Gia had looked so upset that I’d agreed to run her back down to Ocean City before I headed for the airport to catch my flight south. Going there again was way down on my list of things I wanted to do, along with a root canal and prostate exam, but Gia needed a ride, and neither Zelda nor Tucker were answering their phones or knocks at their doors.
For a little bit, I thought I might get away with just being her wheels. I’d pulled into the driveway and stayed in the car as Gia jogged up to the door, knocked and went inside.
Perfect, I’d thought. She’ll come out with the phone, we’ll leave, and I won’t have to see either of them.
But just as I began to relax a little, the screen door had opened again, and this time it was Quinn who appeared. She was wearing old cut-off denim shorts that were so faded, they were nearly white and a tank top that clung too well to her tits. With a growl, I banged the heel of my hand against the steering wheel.
Quinn hadn’t paused, though. She’d come to the car and opened the passenger side, leaning in the door. I purposely stared straight ahead, out to the beach and the crashing waves, knowing that if I met her eyes, I’d be lost.
“Leo. Can we talk for just a minute? I was going to call you this morning, but then . . . I don’t know. It didn’t seem like a type of conversation to have on the phone.”
“No.” I clenched my jaw. “Just go back inside, Quinn. Haven’t I gone through enough? I played nice yesterday, all during your big day. I smiled big and pretended it was really a fun afternoon. I kept my mouth shut. Can’t I be done now? Or would you like me to roll around in some broken glass, maybe? Just to see if I can still feel anything, or if I’ve gone completely numb.”
I heard her sharp intake of breath. “Leo, please.”
“No.” I opened the car door and jumped out, stalking away, heading for the beach, willing Quinn not to follow me.
But of course she did.
“Just one minute, please. Let me say something. Let me—God, Leo. You don’t think yesterday was hard for me, too? You don’t think I second-guessed myself about a thousand times? You don’t think I’d do anything to make all of this different?”
“Would you?” I whipped around to face her finally. “Would you, really? Because from where I’m sitting, you’re enjoying being Saint Quinn, the selfless best friend who’s making a martyr of herself, sacrificing herself on the altar of her dying friend. This was your choice, Quinn. Yours. No one else made it for you. You can say what you want about Nate asking you, putting you in a position where you had to choose, but goddammit, you made the wrong fucking choice. And everyone can see it. So you woke up with regrets this morning, huh? It’s finally sinking in what you’ve done? Well, you know what, Quinn? That’s just too fucking bad, because I’m done. I’m finished waiting around for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She’d gone pale, her arms wrapped tight around her waist.
“It means just what I said. This is it, Quinn. The end. This is the last you’re going to see of me. You made your decision. Fine. Now you’re going to live with it, and I wish you all the luck in the world. But I can’t stand around, waiting on the sidelines like some pathetic substitute, ready to step in the minute the position’s empty again. I’m more than that. We are more than that. But it turns out I’m the only one who realizes it.”
She’d sunk to the sand then, bowing her head and curling in on herself as she wept. At any other time, I would’ve caved at that point. I would have gone to her, taken her into my arms, soothed her sobs and told her it was all going to be okay.
But this time, I didn’t. I made the hardest, most painful choice I’d made since the last time I’d left her, back in high school, and I walked to the front of the house and got in the car.
Gia was sitting in the passenger seat, her eyes big in her face. She’d been silent as I threw the car into reverse. backed out and then floored it, going way above the speed limit, just fucking daring any cop to stop me.
When we were finally out of Ocean City, she’d laid one tentative hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. I went to get my phone—it was in the kitchen—and when I came back out, she was by the car. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Leo. About everything.”
“Not your fault,” I’d muttered, my eyes glued to the road. “No one’s fucking fault.” And then we’d been quiet the rest of the drive, until I’d dropped her at the apartment she, Zelda and Quinn had shared for the past semester, after which I’d come straight to the airport.
In my pocket, my phone buzzed now with a text reminding me it was nearly time to board the plane. I deleted that one and flipped through other messages, updates and emails. Nothing pressing. After a moment, I gave into the curiosity raised by running into Dana Jenkins and scrolled to the only social media app still on my phone, opened it and typed in a name.
Sarah Jenkins
Within seconds, it was clear that my ex-girlfriend’s recent life hadn’t been as eventful as mine. She popped up quickly, her smiling profile picture beaming at me. None of her privacy settings were up, and I was able to see a few posts, pictures from her graduation and some group shots of her with friends, arms around each other’s necks, beers in their hands . . . typical photos that anyone our age might have. The few pictures from my own graduation were low-key, with just my parents and me. We hadn’t made a big deal about it, since we all had to be back in Jersey for Quinn and Nate’s graduation and wedding.
And come to think of it, we hadn’t really taken any photos at the wedding itself. I remembered Sheri snapping a few of Nate and Quinn, but there weren’t any group shots, probably because most of us wanted to forget that it had ever happened.
Or maybe that was just me.
I ran my thumb over the phone’s screen one more time as I stood up from the bar stool, scrolling until Sarah’s relationship status showed. Single. I wasn’t surprised, since Dana probably would’ve mentioned something to me if her sister was in a serious relationship. Still . . . I hovered over her name, undecided.
What the hell. We were old friends, and now we were going to be living in the same state. It would be weird if I didn’t get in touch and say hello. I hit the message button and tapped out what I hoped sounded casual.
Hey, stranger! Ran into your sister at the airport. I hear we’re going to be state buddies. Let me know if you ever get down to Richmond, and I’ll buy you a drink. Hope all is well.
There. It was done. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, stuck a couple of twenties into the small black folder on the bar and made my way down the concourse to the plane that was going to take me away from Quinn, Nate and all the fucked-up mess they’d made of our lives.
It was time to move on.
The Water is Wide by Karla Bonoff
“. . . and then this set, he takes an hour after lunch. I wrote 1 PM on the box, but you need to make sure if he eats a little later or earlier, he gets the pills exactly one hour later. If it’s any earlier, they can cause stomach upset, but if it’s any later, it can interfere with his later meds.” Sheri shook the plastic medicine box. “Quinn, did you understand that? Do you hear me?”
I jerked my attention back to Nate’s mom, who was frowning at me across the coffee table. In front of her lay the tray of medicines, organized into smaller containers, each labeled with a day of the week, and next to that was a manila folder full of notes about the prescriptions as well as other aspects of Nate’s care.
“Yes.” I struggled to keep my eyes open and my voice clear. “One PM. After lunch. The blue box. Got it.”
“No, not the blue box. The clear box. The blue box is for before breakfast. Remember? B stands for before breakfast.” Sheri was frustrated, and she wasn’t trying to hide it in her tone or her expression.
I bit back a sharp retort. I’d always gotten along well with Sheri Wellman; just like Lisa Taylor, Leo’s mom, she’d been a second mother to me. When Leo, Nate and I were little, we’d obeyed all parents equally, and there were times when any of the
three women—Sheri, Lisa or my own mother—would respond when one of us yelled out for a mom. Sheri had always been frank with me about Nate’s feelings; I remembered her assuring me once, way back in high school, that although Nate was in love with me, it was all right that I didn’t feel the same.
I’d been aware on some level that she’d withdrawn from me a little after Leo and I had begun dating, but she’d been there for my mom and me after my father was killed suddenly. Her support had been steadfast, and I’d never doubted her love. But lately, since Nate and I had moved back to Eatonboro after our two weeks at the shore, she’d been tense and just a little snippy.
I could’ve been snippy right back, or I could’ve shut down. After all, as I would’ve been happy to point out to her, most girls my age weren’t dealing with stuff like this. My friends were all off enjoying their summers while they interviewed for their first real jobs, looked for apartments and got ready to start their post-college lives. Even Gia, who was still so shell-shocked and withdrawn, was getting ready for grad school, and she was interviewing for an assistant’s position at one of the Philadelphia news stations. Zelda was grumpy these days, because although she’d been determined to work for a non-profit farm-to-table group, she was being courted by several large companies. She was scary-smart, my former roommate, even though she tried her best to hide that fact.
I didn’t want to be jealous of my friends. I wanted to be happy for them. I wanted to have time to talk on the phone for hours, going back and forth about which choice was the best. I wanted to take impromptu trips down to the shore with them, stay on the beach until the sun set and then play on the boardwalk until we shut the place down. I wanted to revel in the last weeks of freedom before we officially joined the real adult world of responsibility, rent and jobs.
But instead, I was here, at Sheri and Mark’s house, spending my days and nights with Nate. My husband.
And most of the time, I was consumed with doubt that I’d done the right thing by marrying him.
The stress and effort of keeping up his energy during our two weeks of ‘honeymoon’ had sapped Nate’s shallow reserves, and since we’d been back, he’d slept most of the time. We’d made a trip to see his doctor, who hadn’t had much to say beyond a few recommendations about medication. I’d noticed the man’s eyes linger on me, and there was no way to miss the pity in his gaze. I wondered how much he knew about our odd situation.
Sheri muttered softly to herself now as she counted out more pills into the reminder container. She had lists and folders and reminders set on her phone, making me aware for the first time what it must have been like all these years, keeping Nate as well as he had been. The rest of us had only known a sliver of that worry and weight; we only saw the occasional dosing or a little bit of her anxiety. I hadn’t realized how much it had cost her to let him have a normal life all that time, and some of my resentment ebbed away. After all, Sheri was about to lose her only child. I couldn’t begin to imagine how she was feeling.
“Quinn, if you can’t handle this, then I’ll continue to be in charge of Nate’s medications. It might be easier that way. I’m used to how everything has to happen.” She smiled, but the sentiment didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“No, Mom.” Nate spoke up at last from the couch, where he was half-lying, half-propped up. “Quinn needs to know how to do this so that you and Dad can have some freedom. Besides, there may be times we want privacy, and the last thing I want to do is call for my mom when I’m with my wife.”
I flushed, embarrassed that Nate would go so far as to make Sheri believe there was more between us than there really was. I understood that Nate wanted the illusion of a real marriage, for the little bit of time he had left. It was important for him to believe that we were really in love and that we could be a normal couple. The truth was that aside from our wedding night, when I’d allowed him to touch me and when I’d given him as much pleasure as I could, not much had happened. Down at the shore, in my family’s beach house, we’d shared a bed, and Nate had held me every night as he fell asleep. But I’d never made a move to offer more, and Nate hadn’t pushed me.
Since we’d been back here, I sure as hell wasn’t going to go down that road. Nate’s bedroom couldn’t accommodate the special bed his doctor had recommended to make it easier for him to breathe at night, so instead we slept in what used to be the living room. Mark had moved the coffee table and one love seat out into the garage and pushed the sofa against the far wall. Nate’s adjustable bed—which was basically just a glorified hospital bed—took up most of the room. Sheri had managed to squeeze a small dresser so that I had two drawers to keep my clothes. She used the rest of it to accommodate Nate’s equipment and meds.
Mark had suggested that I could sleep in Nate’s bed, in his room, which seemed to make sense to me. But Nate was stubborn, and he wanted me with him at night. He said that if I was going to sleep in his room, so would he, at which point Sheri had gotten upset. I’d solved the problem by offering to sleep on the sofa, which made both Nate and Sheri happy.
Unfortunately, I was sacrificing both comfort and quality slumber. The living room was open to the rest of the house, and since Nate was usually asleep before ten, I’d lie in the darkness, listening to Sheri and Mark moving around the kitchen and den, talking and watching television. When I did finally drop off, I slept so lightly that the slightest noise woke me up. Add to that the fact that the sofa was narrow and hard, and I was surviving in a constant state of near-exhaustion.
The only thing that kept me going was the light in Nate’s eyes when he looked at me, and the absolute peace on his face whenever we were together. I knew with certainty that I was giving him the best last months of his life. I was allowing him to live the dream he’d always desired; if I was sacrificing was a little sleep and happiness, that was a small enough price to pay.
Nate had been trying to talk his parents into living as normally as they could for now, pointing out that he had a wife who could take some of the burden of his care from their shoulders. Most of that was completely unreasonable; Sheri and Mark were far more capable than I could ever hope to be, and there was no way I could manage all of Nate’s needs by myself. I didn’t have the experience or the strength. Mark and Sheri knew this, of course, but like me, they were walking a fine line between appeasing their son and making sure he was as comfortable and well as possible.
But this morning, Nate had insisted that his mom and dad should plan to go to the Taylors’ annual Fourth of July picnic. It hurt me to even think about that event. Our three families had, over the twenty-plus years of our friendship, fallen into a routine of holidays and celebrations. Easter and Labor Day were at our house, Thanksgiving and Memorial Day were at the Wellmans’ place, and Halloween and the Fourth of July were observed at the Taylors’ home. Sheri had said earlier in the week that of course we wouldn’t go—and now I was included in that ‘we’, apparently—since Nate couldn’t be exposed to that many people with his weakened immune system.
Nate had other ideas. He’d told his mom that there wasn’t any reason she and his dad couldn’t go. He’d pointed out that they could enjoy themselves and then bring back plates of food for us.
For a rebellious moment, as he’d talked to his parents, I’d wanted to interrupt and tell them all that I wanted to go to the picnic. That they should stay home and deal with Nate, and I’d bring back doggy bags for everyone. I was pitifully desperate to get out of the house, and the thought of being with healthy people who didn’t work so damn hard to keep up a veneer of cheer made me want to cry.
Before I could open my mouth to say anything, Mark had taken his son’s side, persuading Sheri that it would be good for them to see their friends and for Nate and I to have a few hours alone. I’d cringed inwardly, but I’d said nothing aloud.
I could tell, though, that now Sheri was having second thoughts. The instructions she was so insistent on me learning were for more than just today. Nate wanted me to be familiar wit
h everything, so that we wouldn’t be dependent on his parents. I thought it was a ridiculous idea, given that we were living in their house, but as in everything else, I was doing more nodding and smiling than asserting myself.
“Look at this list.” Sheri slid a thin sheet of paper over to me. “This is a comprehensive table that has all of Nate’s medications on it. If you forget something or you’re not sure, you can check here.”
I tried to follow her finger as it moved along the columns, but my eyes were gritty and heavy from lack of sleep. I could feel them sagging more and more until—
“Do you understand that, Quinn?”
I attempted a nod. “Uh huh. And this is in the folder, right?”
“No. Weren’t you listening at all? It’s taped to the front of the cabinet, where all the medicines are, except for the ones that have to be refrigerated. You’ve got to pay attention, Quinn. This is important.”
Whether it was what she said or the edge in her tone, I lost it, dropping my head into my hands and sobbing.
“God, Mom. What did you do?” On the couch, Nate struggled to sit up.
“Hey, what’s happening?” Mark appeared in the doorway, frowning. “Why is Quinn crying?”
“Mom yelled at her.” Nate glared at his mother.
“I didn’t yell.” Sheri threw up her hands. “But this is important. I don’t see how I’m supposed to feel comfortable leaving you, Nate, with someone who can’t be bothered to keep your medications straight. To pay attention when I’m just trying to—”
“Sheri.” Mark spoke in a level, careful voice. “Come on, now. Calm down.”
“Let’s be realistic here.” Nate sounded weary. “If I miss some meds, it’s not going to make much difference either way, is it? So we don’t need to make it a big deal.”
The Keeping Score Box Set Page 52
