Authors: Rachael Brownell
“That’s not the story I got,” I say, backing up a step.
“I’m not surprised. What do you know about Jason?”
“Not a lot. He was the quarterback …” I let my voice fade off as realization hits me smack in the face. He was only the quarterback because Grant switched schools. Libby said that he quit, claiming that he was hurt after they lost every game last season.
“Yeah. He’s always hated me because I took his spot when I moved here. He used to be the starter back in middle school, before it even mattered. Since then, he’s always tried to start shit with me. I don’t like him as much as he doesn’t like me. I’m not surprised he tried to go through you to get to me.”
I shake my head and lower it in shame. I took the word of someone else over Grant’s. I’ll never be able to apologize enough. I have to learn to trust him. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s possible. As soon as I tell him everything I’ve been hiding from him.
“Can we talk?” I ask as a shiver runs up my spine. It’s a brisk night outside, but that’s not why I have goosebumps.
“Of course. Do you want to go back to your place?”
“Sure.”
Grant slides up next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, and guides us back to my place. As soon as we’re settled on the couch, I clear my throat, ready to confess everything I remember, but the words won’t come. I try again but my voice is lost, and Grant, who’s watching me and waiting for me to say something, is making me even more nervous than I was before.
“Whatever it is, Madison, we are going to be fine. I promise. You can tell me anything.” His words cause my heart to break a little, knowing that he can’t promise me that we’re going to be fine after I say what I need to say.
“I wish that were true.”
“It can be. You just have to trust me.”
“I do. I trust you more than anyone else I’ve ever met.” I pause, letting out a breath and let the words roll off my tongue. “I always have.”
Grant’s eyes widen in shock. He understood perfectly what I was hinting at. Turning toward me, Grant takes my hands in his before he continues.
“You remember?”
“Some things. Others are still lost.”
“What do you remember exactly?”
“You. My first kiss. Promises.”
“Anything else?”
“I remember asking Grandma to let you stay.”
Grant settles into the couch, absorbing what I’ve just told him. It’s a while before he speaks, but when he does, I’m shocked by what he says.
“Thank you, Madison.”
“For what?”
“For everything. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. You’re Grandma was going to send us to Colorado. I wouldn’t be sitting here, on your couch, holding your hand, if it wasn’t for you. You placed your trust in me a long time ago and I never got the chance to thank you.”
“All I did was ask her to let you stay. I think. I don’t remember anything other than that first day, the day we met. After that, things are still black.”
“The accident. The beach. You don’t remember any of that?”
“No. I was hoping that you might be able to fill in some of the blanks.” I see the moment Grant’s body tenses. What is he hiding? “What? What aren’t you telling me?”
“There’s so much that I want to tell you, Madison. Some things I will. Others, you need to ask you father about. It’s not my place.”
“Like what?”
“Like the day of the accident.”
“Was he there?”
“No, but he should be the one to tell you about it. I can’t.”
I want to argue with Grant, beg him to tell me what he knows. Instead, I accept the fact that he’ll tell me some of what I’m missing. If I feel the need to know more, I’ll suck it up and talk to my father.
“One thing. Tell me one thing that I’ve forgotten.”
A smirk appears on Grant’s face as he pulls me close to him, lying us down on the couch facing each other. My stomach turns in anticipation of what he’s going to say.
“I fell in love with you in two days, Madison. I was thirteen years old, and I found my match, the one person that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Until that moment, I thought love didn’t exist. When you told me you loved me, my heart stopped beating because I knew that it was going to be a long time before I would see you again and be able to tell you that I felt the same way about you.” Lifting my chin so that he’s looking directly into my eyes, Grant continues. “I love you, Madison Melissa Thompson. I always have and I always will.”
Over the next few days, Grant fills me in on the time we spent together that summer. We shared secrets that I thought I had never told anyone. As he tells me things, I start to remember more and more. His story and mine. The trip to the beach and the accident are all that still remain a mystery to me.
He makes me promise to keep his past a secret, and I cement that promise with a kiss before sending him home Monday night. I would never share his secret with anyone. Not only could that cause him problems with his scholarship, but it could also lead his father directly to him and his mother. Grant seems to think that his father might still be looking for them after all this time.
With my father’s return rapidly approaching, I’m on high alert. I swing by the house on my way home from school Wednesday to pick up the mail. Eloise was kind enough to leave mine in my room. I stand there for a few minutes and take it all in before closing the door behind me. The memories I made in that room, most of them with Grandma, make me miss her more.
I find an envelope with my father’s name on it sitting beside the rest of the mail on the table in the foyer. I pick it up, recognizing Eloise’s handwriting and turn it over. The flap isn’t sealed. I contemplate reading what she wrote, but decide against it. I’m sure whatever is in the letter is eloquently written.
Grant is waiting for me when I get back to my place. He’s cooking me dinner tonight. Again. This time, Libby and Chester are going to be joining us. I stopped by the grocery store on my way home and picked up everything he needed. It was a long list and my arms are burning from carrying all four bags up the stairs as well as my backpack.
As the smells from the kitchen surround me, my curiosity gets the best of me. I close my laptop and make my way in to see what’s going on. There are two pots on the stove, the only two that I own, and Grant is peaking in the oven. I smell garlic bread, one of my favorites.
“Need any help in here?” I ask as I slide my arms around his waist, hugging him from behind.
“I could use some help putting the salad together. How do you feel about chopping up some veggies?”
Grant turns in my arms, pushing me back a step. He places one hand on either side of my waist, trapping me against the counter.
“I think I can handle that. It doesn’t sound too hard.”
His eyebrow shoots up and a grin appears on his face, challenging me. I hope I don’t eat my words.
I master the cucumbers, proud of myself. I smile at Grant, an “I told you so” kind of smile. He shakes his head at me as he hands me a bag of carrots. I quickly find that carrots are stupid. They roll off the cutting board and onto the counter top or shoot across the kitchen every time I chop a piece off. Celery is worse. It doesn’t want to cut all the way through, leaving fibrous strands sticking off each side.
After putting the lettuce and veggies in the bowl and giving it a quick stir, I drop a handful of cherry tomatoes on top and some croutons. It looks great. Even if the veggies were a pain in the ass, I’m pretty damn proud of how it turned out. When I turn to tell Grant, he’s pulling the garlic bread out of the oven and my mouth starts to water.
“Yum,” I purr.
“Hands off, missy. You’re not allowed to eat anything until everyone gets here.”
I stop my hand that’s already halfway to my mouth with a crouton. Grant turns around and sees the predicament that I’m in and starts laughing at me. I want to eat it, I’m hungry, so I pop it in my mouth before he can steal it from me.
“That doesn’t count,” I say as I chew. “I was already about to eat it.”
A knock at the door saves me from having to explain further. I snag a crouton for the road and Grant swats me on the butt as I scurry to answer the door. It opens just as I get there and Libby rushes past me.
“It’s so cold out there,” she announces loudly.
“It’s not that cold, Libs. It’s still over sixty degrees,” Chester scolds as he walks in only a few steps behind her.
“Hey, guys,” I say, closing the door behind them.
“Hey, Mads. It smells great in here.” Libby strips off her coat and tosses it over the back of the couch. Chester follows suit and heads into the kitchen, nodding to me as he passes.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I say to Libby as she plops down on the couch.
“Starving. The girl behind me was eating cookies in class this afternoon and my stomach started to growl in jealousy. That was hours ago. What’s for dinner, anyway?”
“I’m not sure. I know he made garlic bread and I just finished fixing the salad.”
As we all grab a stool and gather around the bar top, Grant finally pulls the main dish out of the oven. Lasagna. It looks great, but it smells even better. My mouth starts to water as he dishes it out for each of us.
Libby keeps the conversation going over dinner. She complains about her professor. Then, tells us all about the new girl they hired downstairs and all the mistakes she’s making. As Libby and I clean up, I get her to stop complaining and we make plans for this weekend. I don’t tell her it’s my birthday. I haven’t told anyone except Grant. I want to spend the day with my friends, and with Grant, but I don’t want it to be all about me.
My phone rings as I’m drying off my dishwater hands. I pull it from my back pocket and look down at the screen, the contents of my stomach threatening to come up.
“Are you okay? You just went pale. Who is it?” Libby slides up next to me, looking down at my screen. “He doesn’t know you moved out yet, does he?”
“No. I wasn’t expecting him home until tomorrow.”
“Answer it. Maybe he’s not home yet.”
“And if he is?” I ask as my phone continues to ring.
“You’ll deal with it.”
Libby pushes me toward the bathroom as I slide my finger across the screen, answering my father’s call. “Hello?” I close the door behind me, blocking out the sound of Grant and Chester laughing at the television.
“Madison. I just wanted to remind you that I’ll be returning home tomorrow.” Always so formal. Never any emotion.
“Yes, sir.” I keep my voice calm and flat, hoping that he doesn’t sense that I’m nervous about his return.
“I have a late meeting with one of my superiors so you probably won’t see me before bed.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you on Friday after you return home from school.”
I don’t respond and I don’t have to. He’s ended the call already. Leaning back against the door, I hang my head. Staring at my screen, his face still present, I notice that our call lasted only twenty-one seconds. I’ve spoken to him one other time since he’s been gone. Less than one minute of conversation in two weeks. I wonder how much we’ll speak once he realizes that he’s no longer obligated to check in on me.
Grant gives me a curious stare as I join our friends on the couch. I shake my head and cuddle up to him. Libby pops a movie in, and for the first time tonight, it’s quiet in my apartment. I welcome the silence until my father’s voice begins ringing in my ears over and over again.
I’ll see you Friday after you return home from school.
No, he won’t. In fact, I’ll be surprised if he even realizes that I don’t return home from school. Does he even know what time I get out? How is he going to react when he finally realizes that I didn’t come home? Will he call? Text? Will he even worry about me?
Grant softly shakes me. When I open my eyes, I see that Libby and Chester are gone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was tired.”
“Don’t worry about it. I think Libby fell asleep first.” I giggle, thinking about Chester and Grant making fun of us while we slept, as I push myself into a sitting position. “I’m going to head home. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah.” Stretching my arms above my head, I yawn.
“Get in bed before you fall back asleep. I’ll lock up behind me.”
“I want to finish cleaning up before I pass back out,” I tell him as my feet land back on the ground.
“It’s already done.”
I look over my shoulder, trying to see into the dark area of the kitchen. “Really?”
“Yeah. I made Chester help. I told him it was his contribution to dinner.”
“What was Libby’s then?” This should be interesting.
Grant thinks about it for a second before answering. “Conversation?” It’s more of a suggestion than anything.
He helps me off the couch, pulling me directly into his arms. Stealing my breath, he kisses me softly on the lips. It’s a feeling I’ll never get used to. His kisses are all-consuming.
“See you in the morning,” I say as I pull away. If he keeps kissing me, I won’t let him leave. That’s a conversation we still haven’t had.
Crawling into bed, my thoughts drift back to my conversation with my father. I’m certain things are going to go bad. I can’t see him taking my decision well. He’s always been in control of everything: his life, my life, and until my mother took her own, her life as well. There’s only one other time I remember him losing control of himself and that was the night he found her.
“Madison!” I hear my father yell for me over the music in my ears. I didn’t even know he was home yet. I look at the clock on my nightstand and realize that it’s later than I thought. My mother never came to get me for dinner. “Madison! Call 9-1-1!”
I pull the ear buds from my ears, leaving my music playing as I rush into the hall. I see the door to the bathroom is open, my father’s jacket lying on the floor outside. “Dad?”
“Don’t come in here! Call 9-1-1!”
“What’s going on?” I take a step toward the bathroom and my father appears in the doorway, covered in blood from the waist up. “Oh my God!”
“I need you to call 9-1-1. Please. Go!”
I rush back to my room and make the call. I tell the operator what I know. My dad is covered in blood. He told me to call. She asks me to stay on the phone with her until the ambulance arrives. I agree, but I don’t speak. I hear her telling me to stay calm, to take deep breaths, that everything is going to be okay, the ambulance is on its way. Afraid to go back in the hall, I sit on my bed and watch out the window for the ambulance. As soon as I see the flashing lights, I tell the operator and I hang up.
They rush in, running past the door to my room. I hear them talking to my father, telling him to get out of the way. He’s yelling at them to save her. Her. I know he’s talking about my mother. I should have seen this coming. She was acting off when I got home from school. She was quiet at first, sad. About an hour ago she came into my room, told me how much she loved me and hugged me. Just before she left the room, she took off her necklace, the one my father gave her when they found out she was pregnant with me, and gave it to me.
These are all things my father told me to pay attention to. He told me to call him if she was acting unlike herself. He said that he would need to know right away, that he would come home to check on her and make sure that she was okay.
None of it seemed that weird when it was happening. Looking back on it now, I see the signs he wanted to me watch for. I see now she was saying goodbye. I can see the sorrow in her eyes, and feel the goodbye in her embrace. I see it now, all of it. It’s perfectly clear. An hour ago, I thought she was just doing it to bother me.
With tears in his eyes, my father appears in my doorway. It only takes one look at him to know what he’s about to say. He’s broken. His shoulders sag forward and his head drops to his chest as he mumbles two words that will haunt me for the rest of my life. “She’s gone.”
Bolting upright, I scream. My sheets are thrown off me, but I’m drenched in sweat. My dream is still fresh in my mind and tears are streaming down my face. I could have helped her. I should have been able to save her. If only I had paid more attention to what was going on. She might still be here with us if I had.
My alarm clock says that it’s just after four. I crawl out of bed and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Sipping the water slowly, I make my way back to my room and change into fresh clothes. I strip my bed and replace the sheets, hoping that I’ll be able to fall back asleep when I crawl under the covers.
Imagines of my mother’s blood covering my father’s hands and shirt make it impossible to close my eyes. Every time I try, the images come rushing back and my chest contracts, making it hard for me to breathe. I haven’t had this dream in years, not since the one-year anniversary of her death. I had forgotten how much it affected me until now.
***
Dragging my feet as I make my way to class, I zone out and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. My body is screaming at me to stop torturing it, to go back to bed. I tried, multiple times to fall back asleep last night to no avail. This morning I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. A very large truck. I’m hoping to make it through class without falling asleep. I’m scared I’ll dream about my mother again and wake up screaming.
Grant’s smile falters the moment he sees me. He rushes to my side, taking in my appearance. I’m wearing running pants and a sweatshirt, something I normally wouldn’t be caught dead wearing outside my house. I have no make-up on I didn’t bother to dry my hair. I pulled it up on my head in a messy bun and pinned my bangs back. It’s the first time in years that I can remember not covering my scar.