One Last Song Part 14

Like a baby. You kiss well.

I could feel myself blush at the memory.

Going to Ptwscptt Psrk. Come queh me?

I squinted at the misspelling.

A minute later: *Prescott Park. And *with. Sorry.

Of course.

I washed up and checked on the drained abscesses. The original packing that Dr. Daniels had put in was still intact, and now it was blood-soaked. I didn't know how long I should leave it there for maximum impact/infection, so I hadn't dared take it off even though it had been three days. I could feel the beginnings of a fever in the pit of my bones. I didn't want to risk another vomiting incident, so I downed two ibuprofen, just to get it under control. I could always let it run its course afterward, once we were done with the park.

When I was dressed, I went to check on Mum. She was in her craft nook with her new dollhouse, affixing gold-patterned wallpaper to one of the tiny walls. She glanced up as I walked in.

I got an orange from the fruit bowl and sat down beside her. "I'm going to Prescott Park with a friend."

"A friend?" Her voice was cold. Was she just feigning interest so I wouldn't whine about her not caring?

"It's a boy. His name's Drew." I poked my thumbnail into the orange peel, filling my lungs with the fragrance as I began to strip its skin.

Mum turned over another piece of wallpaper and started to dab glue on the back. "I see. And how do you plan to get there?"

Setting pieces of peel on the table, I began to build up a small tower of them. I ripped off a segment of the fruit, squeezing it too hard. Juice dripped into a paper cut on my finger. "I'm taking the car," I said, staring at her as my cut sizzled in pain. "It's not like you can drive it anymore."

She stiffened, her hand going still. The glue began to dry. "You do not have permission to drive my car."

My mother had always been pa.s.sionate about me not driving. I'd never been able to get a straight answer out of her about what she was afraid might happen, but I suspected she thought I'd purposely wrap it around a tree just so I could sustain major injuries. She was probably just concerned what that'd do to her car.

I laughed and popped a slice of orange into my mouth. Once I'd swallowed, I said, "Oh, really? Why not? Because I might do something totally stupid and irresponsible like drink and drive?"

Even as I flayed her with my words, she sat there unmoving, refusing to look at me.

Leaving my orange peel on her work desk, I walked to the mudroom and got on my jacket and boots, and grabbed her car keys from the key hook.

"See you later." I opened the door to the garage and walked to her car, which sat waiting like a silent, obedient horse.

Before I began driving, I texted Drew.

I'm coming over now. Is that okay?

He texted back less than thirty seconds later.

YES.

Once I was driving down the freshly plowed highway, I looked around for something to drink. Mum usually kept a case of water bottles in her car in the winter, since the weather pretty much ensured refrigeration. I felt around in the backseat with my hand until I had the plastic bottle by its neck. Setting it between my thighs, I twisted the cap. There was no resistance to it, as if it hadn't been sealed well. After a moment of indecision, I realized I was too thirsty to really care.

I spat the first disgusting mouthful all over the steering wheel. It wasn't water in the bottle, it was straight alcohol-probably vodka. At the first stoplight, I turned right and pulled into the parking lot of a gas station. Going around to the backseat of my car, I pulled up the carton of water bottles.

I began to open them one at a time. None of them were sealed because she'd opened every one, emptied out the water, and filled them back up with vodka. I'd been driving down the road with open containers of alcohol in my car.

With a small cry, I threw one of the bottles on the ground. The cap flew off and alcohol gurgled out, making a small stream on the icy ground that sparkled in the muted sunlight. f.u.c.k her. Lying, selfish b.i.t.c.h. I heaved the carton of bottles out of the car and, walking to the big Dumpster, tossed the whole thing in. Rearing back, I kicked the Dumpster with everything I had, once, twice, three times. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some of the customers ga.s.sing up their cars, gawking at me. Without looking at any of them, I got back in the car and began to drive again.

Once I'd slid into Drew's parking s.p.a.ce, I ran to his apartment and knocked. I had to stamp my feet as I waited because I hadn't bothered getting my jacket on before I got out. I just wanted to go, to keep moving, to not think.

Drew opened the door and peered past me, at my mother's silver BMW. "Whose car is that?"

"Mine," I said, turning to look at it. "It's mine now."

Drew's eyebrows knit together at my tone. After only the slightest hesitation, he said, "Sweet." Grabbing his jacket, he strode out with me.

I couldn't bring myself to say anything on the drive to Prescott Park. My heart slammed against my ribs and my breath felt short, like I'd been running. A trickle of sweat ran down my back. All I could think about was the vodka in the car. My mother, a f.u.c.king drunk. All those times I'd seen her sipping water in the car, when I'd been with her, she'd been getting s.h.i.t-faced? And on the heels of that anger came a realization like a punch between the eyes: I was that terrible a daughter. Forget escaping reality; my mother would even risk death just to get the h.e.l.l away from me.

When Drew touched the back of my hand with his finger, I jumped.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyes searching my face. "You're a million miles away."

"I'm fine," I said, turning to look at the road. "It's snowing. I want to pay attention so I don't miss our turn."

"Saylor."

I could feel him looking at me, and finally, I turned to give him a quick glance, just to let him know I was listening.

"You don't have to do that strong, 'everything's fine and f.u.c.kin' dandy' thing with me either. You know when you said I didn't have to wear my mask with you?"

I nodded.

"Same goes for you, okay? We can't have masks when we speak to each other, or we're just going to end up even lonelier than we already are."

I took a deep breath. I considered telling him exactly what was bothering me. I imagined the relief would feel like the wind in your hair when you fly down the interstate-absolutely freeing. But in the end, I found all I could manage was a small shaving off the mound of truth. I wasn't completely ready to take off the mask just yet; I didn't even know if I had a real face behind it. "Someone... someone I trusted hurt me. They were keeping this huge secret, and I had no idea."

Drew stroked my hair gently and then returned his hand back to his lap. I felt its absence greatly. "Sometimes people do things because they're hurting. You know? Maybe he or she didn't mean for you to get caught in the crossfire."

As I pondered his words, I realized how we could've been speaking about this elaborate facade I'd constructed. I wondered if, when, the truth came out about me, Drew would feel anything close to this sense of understanding. "Yeah. Maybe."

"For what it's worth, I'm honest. I'll never lie to you, Saylor." He said it quietly, looking straight ahead at the road unspooling before us.

I felt a lump in my throat and swallowed it down. "I know. I can tell that about you."

He looked at me then, blue eyes smiling, and reached out a finger to tap my nose. "Good."

Chapter Twenty-Nine.

When we pulled into the parking lot at Prescott Park, I turned off the engine and sat back against the seat. "Where to?" I asked.

"The formal gardens," Drew said without hesitation, his forehead against the window.

We got out and began to walk.

I'd seen the formal gardens once or twice during the warmer months. Seeing them in the winter was like seeing them for the first time. It was as if we'd stepped right into some frosty Disney fairy tale.

The j.a.panese crabapple trees were bowed down with a heavy pile of snow. The three big fountains in the middle had been turned off for the season, but snow and ice covered their surfaces in just the right combination to make them look like ice sculptures, twinkling in the sunlight. The benches lining the gardens all had a few inches of snow on them. Everything was covered with a cold, serene white blanket.

"Wow," I said, my breath a cloud as I looked around. "This is..."

"Amazing, isn't it?" Drew's cane made a deep hollow in the snow as he leaned heavily against it. "It was funny you mentioned having Jack's birthday party here. This is my favorite place to come in the winter."

"Apparently you're not the only one." My eyes stole across the gardens to the other corner. A bride and groom were having their pictures taken. In between shots, a woman handed the couple steaming mugs of something.

"Yeah, this place is pretty popular with the wedding crowd." Drew began to walk gingerly down the brick path.

Looking at him set my teeth on edge. I could imagine him slipping on a patch of ice, cracking his head open on the brick. I wondered if he'd be offended if I grabbed hold of his arm, then decided against it. I settled for walking beside him instead, just in case.

He turned left at a bench and used his cane to clear off the top of it. The snow fell to the ground with a soft whoomph. Drew gestured to the spot beside him. I sat down, tucking my jacket under me so I wouldn't get my jeans wet. Faint laughter from the bridal party reached us, the sound flat and hushed in the snow-laden environment. I'd always liked that about snow, how it seemed to suck the emotion right out of words.

"Do you think you'll get married someday?" Drew's eyes were far away. He was looking toward the bridal party, but, it seemed to me, not quite seeing them.

"I don't know," I said, fiddling with my gloves. "I haven't really thought about it. What about you?"

He replied without hesitation. "No. I refuse to leave my would-be wife a young widow."

"Some might say having a few years of true love is better than having none," I said.

"And anyway," he continued, as if I hadn't spoken, "I'm not going to die around people I know."

I studied the profile of his handsome face, the strong nose, the shadowed, stubble-covered jaw, the full lips. His bottom eyelashes were so long they curved and rested on his skin. "What do you mean?"

He looked at me, his blue eyes a silvery aqua against all the snow. "I'll leave. When I begin to get too sick to look after myself, I'll leave."

I looked up at the crabapple tree, its limbs reaching down to caress the snow-covered ground. Something inside me churned, a deep sadness I didn't want to inspect. "Where will you go?"

"I don't know yet. I'm researching facilities." He tapped his cane on the snow under our feet as he talked, the soft crunching sound of snowflakes being crushed somehow deafening between his words. "The day I left my parents' place," he said, "I looked back as I was driving away with a friend. They had the blinds to our apartment pulled down, as usual, but in one of the windows, there was a yellow Roman shade instead of blinds. I have no idea, to this day, where that shade came from. In all the time I'd lived in that h.e.l.lhole, I'd never seen it. Did someone put it up that day? Did something happen to the mini-blinds that used to be in that spot?" He shrugged, hanging his cane from his knee. "Anyway, when I got to Ridgeland, I had a hard time finding an apartment. No work experience except for a few gigs, no references, you know. I'd already looked at several apartments when a friend told me about my current place. He said to meet him there, that he knew the landlord and could probably get him to rent it to me. When I pulled up, there was a yellow Roman shade pulled down in that front window. I knew I was going to get it, and I was right." He looked at me, grinned. "I'm not a big believer in a loving G.o.d, but I do believe in destiny. Fate. So I think wherever I go, I'll be okay."

"Just look for a yellow Roman shade," I said.

He laughed. "Yeah. Something like that."

I wished I could be as sure as Drew. I wished I could be one of those people completely secure in the fact that everything happens for a reason and things always work out for the best.

I'd always considered people who felt that way less intelligent than those of us who believed humanity was f.u.c.ked. Humans were the only species intelligent enough to figure out that we were nothing but stardust, and conceited enough to think that the world revolved around us anyway.

"What are you thinking?" Drew asked, yanking me out of my thoughts. "Your jaw is clenched tighter than a jailbird's b.u.t.tocks."

I laughed. Bending down, I gathered a small s...o...b..ll and began to shape it. "Just wishing I could feel as certain as you do that everything's going to be okay. Personally, I don't think the universe gives a s.h.i.t about any of us." Throwing the s...o...b..ll up in the air, I batted it with my hand, hard enough that it crumbled into nothing. "And if fate does have anything to do with my life, it has a wicked sense of humor."

"But you don't know how your story's going to end yet," Drew said. "So how can you tell whether it's a tragedy or not?"

"I'm psychic about endings," I replied, bending down to get another handful of snow, unable to meet his eye.

"What if, tomorrow, they discover a cure for MS? Or better yet, MS and FA?"

I looked at him, this man with the wide-open face, the gorgeous blue eyes flecked with silver, the long legs that would one day simply refuse to carry him. I saw his hands, placed neatly on his thighs, the fingers beautifully tapered to pluck guitar strings, beginning to weaken and wither. I saw the ferocious hope he carried on his shoulders, the weight of it more than anyone should be forced to carry. In that moment I knew that Drew's hope weighed more than my hurt and anger and loneliness, and in that moment, I wanted nothing but to make him feel safe and loved and wanted.

A pulse began to beat deep inside me as I got up, pulled the cane off his knee, and tossed it into a pile of snow. I straddled his legs, sitting on his lap, and his look of confusion quickly turned to a look of pure l.u.s.t. His eyes grew darker, his gaze fell to my lips. "What are you doing?"

I didn't answer. I just covered his mouth with mine, the ecstasy of making him live in the moment, the power of reducing him to the basest pleasure overtaking every other sense in my brain. After a moment, his hand tangled in my ponytail. He pulled on it, making me expose my throat to him. He nibbled along the tender skin there, and I gasped. I could feel his erection pressing into my inner thigh where my legs were spread, wanting more.

I pulled back. "We could go somewhere," I whispered.

He nodded.

Chapter Thirty.

Driving with Drew by my side was excruciating.

I tried not to touch him during the slow walk to the car, feeling completely awkward and unsure of myself now that I'd set things in motion. But just occasionally, his free hand would brush mine, sending jolts of molten lightning through my body. Was he doing it on purpose? Did he want me, this, as much as I did?

During the drive, I almost lost my nerve several times. What did I think I was doing? I wasn't some sort of seductress, not by the widest stretch of anyone's imagination. I'd lost my virginity in high school to a drunken football player on a field trip. I hadn't wanted to have s.e.x since; it was too much bother for not enough return. Besides, I already had my first love. Disease. I didn't need a boy.

But Drew? There was something about him, about the core of him, about the way he smiled and looked at me and pulled me close to kiss me. About the way he'd told me about the yellow Roman shade. No matter how hard I peered into the center of my soul, I couldn't find a shred of pity for him. I wasn't sorry in that maudlin way Carson was that he was losing his coordination or his silver voice. It wasn't just that I was hypnotized by his illness, though I'd be lying if I said it didn't make a difference.

I was consumed by the overcrowded city of my thoughts when he put one hand on the back of my neck, nestled under the blanket of my hair. His thumb caressed the curve of my spine there, and my breath caught in my throat. My mind went empty, my heart was a bird, throwing itself against the cage of bone, intent on escaping, on flying the highest it had ever flown in its life.

Still, we didn't speak a word. There was nothing to say and everything to feel. So we felt.

Somehow, my electrified body performed the motions and soon, we pulled up in front of Drew's apartment. Though I'd been here before, being here with him now, under these circ.u.mstances, made the whole place buzz with color and emotion as it hadn't before.

I waited off to the side while Drew slid the key in and opened the door. Each of his movements brought us closer to the moment I'd been building up in my mind since the park. My heart had never beaten harder before.