This is What Goodbye Looks Like (36 page)

“Thanks.”

I don’t give her time to say anything else before hanging up. Letting out a long sigh, I stare down at my phone. It mocks me with the time it displays on the screen, the bold numbers ticking down the hours I have left at Harting.

I don’t belong here. I know leaving is the best thing I can do.

So why does this all still feel so wrong?

Chapter Thirty-Five

My fever breaks the next morning, and the first thing I do is buy my plane ticket. A storm front came in overnight, which is going to delay all the early-week flights, so the soonest flight I can book is on Wednesday afternoon. I settle in for an excruciating wait. Wednesday morning is when I’ll break the truth to Seth. As soon as my crowdfunding site goes public, he’ll be able to figure out who I am, and I want the truth to come from me instead. I know he’s going to feel betrayed no matter how he discovers my identity, but I think it’d be less painful if it came directly from me, instead of allowing him to stumble across it by himself.

I decide I’m going to tell him everything. My instincts urge me to blurt out the shortest version of the truth and make a run for it, but I can’t do that to him. He has enough questions about his brother’s death that haunt him, and I can’t add anything to that list. I’d never forgive myself. Not that I plan on forgiving myself for any of this, but still.

I spend most of Sunday in bed researching how to promote a crowdfunding campaign. Most of the successful examples I see are for major charities that lots of people have already heard of. Apparently, it’s tough to get people to donate to your cause unless you already have a notable online presence.

Which I don’t have. At all.

I’ll need to work my butt off to get the campaign in front of as many people as possible. Buying a cheap online ad might work to help drive larger donations, but as soon as I look into that, I realize there’s no such thing as a “cheap ad” for a crowdfunding campaign. A few ad sites have the market cornered, and they’re absurdly expensive. I still make around a hundred dollars a month from the stock photo site I sell my photography on, but it’s not nearly enough to cover the expenses of an effective ad. So I guess that leaves hard work and crossed fingers as the only things I can depend on to make this campaign succeed.

Maddie sends me the link to the newly set up crowdfunding page around noon, along with the username and password I’ll need to access it. It’s not viewable to the public yet, but as I click through the draft pages she’s created, I realize it was a good thing I had a geek set this up. She did a way better job with it than I could have. The design theme she chose is eye-catching, and she selected options so that I can easily post pictures and blog updates about the campaign on its front page. Now all I need to do is create a mission statement and fill in some exact info about my goals, and the campaign will be up and running.

Forty thousand. I fill in the donation goal, and my stomach immediately twists. Typing out the number and seeing all those zeroes suddenly makes it seem like an even more outlandish goal, especially since the website only gives me three weeks to reach it. But if there’s even the slightest chance of getting enough money, I have to try.

I spend the rest of the day finishing Parker’s photo project. I read over his thesis paper for a final time, making sure I’m demonstrating his research as clearly as possible, and then make my final edits on the twelve photos. It’s at least one good thing I can give Seth, although I’m not even sure if he’ll accept the photos from me after he figures out who I am. But I’ve got to at least try.

All our photo shoots around Harting and Hendrickson have resulted in about two hundred pictures. The journey they show would have made Parker damn proud: Seth starting at Harting as an uncertain freshman, and finishing as a senior perfectly at home in the competitive atmosphere of this school. He defied everyone’s expectations, and I only wish Parker was around to see that all the encouragement he gave Seth to attend Harting paid off.

I’ve already selected and refined the pictures for the first nine steps, but I still have three to go, and I work on finishing the edits in Photoshop and getting the project ready to submit. It’s the sort of work that demands intense concentration, so I try to focus on the pictures and all the good memories surrounding them—visiting the camera shop with Seth, photographing him at the rally, snapping his picture at the diner when he was surrounded by his friends. It helps take the edge off the pain suffocating me.

By five o’clock, I have the thesis project ready, each of the twelve photos as refined as I can possibly make them. I place the project in a digital file and set a timed email on my account. It’ll send to Seth’s address on Wednesday afternoon, right after I leave for my eleven o’clock flight.

I guess I could just send it now, but I don’t want Seth to thank me for them. Even if he doesn’t realize it now, he’d regret giving me that sort of thanks.

I text Seth and ask him not to come visit me this evening, like he said he was planning to. He tries to protest, but I just tell him that I still have a bad headache and it’d hurt too much to talk with him. It’s true, but just not in the way I suggest.

I keep my phone clenched in my hand for a long time after that, struggling with the urge to take back what I said. I want to feel his arms around me one more time. I want to feel his warm kisses against my skin, listen to his deep chuckle, breathe in his comforting scent.

But, more than that, I want him to be happy. So I toss my phone down and squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to concentrate on the sleep I need and not the boy I crave.

***

Monday passes in a complete blur. I think I fail a quiz, but I can’t remember what subject it was in. Doesn’t really matter, I guess. My grades have been steadily slipping the last couple weeks in all my classes. I’ve managed to keep good grades in Chemistry, because tutoring Seth has made me stay on top of the work, but all the stress over Camille is making my grades slide in a lot of my other courses. When I get back to San Diego, I’ll probably just take the GED and wrap up high school that way. It’s the easy way out, but I could really use at least one easy thing in my life right now.

Brie calls right after I’ve gotten back to our dorm after my last class. She sounds completely exhausted, but her tone is filled with relief as she tells me that Bailey’s fever is completely gone and he’s been released from the ICU. Talking to her is the first time in days that I don’t have to fake happiness. It feels good to lose myself in the short conversation, to share in the relief that Bailey’s going to be okay.

Brie says she’s already booked a flight back to Hendrickson. As long as Bailey’s health stays stable, she plans on coming back to Harting on Wednesday evening. I’ll already be gone by then, but I know it’s for the best. Saying goodbye to Seth is going to be hard enough without having to deal with Brie, too.

I’m going to miss her. A lot. A
hell
of a lot. I consider telling her that, but she’s going to get all concerned if I say anything, and the last thing she needs right now is something else to worry about.

Jeremy calls just minutes after I hang up with Brie, and I know it’s bad news as soon as I see his name light up on my screen. Call it gut instinct, call it pessimism—both are probably true, but it makes me want to drop my phone on the desk and not answer. But I force myself to pick up.

“Hey. Jeremy.”

“Lea.”

Well, it’s not too bad of a start. “How are you?” I ask.

He lets out a long sigh and says, “Mom says you’ve been sick.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Are you doing okay?” he asks, completely ignoring me.

I rub at my temples. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Good. That’s good.” He clears his throat. “Look, I know Mom and Dad have been trying to shelter you from all the stuff about Camille, but like I said, you deserve to know what’s going on.”

“They set a date,” I say, and I want to make it a question, but it comes out as a hopeless statement.

“Yeah,” Jeremy says, his voice choked. “It’s official now. All the paperwork for stopping Camille’s life support has been processed and approved. And, um, I know Mom and Dad want you to have the chance to say goodbye, so you’ll get that soon. And I’m going to come home, too, and you know...”

He trails off, and I wait for my grief to well up and fill the gaping silence, but there’s only numbness.

I swallow hard. “When?”

“March thirty-first.”

I quickly do the mental math. “That’s only nineteen days.”

“I know, Lea.”

“But she hasn’t started high school yet.” It’s a ridiculous argument, but my thoughts are jumbled and blurry, and it’s the first thing that pops into my head.

“Yeah. I know.”

“She always wanted to be in high school. She
deserves
to be able to go.”

“Lea, this is happening,” Jeremy says softly. “The date’s set. I just... I felt like you should know.”

“I’m still going to try to stop it,” I snap.

“But you won’t.”

He doesn’t even try to make it sound like an argument. It’s just a statement, just the truth, just another punch in my gut and knife in my heart.

Jeremy clears his throat and mumbles, “Look, if you want to talk about it...”

“No.”

“Okay, then. Um, I should go. But if you want to talk later, call me. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice cracked. “Thanks.”

“Love you, Little Lee.”

“Jeremy?”

“Yeah?”

I force in a deep breath and then blurt out, “Do you still love Camille? Do
any
of you?”

It’s a cruel accusation, but I can’t keep it in. He should be fighting this just as hard as I am, because that’s his job as Camille’s big brother. As
my
big brother.

I wait for him to defend his love for our sister. But silence stretches between us, and then he just quietly chokes out, “Lea, Camille is dead.”

I don’t give him a chance to apologize before hanging up.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Tuesday drags by painfully slowly. I stay hidden from Seth as much as I can, eating in my dorm and only coming out to attend class. Ms. Thorne stops by my room in the evening and discusses my “short leave of absence,” promising she’ll make sure all my make-up work is organized and available for me as soon as I return. I don’t think she suspects for even a second that I won’t be coming back, and I don’t have the heart to tell her differently.

I still have no idea how I’m going to break the truth to Seth. A thousand different versions of the conversation run through my head, each one sounding worse than the last.

“I know you trusted me, but...”

“I know you thought I wanted to help, but...”

“I know you love me, or at least you think you do, but...”

There’s absolutely no way this will go smoothly, no matter how delicately I approach it. He deserves the truth, but it’s going to hurt both of us like an atomic blast.

Wednesday morning. That’s when I’ll tell him. I’ll go over to his dorm, break the news there, and then get on a plane and leave him and his family alone. For good, this time. It’s cowardly, but I don’t think he’ll want bravery from me. He’ll just want me gone.

Tuesday night creeps by, then Wednesday comes. I spend the pre-dawn hours lying in bed staring at the ceiling, my heart pounding and stuttering and shattering. In the corner of my room, my suitcases sit stacked and ready for my departure, their shadow looming over me like some sort of monster. I wish they actually were an evil creature, so I could just be swallowed whole and never have to face Seth.

Seven-thirty comes, and I know it’s time. I leave for Seth’s dorm, and the campus passes by in a cold blur of brick and snow. I’m shaking by the time I make it to Seth’s dorm, and I’m not exactly sure how I sneak in, or what happens between the entrance of the building and getting to Seth’s room. But somehow I arrive there.

The hallway is quiet, and I raise my hand to knock. But I freeze when I hear Landon let out a shocked sounding curse from inside the room. I can’t make out what he says after that, but then I hear another voice join his that’s higher-pitched and almost frantic. Brie.

I think I should be surprised about her being on campus—wasn’t her flight supposed to get in later? But I can’t even concentrate on that, because the most shocking thing is the anger in her tone. I’ve heard Brie upset before, but never like this. Her voice is loud and tense, and I barely even recognize it.

I hold my breath, waiting to hear Seth’s voice, but it doesn’t come. Landon and Brie continue to go back and forth, but their words are completely muffled by the thick door. I get the feeling I don’t want to know what they’re talking about, but my concern for Brie overrides my nervousness, so I knock on the door.

Footsteps come toward me, slow and heavy. The door swings open, and Seth stands there. His hands are clenched into angry fists, but his face is a mask of grief.

I glance behind him, finding Landon glaring at me from where he’s sitting on his bed. Brie stands next to him with a stricken look. She steps forward and places one hand comfortingly on Seth’s shoulder, then crosses her other arm over her chest, like she’s trying to ward off the very sight of me.