Wish I May (17 page)

Meredith rolls over and smiles, peering at me from under half-closed lids. Then her eyes snap open and her face is masked with horror as her hands drop to investigate her clothing.

We’re both fully dressed in the clothes we were wearing last night, and she appears to be as relieved by that as I am.

She tentatively lifts her hand to her head then grabs a pillow to press over her face.

“When did we start spiking our coffee like the old ladies?” I ask, rubbing my shoulder.

“When they were half drunk and kicking our asses,” she mutters behind the pillow. “We decided it was giving them an edge.”

“Rookie mistake,” I mutter.

She lifts the pillow and peeks at me from under the corner. “We didn’t? I mean…you don’t think we…? Will Cally be upset?”

I shake my head. “We didn’t do anything but sleep.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” she mutters, sitting up.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I definitely woke up to someone groping me.”

I drag my hand over my face. “I thought you were Cally.”

The more I wake up, the more I remember about last night. It was Grandma’s idea that we stay over, and we came to my room, laughing about how she was probably planning for us to conceive her great-grandchild.

We had fun. Meredith and me. I’m remembering how much I like her. She’s funny and carefree and smart. Last night she stood up for herself when the old ladies were giving her a hard time about her series of love life foibles.

She didn’t push herself on me. She even asked questions about Cally. About our history.

Cally.

She texted me last night, and Meredith didn’t think I should reply. “You still have my phone?”

She pulls it from her pocket and tosses it toward me on the bed.

I pull up my text messages and see that I missed three more messages after the first. I blink at my screen.

“Is she mad you didn’t text back?”

My stomach pitches and twists in a mix of worry, nerves, and boyish giddiness. “She must have been drinking,” I say, more to myself than Meredith.

“Is she okay?”

“I think I’ll go find out.” I run a hand through my hair and attempt to smooth my clothes. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Breakfast?”

“I’m good. Go get your girl.”

“Thanks for being so cool about everything, Meredith.”

She presses the pillow against her stomach and gives me a sad smile. “It’s nothing.”

I decide to drive over instead of call, but when I pull up to Arlen Fisher’s house, I’m suddenly questioning my plan. What did I think I was going to do? Point at the last text and say,
This one, pretty please
?

Drew and Gabby are sitting in camping chairs out on the front deck, Drew’s eyes on her phone and Gabby looking out toward the river.

I climb off my bike and head toward the house, but I haven’t even hit the deck when I can hear Cally’s voice—loud, angry.

“You had two thousand dollars in the savings account yesterday. Where did it go?”

I can’t hear her father’s words, just the deep murmur of him speaking.

“You’re kidding me! A
guru
? You don’t
need
a guru. The girls
need
textbooks. They
need
lunch. Stop giving your money away to some fraud promising things he can
never
deliver.”
Pause.
“Kids are expensive. And this house is falling apart.”
Pause.
“So, what? You’re just going to meditate your way to a better net worth? You
have
to get a job and you have to stop spending money on this bullshit.”

“Dad dropped two grand on one-on-one counseling with his guru,” Drew explains. “He wants to be enlightened or something stupid like that. And now Cally’s mad because we can’t afford the uniform for me to be on the cheerleading practice squad. Never mind that I don’t want to be a stupid cheerleader. I only did it at home because my friends did. I don’t have friends here.”

More murmuring from inside. Then Cally, her voice less angry: “Well, you should have known better. Mom was never good with money.”

“Translation,” Drew drones, “Mom was a druggy.”

I swallow, wondering what Cally would think if she knew I was here, hearing this.

“How many fucking autographed spiritual books do you have? Sell a few of those and beef up your checking account.”
Pause.
“You’re writing a book? Show me a big-ass contract from a real fucking publisher and I’ll believe it. Call the college and get a
real
job
.”

More murmuring.

“We should have stayed in Vegas,” Drew sing-songs.

Cally: “If
politics
are the worst you have to face to put food on the table, you’re one lucky bastard. Get over it.” Then we hear the clack of footsteps, and she’s pushing out onto the deck, the door slamming behind her.

She doesn’t even see me. She’s studying her shoes, her chest heaving. I can’t tell if she’s crying or just angry. I open my mouth to announce my presence, but Drew beats me to it.

“You have company.”

Cally’s head snaps up and her eyes widen as she spots me. “William.”

“Cally.”

“Did you hear all….
Shit.
”

“Can we talk?” I ask.

She looks to Drew, then Gabby.

“We’re
fine
,” Drew says, shooing us away.

Gabby nods, giving me a half smile and a little wave of her fingers.

Cally draws her lower lip between her teeth, her brow wrinkling as she studies the girls.

Finally tearing her eyes from her phone, Drew says, “Go give your boyfriend a blow job and maybe he’ll buy us a nice dinner.”

Cally draws in a sharp breath, but before she can speak, Gabby says, “Behave!” It’s one word, but it’s clear and strong, and it wipes the rage off Cally’s face. Drew’s jaw drops.

Cally presses a kiss to Gabby’s hair, then heads down the steps toward me.

“Wanna get out of here?” I nod to my bike, wanting to give her the break the strain around her eyes says she desperately needs. “We could go for a ride.”

She shakes her head and tucks her hands into the pockets of her jean shorts. “Can we just walk?” She points to the gravel lane that meets up with the paved jogging path along the river.

“Sure.”

It’s a beautiful day, unseasonably cool for late August in Indiana and a nice break from last week’s heat. Sunlight reflects off the water and makes her dark hair shine.

“I guess you’re here about the texts I sent? I can only apologize. I had a little too much tequila.”

I am, but that seems trivial in light of the argument I just overhead between her and her father.

“Do you need money? I can loan you—”

“Please don’t. I already owe you for the groceries and the space for my massage studio.” She looks out at the river. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

I let it drop—for now—and we walk in silence.

“You could do something for me,” she finally says.

Anything
. “What’s that?” We wander onto a little dock and pause to look out at the water.

“See if there are any adjunct positions open at the college? Dad could use the work. Philosophy, religion. Anything like that. You know he’s qualified.”

“I’ll make some calls, but don’t get your hopes up. The fall semester starts on Monday, so they probably have all the classes covered.”

She lets out a long, slow breath, her shoulders falling. “Right.”

“I’ll put in some calls. There are always temporary grant-funded positions he could consider for the short term. Research, maybe?”

“I appreciate it. I really do.” She turns and wraps her arms around me and buries her face in my chest. “I’m lucky to have you.”

I hug her back, pulling her close. God, I love the way she feels in my arms. Her hair is silky soft against my nose and I inhale deeply.

As if suddenly remembering herself, she stiffens and pulls away. “Sorry about that.”

“Hmm…about those text messages….”

She grins and hits my stomach with the back of her hand. Her cheeks blaze red with her blush. “And here I thought you were going to let me off the hook.”

“Maybe for the first three, but that last one isn’t something a guy forgets.”

She drops her gaze to the wooden planks of the dock. “I guess this is the part where I tell you that nothing can happen between us.”

“I don’t think we’ve been reading from the same script,” I mutter.

“You haven’t asked me why I didn’t come to prom. You haven’t asked why I ended things.”

A crane spreads its wings and glides low over the water. “I figured you would have already told me if you wanted me to know.” But my stomach folds over brutally at the reminder. Even seven years later, the memory still hurts.

“Can you promise not to ask me?” Her voice is so soft, and she’s studying me.

“If I asked, would I want to know the answer?”

She shakes her head and her eyes fill.

“You know my mind is going to answer the question anyway. I’ve had seven years to imagine what happened. The answers I’ve imagined have run the gamut. I’ve been pissed and worried and then pissed all over again. If you think
not knowing
is better, you’re wrong.” Stepping forward, I cup her face in my hands. Her eyes are moist but determined, and her cheeks are dry. I’ve thought about Maggie’s words a lot in the last few days. “I think you’d be amazed what I’ve been able to forgive of people, Cally. And none of them have been you. If you slept with someone while we were still together…,” I trail off as she closes her eyes.

“Don’t,” she whispers.

The light from the midday sun warms our shoulders, and the painful silence of regret wraps us in its barbed embrace.

Nothing can be done about the past, and I don’t need to know what happened to forgive her.

“I promise,” I say quietly.