chance again.”

  After a long—maybe too long—moment, he sucked in air through his teeth. “It’s still no excuse for jaywalking.”

  “I never said it was,” Summer sassed back. “Let’s call jaywalking…more efficient. That should resonate with you.”

  “We’ll never agree on that one.”

  “We don’t have to, Riley. We don’t have to agree on a lot of things. But you have to tell me that you understand.”

  He pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. “What I understand is that you are heroic, Summer. You chose to turn a horrifying, life-altering tragedy into the fuel for your optimism and spirit. I hate that this happened to you. I hate the pain and the panic and what had to be months of rehab you suffered through.” Riley bracketed her face in those big hands. “But it turned you into this magnificent, joyous, enthusiastic, relentlessly happy woman. I’m rocked to my core by what you suffered. And I’m equally rocked—hell, the ground’s shifted beneath my feet constantly since we got together—by who you are now.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks at his words. It also filled her heart. “So that means…”

  Standing, he held out one hand. “It means we’d better hurry to see the elephants before your parents get here. Just promise you won’t tell them about the skinny-dipping.”

  “No promises.”

  Summer didn’t make promises to men. She rarely made them at all, being of the belief that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t absolutely swear to stick to them. Riley, though…

  Riley made her want to promise things.

  He made her want to believe in promises. For the first time in a very long time.

  Chapter 16

  Riley cupped his hand over his ear, trying to drown out the sound of thousands of commuters changing trains at rush hour. “Mom, this isn’t a great time. I’m getting off the Metro.”

  “This can’t wait, Riley. Your father and I need to talk to you. It is of the utmost importance that we do it immediately.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that today,” he muttered. After talking—no: being talked at by the Director—he’d had his fill of important conversations. It only took one to ruin the whole day. “Unless one of you is on the way to the hospital? I’m gonna say this can wait until tomorrow.”

  “It can’t,” his father snapped back crisply.

  He stared up at the concrete, cross-vault ceiling where three different subway lines converged. All these people—every damn one of whom seemed intent on banging into his briefcase—going someplace. With intent. With excitement or relief or yeah, sadness. Whereas Riley didn’t want to go anywhere. He just wanted to put his back to the wall, slide down to the floor, and hide. According to spy movies, the middle of a big crowd was a great place to hide.

  Too bad it wasn’t working for him.

  “Okay. So which one of you is bleeding and/or having a heart attack?”

  “Don’t be a smart aleck, son. This is serious.”

  “As a heart attack?” The minute he said the words, Riley regretted them. His parents weren’t known for their humor on a good day. This was most decidedly not a good day.

  “Riley Kevin Ness, you need to settle down and pay attention.”

  Ooh. They’d played the middle-name card. Maybe it really was serious. Maybe someone was sick. He pushed through the turnstile and took the escalator steps two at a time. “What’s this call about?”

  “We heard you turned down an assignment over the weekend. Which is not like you.”

  “I didn’t turn it down. I just didn’t jump…” His voice trailed off. “How do you know that? How on earth would you possibly know that I didn’t take it? And then let’s top that off with a liberal dose of why would you care?”

  “A concerned colleague reached out to me.”

  Riley had to state the obvious. Because his brain was having trouble wrapping around this info. “You don’t work at the NTSB, Dad. You don’t have any colleagues there.”

  “I have friends in every sector of the government. Did you really think I’d leave you to founder in that pitiful excuse for a job without someone watching over you?”

  Too bad he’d made it out of the station. Because he desperately wanted the satisfaction of tossing his phone onto the tracks and watching a train zoom over it. Instead, Riley white-knuckled its edges. “I don’t need to be watched. Kind of resent the hell out of it, in case you’re wondering. I’m doing just fine. Saving lives, making a difference, getting promoted.”

  “That’s why we’re calling. My, uh, colleague mentioned you passing up an assignment as a lead-in to the fact you were offered a promotion today. A promotion you did not accept. That’s unacceptable, son.”

  After a lifetime of not living up to parental expectations—no matter how hard he tried—Riley knew that playing defense wouldn’t get him anywhere. So he went on the offensive. “You really want to talk unacceptable, Dad? How about you keeping tabs on me like I’m still in a Cub Scout uniform. You thinking that you have any say whatsoever in what goes on at my workplace.”

  “Don’t yell at your father. We only want what is best for you.”

  No. They only wanted what was best for reflected glory onto them. His wishes, his happiness, never seemed to make it onto their list of priorities. “Look, if I needed advice, I’d come to you guys. But I don’t. This is my decision. One that I haven’t yet made, by the way.”

  “There’s no decision to be made. This would get you out of the highway division and put you in the far-higher
-visibility aviation division. You’d have clout. People would know your name. If you turn this down, it won’t be offered again.”

  “Yup.” He pushed through the turnstile with his hip. “That’s how it works.”

  “Do not be so dismissive.”

  “I’m not going to fight with you about this. But I am going to ask you to call off your watchdog. Or I’ll root him out myself, cause a scene, and embarrass the hell out of all of you. Before you ask, yes, that is a threat. Have a good night.”

  Riley turned onto F Street. Saw the stone edifice of the U.S. Treasury in front of him. Thought about how satisfying it’d be to hurl the phone against the stone walls. Which was weird. Two destructive impulses in two minutes. Not his usual MO. Maybe Summer was rubbing off on him. Making him aware of his primal impulses.

  That’d sure suck.

  He didn’t need to be all churned up and volatile. He needed, in point of fact, to stay the exact opposite. Calm, reasoned, implacable. That was what he needed to do his job. And it was what Riley needed in order to know that he had complete control over his emotions. The urge to hurl a phone today could turn into a panic attack tomorrow.

  Or maybe he’d just had his buttons pushed one too many times today. It was why he’d called the ACSs and circled the wagons for happy hour. Everyone had bad days. Everyone felt pushed to their limit. He’d hang with his friends. Throw back a couple Negronis—because it was classic-cocktail month at the POV bar—and just relax.

  Crossing the black and white swirls of the W’s lobby carpet, Riley spotted Josh and Logan. They must’ve split a cab from the house. He waited for them, one hand on the shiny red sofa so they couldn’t miss him.

  “Hey, Ry. What’s with the call for happy hour? Not that I’d ever turn down a drink and the chance to cruise for a hottie, but we all hung out last night after soccer. Remember this one”—Josh bent a thumb toward Logan—“bitching about not getting sex with Brooke?”

  “False. I complained that I wouldn’t get to spend as much time having sex with her. Don’t doubt for a second that I scored last night. She can’t keep her hands off me,” Logan finished smugly.