Impossibility of Tomorrow (25 page)

The wind has paused, leaving his body undisturbed, a photographic negative of what it was, all gray.

I hear the wind approaching through the trees, the leaves quivering in a dry death rattle as they float to the ground. The breeze approaches the barn like a wave swallowing the beach, the air beating with invisible wings. It covers the pile of dust that was his body and throws it upward in spiraling currents.

Another gust, and another, and another. Moments later, the dust is carried into the air, carried into forever.

And a few moments after that, it begins to rain.

THIRTY-SIX

Tears of relief mingle with the rain, streaming down my face as I run back toward the house. I can’t believe it’s all over. For the first time since Cyrus appeared in my biology class on the first of November, I’m free.

I burst through the trees, past the sea of swaying grapevines, past the drenched fire pit, past the clapboard Victorian inn till I reach the small parking lot where we parked our cars. There’s no police cruiser there, but Cyrus must have driven here somehow. He probably hid the car somewhere up the road.

I take off again, jogging slower as I circle the property,
retracing the tour I took earlier with Reed and the rest. Reed. A bolt of remorse hits me as I realize how wrong I was about him, how close I was to killing him. Just like I was wrong with Noah.

I’m about to turn back when I scan the vineyard one more time. In the east the path curls toward the one place I haven’t checked: the glass greenhouse. Even though my nightgown is plastered to my body and my fingers throb with cold, I decide to go check it out, just to be sure Cyrus came alone.

I walk more slowly now, listening to the percussion of the rain as it pelts the vines, pelts my face. I don’t even mind. Cyrus is dead. Finally, truly dead. I saw it with my own eyes. I did it. I should feel triumphant, I should be rising to the sky. But as long as I’m apart from Noah, there’s no victory.

Noah. I’m consumed by the sound of his name. Each footfall on wet earth sounds like “Noah” to me. I quicken my pace, pushed along by the wind at my back. The sooner I make sure the glass house is secure, the sooner I can go back to where Noah sleeps. I can wake him up right now, apologize, try to make things right. Nothing can keep me from him anymore. Cyrus is gone.

I stop cold when I crest the small hill. The glass house lies below me, brilliantly lit in a flickering orange glow that I suspect comes from the many candles within.

Someone’s in there.

I dart through the storm like a phantom, sweeping my gaze left, then right as I approach the house’s glass walls. I cup my hand around my eyes and look inside. It’s Noah.

He sits on a faded blue couch in the center of the greenhouse, his knees drawn up to his chest, a blanket over his shoulders. My breath catches at how beautiful he looks. And so sad, like the storm that rages outside is nothing compared to what’s inside of him. I bite my lip and tap my finger on the glass. He doesn’t respond—the rain swallows all sound. I tap again, harder.

His head jerks up. He looks around, then sees me. I press my hand against the glass. He rises to his feet, his expression unreadable, then nods toward the door, inviting me in.

The greenhouse is flickering with fire. Noah has lit a couple of the candles, and their light dances off the glass walls, the antique mirrors, reflecting over and over into infinity. The heat amplifies the scent of flowers that spill out of their pots: jasmine and roses and lilies.

Noah’s eyes are red, wary. He’s wearing jeans that sag around his narrow hips, a gray T-shirt with a hole near the neck. It’s fitted, revealing the line of his body. His defined arms are sinuous in the candlelight.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. He shouldn’t be in a glass house in this kind of weather.

“I could ask you the same question.” There’s a sharp, bitter edge to his voice.

“I need to talk to you,” I say, shivering. Water drips from my hair, my sodden nightgown. “Please?”

“Come on in,” he says, but it doesn’t feel welcoming.

I walk uncertainly to the couch he was on. His stony expression tells me I haven’t earned the right to sit next to him, so I huddle in a nearby armchair. I can’t stop shivering. I wrap my arms around myself, but it does no good. I let my chin drop toward my chest, and am surprised when I feel Noah gently placing his blanket around my shoulders.

“Thank you,” I whisper hoarsely. He just nods and returns to the couch.

I notice that he’s barefoot; and for some reason this fills me with tenderness. We sit in silence for a while. I struggle to find the right words, not sure how to begin. “What do you want?” he asks finally.

I look up toward the glass roof. Rain streams across it in sheets. It’s like being inside a waterfall.

“I made a mistake,” I manage to whisper. “I’m sorry, Noah. I’m so sorry.”

“You destroyed me, Kailey. You ripped my heart out, over and over.” He stands and begins to pace through the greenhouse, orange light illuminating his shoulder bones,
jutting against his T-shirt. “Why should I let you hurt me again?”

I stand up too. I approach him, reaching my hand out to his shoulder. The heat from his skin sears me, sends an electrical jolt through my body.

“Don’t touch me!” he says roughly, throwing my hand off. I sink to my knees, praying to stay strong. A sob erupts from my throat. I was just trying to keep him safe. I never thought I’d actually lose him.

For the first time, the cold hard truth comes into gut-wrenching focus. He may never forgive me. He doesn’t have to forgive me. Our relationship wasn’t ironclad, wasn’t immune. It could crumble into dust.

I wrap my arms around myself and cry. I don’t care how stupid I look, how foolish, how desperate.

“I love you, Noah,” I sob, my voice ragged. “I messed up. But I refuse to believe we end here. We were supposed to be forever.”

The couch’s springs creak as he sits. “Forever, huh? I’m not sure I know what that means.”

“I do.”

I stand. I walk toward him again, to where he sits on the couch, his face in his hands. All I have to give is my heart, my scarred heart. My ancient soul.

The air is charged. It’s a battery to power a thousand
cities, a thousand lives. I reach across the space between us toward his face. He needs a shave. I tentatively stroke his rough cheek.

“You don’t have to believe me.” My voice is stronger now. “But Noah Vander, I love you. And my love lasts a long time.” My voice cracks, my heart cracks wide open. “Good-bye,” I say. He’s trembling, too. I kiss his forehead and turn to leave.

I go to the door. Behind me, I hear a sound.

“Wait.”

One word. One little word. I turn around.

“Do you mean it? Please don’t lie to me.”

“I mean it,” I whisper.

We collide in the center of the greenhouse. Our souls collide. Outside, wind destroys the grapevines. Water courses down walls of leaded glass. Inside, it is safe, it is warm, it is orange. We are a chemical reaction. Our souls are quicksilver, water, entangling, magnetic. I reach my hand to his face again, I plunge it into his crow-black hair. I pull his lips to mine. His hands are around my waist.

I need him like oxygen, like sunlight. We stumble over to the faded blue couch. He tugs off his T-shirt and it’s him everywhere, his skin, his arms around me.

“I love you,” he murmurs. I answer him with a kiss.

And for the first time in forever, I forget about forever. I
am just here. He is just here. Our breath becomes one thing, a shuddering, hungry gust of wind. My compass heart stops spinning. This is the direction it wants me to take.

“Look,” he says, putting a finger to my lips. I follow his gaze upward to the glass roof. “The rain stopped.”

It did. Though the room is bright with candles, I can make out stars through the glass. Noah gets up, moves about the greenhouse blowing out candles. With each one he extinguishes, the stars grow brighter. I think of the stars in Echo’s mural, the stars in Kailey’s room.

“Wait,” I tell him. “Leave one lit.” He doesn’t ask why, and I don’t offer. I want to do something for Taryn. To give her small flame in the world after her own has gone out.

Noah returns to me in the dark. We lie on our sides, facing each other. “This feels like a dream,” he murmurs. “I wanted this to happen for so long. I’d better not be sleeping. It had better be real.”

“It’s real,” I answer.

“Don’t ever hide yourself from me,” he says softly. “I love you. I love the parts I know and the parts I don’t.”

I snuggle close to him, burying my face in his warm chest. His words mean more to me than he can know. I want to tell him everything. About who I am, where I come from.

But instead my lips find his jaw, kissing his rough skin. “So . . . I hear there’s a dance this week,” I murmur.

“Right, that hippie solstice party at the Claremont hotel.” He grins.

“That’s the one.”

He reaches down, finds my hand. “Will you go with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

His arms wrap around me, our limbs entangled as we sink deeper into the couch. I feel his body everywhere, his pounding heart, his muscled shoulders, the warmth of his skin. At some point, we fall asleep. I wake, hours later, but I don’t move. How could I? I never want to leave this moment. I’m tucked away with the boy I love in a glass house full of flowers, with silver starlight falling on our hair.

THIRTY-SEVEN

“Oh. My. God.” Leyla triumphantly yanks the dress from the rack and holds it against her body. “This is the most amazing dress I have ever seen.”

Chantal pales. “It’s grotesque.”

Leyla hugs the dress. “I know,” she says happily.

Nicole claps. “Bravo, Leyla. You managed to find the weirdest dress possible in downtown San Francisco.”

“I think I just won shopping. Like, if it were a sport. I’m so glad I let you guys talk me into coming here. Oh, god, I hope it fits.” She holds it up again, nervously inspecting herself in a full-length mirror.

The dress has a fitted, boned bodice and a sweetheart neckline. Its full skirt suggests a 1950s prom gown. But it’s the printed pattern that delights Leyla and grosses everyone else out.

It’s covered in bacon, tiny red-and-white slices on a light brown background.

“Bryan will love it,” I say.

Rebecca wrinkles her nose. “Maybe he could bring you a little sausage. For a corsage.”

“Or a sau
sage
,” Echo declares, making the word rhyme with
corsage
.

Madison smiles wickedly. “I don’t think Bryan would appreciate his sausage being described as little.”

“Ew!” I yell, clapping my hands over my ears. “Don’t ever talk about Bryan’s sausage to me again.”

“I’m going to try it on,” Leyla says. “Anyone want to come with me?”

Nicole and Chantal, carrying armfuls of dresses, follow her to the dressing room.

I haven’t found anything yet, but I’m not bothered. Now that I know I’ll be going to the dance with Noah, I could be wearing a bathrobe for all I care. Noah. Just the thought of his name makes me smile. I’ve been engulfed in a joyful fog ever since I woke up in his arms on Tuesday morning in the greenhouse, dawn’s rosy light lighting his face. The
storm from the night before proved brief, mere bluster with no staying power. And today, Wednesday, I floated through our first day back at school on a ray of happiness.

My girlfriends were unanimously delighted to hear that Noah and I were back together. Even Nicole winked as she shook her head in mock sadness. “Another one off the market,” she sighed. “But I’m happy for you two. Seriously. Of course, I don’t have a date. I guess that means I’ll get to dance with tons of boys while you’re stuck with the same one all night!” I laughed at this. Nicole has always been good at the chase.

Only Madison’s words of encouragement felt hollow somehow, like she didn’t quite approve. She’s probably jealous, but at least she has the manners not to say anything mean.

Echo fingers a floor-length dress in pale lavender, its empire waist encircled with a sunset-yellow ribbon that ties in the back. “What do you think?” she asks us.

“I like it,” I say. It suits her boho style.

Rebecca cocks her head and turns to the rack. “Pretty, but I think you should try something like this,” she says, handing Echo a short, off-the-shoulder dress in a glittery dark blue.

Echo regards the hemline with suspicion. “It’s a bit . . .
short
, isn’t it?”

Rebecca laughs. “That’s the idea. You’ve got those crazy long legs. You should show them off.”

“I don’t know,” Echo murmurs. “I
do
like the fabric.” So do I—it reminds me of her mural.

“Reed’ll like it. Trust me, I’m his sister.” Rebecca grins as a flush appears on Echo’s cheeks.

I’m confused. “Reed? What does he have to do with it?”

“Reed’s taking Echo to the dance,” Rebecca says.

I whip my head toward Echo. She nods. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, Kailey,” she says shyly.

I give her a hug. “That’s great,” I say. Her smile is radiant. “When did he ask you?”

“Yesterday,” Echo says. “As soon as you came back from Sonoma. But we were texting the whole time he was there.”

“The whole time?” I repeat. I think of Reed at the winery, the way he kept pulling his phone from his pocket, the way he wouldn’t let me borrow it.

“Look,” Echo says, tapping on her phone’s screen and handing it to me. I quickly scroll through their conversation, noting the messages’ times; they’re all from Monday afternoon. I feel a flush of shame at how certain I was that he was Cyrus, bidding on my book auction, when it was Cyrus all along, piggybacking off the inn’s open wireless network.

“Young love,” says Madison drily. “Isn’t it precious?” I wonder again if she’s bitter about Noah and me.

I decide to ignore her tone. “It
is
precious,” I say. “I’m so happy for you, Echo.”

She nods sagely. “Well, he’s a Libra, and they
do
appreciate fashion. Okay, I’ll try it on.” She smiles, accepting the dress from Rebecca and draping it over her arm.