Disclaimer: I do Not own The Truth about Forever or any of its characters they are the property of Sarah Dessen and her publishing company The Penguin Group.
Chapter 4
Monica and Kristy arrived early the next morning, thankfully, now they could start the book early. Delia took the book and got comfortable in her arm chair and started reading.
Chapter 3: Delia read
I couldn't sleep.
'Me either,' Wes thought bitterly. He had been up all night thinking about her. About all the similarities between the two of them, and about how Jason was irritating the hell out of him and he didn't know why. He had Becky, whom he cared about a lot; he should not be worried about some girl he barely knows. Right?
I was starting my job at the library the next day, and I had that night-before-the-first-day-of-school feeling, all jumpy and nervous.
"Why? It's the library," Kristy said incredulously.
"It's still the first day, she just wants to do well," Delia shrugged.
But then again, I'd never been much of a sleeper. That was the weird thing about that morning when my dad came to get me. I'd been out. Sound asleep.
"Maybe she wasn't meant to see it," Delia mused quietly.
Since then, I had almost a fear of sleeping, sure that something bad would happen if I ever allowed myself to be fully unconscious, even for a second.
"I was like that for a while," Wes muttered to himself, thinking about all of his sleepless nights after his mom died.
"Both of you needed to let go," Delia said looking into the sad faces of Bert and Wes, "and she needs to now."
As a result, I only allowed myself to barely doze off. When I did sleep enough to dream, it was always about running.
At this Wes smiled, running was one of his favorite things to do to clear his mind. He had many dreams about running. Feeling the air rising with him, the world turning into a blur on both sides. Just one more push and he'd be free, free falling into the sky, just like flying.
My dad loved to run. He'd had me and my sister doing it from a young age with the Lakeview Zips, and later he was always dragging us to the 5ks he ran, signing us up for the kids' division. I remember my first race, when I was six, standing there at the starting line a few rows back, with nothing at my eye level but shoulders and necks.
"Aww, she must have been adorable," Delia smiled looking at the book with a warm expression.
I was short for my age, and Caroline had of course pushed her way to the front, stating clearly that at ten-almost-eleven, she didn't belong in the back with the babies.
"She sounds just like Kristy," Bert snickered.
"I do not sound like that!" Kristy glared at him.
The starting gun popped and everyone pushed forward, the thumping of sneakers against asphalt suddenly deafening, and at first it was like I was carried along with it, my feet seeming hardly to touch the ground.
"Exactly!" Wes whispered excitedly, looking intently at the book.
The people on the sides of the streets were a blur, faces blowing by: all I could focus on was the ponytail of the girl in front of me, tied with a blue grosgrain ribbon. Some big boy bumped me hard from the back, passing, and I had a cramp in my side by the second length, then I heard my dad. "Macy! Good girl! Keep it up, you're doing great!"
Everyone was looking at the book with sad eyes, her father had been a really sweet man, it was horrible that she had to lose him the way she did.
I knew by the time I was eight years old that I was fast, faster than the kids I was running with. I knew even before I started to pass the bigger kids in the first length, even before I won my first race, then every race.
"Wow," Bert said in awe, "She won her first race, and every race after that, she must have been ridiculously fast."
"I know," Wes mumbled completely impressed, he wondered what her best time was. Then, a crazy idea ran through his mind, he wondered if he could get her to run with him sometime. He banished the thought immediately from his mind, before he got himself into trouble.
When I was really going, the wind whistling in my ears, I was sure that if I wanted to, it only another burst of breath, one more push,
Wes held his breath waiting for the end of her sentence, he couldn't believe that she would feel the same way about running as him, almost his exact thoughts were mirrored in hers. He was shocked, but at the same time he realized that this could become a serious problem.
And I could fly. By then it was just me running. My sister had lost interest around seventh grade, when she discovered her best event was not, as we'd all thought, the hundred meters, but in fact flirting with the boy's track team afterwards.
"Bert, if you want to survive to read the end of this book you will shut your mouth right now," Kristy smiled deadly at him. Bert swallowed hard and turned toward Wes with a pleading glance.
"Don't even look at me, I am not going to protect you this time," Wes smirked at him.
She still liked to run, but didn't see much point anymore if she didn't have someone chase after her. So it was me and my dad who went to meets, who woke up early to do our standard five mile loop,
"Now doesn't this sound familiar," Kristy smiled condescendingly at Wes.
Wes rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored her. He knew he ran ever night, almost like a second religion. He got that they had a ridiculous amount of things in common, but he couldn't deal with it. He was already constantly reminding himself that he had a girlfriend. He was in enough trouble as it was, without anyone else needing to point it out for him.
Who compared T-band strains and bad knee horror stories over ice packs and PowerBars on Sunday mornings. It was the best thing we had in common, the one part of him that was all mine. Which was why, that morning, I should have been with him.
"She can't blame herself for that," Delia sighed sadly, "I'm convinced she wasn't meant to be there, and I'm sure it was better that she wasn't she couldn't have done anything to help. She would have just ended up having nightmares about it."
Everyone nodded their heads in agreement. Bert understood better than anyone, he shuddered at the thought of the nightmares he had had after their mother died. It still hurt to think of her face the last couple of time he had visited her at the hospital. Delia was right, she was lucky she was there to see him collapse.
From that moment on, running changed for me. It didn't matter how good my times were, what records I'd planned to break just days before. There was one time I would never beat, so I quit.
Wes didn't know why, but it broke his heart to hear.
That's a lie, he knew exactly why, he just refused to admit it. He refused to admit that hearing that she quit, made him feel sad for her, and made him wish he could fix it for her and get her to run again, with him. Overall,, he was ashamed that even though he had a girlfriend, he was upset because he could never get this girl to run with him. He put his head in his hands, Delia hurried up and read on.
By alternating the familiar route that took me past the intersection of Willow and McKinley whenever I went out, and looping one extra block instead, I'd been able to avoid the place where everything happened: it was easy, really, to never drive past it again.
"She needs to stop avoiding what happened and just face it, or she'll never let it go," Kristy whispered. Everyone just stared at her. "What? I can be insightful when I want to be."
Everyone chuckled sadly and nodded their heads in agreement with her words.
My friends from the track team were a bit harder. They'd stuck close to me, loyal, at the funeral and the days afterwards, and while they were disappointed when the coach told them I quit, they were even more hurt when I started to avoid them in the halls.
"Of course they were, they cared about you, more than that Jason anyway," Kristy groaned.
The mention of Macy's boyfriend sent Wes' teeth on edge, he couldn't say anything because it would tip them off more than they already were. Not that there was much he could say, HE HAD A GIRLFRIEND. He wondered how long that logic would still work for him.
Nobody seemed to understand that the only person that I could count on not to bring up my dad, not to feel sorry for me, or make The Face-other than my mother-was me. So I narrowed my world, cutting out everyone who'd known me or tried to befriend me. It was the only thing I knew to do.
"No you need to get over it, but you don't want to face what happened," Delia said honestly.
I packed up all my trophies and ribbons, piling them neatly into boxes. It was like that part of my life, my running life, was just gone. It was almost too easy, for something I once thought had meant everything to me.
"It does, you just put it on hold," Kristy shrugged.
"I bet she'd be happy again if she let herself," Bert agreed solemnly.
So now I only ran in my dreams. In them, there was always something awful about to happen, or there was something I'd forgotten, and my legs felt like jelly, not strong enough to hold me. Whatever else varied, the ending was the same, a finish line I could never reach, no matter how many miles I put behind me. "Oh, right." Bethany looked up at me through her slim, wire framed glasses. "You're starting today."
"Something tells me I'm not going to like this chick," Kristy groaned.
"I think these are those mean chicks she mention in the first chapter," Bert smirked.
"Yep, I'm not going to like them," Kristy nodded her head.
I just stood there, holding my purse, suddenly entirely too aware of the nail I'd broken as I unfastened my seat belt in the parking lot.
"Oh no, do not let yourself get intimidated by those bitches," Kristy shrieked.
"Kristy!" Delia huffed at her. Delia hated when we cursed, she said it wasn't lady like or gentlemanly, and it certainly wasn't professional (we can blame Bert for that mishap during a catering job).
I'd put so much time into getting dressed for this first day, ironing my shirt, making my hair perfectly straight, redoing my lipstick twice.
"Hear that," Kristy said eyeing Bert, "when you're going someplace professional, you dress the part."
"Yeah, yeah," Bert said waving her off, "but you take three hour, and we are just going to a party."
"It doesn't matter, when you're going someplace with lots of people you want to look nice," Kristy shrugged.
"Enough, you two, can we read," Wes said impatiently.
"umm-hum," Monica agreed.
Now, though, my nail, ripped across the top, jagged, seemed to defeat everything, even as I tucked it into my palm, hiding it. Bethany pushed back her chair and stood up. "You can sit on the end, I guess," she said, reaching over to unlatch the knee-high door between us holding it open as I stepped through. "Not in the red chair, that's Amanda's. The one next to it."
"Bethany and Amanda, their names alone, make them sound like complete,-" Kristy was cut off by Delia's hormonal death glare. She didn't dare say another word.
"Thanks," I said. I walked, pulling the chair from the desk, then sat down, stowing my purse at my feet. As second later I heard the door squeak open again and Amanda, Bethany's best friend and student council secretary, came in. She was a tall girl with long hair she always wore in a neat braid that hung halfway down her back. It looked so perfect that during long meetings, when my mind wandered from the official agenda, I'd sometimes wondered if she slept in it, or if it was like a clip on tie, easily removed.
Everyone chuckled at that thought, sometimes her thoughts were really amusing.
"I bet she does sleep in it," Kristy rolled her eyes still chuckling.
"Hello Macy," she said coolly, taking a seat in her red chair. She had perfect posture, shoulder's back, chin up. Maybe the brain helped, I thought. "I forgot you were starting today."
"Yeah right!" Kristy snorted, "I don't believe that for a minute, and the way she says they were sitting, makes it sound like they were constipated."
Everyone laughed loudly trying to picture it.
"Um, yeah," I said. They both looked at me, and I was distinctly aware of that um, so base, hanging in the air between us. I said, more clearly, "Yes." If I was working toward perfect-
"That's impossible," Wes said quietly.
Working being the operative word- these girls had already reached it and made maintaining it look effortless. Bethany was a redhead with short hair she wore tucked behind her ears, and had small freckled hands with the nails cut straight across. I'd sat beside her in English, and had always been transfixed when I saw her taking notes: her print was like a typewriter, each letter exact. She was quiet and always composed, while Amanda was more talkative, with a cultured accent
"She sounds stuck up and like she has a stick up her butt," Kristy muttered.
"And who can write like a typewriter?" Bert asked Wes. Wes just shrugged, this didn't sound like someone who was perfect, just someone who was miserable.
She'd picked up from her early years in Paris, where her family had lived while her father did graduate work at the Sorbonne. I'd never seen either of the sporting a shirt with a stain on it, or even a wrinkle. They never used anything but proper English. They were the female Jason's.
"which makes them boring an incredibly bland, like crackers," Kristy said in a matter of fact kind of way. As if she were reporting on the weather. Wes agreed, but was wondering if it was only out of- he stopped himself there. He refused to even think the word.
"Well, it's been really slow so far this summer," Amanda said to me now, smoothing her hands over her skirt. She had long, pale white legs.
"Really, how long, I wonder?" Bert mused quietly. Then got smacked over the back of the head by Wes.
"You are NOT going to have the hot's for two boring girls torturing our friend!" Kristy shouted.
"We don't even really know her yet," Bert shouted back.
"Come on!" Kristy said throwing her hands in the air, rolling her eyes, "We got these books, so it's obvious that, during these books sometime, she is going to come work with us and be our friend, and more than likely she's your brother's future girlfriend."
Kristy pointed at Wes, and everyone's eyes went wide and looked at him. Wes, didn't look at anyone, he kept straight forward and rolled his eyes, "I doubt that, I'm not-" He had started to say he wasn't interested in her, but he knew that was a lie, he tried again," I'm dating Becky!" he said sternly, turning to look out the patio window, this wasn't a lie, he told himself, he was in fact dating Becky.
"Yeah, you hold on to that for a long as you can," Kristy snorted in one of those "fat chance" type voices.
"I will," he smiled back politely. And was going to, for as long as he believed was physically possible. Which wasn't very long seeing as he was already holding on to it by a thread.
"I hope there's enough for you to do." I didn't know what to say to that, so I just smiled my fine-just-fine smile again and turned back to the wall that my desk area faced. Behind me, I could hear them at the clock. It was 9:05. Five hours, fifty-five minutes ago.
"I would die in a place like that for five hours," Bert muttered shuddering at the thought.
By noon, I'd answered only one question, and it concerned the location of the bathroom. (So it wasn't just in my house. Anywhere, I looked like I knew about the toilet, if nothing else.) There'd been a fair amount of activity at the desk: a problem with the copy machine, some inquiries into an obscure periodical, even someone with a question about the online encyclopedia that Jason had specifically trained me to handle.
"I don't understand, I thought she said she only answered one question?" Bert replied confused.
Wes just shrugged at him.
But even if Amanda or Bethany was helping someone else and the person came right to me, one of them jumped up, saying, "I'll be with you in just a second," in a tone that made it clear asking me would be a waste of time.
"I would have walked out and left," Kristy huffed slumping in her seat.
"No that would be just letting them win," Delia sighed.
"But staying there, every day, would just give them plenty of time to make her look like an idiot," Bert grumbled.
The first few times this happened, I'd figured they were just letting me get my feet under me. After a while, though, it was obvious. In their minds, I didn't belong there.
"No, you don't," Kristy smiled happily, we she looked at us, and noticed we were questioning her sanity she added, "She belong with us."
"I agree," Delia smiled taking a big breath.
At noon, Amanda put a sign on the desk that said WILL RETURN AT 1:00 and drew bag from her purse. Bethany followed suit, retrieving an apple and gingko biloba bar from the drawer next to her. "We'd invite you to join us," but we're drilling for our Kaplan class. So just be back here in an hour, okay?" "I can stay, if you want," I said. "And then take my lunch at one, so there's someone here." They both just looked at me, as if I'd suggested I could explain quantum physics while juggling bowling pins.
"They are so rude," Kristy huffed.
"I'm just hoping she'll come to work for us soon," Delia sighed, " they are torturing the poor girl just because they're jealous."
"No," Amanda said, turning to walk out from behind the desk. "This is better." Then they disappeared into the back room, so I picked up my purse and went outside, walking past the parking lot to a bench by the fountain. I took out the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I'd brought, then laid it in my lap and took a few deep breaths. For some reason, I was suddenly sure that I was about to cry.
"They better hope I never meet them," Kristy said darkly glaring at the book with pure hate in her eyes.
I sat on the bench for an hour. Then I threw out my sandwich and went back inside. Even though it was 12:55, Bethany and Amanda were already back at the desk, which made me seem late. As I navigated a path between their chairs to get to my seat, I could feel them both looking at me.
"Take a picture it will last longer," Kristy said, everyone rolled their eyes.
"Really," Bert said raising his eyebrows, "that was older that dirt, in fact I think Jesus said that at the last supper."
Kristy stuck her tongue out at him and motion for Delia to continue reading.
The afternoon dragged. The library was mostly empty, and I suddenly felt like I could hear everything: the buzzing of the fluorescent lights over my head, the squeak of Bethany's chair as she shifted position, the tappet-tap of the online card catalog station just around the corner. I was used to quiet, but this felt sterile, lonely.
"That were people go to die of boredom," Bert winced, "I told you it wasn't safe in libraries Wes."
I could have been working for my mom, and I wondered if I'd made the wrong choice.
"Yes, yes you did," Bert nodded his head.
But this was what I had agreed to. At three o'clock, I pushed my chair back and stood up, then opened up to say my first words in over two hours.
"Wow Bert, in just two hours, Macy was quiet longer than you've been for your entire life," Kristy snickered.
"Shut-up," Bert grumbled sulking into his seat.
Amanda turned her head, her braid sliding down her shoulder. She'd been reading some thick book on the history of Italy, licking her finger with each turn of the page.
"Wow, that girl is so anal," Kristy smirked.
"Oh, right," she said, as Bethany gave me a forced smile. "See you tomorrow." I could feel their gazes right around my shoulder blades as I crossed the reading room and pushed through the glass doors. There, suddenly, was the noise of the world: a car passing, someone laughing in the park across the street, the distant drone of a plane.
"Yes," Bert nodded smiling, "as Martin Luther King Jr. once said "Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty I'm free at last."
"Wow, you're actually right, he did say that," Wes smiled at Bert who just rolled his eyes.
"Well," my mother said, handing me the salad bowl, "if you were supposed to love it, they wouldn't call it work. Right?" "I guess," I said. "It'll get better," she said, in the confident way of someone who has no idea, none at all. "And it's great experience. That's what's really matters." By now, I had been at the library for three days, and things were not improving.
"And they are never going to," Kristy muttered.
"We're skipping days," Bert groaned, then he seemed to rethink it and shrugged, "well if her three days were filled with that library job, I'm glad we skipped it."
"Me too," Wes agreed.
I knew I was doing this for Jason, that it was important to him, but Bethany and Amanda seemed to be pooling their considerable IQ's in a single minded attempt to completely demoralize me. I was trying to keep my emails to Jason upbeat and reassuring, but after day two, I couldn't help but vent a little about Bethany and Amanda and the way they've been treating me. That was even before another dressing down in front of a patron, this time from Bethany, who felt compelled to point out-twice- that, to her trained ear, I'd mispronounced Albert Camus' name while directing a sullen summer school student to the French literature section.
"Is she serious?" Bert said incredulously, "I doubt that guy even cared."
"He didn't, she just wanted to be a know it all," Kristy snickered.
"Cam-oo," she'd said, holding her mouth in that pursed, French way. "Cam-oo," I repeated. I knew I's said it right and wasn't sure why I was letting her correct me. But I was. "No, no." She lifted up her chin again, then fluttered her fingers near her mouth. "Cam-ooo." I just looked at her, knowing no matter how many times I said it, even if I trotted Albert himself up to give it a shot, it didn't matter. "Okay," I said. "Thanks." "No problem," she said, swiveling in her stupid chair, back to Amanda, who smiled at her, shaking her head, before going back to what she was doing.
"They really need to give it a rest," Kristy said shaking her head, "they probably just want her boyfriend."
So it was no wonder that when I got home that day, I was cheered, greatly, to see Jason had written me back.
Wes felt like he got sucker punched to his gut. He knew he shouldn't feel this way, but he couldn't help it.
He knew how impossible those girls were; he would understand. A little reassurance, I thought, opening it with a double-click. Just what I needed. After I scanned the first two lines, though, it was clear that my self-esteem and emotional well-being were, to Jason anyway, secondary.
"I can't believe he would treat her that way, and she would still choose to be with him," Delia murmured incredulously.
"We have to fix this!" Kristy groaned, "I don't have a clue how, without telling her we read and entire book about her life, a total invasion of privacy by the way, but somehow we have to break them up."
"Or," Bert said smiling at Wes, "we could just leave that up to Wes."
Wes just looked down, he had never been more conflicted in his life, he decided right then and there he would leave his decision to marinate until the end of the book. Then he'd decide, and of course Macy would have a say in that as well.
After our last email, her wrote, I'm concerned that you're not putting your full attention into the job. Two full paragraphs about the info desk, but you didn't answer the question I asked you: did the new set of scientific Monthly Anthologies come in? Have you been able to access the tri-county database with my password?
There was a moment of pause; Delia refused to read anymore, everyone just sat in outraged silence. This so-called perfect guy, was too perfect to care, even for a second, about the horrible treating's, by his so-called friends at his JOB, of his OWN girlfriend!
Finally Delia spoke, "Your right Kristy, We have to do something, anything."
Everyone nodded and she finally started reading again.
Then after a couple of reminders about other things it was crucial I attend to, this: If you're having problems with Bethany and Amanda, you should address them directly. There's no place in a working environment for these impersonal issues. He didn't sound like my boyfriend as much as middle management. Clearly I was on my own.
"Good you realized that, now dump him," Kristy smiled hoplessly.
"Honey?" I looked up. Across the table, my mother was looking at me with a concerned expression, her fork poised over her face. We always ate at the dining room table, even though it was just the two of us. It was part of the ritual, ass was the rule that she fixed the entrée, I did the salad or vegetable, and we lit the candles, for ambiance. We also ate at six sharp, and afterwards she rinsed the dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher, while I wiped down the counters and picked up the leftovers.
"It sounds so cold, like routine after routine, no personality what-so-ever," Bert shivered.
"There probably isn't any," Kristy said quietly.
When we'd been four instead of two, Caroline and my dad had represented the sloppy, easygoing faction. With them gone, my mother and I kept things neat and organized. I could spot a crumb on the countertop from a mile off, and so could she. "Yes?" I said. "Are you okay?" As I did every time she asked this, I wish I could answer her honestly. There was so much I wanted to tell my mother,
"She should just tell her, it would help them to finally just talk it out," Delia said warmly.
Like how much I missed my dad, how much I still thought about him. But I'd been doing so well, as far as everyone was concerned, for so long, that it seemed like it would be a failure of some sort to admit otherwise.
"It wouldn't be failure to admit you missed your dad," Bert said softly, all of this reading just served to remind him about how much he missed his mom.
"No its not, that's strength," Wes said patting him on the shoulder.
As with so much else, I'd missed my chance.
Delia shook her head disagreeing, "Grief doesn't work that way, and it's going to hit her eventually, no matter how hard she keeps pushing it away."
I'd never really allowed myself to mourn, just jumped from shocked to fine-just-fine, skipping everything in between. But now, I wished I had sobbed for my dad Caroline-style, straight from the gut. I wished that in the days after the funeral, when our house filled with relatives and too many casseroles and everyone had spent days grouped around the kitchen table, coming and going, eating and telling great stories about my dad, I'd joined in instead of standing in the doorway, holding myself back, shaking my head whenever anyone saw me and offered to pull out a chair. More than anything, though, I wished I'd walked into my mother arms, the few times she'd tried to pull me close, and pressed my face into her chest, letting my sad heart find solace there.
Delia was a second away from crying so Wes stopped for a second, letting her compose herself back together. Being pregnant made you over hormonal, which in turn, made you overly emotional. But Wes had to admit, everyone was sort of on the very of tears (Especially me, =.( !)
But I hadn't. I wanted to help her, not be a burden, so I held back. And after a while, she stopped offering. She thought I was beyond that, when I in fact needed it now more than ever. My dad had always been the affectionate of the two of them, known for his tight-to –the-point-of-crushing Bear hugs, and the way he ruffled my hair as he passed by.
Delia had succumbed to tears, "I wish we could have met him before he died."
"He was awesome as a coach, I know that for sure," Bert smiled at her hoping to lightened her spirits. She gave a watery smile back.
It was part of his way of filling a room. I always felt close to him, even when there was distance between us. My mom and I just weren't that effusive. As with Jason, I knew she loved me, even if the signs were subtle: a pat on my shoulder as she passed; her hand smoothing down my hair; the way she seemed to always be able to tell, with one glance, when I was tired or hungry. But sometimes I longed for that sense of someone pulling me close, feeling another heartbeat against mine, even though I'd often squirmed when my dad grabbed hold and threatened to squeeze the life out of me.
"Parents are always doing that," Delia chuckled.
"Mom used to do it, even when her arms could barely fit around me anymore," Wes chuckled at the memory.
It was another thing I'd never thought I'd missed, but did. "I'm just tired," I told my mother now. She smiled, nodding: this she understood. "Tomorrow will be better." "That's right," she replied, with certainty. I wondered if hers was an act, too, or if she really believed this. It was so hard to tell. "Of course it will."
"I think she probably was trying to convince herself it would," Delia said thoughtfully.
"Why? It's not like she had to work there," Bert shrugged.
"Even in the broken state that her mom is in right now, no parent wants their child to suffer."
After dinner, I went up to my room and, after a few false starts and a fair amount of deleting, composed what I thought was a heartfelt yet not too cloying email to Jason. I answered all his questions about the job, and attached, as requested, a copy of the school recycling initiatives he'd implemented, which he wanted to show to someone he'd met at camp. Then, and only then, did I allow myself to cross from administrative to the personal.
"There should be no administrative in a relationship," Kristy huffed.
Wes was just hoping they'd find the resolution to this Jason thing quickly before Kristy drives to that brain camp and guts him.
I know it may seem petty to you, all this info desk drama, I wrote. But I guess I just really miss you, and I'm lonely, and it's hard to go to a place where you're so spectacularly unwelcome. I'll just be really happy when you're home.
"Something tells me, this email won't go over very well with him, it's too human for his coldness," Bert mused.
"Actually I kind of agree with you,"
This, I told myself, was the equivalent of touching his shoulder, or resting my knee against his as we watched TV. When you only had words, you had to make up for things, say what you might not need to otherwise. In fact, I felt so sure of this, took it a step further, closing with I love you, Macy.
"I think that's the end of their relationship," Bert smirked, albeit sadly.
"I think so too," Wes couldn't hide the fact that he was both happy and irritated. Irritated, that this jerk with a beautiful, smart, warm yet broken hearted girlfriend, would darn dump her over something this stupid. It was completely and utter bullshit. The guy was and idiot. As far as the happy feelings went, well, that on hold until the end of the book.
Then I hit the send button before I had a chance to change my mind. With that done, I walked over to my window, pushing it open and crawled outside. It had rained earlier, one of those quick summer storms,
"I love those," Bert smiled ,"They help me sleep at night, plus mom use to like running in them, remember?"
"Of course," Wes chuckled, "she'd come back into the house soaking wet, but with the brightest smile on her face."
"Then she would grab one of us to go back out with her." Bert finished still smiling his face looking out the window. Kristy and Delia laughed then sighed, it was nice talking about their mom, it made the room feel lighter and almost as if she was there.
And everything was still dripping and cool. I sat on the sill, propping my bare feet on the shingles. It was the best view, from my roof. You could see Wildflower Ridge, and even beyond, to the lights of the Lakeview Mall and the University bell tower in the distance.
"Wow, that is a great view," Kristy said in awe, " That house must be really tall."
"It is, it's incredible," Bert said appreciatively. Wes and Delia nodded their heads in agreement.
In our old house, my bedroom had been distinct for a different reason.
"Not that Bert get your head out of the gutter," Wes groaned glaring at him.
"Hey!" Bert shouted, though his blush gave him away, "I didn't even say anything!"
"You didn't have to, I know that face anywhere, it your perverted smile," Wes laughed at him. Bert just shot a pillow at him, with he dodged easily, Bert has terrible aim.
It had been the only window that faced the street and a tree with branches close enough to step onto. Because of this, it got a lot of use.
Wes looked up confused, "I didn't peg her for the sneak out kind of girl."
Kristy shrugged, " Me either really but who knows, she might have been different before her dad died."
Wes shrugged and continued.
Not from me, but from Caroline.
"Now that makes a lot more sense," Bert nodded, "she's the one who's like Kristy."
"I don't sneak out," Everyone shot Kristy a withered look of disbelief, "fine! I don't sneak out a lot."
That wasn't true either, but they let it go.
She was wild. There was no other word for it. From seventh grade on, when she went, in my mother words, "Boy crazy," keeping Caroline under control was a constant battle. There were groundings. Phone restrictions. Cuttings off of allowance, driving privileges. Locks on the liquor cabinet. Sniff test at the front door. These were played out, in high dramatic form, over dinners and breakfasts, in stomping of feet and raising of voices across living rooms and kitchens.
"Wow they really did try everything," Delia chuckled.
But other transgressions and offenses were more secret. Private. Only I was witness to those, always at night, usually from the comfort of my own bed. I'd be half sleeping, and my bedroom door would creak open, then close quickly. I'd hear the pat-pat of bare feet across the floor, then hear her drop her shoes on the carpet. Next, I'd feel the slight weight as she stepped onto my bed. "Macy," she'd whisper, softly but firmly. "Quiet. Okay?"
"Invoking the good old sister code," Kristy smiled looking over at Monica who stared blankly back at her.
"Bettaquit," Monica said and turned her face back to the book. Wes and to put his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing.
She'd step over my head, then hoist herself over up on the sill that ran over my bed, slowly pushing open the window. "You're going to get in trouble," I'd whisper. She'd stick her feet out the window. "Hand me my shoes," she's say, and when I did she'd toss them out onto the grass, where I'd hear them land with a distant, muted thunk. "Caroline."
"I like her sister," Kristy smirked
"Of course you do," Wes snorted, "She you, only, in a book."
She'd turn and look at me. "Shut it behind me, don't lock it, I'll be back in an hour. Sweet dreams, I love you." And then she'd disappear off to the left, where I'd hear her easing herself down the oak tree, branch by branch. When I sat up to shut the window she was usually crossing the lawn, her footsteps leaving dark spots in the grass, shoes tucked under his arm. By the stop sign a block down, a car was usually waiting. It was always more than an hour, sometimes several,
"Well of course, time flies, when you're having fun," Kristy said dreamily.
"Or torturing so-called "Extraordinary" boys," Bert snickered. Wes rolled on the floor laughing while Kristy wondered if she could get away with murdering them.
Before she appeared on the other side of the window, pushing it back up and tumbling on top of me. All businesslike in the leaving, my sister was usually sloppy and sentimental, smelling of beer and sweet smoke, upon her return. She was often so sleepy she didn't want to go back to her own room, instead just pushing her way under my blankets, shoes still on, makeup smearing my pillowcases.
Wes winced, he could understand this too, he often was the target when Becky had been out all night partying, and needed a place to safely come down from her high. So he would drag her off the porch and put her in his bed to sleep and would sleep on the coach. She'd be gone by the time he woke up, but he could smell the drugs and alcohol on his pillows and sheets.
Sometimes she was crying, but she would never tell me why. Instead she'd just fall asleep beside me, and I'd doze in fits and spells before shaking her awake as the sun was rising and pushing her back to her own room, so she wouldn't be discovered. Then I'd crawl back into bed, smelling her all around me, telling myself that next time, I would lock that window. But I never did.
Wes nodded. He had kept trying to convince himself not to let Becky in, to keep her out so that she would have to face her parents. So they could get her help. He, too, never did though. When she came, he just put her in his bed and washed his sheets in the morning just as always. He wondered to himself if she wouldn't have been where she was today if had said no. Probably, but she would have been put in earlier, and better by now. No use in dwelling on it, it far too late for that anyway.
By the time we moved to Wildflower Ridge, Caroline was in college. She was still going out all the time, sometimes way late, but my parents had given up trying to stop her. Instead, in exchange for her living at home while she attended the local university and waited tables at the country club, the required only that she kept her GPA above 3.0.
"That seems like the best compromise," Delia nodded in approval," if they had no other choice let her run wild but keep her future in check."
"So does that mean I can," Bert smirked.
"Not a chance, because unlike them," Delia said motioning at the books, "Me and Wes will skin your behind." Wes nodded in agreement. Bert swallowed nervously.
"I was just kidding," Bert gulped out.
And make her entrances and exists as quietly as possible. She didn't need to use my window, which was a good thing, because in the new house there was not a tree nearby and the drop was a lot farther. After my dad died, she sometimes didn't come home at all. My mind would race with awful possibilities, picturing her dead on the highway, but the truth was actually much more innocuous. By then, she'd already fallen hard for Wally from Raleigh, the once-divorced up-and-coming lawyer ten years her senior she'd been seeing for a while.
"Wow, ten years really," Kristy frowned, "yeah, that not me at all."
"I will agree with you there," Wes shrugged, Kristy did many things, but dating guys super older than her was not one of them. Two maybe three years sure, But Ten, not a chance, those type guys creeped her out.
She'd kept him, like so much else, a secret from our parents, but after the funeral things got more serious, and before long, he asked her to marry him. All of this took longer than it sounds, summing it up. But at the time it seemed fast, really fast.
"I can imagine," Bert mused, "I don't know what I would've done if when mom died, Wes came home with a mystery girlfriend. Then, just a few months later their engaged to be married."
Wes grimaced, "I would have never done that."
One day Caroline was tumbling in my window; the next I was standing at the front of a church, all too aware of my uncle Mike walking her down the aisle toward Wally. People made their comments, of course, about Caroline just needing a father figure, and how she was too young, getting married right after graduation.
"People really should mind their own business," Delia huffed.
"Like we are now," Bert said jerking his head toward the book, " reading someone else's private life story."
Delia looked down guiltily. Wes interrupted, "We were meant to read it, it was sent to us, we are not doing anything wrong by reading it."
"Mmmm-humm," Monica supplied.
Delia, Kristy, and Bert nodded though Delia still felt a little guilty.
But she adored Wally, anyone could see that, and the quick nature of the wedding planning made it that much more of a happy distraction for all of us that spring. Plus, and best of all, their shared conviction that this had to be Best Wedding Ever finally gave Caroline and my mother a solid common ground, and they'd gotten along pretty well ever since.
"Weddings have ways of bringing people together," Delia delighted.
"I thought they just served to make single people feel lousy," Bert laughed.
"Well," Delia shrugged, "that too."
So after all that rebellion in her teens, my sister turned out to be surprisingly efficient, bagging a college diploma and a husband all within the same month. Now, as Mrs. Wally Thurber, she lived in Atlanta, in a big house on a cul-de-sac where you could hear a highway roaring twenty-four hours a day.
"I could never live there," Delia frowned scrunching up her face, "I need my sleep, and once the baby comes, that would be a nightmare."
It was climate controlled, with a top-of-the-line thermostat system. She never had to open a window for anything.
"Well I guess, that helps," Delia relented.
As for me, I wasn't much for sneaking out, first because I was a jock and always had early practice, and then because Jason and I just didn't do stuff like that. I could only imagine how he'd react if I asked him to pick me up after midnight at the stop sign. Why? He'd say.
"I don't know? Maybe to spend time with you," Kristy muttered infuriated that Jason was back in the story again.
Nothing would be open, I have yoga in the morning, God, Macy, honestly. And so on. He'd be right, of course. The sneaking out, the partying, all those long nights doing God-knows-what, were Caroline's thing. She's taken them with her when she left, and there was no place for them here now. At least in my mind. "Macy," she'd say whenever she called and found me home on a Friday night, "What are you doing? Why aren't you out?" When I tell her I was studying, or doing some work for school, she'd exhale so loudly I'd have to hold the phone away from my ear. "You're young! Go out and live, for God sakes! There's time for that later!"
Kristy clapped her hands and bowed repeatedly at the book. It looks like she's back on the Caroline bandwagon.
My sister, unlike most of her new friends in the garden club and Junior League, did not gloss over her vivid past, maintaining instead that it had been crucial to her development as a person. In her view, my own development in this area was entirely too slow-going, if not completely arrested.
"I'm sure to her it was," Delia chuckled.
"Compared to her sister, we all are slow-going," Bert snickered, "well except for Kristy."
"No," Kristy sighed, "I think, she had even me beat."
"I'm fine," I'd tell her, like I always did. "I know you are, that's the problem.
"She lost me here," Bert said a look of confusion written across his face.
Wes shrugged he wasn't sure either.
You're a teenager, Macy," she'd say, as if I weren't aware of this or something. "You're supposed to be hormonal and crazy and emotional and wild. This is the best time of your life! You should be living it!" So I'd swear that I was going out the next night, and she'd tell me she loved me, and then I'd hang up and go back to my SAT book, or my ironing, or the paper that wasn't due for another two weeks. Or sometimes I'd crawl out onto the roof and remember her wild days and wonder if I really was missing something. Probably not.
"Yes you are!" Kristy huffed, "but just wait until we see you again, I'll fix that."
Wes rolled his eyes, "I don't think so, somehow I think her stubbornness will outweigh your eagerness, and over enthusiasm."
"We'll see about that."
But the roof was still a nice spot, at any rate. Even if my adventures in the outside world, my God-knows-what, started and ended there. Work despite my mother's assurances, did not improve.
"Big surprise there," Kristy muttered.
In fact, I'd come to realize that the cold treatment I'd received initially was actually Bethany and Amanda being nice.
"Say what," Kristy shouted in shock.
"How is that even possible?" Bert questioned.
"I have no idea," Wes said in surrender to their glares at him and the book.
Now they hardly spoke to me at all, while keeping me as idle as possible.
"Well then quit," Kristy huffed," or tell those ungrateful bit-"
"Don't even think about it," Delia put up her hand in authority. Kristy groaned and turned away.
By Friday, I'd had enough silence to last me a lifetime. Which was too bad for me, because my mother was down at the coast for a weekend developer meet-and-greet conference. I had the entire house, every silent inch of it, to myself for two full days.
"Maybe we could go keep her company," Kristy mused.
"Yeah, just go into her house like hey, I know you don't know me but we knew you were lonely and board and figure we'd stop by," Bert snickered.
Kristy stuck her tongue out at him
She'd invited me to come along, offering the opportunity to lie on the beach or by the pool, all that fun summer beach stuff. But we both knew I'd say no,
"Why?" Kristy asked, not annoyed just honestly curious.
And I did. It was just one more thing that reminded me of my dad.
"She can't avoid grieving forever," Delia sighed sadly, "especially not when almost everything reminds her of him."
"Well, it looks like she's going to try," Bert said but not with his usual humor. Wes was beginning to wonder what toll this story was taking on him.
We had a house at the beach, in a little town called Colby that was just over the bridge. It was a true summer house, with shuttered that creaked when the wind blew hard, and a front porch that was always covered in the thinnest layer of sand. While we all went down for the big summer weekends, it was mostly my dad's place. He'd bought it before he met my mom, and all the bachelor torches pretty much remained. There was a dart board on the pantry door, a moose head over the fireplace, and the utensil drawer had everything my dad considered crucial to get by: a beer opener, a spatula, and a sharp fillet knife.
"Nice," Bert smiled appreciatively. Wes clapped his hand on Bert's back and smiled, happy that he regained his good humor. The girls all rolled their eyes, of course they would love that.
Half the time the stove was on the fritz, not that my dad even noticed unless my mom was there. As long as the grill was gassed up and working, he was happy. It was his fishing shack, the place he took his buddies to catch red drum in October, mahi-mahi in April, Bluefin tuna in December.
"Want me to teach you how to fish?" Wes asked Bert who looked up in surprise.
"You know how?"
"Mom taught me when I was really little," Wes smiled down at him.
"No fishing," Delia said apologetically, "You boys will have ended up splicing your fingers off fooling around with fishing hooks and bait."
"You worry too much," Wes chuckled, "just once? We promise we'll be extra careful."
Wes winked at Delia and she rolled her eyes, "Fine. But if I have to send anyone to the hospital for stitches, you won't see any fish other than fish sticks for the rest of your lives."
"Deal." Both Wes and Bert said smiling in anticipation.
My dad always came home with a hangover, a coolerful of fish already cleaned, and a sunburn despite the SPF 45 my mom always packed for him. He loved every minute of it.
Every member of wish catering were laughing the heads off trying to picture her dad hung over and sunburned with a ton of fish and a smile.
I wasn't allowed on these trips-they were, traditionally, estrogen-free-but he often took me down on other weekends, when he needed to work on the house or just felt like getting away. We'd cast off from the beach or take his boat out, play checkers by the fire, and go to this hole-in-the-wall place called the Last Chance,
"Hey, I've been there," Delia beamed at the book, "It's this great diner down by the coast, they have some of the best coffee, and they are open twenty-four-hours."
"You'll have to take me sometime," Wes said thoughtfully, it sounded a lot like his favorite place. Hopefully the food tastes as good.
"Sure," She smiled back to him.
Where the waitresses knew him by name and the hamburgers were the best I'd ever tasted. More than our old house, or our Wildflower Ridge place, the beach shack was my dad. I knew if he was haunting any place, it would be there, and for that reason I'd stayed away. None of us had been down, in fact, since he died.
"I bet that's where they need to go to deal with things and so they can still fell close to him too," Delia thought.
His old Chevy truck was still there, locked in the garage, and the spare key it was always my job to fish out from the conch shell under the back porch had probably not been touched either. I knew my mom would probably sell the house and the truck eventually, but she hadn't yet.
Delia bit her lip, and scrunched her face into a worried frown, "I hope they don't, they can't keep selling off her father's things this way."
"I think the fact that her mom hasn't, means she probably can't bear to part with it either," Kristy said in a comforting voice.
So on Friday afternoon, I came home to find the house completely and totally quiet. This would be good, I told myself. I had a lot of stuff I wanted to get done this weekend: emails to send out, research on collages to do, and my closet had gotten really cluttered. Maybe this would be the perfect time to organize my winter sweaters and give some stuff to the thrift shop. Still, the silence was a bit much, so I walked over and turned on the TV, then went upstairs to my room to the radio,
"I can't even blame her, a too quiet house makes me nervous," Delia shivered.
Flipping past the music channels until I landed on a station where someone was blathering on about science innovations in our century.
"Blah, that's so boring, this girl seriously needs my help," Kristy said sternly.
Even with all those voices going, though, I was acutely aware that I was alone. Luckily, I got proof otherwise when I checked my email and there was one from Jason. By the second line, though, I knew a bad week had just gotten much, much worse.
"Oh no," Delia hung her head looking like she might cry again.
"He is such a jerk, she finally shows her feelings for him and all he does is break up with her in an email! He does not deserve her at all!" Kristy shouted horrified.
"That guy better watch out, Kristy going to kill him if she ever sees him," Bert chuckled then added, "though if he has broken up with her, he probably deserves it."
Wes said nothing, again he was conflicted, part of him was happy, this meant, by next time he saw her would be free to be with her. He was pissed that this Jerk would hurt her just for expressing her feelings to him. And he felt guilty, because he though she would be free, he still technically wasn't, and was still conflicted even further about whether or not he should really break up with Becky. He kept this all to himself, inside he was exploding.
Macy, I've taken some time before writing back, because I wanted to be clear and sure of what I was going to say. It's been a concern of mine for a while that we've been getting too serious,
"Too serious! They barely touch," Kristy said incredulously.
And since I've been gone I've been thinking hard about our perspective needs and whether our relationship is capable of filling them. I care about you, but your increasing dependence on me- made evident by the closing of you last email- has forced me to really think about what level of commitment I can make to our relationship. I care about you very much,
"That is completely ridiculous, quite frankly that wasn't a loss at all," Wes said out loud, surprising everyone.
Kristy quickly recovered, "Your right, she never had him, and she can do, and will do, a thousand times better."
Wes knew what she was getting at by the look she gave him. He ignored her, she couldn't make his decisions for him, only he could.
But this academic year is crucial in terms of my ideological and academic goals, and I cannot take on a more serious commitment. I will have to be very focused, as I'm sure you will be, as well. In view of all these things, I think it's best for us to take a break from our relationship, and each other, until I return at the end of the summer. It will give us both some time to think, so that in august we'll know better whether we want the same things, or if it's best to sever ties and this break permanent.
"God he's so heartless," Bert frowned, "I can't believe he said it like that."
"I know it's so verbatim, clinical, cold," Kristy shivered in emphasis.
I'm sure you can agree with what I've said here:
"If she does I'll smack her," Kristy growled.
It just makes sense. I think it's the best solution for both of us. Read it through once, then, still in shock, again.
"So he's going to string her along all summer in a half relationship until he decide whether or not he'll just completely get rid of her?" Wes looked around for a confirmation.
"That's what it sounds like, unfortunately," Delia frowned at the book in disappointment, "I hope she'll be alright."
"That guy is a jackass," for once even Delia agreed.
This isn't happening, I thought. But it was. The world was still turning: if I needed any proof, there was the radio across the room, from which I could hear headlines. A war in some Baltic country. Stocks down. And there I sat, staring at the flickering screen, at these words. Words that, like the first ones Jason had read to me from Macbeth, were slowly starting to make awful sense. A break. I knew what that meant:
"We all do unfortunately," Kristy smiled sadly.
It was what happened before something was officially and finally broken. Finished. Regardless of the language, it was most likely I was out, all for saying I love you. I'd thought we'd said as much to each other in the last few months, even if we hadn't said it aloud. Clearly I'd been wrong.
"No, clearly, he's a prick," Kristy smiled evilly.
I could feel my sudden aloneness in my gut, like a punch, and I sat back in a chair, dropping my hands from the key-board, now aware of how empty the room, the house, the neighborhood, the world, was all around me. It was like being on the other side of a frame and seeing the camera pull back, showing me growing smaller, smaller, smaller still until I was just a speck, a spot, gone.
"She is so much more than that," Delia moaned.
"If anything she got bigger now that, that jerk is gone," Kristy huffed.
I had to get out of there. So I got in my car and drove. And it helped. I don't know why, but it did.
"Driving helps to clear your mind," Wes nodded.
I wound through Wildflower Ridge, cresting the hills and circling the ground that had just been broken for the newest phase, then ventured farther, onto the main road and towards the mall. I drove in silence, since every song on the radio was either someone shrieking (not good for my nerves) or someone wailing about lost love (not good, period).
"For so many different reasons," Kristy muttered.
In the quiet I'd been able to calm down as I focused on the sound of the engine, of gear shifting, brakes slowing, all things that, at least for now, were working just as they were supposed to. On my way back, traffic was thick, everyone out for their Friday night. At stoplights I looked at the cars around me, taking in families with kids in cars seats, probably headed home from dinner, and college kids in club make up, blasting the radio and dangling cigarettes out their open windows.
"Smoking is a terrible habit," Delia said pointedly at Wes.
"Trust me I know," Wes muttered. He'd been saying the same thing to Becky for as long as he could remember. He had no interest in it himself that was true.
In the middle lane, surrounded by all these strangers, it seemed even more awful that I was going back to an empty house, up to my room, to face my computer screen to face Jason's email. I could just him typing it out at his laptop, so methodical, somewhere between condensing the notes he'd taken that day and logging on to his environmental action Listservs.
"I don't care how perfect he acts, he's still a jerk," Kristy said crossing her arms.
To him, I was a commitment that had become more of a burden than an asset, and his time was too precious to waste. Not that I had to worry about that. From now on, clearly, I would have plenty of time on my hands.
"You sure will," Kristy smiled, "you're coming to work with us, most of our events are at night."
Wes was a little excited about this himself.
As I approached the next intersection, I saw the wishbone.
"And we're back!" Kristy threw her fist in the air, like we had just won the super bowl. Wes rolled his eyes.
Same bold black strokes, same white van. It was passing in front of me now, and I could see Delia driving, someone else in the passenger seat.
"Yay, I'm there this time," Kristy beamed.
I watched them move across the intersection, bumping over the slight dip in the middle. Wish, it said on the back, two letter on each door.
Bert, Delia, and Wes smiled to each other knowing they had named it after their mother Wish.
I am not a spontaneous person.
"That's never been more true," Kristy muttered.
But when you're alone in the world, really alone, you have no choice but to be open to suggestions. Those four letters, like the ones that I'd written to Jason, had many meanings and no guarantees. Still, as the van turned onto a side street, I read that wish again. It seemed as good a time as any to believe,
"Yes, it's beyond as good a time as any," Delia smiled excitedly.
So when my light dropped to green, and I could go, I put myself in gear and followed them.
"She is our now, so during our next gig, we will meet Macy," Kristy clapped.
"I hope you're not so creepy you scare her off," Bert sighed.
"Well," Wes supplied," We are going to read about it, we could just play it the same as in the book."
"That might be a good idea, let's just read and find out," Delia said, "That was the end of the chapter who reads next?"
"I will," Bert stood up, taking the book from Delia.