One Last Song Part 21

Guilt was almost a constant feeling now, like a blackened tumor that was growing exponentially, taking up s.p.a.ce and weight in my body. "For what?"

His eyes had that rim of gold around them they got in this kind of slanted sunlight. He curled his fingers under my jaw, his thumb resting at the corner of my mouth. "For being so extraordinary."

I couldn't look at him. I felt like I was going to cry.

"Look at me," he said, tugging gently on my chin.

I did.

"You are, you know? Absolutely extraordinary." A breeze blew a strand of his hair across his forehead.

"I have something to tell you." The words tumbled out like river rocks, my voice catching on the word "tell."

Drew stared into my eyes a moment, and then nodded. "Okay."

I shook my head. "Not now. Um, after Pierce's thing Tuesday. Okay?" In spite of the cold, I was beginning to sweat. I'd done it. All those times I'd thought about it, all those times I'd come so close and chickened out. And now, finally, here it was, a forcing of my own hand. Tuesday. This would all end Tuesday.

"Okay," Drew said again. His eyes probed mine, looking for a hint of what I was hiding. "Hey. Nothing you tell me is going to change how I feel about you."

I wished I could believe him, but I knew better.

Some things, things that were supposed to be universal facts, were actually universal lies. For instance: A mother's love is unconditional. Turns out it does have conditions after all. For another instance: All human beings strive for good health. Turns out some of us are like photographic negatives; jarring, discordant, wrong.

I kissed him because I didn't want to answer.

"I should go," he said. "I told the guys at Sphinx I'd go play there tonight."

"Okay. Do you want me to drive you?"

"Nah. My friend Zach's giving me a ride. He's headed the same place." He grabbed my fingers as I started to get up. "Don't forget to listen to your soundtrack."

I kissed him again. I wondered if I should start counting the number of times I kissed him from the moment I said the words "I have something to tell you." I wondered if I could reach a hundred before Tuesday. Then I realized it didn't matter anyway because a hundred wasn't enough. A thousand wasn't enough.

I left him sitting there on that bench. Then I drove home to convince my dad to meet with Noah Preston.

When I got home, my dad was in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink. Mum was at her crafting nook, putting together a new dollhouse. I thought about the yellow gingerbread one that was gone now, donated to some charity store. Was some little girl playing with it, imagining happy families and suns.h.i.+ne for her dolls? The irony made me want to laugh. Instead, I cleared my throat so they'd know I was there.

Dad looked up. "Hiya."

Mum didn't say anything. The air was thick with disapproval, and I wondered who the cause was-my dad or me.

The dining table was set with cloth napkins, flowers, and silverware. Dinner Code situation #1. I smelled food in the oven. "Hi, Dad. Um, are you eating dinner here tonight?"

"I am indeed," he said. Whenever he spoke when my mother was around, he bolstered his voice so it sounded more jovial than it usually was, round and loud and jolly. "Why? Have you missed your old dad?"

"Yeah." I smiled and leaned against the doorjamb, feeling more like a stranger in my house than ever before. Why did everything have to be so awkward? We tried so hard in certain ways to be a family unit, but the more we tried, the more garishly we stood out. "Something like that."

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour," Mum said, prying open a pot of paint.

"All right, I'll go wash up." I turned and went up to my room.

I fired up my Mac and checked my email. There was one from someone I'd been conferring with. It was one I'd been waiting for, hardly daring to hope. What I read made me smile. I typed in a quick response and hit send.

Then, reaching into the small pocket in my jeans, I pulled out the guitar-shaped USB stick Drew had handed me. My soundtrack, he'd called it.

I felt pulled hard in two directions simultaneously. On the one hand, this was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. This was the stuff of romance books, chick flicks, and middle school daydreams. I wanted to listen to the songs that reminded Drew of me. I wanted to know how he really felt. Even though I'd never been a music addict, I knew the power of those sound waves. I knew the kind of emotion they could invoke. And I wanted, so badly, to hear what Drew heard when he thought of me.

On the other hand, I was afraid. It was ironic, but I was afraid of hurting myself. What was the point of listening to these songs, of attaching this memory to all of this music? Every time I heard these songs in the future, I'd think of Drew. Every time.

I thought of myself at thirty years old and grocery shopping with three kids in the cart, hearing a song come over the supermarket speakers and breaking down in the tampon aisle, crying over lost love. Why would I intentionally do that to myself? Physical pain was my nearest and best friend; emotional pain I tried to anesthetize myself from any chance I got.

But I plugged the USB stick in. I was curious. I was in love. And I figured I'd deal with the pain when I got there.

Drew had recorded an hour of music for me. I lay back on my satin duvet, closed my eyes, and listened.

When I got halfway through the playlist, I had to stop to go eat dinner. I'd been crying continuously since the midpoint of the first song, one called "Girl Behind the Mask" by Carousel Mayhem. It wasn't an all-out, gut-wrenching sobbing. It was just a quiet, steady trickle of tears out of the corners of my eyes. Staid and stolid, a mingling of emotions, of love and sadness and guilt and longing. I imagined them mixing together like smoke above my heart, just hanging in the air as the music played.

Dad was at the head of the table, checking his BlackBerry. Mum took her place and quietly cleared her throat. He set his BlackBerry aside and smiled at us, bright and big. "So. Saylor. Tell me what's been going on with you. How's the hospital?"

I served myself some lasagna so I wouldn't have to look at him. His too-bright eyes and his too-bright smile were making me nervous. And how sad was it that he had to down a shot or two of whiskey to sit down to dinner with his family? In front of his newly sober wife, no less.

"Um, it's going really well. I'm enjoying it." I thought of Drew and the breath whooshed out of me. Tuesday. I had five days before it all came to an end, before the guy I loved began to hate me. With good reason.

Dad didn't notice the change in my expression. "Great!" He took the spoon from me and served himself.

Mum served herself last; just a small silver, barely big enough for a two-year-old.

"Um, actually, Dad, I wanted to ask if... if you could meet me for lunch tomorrow. At noon." I kept my eyes on my food.

I felt Mum's eyes on me. Dad chewed, swallowed, took a sip of water. I could tell he was buying time. "Really?" he said, finally. "Don't get me wrong, honey. I'd love to chat. It's just, my schedule is packed."

Even though I was lying to him, it hurt. It hurt that my dad didn't want to spend time with me. I couldn't remember the last time we'd had lunch just by ourselves, and yet, here he was, making excuses.

"Right. But, um, it'll be really quick. I have to ask you some questions about... law school. I think when I go back to school that I might want to go pre-law."

That got his attention. His wayward daughter, pre-law? Finally something about me he could share with his golf buddies. He sat back, dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "Well! Isn't that something? In that case I think I can spare twenty minutes. It's for the education of a future lawyer, after all!" He laughed that round laugh of his. It echoed against the walls, fell flat onto our plates.

We ate.

After dinner, I headed back upstairs to text Noah Preston.

It's set, I wrote. Be at The Pearl at noon tomorrow. And thanks. SG Then I lay back down on my bed and listened to the second half of Drew's playlist. When the strains of the last song faded, I sat up. Grabbing my car keys, I headed out to the twenty-four-hour store to buy a few things.

Chapter Forty-One.

The following morning, I knocked on Drew's front door at nine. He answered in his pajamas, his hair sticking up in places, his eyes bleary. Stubble, incredibly s.e.xy stubble, coated his jaw and upper lip.

He blinked at me. "Saylor?"

I walked in, closed the door, and, wrapping my hands partway around his biceps, pulled him against me. A few moments into the long, slow kiss, his hands tightened around my waist and I felt him harden against me. I forced myself to pull away.

"Get dressed," I said, struggling to breathe normally. "I'm kidnapping you."

He smiled, a slow, sleepy thing that made me want to rip his clothes off. "Wait a minute," he said, pulling me closer. I noticed how severely he was leaning against the wall for balance. "I really liked where that was going."

I put my hand on his muscled chest. Even through his t-s.h.i.+rt, it was deliciously defined. "Nope. I'm taking you somewhere on a day trip. Get dressed."

He let his hands fall and gave me an appreciative look up and down. "Wow. You look... wow."

"Thanks." I smoothed my hands down the tight silky sweater I was wearing, with its deep V-neck. I'd paired it with a push-up bra for impressive results. I hadn't been able to wear something like this for the longest time; abscesses on your chest don't allow for s.e.xy necklines. This whole getup was a lot hotter than my usual hoodie-and-jeans outfit. I'd even worn a short skirt and high heels instead of my boots, in spite of the weather. I wanted today to be special. "Now get dressed so we can go."

"Where are we going, by the way?" Drew grabbed his cane from where he'd let it fall when I'd attacked him, and began to make his way to the bedroom.

I followed, trying not to focus on how much his legs seemed to want to bend and buckle as he walked, each punch of the cane, each dragged step like a bit of Morse code. Dot, dash dash. Dot, dash dash.

"A little place up north called Icarus Lake," I said. "Have you heard of it?"

I opened his closet door and pulled out a s.h.i.+rt. He was right behind me, so I handed it to him and began to riffle through the hangers for a pair of jeans.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice soft like sand.

"Sit." I made a shooing gesture toward the bed. "I got this."

But he didn't move. "No." His voice was quiet, so quiet. "I can do it myself."

"I know you can do it yourself." I turned, a sinking feeling in my chest, like my heart would slip through a slot and disappear into my abdomen somewhere. "I just... I wanted to make it easier-"

But he shook his head and pressed past me to get his own clothes. I sat on the bed, my hands folded and dangling uselessly between my knees. I hadn't meant it to be patronizing.

But I knew, at the same time, that after Tuesday-after I told him the truth-he'd no longer want me in his life. I wouldn't be able to come to his house and pull his head down to my lap, raking my fingers through his hair as we listened to music and drifted off to sleep. I wouldn't be there to cus.h.i.+on any of those blows for him. All I had was now, to make it easier, better, somehow, anyhow.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He turned, stood a second, and then sighed and sank down beside me on the bed. Taking my hands in one of his, he said, "It's not you. You're just trying to help. It's just, it's what I said before. If-when I become disabled enough that I need constant help or someone to check on me every day, I'll take myself to a community. I'm not going to stick around here and slip down that slope with the people I know."

He wouldn't be going down that slope with me, but not for the reasons he imagined. Not because he'd be going away, but because I'd make him reel away from me in disgust long before then.

"I know. I remember." I got on my knees on the bed and kissed him. "I love you," I murmured against his lips. "Please don't forget that."

He held me closer.

"The cabin's been in our family for two generations," I said as we drove through a tiny winding town called Cedar Grove.

We were close, and I could feel that old excitement building in my stomach. My family hadn't taken a vacation to Icarus Lake in years, not since I was in middle school. Something always seemed to come up-my dad's business trips or my hospitalizations. They were the perfect excuses we needed to not bond.

The little houses we pa.s.sed were quintessentially small-town. With the bluish snow covering them, they looked just like the idyllic dollhouses my mother painted and fussed over. I wondered what the families inside were like. Were they just as perfect, with smiling children and parents who played board games in front of a roaring fireplace? But maybe there were no families that like that in real life. Maybe that was just a fantasy we were fed as children. If we told kids the truth, honestly, who would ever want to grow up?

When we pulled into the driveway, Drew blew out a breath. "Wow."

I smiled, put the car in park, and got out to breathe in the cold air. It was the same air as what we breathed at home, I knew. But the air out here had always felt different to me. Not just cleaner, but cleansing. As if you could come here battered and broken and dirty, and in just a few days, come out sparkling and s.h.i.+ny again. As if absolution was simply a state of mind, rather than something you had to seek out.

I went around and opened the car door for Drew before getting out our overnight bags, his guitar case, and the picnic basket of food I'd packed. Hand in hand, we climbed up the stairs to the front door.

The property manager had swept off the front porch and set out the doormat. I put my key in the lock and opened the door. It was cold and still inside, with a fine layer of dust coating everything. Through the hazy sunlight streaming in the windows, I saw dust motes dancing and twirling lazily. I sneezed.

Turning on the lights, I said, "I called the real estate company that keeps an eye on this place this morning. They should've turned on all the amenities for us."

Drew walked to the back window and looked out at the white, frozen lake. "Gotta say, it's nice having a rich girlfriend. Disability checks and gigs pay the bills, but sometimes I forget what real money can do."

I put my arm around his waist. "It's just my family who's rich. Not me."

It seemed important to me to make that distinction. I wanted him to know that I was the same as him in many ways. I'd been born into this life. I had money, but it came with dysfunction and heartbreak. It wasn't as rosy as it might seem from the outside. I wanted him to know that so badly. "Come with me. I want to show you where we'll probably be spending most of our time."

As I tinkered with the back door lock, Drew said, "Wait. Shouldn't you be following that statement with a tour of the bedroom?"

I rolled my eyes and opened the door. "Come on."

I held tightly on to his arm as he stepped over the edge of the door, the same spot I'd tripped over so many times as a kid. The incongruity of it didn't escape me. His arms were toned, strong, biceps and triceps defined. But his legs... they were getting weaker by the day. As a kid, when I fell I'd brush off my knees and get up to enjoy the back porch. If Drew fell, he could get seriously injured. And if he did, I might not be able to pick him up. Emergency services took a long time to get to Icarus Lake. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. This was supposed to be a good day; I was going to try d.a.m.n hard to make it so.

I heard the sharp intake of his breath as Drew took in the details of the enclosed back porch. The crazy thing about Icarus Lake was that even a family like mine didn't have to have TV or the Internet to find something to do together.

My grandparents had had a big fireplace put in at one end so we could sit out here even in the winter. In one corner we had a small outdoor kitchen with a sink, a stove top, and a grill. And, of course, a well-stocked liquor cabinet. Icarus Lake was beautiful, but it wasn't magic. My parents still needed their alcohol.

"I'll get that fire going and we can stay out here all day," I said. "It actually keeps this whole place really warm. That's thermally insulating gla.s.s. Or something." I gestured to the floor-to-ceiling panes surrounding the porch.

Drew sat on a love seat close to one of the panes. "This is absolutely amazing. That lake... it looks like gla.s.s."

"Yeah." I smiled and put my hand up to the windowpane. The water really did look like gla.s.s-like a mirror. I could see the reflection of the clouds above. "I used to ice skate there when I was little."

I remember looking down at my reflection as I skated, my black curls streaming behind me as I executed really complex moves I'd long since forgotten. I remembered feeling, for the first time, powerful and beautiful and just right. I felt as if I belonged there, gliding along the smooth surface of that lake, more than I belonged anywhere else on earth.

I sometimes liked to imagine that there was a parallel universe under the mirrored surface of the frozen lake. In that universe, another young girl like me existed, ice skating, too. Only she'd look up instead of down and she'd see me, looking down at her. She'd think I was just her reflection, just like I thought she was mine. And in that way, we'd complete each other, make each other so happy, simply by existing.