Читать книгу Just Like Fate - Cat Patrick - Страница 14
ОглавлениеMy grandmother is dead.
I stumble from the hospice, my body on autopilot—empty and numb at the same time. The conversation I just had with Teddy is on repeat, cruelly infecting me with regret and shame. I get in my car and start driving, words in my head swirling in dark, black spirals.
The room is bare—Gram is gone, a single rose on her pillow instead. My brother’s bloodshot eyes find me. He’s destroyed.
“Did she wake up?” I ask him, scared of the answer. If she didn’t wake, it means that she never got the chance to say good-bye. And if she did, I wasn’t there. What did she think?
“Caroline,” my brother says, looking away. Caroline. The use of my full name breaks me.
“Did she ask for me, Teddy?” My voice is high and frantic. My brother’s eyes glass over and he nods before wiping hard at his face.
“It’s not your fault,” he says quietly.
It’s not your fault.
It’s not your fault.
It’s like an echo in my brain as I push harder on the accelerator, fleeing the family I can’t face. I’ve just lost the most important person in the world, and I wasn’t there. I stare at the road ahead, thinking that my sister was right: There’s no one left to pick up my pieces.
I drive aimlessly, looking for a distraction. The radio blasts music, but the words are only screeches of noise. I don’t realize where I am until I see the rows of cars outside the party house. I try Simone’s phone, but it goes to voice mail. Then I try again. Voice mail again. I can’t help it, but I resent her for it. I slam my phone down on the seat and search for her car among the others.
I didn’t get to say good-bye.
I want to replay the entire night, make a different choice. But I know there aren’t any second chances. I screwed up. I ruined everything.
Simone’s car is nowhere to be found and I feel the panic start to seep in, threatening me as it waits to take me over completely. I drive by the party once again, debating going inside—even though the thought of it turns my stomach. I see an open space right in front and go to swing in, but I have to brake fast before I nearly crush a guy sitting on the curb, hidden from view. He looks up, shielding his eyes from my headlights. It’s the blond guy from earlier, and he stands so I can pull into the space.
Once parked, I click off my lights and roll down the passenger window. “What are you doing?” I call to him. “I could have run over your foot or something.” He ducks down, looking in before smiling.
“You came back for me.” He grins, but when I don’t smile, his expression falters. “I got ditched,” he says. “My friend was parked here, but he left with some girl. I thought maybe he’d remember he brought me and swing back through. Guess not.”
I don’t care, I think. I don’t care about anything. I glance past the guy to the party house, people still on the lawn holding hands or holding cups as I sit in my car, wishing I never came here tonight.
“So . . .” the guy says. “Are you getting out?” He’s standing there in his white thermal shirt, his pulled-from-the-floor jeans. Everything about him looks easy and carefree. I can’t even imagine what that’s like anymore.
“I don’t think so,” I say quietly. He takes a step closer, resting his elbow on the top of the car as he stares in, getting a closer look at me. Then his mouth falls open.
“Oh my God,” he says. “Are you okay?”
I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror and see that my mascara has run. I swipe under my eyes and then wipe the inky black on Simone’s skirt. When I’m done I turn to the guy, thinking he’s the only person who even cares how I am right now. “What’s your name?” I ask.
He seems caught off guard. “It’s Christopher . . . uh, Chris.”
“The answer is no, Christopher,” I tell him with a pathetic shrug. “I’m not okay. Not at all.”
He looks me over, confused, concerned. Rather than press me further about my disheveled state, he nods toward the house. “We should skip the party, then,” he says. “It’s lame anyway. Maybe we can go grab a coffee? I know a place still open.”
I lean my head back against the seat, utterly lost. I can’t go sit in a well-lit café talking to a stranger when I’m not even sure where I’ll sleep tonight. “I can’t,” I tell him. “I have to go.”
“Again?” he asks quickly. “Is it me? I can certainly tone it down.”
“It’s not you.” I debate telling him the rest and then opt not to. “And I’m sorry that . . .” I’m sorry for so many things that I can’t even finish the sentence. I switch the car into gear, but I haven’t even eased off the brake before Christopher is talking fast.
“Listen,” he says. “Is there any chance you could give me a ride to my friend’s house? He’s not coming back, and to be honest, the only reason I didn’t call a cab in the first place was because I was hoping I’d bump into you again.” He smiles sheepishly, maybe embarrassed for having admitted it. “And look,” he says softer. “We did. It’s kind of like fate, right?
I look doubtfully at Christopher, not sure if I should give him a lift. I’m eventually going to have to answer to my family; I’m just not brave enough yet. But I’m not brave enough to be alone either. So after a quick nod, I unlock the car door for him to get in.
The starless sky is unsettling as I drive through the darkened neighborhood toward the freeway. The houses pass in blurs of porch lights, and I’ve nearly forgotten where we’re headed when Christopher starts playing with the air vents.
“Christopher . . .” I start.
“It’s just Chris,” he interrupts. “Only my nana and my family physician call me Christopher anymore. Maybe a professor or two. I’m a freshman at Clinton State, in case you’re curious.”
I glance sideways. That’s the same college Teddy goes to in the next town over, a college I’ve visited at least a dozen times. “Do you know Teddy Cabot?” I ask, wondering if he’ll tell my brother he saw me at a party right after my grandmother died. And wondering if my brother would be sickened by the thought.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Chris says. “Sounds handsome, though. Should I be jealous?”
“No,” I say, relieved and a little grossed out by the joke. “He’s my brother.”
“Interesting. Is he the overprotective type?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “He’s never needed to be.” Teddy has always stuck up for me. He’s never judged me—at least not yet. But what does he think now? How can he defend me after what I’ve done?
Chris grows restless and begins to tap his thumb on his thigh like a fidgety child. “Did you think the weather was weird today?” he asks. “I totally dorked out with a few friends and we”—finger quotes—“borrowed a telescope from the science building to watch the cloud patterns. It was pretty cool.”
When I don’t respond, Chris adjusts the passenger seat, sliding and reclining it until he’s almost in the backseat. He looks like he’s settling in for the night. “You’re not laughing at any of my jokes,” he says. “I’m debating whether or not you want me to shut up, but I feel wholly compelled to impress you.”
When I look over, he smiles broadly, and I think that he’s the exact kind of cute that I could fall for—if my heart wasn’t already broken. I turn away. We reach the stoplight of an intersection, and Chris reaches to turn down the music.
“I know it’s none of my business,” he says in a quiet voice, “but why were you crying earlier?”
The light turns green, but I don’t move. I’m frozen by the emotions flooding me, threatening to rip me to shreds in front of him. I can’t say it out loud. Finally I compose myself and drive a few blocks.
“You’ll need to make a right here,” he says, sounding defeated. I ease my foot on the gas, making the turn.
“My grandmother died,” I whisper. It feels like saying it can make it happen all over again.
“I’m so sorry,” Chris says. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“Oh.” It’s a stunned word, a sad one. Chris looks out the window. And now I’m the one who can’t handle the silence.
“We’re not leaving the state, are we?” I ask him, filling the void. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve crossed four county lines already.”
“Why? You want to make a run for it, Thelma.”
Despite all that’s weighing me down, I choke out a small laugh.
“That was a laugh,” he says, pointing at me. “Sure, it was a pathetic one, but it means all is not lost. I’m still impressive.”
I fight back my smile. “Which way, Christopher?” He starts giving directions, and I turn left down a residential street.
“It’s around here somewhere,” he says under his breath.
I look over at him. “Are you telling me that you don’t know where your friend lives?”
“Of course I know,” he says. “It’s just that at night, all the streets look the same. But it’s definitely in this neighborhood. I remember that old church on the corner.”
I groan and slow down to ten miles per hour as he studies the houses on one side, then the other. He snaps his fingers, startling me.
“I just realized that you never told me your name,” he says. “What is it?”
“Caroline.”
“That’s pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“And sweet.” He’s quiet, but the minute he opens his mouth, I interrupt.
“You’re not going to break into ‘Sweet Caroline,’ are you?” He abruptly closes his mouth and shakes his head no. When I see that it’s nearly eleven and Simone still hasn’t returned my calls, I feel abandoned. And then I wonder if this is how Gram felt in her last moments.
“Wait, there it is,” Chris says, motioning to the left side. “The one with the truck in the driveway.” He scoffs. “See. I knew exactly where it was.”
I pull to the curb, letting the engine idle as Chris checks for his wallet and keys. When he’s done—taking way longer than necessary—he clears his throat. “Do you think I can call you sometime?” he asks.
There’s a weird twist of excitement and sadness mixed together as I look at him. “Are you hitting on me five minutes after I told you that my grandmother died?” I ask.
He winces. “Wow, I’m a douche, huh?” He says it so innocently that I have to smile, even though I feel like a traitor for the gesture. Chris runs his hand through his hair, embarrassment painting his cheeks pink in the light of the streetlights.
“You’re fine,” I say. “It’s me. I’m running a little high on the bitch-o-meter tonight. I’m not myself.” I look down. “I don’t know if I ever will be again.”
“I really am sorry about your grandmother, Caroline,” Chris says in his most serious tone of the night. I mean to look at him, to thank him, but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll give him the wrong idea. And I can’t be that selfish—not this time.
“You seem really great,” I tell him. “I’m just not in a good place. My life’s a mess, and you deserve better than that.”
“That’s possibly the nicest rejection I’ve ever gotten,” Chris says, soft but playful. “So thank you for that.” He opens the door and climbs out. Under different circumstances, I would have given him my number. Just not tonight.
“Well, Caroline,” he says as he holds up his hand in a wave. “Sweet Caroline. It was a pleasure meeting you—officially. Maybe next time I’ll get that number.”
There’s a small panic that I may never see him again, and so despite my vow to not lead him on, I smile. “Tell you what, if I ever happen to randomly run into you when I’m not crying and miserable, the digits are all yours.”
Chris grins. “I’ll hold you to that.” And then he closes the door and jogs up the driveway.
